Echoes in the Dark (3 page)

Soon
the vibrations of the act would notify every person with a modicum of Power
that a new Exotique had crossed the Dimensional Corridor and entered Lladrana.
That would include the five other Exotiques who would demand immediate answers
from him. All he had was questions himself.

People
from Exotique Terre were supposed to be Summoned by the Marshalls, the
strongest team in the land. But the Singer had Summoned her own. Luthan ground
his teeth.

He
was the
representative of the Singer to the Marshalls and all the other segments of
Lladranan society.
He
was supposed to know what she had planned, be
informed.
He
was the one people would come to, ask questions of.

Especially
the other five Exotiques.

He’d
known nothing. The Singer had kept this Summoning, and other matters, secret
from him. This was the last straw, and time to tell her so.

Simmering
with anger, he turned back toward the central Abbey. He’d find her in the
caverns, a place off-limits to him, but that wouldn’t stop him. Not now, not
ever again.

He’d
tried his best over the past two years to liaise with the Singer and the
Marshalls, the Chevaliers, even the Sorcerers. And over the past two years the
old Singer herself, the oracle of Lladrana, had become more secretive and
capricious.

Striding
to the high wall enclosing the Abbey’s jumbled buildings, he swung open the
gate with Power, shaping a bubble around himself so he could not be detained.
His force field gently shifted robed figures of the Singer’s Friends from his
path as he wound through the buildings toward the towers of the main Abbey.

The
Singer’s Friends reached out to pluck at his white leathers, stood in front of
him, yet all were moved aside. He was a Chevalier, a fighter, had fought battles
against the Dark and its monsters for most of his life. With respect, he’d bent
his will under the Singer’s. No more. He could
feel
the location of the
Singer and the new Exotique, could
hear
it.

A
fifth-level Friend, the highest in the hierarchy, stepped in front of him just
where the mazelike path narrowed to allow only one person. The man stood his
ground, but Luthan’s Power pushed him and he had to back quickly. “Don’t get in
my way, Jongler. I must speak to the Singer about her Summoning the last Exotique
without telling anyone.”

The
man stared at him from under lowered brows. He sighed. “It is done. The final
Exotique is for the Singer. It is appropriate that our lady Summoned her
instead of the Marshalls.”

Luthan
continued walking. “Fine. You tell that to the other Exotiques when they swoop
down on this place in a couple of hours.” He smiled. “I estimate that the
Distance Magic of the volarans will bring them that quickly.” He hesitated a
step. “Of course Bri has the roc, and roc Distance Magic is even faster.”

The
man paled, the giant bird liked flesh. “Not the roc.”

Luthan
let his sarcastic smile widen. “If you’re lucky, it will be Bri, the healer,
riding the roc instead of Lady Knight Swordmarshall Alexa.”

“Not…not…Alyeka.”

That
first Exotique
was considered to be the most unpredictably dangerous. Alexa, pronounced
correctly, had no fondness for the Singer and her Friends.

“Wait,
you must stay and explain to them!” Jongler said.

“I
know nothing
to
explain.” That nettled him so much he wanted to hit the
man. His fingers itched. But he was not his father. After a couple of years of
rebellion, Luthan had built his reputation as the most honest man in Lladrana.
He would not betray that for an angry impulse, not for the Singer herself.

Shrugging,
Luthan said, “You’ll be the one explaining.”

Jongler
backed rapidly, by his own feet, bowing repeatedly. “Ah, Hauteur Vauxveau.”
That was Luthan’s title and surname.

“I’ve
been beyond courtesies for months.” He didn’t slow down, but bared his teeth.
“I’ll speak to the Singer in person.”

A
quick darting of eyes by Jongler. They’d reached a wider space that curved
around a circular building with paths to the left and right between it and
others. Luthan swung left.

Jongler
coughed.
The closest door to the caverns is to your right.
Luthan heard
mentally, privately. Now when had he become sufficiently connected to Jongler
that they could speak mind to mind? Didn’t matter.

Luthan
pivoted and stared to his right. A small octagonal tower stood with dark arches
below, leading to what he’d thought was the Friends’ meeting room. The arch was
matched by the second-story windows, the whole was capped with a conical roof
and weather vane. Though the blackness beyond the arches was deep, he didn’t
hesitate, moved swiftly and found two doors. One would probably lead to the
meeting room.

He
glanced back at Jongler, who now smiled with an edge, hands folded at his
waist.

“Which?”
Luthan asked.

Jongler
lifted his nose. “If you have the bond with the Singer that you think you do,
you will know how to find her in the maze of the tunnels, won’t you?”

