Echoes in the Dark (19 page)

His
smile lingered. “My ancestress, the founder of our house, liked bright colors.”

Raine
said, “She got them.” Tilting her head, she said, “At least it’s not purple.”
The color assigned to Exotiques.

Faucon
laughed, eyes crinkling. Raine liked seeing him lighten up.

He
waved to the sloop and she stepped aboard.

The
moment she was on the boat she could feel the difference in the sea from Earth.
She wasn’t sure what it was, the size of the moon or the distance of it from
Amee, or what, but no ocean of Earth ever felt like this one. Being smaller,
the boat rocked more than the yacht and her heart caught at the feeling. She
sniffed. This was home. A boat was home. Not the pretty house in Castleton, the
Marshalls’ Castle, the small castle on the estate they wanted to give her. A
ship. Nothing else.

Odd
that she’d come all the way to Lladrana to learn that.

The
boat had a tiny cabin for bad weather. “Where’re the stones?” But she was
walking to the bow, saw a small trapdoor with a rope handle. Faucon passed her,
lifted it, and she saw four small round stones, gleaming silver, each with a
tiny gem embedded on the top, again in a diamond pattern. Well, no need to
worry about getting an engine wet.

Faucon
put the hatch lid back down, then headed for what was obviously the steering
stick. There was no wheel, but a short stick at ninety degrees that looked like
the curved and polished wooden hilt of an old dueling pistol, not in the stern
where a tiller was most likely to be.

With
a lopsided smile, he said, “Let me get her out of the dock.”

It
was only sensible, but she wanted to sail
now.
Still, she stepped back
from the control and let him take her place. She gauged the wind and the water
with narrowed eyes, and hoisted a sail.

He
grinned at her, and she sensed the barest tickle of Power, a slight lift in his
personal Song and the boat moved without wind, but magic. No roar of the diesel
catching, not the faintest hint of fumes. She could get used to this.

They
communicated with hand gestures that seemed easy to both of them. Raine
anticipated the boat’s needs. She thought that after a few minutes he actually
forgot she was there.

Then
she saw the true man. The man who was nothing but a guy enjoying a wonderful
pleasure. He wasn’t the nobleman running his castle, the merchant planning his
next trade, leader of men into battle. The man facing a suicide mission. He was
simply Faucon, head raised to feel the breeze against his face, eyes narrowed
at the horizon, his body easing into the natural rhythm of a sailor.

Feeling
for him caught her in the gut, tightened her throat. She could love such a man.
She backed away from that thought, stumbled, and he glanced at her and a mask
dropped down over his expression. He still seemed more open, and smiled
charmingly, but his eyes held a hint of surprise. That he’d forgotten about her
in the enjoyment of the sail? That she wasn’t the woman he had pigeon-holed?

Though
she itched to get her hands on the wheel—the steering stick—Raine saw he was
caught up in the sailing and put aside her desires. She didn’t know how long it
had been since he’d sailed, but not as long as she’d known him.

Finally,
a long hour later, he seemed to wake from his personal sail-induced trance and
gestured to her.

Singer’s Abbey

F
or Jikata, the
next morning was a repeat of the first two, with breakfast and pampering, being
amused by Chasonette, though the bird didn’t tell her anything new. The
cockatoo
did
insist that Jikata write down her experiences from the
moment they’d met in the Ghost Hill Theater. Chasonette told her to title her
musings “The Lorebook of the Exotique Singer,” which had an archaic and pleasing
ring.

Then
came physical and vocal limbering up and voice training. Jikata had rarely
worked so hard at her craft, and it had rarely come so easily. It seemed as if
her very pores were soaking up Power…or it was being released from them.
Glorious Song continued to surround her, and she was getting used to a
soundtrack to her life, would stop and smile when a lovely combination of
Friends, the buildings and trees occurred.

She
found the Singer’s primary personal chambers oppressive, the music too strong
and structured and with a restrictive beat. Chasonette was banned from them.
Jikata also sensed that the Singer knew training in her rooms was uncomfortable
since the woman stated that it was good for Jikata to learn to Sing under
adverse circumstances.

She
was also becoming aware of odd silences, of hesitations and gaps in what she
was being told, but she didn’t press. The training schedule was rigorous enough
that it kept her mind and body fully occupied learning new things—songspells
and how to work Power with the voice—and older lessons like extending the
strength of her vocal range.

Club
Lladrana pleased her, giving her challenge for her current skills, showing her
new ones, all in a beautiful setting where she received the utmost respect, as
if she were a superstar. Of course she couldn’t have imagined this, but it was
just what she’d needed after the last tour and Ishi’s death.

Jikata
had come to terms with her great-grandmother’s passing, accepted that they’d
never have reconciled, accepted there’d always be a spot inside her heart that
would ache and grieve for her relationship with her great-grandmother, that it
couldn’t have been different, couldn’t have been more supportive and
pleasurable for both of them. Being on Lladrana had been good for this.

Though
she’d accepted her past and all the decisions that she’d made, she shied away
from the future that might include who knew what. She lived in the moment and
enjoyed every second.

The
setting itself was pastoral and everyone except the Singer treated her with a
deference that buoyed her ego. Furthermore, compositions were beginning to
simmer in the back of her brain and she knew in a few days she’d be putting
notes to paper, creating again.

She
didn’t know if the Singer composed or simply Sang extemporaneously, but
creating music was vitally important to Jikata. If she’d been a dry wisp of a
wrung-out rag spiritually when she’d ended her tour and arrived on Lladrana,
now she felt like a fat sponge bursting with Power and music that would pour
from her. She’d
create
tunes that others would like to sing, play, dance
to.

