Echoes in the Dark (56 page)

Luthan
kept tallies on the life-and-death percentages of his friends. With the hard
work they and Jikata were putting in, the odds against them were lowering.

Almost
to acceptable levels.

Since
the dreeth battle, he’d actually had a few visions where they all survived.

He’d
shared some visions with Jikata that they never spoke of to others. He was
grateful that her standard survival rate was now seventy-three percent and his
was the same.

But
he’d felt the desperation of Calli’s son grow. The boy had been adopted only a
year before and still felt unsure of his place in the world. He was old enough
and clever enough to do something foolish—like stowing away on the Ship. Luthan
didn’t doubt that the boy would be found, but it would cause more emotional
ructions and could possibly delay the invasion.

So
he took the boy aside and revealed to the child that Calli and Marrec would
live—and made him vow not to tell anyone in case that changed the future.

When
the boy had flung himself into Luthan’s arms and wept, balance within Luthan
had finally occurred. Or rather Luthan finally came to terms with his gift.
He’d comforted a child, comforted himself and his woman with his foreknowledge.
The events he’d guided—like getting Bastien back to Alexa in the first
place—had helped to minimize death and destruction. He’d helped his brother,
his friends, himself. Whatever came, he had done his best, would use his gift
as much as possible to do his best.

And
Sing and pray. And love.

Then
the sun dipped behind the horizon and it was night.

F
aucon rose early
on the day they were to sail, stood looking at a sleeping Raine, his heart so
tight in his body he could barely breathe. The day at the caverns, he’d
finished grooming the volarans and had walked down and heard the conversation
between his lady and Jikata.

Raine
was so much more fragile than he, than the others, thinking she had more to
lose than to gain in this battle. The one the invasion weighed on the most.
Not
the weakest link of them all, he’d never believe that, but the most troubled.

So
he left her with a kiss and walked to a place he rarely visited—the chapel to
the Song. Here at Creusse Landing, it was tucked away in the corner of the
short southeast wing. It was a small room, decorated richly, above the altar
was a large stained-glass window of sky-blue that showed multicolored
butterflies rising in a helix through the air—living musical notes,
representing the Song itself.

He’d
actually thought he’d be the solitary reverent, but the room was crowded. He
went to the small front pew and knelt, looking at the altar with a large lyre
upright upon it. Next to him was Corbeau’s wife, and Faucon sensed she was
praying for the warriors and again his heart squeezed. The thoughts and prayers
and Power of those remaining could be a great force for those who were going.
He nodded to her and clasped his hands loosely on the rail before him, bowed
his head.

He
considered his life a celebration of the Song, the living of it a prayer, the
moments he treasured also daily prayers, so he rarely felt the need to formally
go to chapel. But he was here for Raine, to pray for solace for her, for the
lessening of the weight on her, however that may come about.

He
bowed his head and listened to the Songs of others, particularly those strong
in faith whose Songs rose effortlessly to connect with the great Song that was
the source of All. As he breathed with others, he let himself be suffused with
music, sent his mind, his emotions, questing to link with his own personal Song
that was part of the music of the spheres, contained in the great Song of All.

His
prayer was simple, that Raine not lose anything in the battle with the Dark,
that she survive and prosper and love and find all she needed and deserved. He
visualized that for her. Himself as loving husband, homes, land of her own, a
shipyard of her own. Being valued by the Seamasters. He set the images within
his mind to solidify and bolster himself and Raine when he linked with her.
Prayed for them to become reality.

The
sun lit the window and brilliant color exploded through the room.

A
woman’s voice lifted in a glorious Song to the morning. Jikata.

Everyone
turned to stare at her and they learned the Song she’d crafted and Sang with
her.

A
blessing.

The
door opened quietly and Raine was there. Faucon heard her intake of breath.
Linked with her, he
felt
the Song wash over her, suffuse her with hope.

That
was what she needed most. Simple hope.

He
stood, and still Singing, he went to her, put an arm around her and brought her
to the pew and they sat, looking at the window.

Filled
with hope.

The Echo, Brisay Sea

W
ith Raine
standing by Faucon at the helm, they sailed into the open Brisay Sea. She paid
attention to her crew and her two lieutenants—Lucienne Deauville and the man
she’d first met in town, Jean, who’d sailed a good part of the world.
Everything went more than smoothly, her sailors were optimistic, buying in to
the whole “great adventure” thing. Ella was enthusiastic enough for ten people.

The
remaining Exotiques hung over the rail of the great Ship waving at people on
shore—well, Jikata propped a hip against the starboard side and raised a
languid hand.

There
was a good turnout of folks: merchants from the fair, townsfolk, dignitaries
from other cities invited by Bri and Sevair. The Seamasters were there, even
the two who’d begrudged their apologies. They were smiling smugly and Raine
didn’t like it, but was glad she’d be out of their sight.

On
The
Echo,
many of the landsmen and women were unpacking and exploring. Flights
of volarans were circling, landing, playing.

The
Echo
was using a small portion of the Power spheres, was under full sail, and
handling well.

She
visualized the course. To hug the coastline would add many miles to their trip,
and the course was set to go beyond all land. They’d angle to a point where
they’d sail through the middle of a smaller sea, and directly to the relatively
narrow strait between continents. That cleft had opened eight centuries ago
when the Marshall Guardians had developed the fence posts. Lorebooks told the
story of Amee causing an earthquake to ensure her warriors access to the Dark’s
Nest.

When
asked the name of the strait, Jean had grimaced, avoided Raine’s eye and swayed
with the Ship, finally saying gruffly that it was called the Strait to Doom,
because it led to the Dark’s Nest.

The
voyage itself would take four weeks, one week longer than the volaranback
expedition the year before. But this was an invasion force, with fighters and
weapons and stores.

She’d
anticipated being less anxious on the Ship, where she was in control and
command. That had happened to some extent, but the reason for the Ship always
lurked at the back of her mind. She grimaced, nothing to do but endure.
Survive.

41

J
ikata didn’t
like the Ship. Nothing about it. Not the overly rococo flourishes, the masses
of volarans standing on the quarterdeck, and especially not the large closet of
her cabin that she shared with Luthan. At the start, she’d contemplated
selfishly keeping the cabin and the bed to herself, but even a closet with
Luthan was better than sleeping without him.

And
the Ship was surrounded by water, a very strange sea that would open into a
very strange ocean that would narrow to something called the Strait to Doom that
sounded the strangest of them all.

She’d
paid her dues on a couple of cruise ships at the beginning of her career. All
right, two voyages, but the water hadn’t been this…active, almost alive. The
moment she’d stepped aboard, she’d experienced an ominous feeling that she
couldn’t shake, a depression of her spirits.

A
loss of her composing ability.

It
was now the end of the first week, and the nightmares were back with a
vengeance, always ending in visions of mass slaughter of herself and her
friends. Difficult to throw off even during sun-bright days.

The
others loved the Ship. Bri, the most well-traveled, was on the deck all the
time, talking to the sailors, learning a little of their craft. Alexa had been
sick for the first three days and nights, adding her moaning to Jikata’s
dreams, but now she’d bounced back and hung over the rail, looking at the
water, the land that had changed from peninsula to islands to the open sea, all
with towering mountains in the distance to the east.

Marian,
the other “fire” person, seemed to have no problem at all, either. Of course
all the women were born and raised in Colorado, stayed there mostly, so an
ocean voyage was a novelty.

Calli
spent some time in the air with different volarans, and Jikata envied her,
though it was obvious that keeping up with the Ship put a strain on them, so
those flights were short. Easier on the beasts at night.

Furthermore,
some of the sailors kept giving her sly glances, and Chasonette picked at her
and whined.

The
only time Jikata’s mind felt clear and focused was when they were Singing,
whether warm-up exercises, or the actual unknotting ritual. That was going
well. All knew the chorus and the opening verse. Each was making progress on
their individual verse, which spoke of segments of the Lladranan culture that
were finally coming together: “I of the Volarans, lovely in flight”; “I of the
Tower with Knowledge Bright”; “I of the Townsfolk, valuing right”; “I of the
Marshalls, ready to fight…”; “I of the Seamasters and ocean’s might”; “I of the
Singer, music and sight…” As usual, tailor-made to the Exotiques. Or the
Exotiques had been specifically chosen for their culture and thus the Song.
Which they had been.

Bri
was the one who was having the hardest trouble with memorizing her verse, and
Jikata was considering changing the beat for her. To Jikata’s surprise, Raine
had somehow incorporated a rock-and-roll beat that also echoed the sea. She was
Singing well, but remained afraid.

Marian
had tried to foist the weapon knot on Jikata and she’d refused it. The thing
looked like an artery, pulsing red with a drumbeat that was disturbing.

Time
and again, Jikata would sit down to compose and someone would interrupt, or her
inkwell would be sliding around and the notes just wouldn’t come. It was a
never-ending irritant.

As
day waned into night, depression and anticipation of nightmares settled on her
like a polluted, foggy gloom. She usually picked at dinner, then retired to
bed. Sex with Luthan stayed the nightmares, but didn’t stop them, and he didn’t
seem to be sharing them, so she supposed her Power was that much stronger than
his.

Visions
didn’t come during the day anymore, were as scarce as her composing ability.

Occasionally
Ishi walked through her dreams like a balm, and Jikata welcomed her. Amee had
failed to show after the first night, but she’d been dismissive of Jikata’s
mild complaint about the Ship and the water, had seemed to beam with pride at
the Ship and her Exotiques.

It
all set her teeth on edge. She should have stayed at the Abbey.

D
isaster struck
in the middle of the second week. Not to
The Echo,
but to Lladrana
itself. The Marshalls’ Castle sent an urgent message and Alexa announced with a
serious face but vibrating with anger. “I have news.”

Everyone
gathered, everyone quieted.

Alexa
paced, hand on her baton, jutting it forward in its sheath. A bad sign. “As you
all know, we’ve been replacing the ancient fence posts as they’ve fallen,
raising new ones so the northern boundary is a solid magical shield to repel
the horrors.” She stopped, sucked in a deep breath, addressed the crowd. “Early
this morning
all
the old fence posts, those we didn’t raise in the last
two years, fell.” Her jaw flexed. “There are holes in the fence. Five gaps, to
be precise. And horrors are steadily coming through.”

“
This
is what the Dark has been planning,” Marian said. “It caused the old posts to
fail and fall.”

“Ayes,”
Alexa said. “The new Master of the monsters likes notes, he had one delivered
in one of the incursions, gloating.”

“He
doesn’t know of this Ship, the invasion?” Jaquar asked sharply.

Alexa
shook her head. “It seems not. However,
we
are the primary team.”

“We
must turn back!” someone shouted, and Raine couldn’t pinpoint the person.

“Ttho!”
Alexa’s voice resounded over the deck. Her face hardened. “We are not returning
to Lladrana. The others must cope without us.”

There
was muttering, some grumbling.

Alexa
ignored it and went on. “A discreet call has gone out to those Chevaliers and
Marshalls who have retired. Chevalier classes are being sped up. Pascal and
Marwey and our understudies must handle this.” Her skin stretched tight over
her cheeks. “None of you will be allowed to return.”