That
was the best.
That
fulfilled her.

Creusse Crest

F
aucon said,
“We’re out of the shelter of the headlands. I’ll let you have the helm.”

They’d
been out of the bay for a while, but Raine nodded, letting the wind separate
the strands of her hair and whip them around her face. She should have braided
it.

Frowning,
he reached into a pocket and pulled out a knit cap, handed it to her. She could
have used it earlier, thought her ears might be red. “What about you?” she
shouted.

In
answer he set her hand on the steering stick, went over to a compartment and
got a cap for himself. It was a tightly knit orange with his coat of arms on a
red shield, a falcon with wings lifted as if ready to soar or having just
landed, atop a black circle around an even-armed cross. Obviously a “captain’s”
cap.

His
eyebrows dipped, then he took the utilitarian red hat from her head and handed
her the one with the insignia. Giving her the captaincy of the boat? Her eyes
stung from the wind as she put it on and tucked in her hair.

Perhaps
better to speak mind-to-mind for instruction,
he said, his mental tone brisk.

Definitely
not something she was used to doing while sailing, but if she could learn to
fly volaranback and hear telepathic instruction while doing that skill, it
should be a snap while sailing, so she nodded.

This
is the steering stick.

She’d
figured that out.

With
his index finger he touched the four tiny cabochon gems separated by two bits
of hematite inset along the slightly curved top.
Send a little Power to
these points as you move the stick when you want to increase the speed.

She
glanced around. There were some fishing boats hovering in the distance, and she
got the impression that people on them were watching her as they worked. The
most open sea was west by northwest. So she looked at the stud, recalled the
amount of Power Faucon had used and thought of a thin thread between her mind
and the hematite and
sent
Power along the thread to the gem.

The
boat zoomed forward and the rounded polished handle slipped from her grip. She
fell back against Faucon and they both fell to the deck in a tangle of arms and
legs. The man’s body had no give at all and she elbowed him in the chest as she
rose to grab the tiller grip.

She
didn’t know how to stop.

14

F
rowning, Raine
dampened
the boat’s Power.

They
slammed to a stop. Faucon, who’d risen to his feet, fell again, then just held
his ribs as he gasped, laughing.

She’d
never seen him belly laugh like that and it was worth the embarrassment of
echoing laughs from the fishing boats. Keeping her own face as straight as she
could, she said mildly, “Do you need a hand up?”

Faucon
hooted. “And have you throw me overboard with your Power, lady? I don’t think
so.”

“Ah.”
Heat crept up her neck and cheeks, she turned to the wind so he’d think that
was what was causing it. “Guess I don’t know my own Power.” She’d thought she
had, but not here, not on the sea, her element.

Rising,
Faucon shook his head. “Guess you don’t.”

“’Least
I didn’t run into anything.”

“Ttho.”
His lips twitched. “Good job.”

Yeah,
right. She sniffed. “Perhaps you should teach me a little more.”

“Just
send the tiniest amount of Power to it. Feel.” He took the handle of the stick
from her and clasped her own hand in his own, swept a glance around at the
positions of the other craft and the southern headland. Then he zipped a tiny
amount of Power to the northwest. The boat moved smoothly through the water
several hundred yards.

“You
felt the increment that I sent?” he asked.

“Ayes.”
But it was her turn to frown. She’d done pretty close to that. Could her Power
be greater than Faucon’s? She studied him from the corners of her eyes. He had
thick streaks of silver in his hair, the indication of magic. On the other
hand, most of the Exotiques from Earth had more Power than the natives. The
reason they were Summoned.

“Your
turn.” Faucon moved her hand to the tiller.

Maybe
it would be better if there were finger indentations, she might consider that
for her ship…He moved to clasp her left hand and the scent of him came on the
sea breeze and scrambled her wits, dissolved the thread she’d spun from her
mind to the north. She’d wanted to make sure they’d go nowhere near Faucon’s
southern headland jutting rockily into the sea.

As
she inhaled, she dribbled Power down her reformed thread and the boat shot
forward. Raine kept her hand on the rudder stick as they skimmed the waves.
This was
not
good for the sails and she heard canvas snapping like wet
clothes in the wind.

Faucon
jerked back, but kept ahold of her. His stance was wide and he didn’t fall.
When the boat slowed to a stop as the energy diminished, the sails flapping, he
went to tie them down. Obviously they would be exploring driving and Powering a
boat with magic and not sailing.

Pity.

Faucon
studied her, being more natural again. She raised her eyebrows.

“You
have more Power on the sea than anyone I’ve ever known,” he said.

That
sent a jolt through her.

He
was shaking his head. “Not surprising. We need Powerful people to destroy the
Dark.”

Just
that easily the shadow of death moved over the boat. Raine shivered.

“Amee
would ensure the Seamasters Summoning you would find the right person. I
noticed you formed a thread to send the Power,” he said. “Why don’t you try
just
thinking
of the gem-direction you want to use.” He smiled and it
was sincere.

Raine
shifted, tested the breeze, noted the fishing boats in the distance, outside
the clasp of the headlands, but in the middle of them. She and Faucon were
almost directly west of the point of land.

Raine
wiped her hand on her pants to rid her palm of sweat and stray droplets of
spray, and took the helm again. Once more she stared out at the rolling vista,
and decided to go due west. She looked at the line of semi-precious stones.
Would the colored jewels be more Powerful than the hematite? She let their
individual sounds come to her ears, separated the notes from physical sounds,
the strong Song of the man beside her, and the psychic Songs of the boat and
the land and the sea.

No,
each stud lined up in the handle of the steering rod was equal in Power,
logical.