Nodding
shortly, Luthan settled into his balance, grounded himself, banished anger and
probed.
Behind the left door he sensed the dampness of rock walls, the slope downward
into the heaviness of earth, the secrecy of the Caverns of Prophecy. The
atmosphere behind the right door Sang of laughter and petty quarrels and the
range of human concerns.

He
set his hand on the left doorknob. Shock! Gritting his teeth he absorbed it,
knew the knob was brass that now had left a fancy pattern on his skin…and told
the Singer he was coming. Wrenching open the door he stepped inside. The door
slammed behind him as if on tight springs. Another security measure. The dark
in here pressed on him, whispering, whispering…

He
found himself swaying…falling into a trance that would trigger his own gift of
prophecy, and by the great, evil Dark, he didn’t want more visions!

“
Light!”
He snapped the word and the resulting brightness shocked him, coming from a
great chandelier dripping with crystals, each one emitting sparkling light.

This
anteroom was pretty with a stone mosaic floor and smooth walls of
gold-patterned white silk. Three doors were set in it. He knew exactly which
one led to the Caverns of Prophecy; dread filled him when he looked at it.
Another led to the chapter house, the third resonated strongly of the Singer,
probably went to one of her personal suites. The beauty of the room masked the
threat of the caverns.

For
a moment he considered his options. Going down into the bowels of the planet,
subjecting himself to whispers and vapors and misty visions of the future…many
futures. He didn’t have to endure this. But he didn’t like giving in to fear.
And he didn’t like being used as he had been used for the past year.

He
could avoid confronting the Singer in her place of Power, abandon trying to
rescue the new Exotique, who
was
meant for the Singer and her Friends.
Might even be the
next
Singer. He could wait for the other Exotiques to
arrive and they could all speak to the Singer herself. He shook his head.

The
Singer would be a stone wall to the others, and the more they pushed, the more
adamant she’d be.

So
he squared his shoulders, opened the door and Sang himself a light spell for
illuminating underground chambers—usually hot springs or bathing pools rather
than caverns or dungeons. Light flickered along the top of the smoothly worked
dark brown stone tunnel twisting downward.

Luthan
headed into the depths of the caves, ignoring the susurration of the whispers
around him, the vague mists that floated near, sparkling with images if he
cared to
see.

Hair
prickled along his body, and he quashed apprehension.

As
he descended and breathed the vapors of the cavern that triggered prophecy, it
became impossible to block visions of the future. The first bad one was his
brother’s nearly unrecognizable burnt body, skin black and bone white. Luthan
fell to his knees, gasped. A broken-fingered dead hand was clasped in
Bastien’s, Alexa’s. Luthan’s pain rose as he saw his brother holding what was
left of his mate. Beyond them were a pile of dead; he saw the staring blue eyes
of Jaquar, and Marian’s red hair. He forced nausea away, his gorge down.

Since
they were all planning to invade the Dark’s Nest, ready to die to stop the evil
alien being, this wasn’t an unexpected vision, but it hurt his mind, his body,
his heart to contemplate such a future.

After
a few breaths, the image faded. The cave was dark and echoing with a faint
swirl of mist near the top. Shuddering, he rose to his feet, felt clamminess on
his face and didn’t know if it was vapor or tears or sweat.

When
he came to a three-way fork in the tunnel he closed his eyes and listened. He
could hear the Singer, the echo of her words or Song, and the sound told him
how to go. More, it seemed like the bond they’d established between them was
true, because he could
see
a link also, a deep blue and occasionally
glittering silver thread. She was in the direction of the middle path before
him, but it was not the way to her. It was the left-hand path, again, that
reverberated with Song, and showed the cord winding between them. So he took
the left.

Descending
deeper, the scent of weeping rock and incense came to his nostrils, the mists
of prophecies became full, iridescent wraiths, tempting him to look and study.
The Songs of them increased from whispers to a steady hum. His skin itched. How
did the Singer stand it? How had she stood it for over a hundred years? Did it
diminish or grow stronger or was it her own strength and control that grew? If
so, he was a fool to set himself against such a being.

Concentrating
on her, he held off most of the visions.

But
not all.

Dark
encroached. His mouth dried. The light dimmed, his field of vision narrowed. He
set his jaw. The Dark had encroached into Lladrana for centuries, particularly
in his lifetime, especially in the past decade.

He
drew his gauntlets from where they were folded over his belt and put them on so
he could trail his hand against the cavern wall.

Four
steps down the corridor his solid steps wavered, the mist pushed around him as
if it knew he had the Power of Sight. Wisps curled in his nostrils and he
couldn’t help breathing them.

Six
steps and the heat was vicious—like that of an active volcano. The Dark’s Nest.

Seven
steps and a horrendous explosion occurred, the heat searing his eyes, but not
before he saw a mountain island explode flinging bodies into the sky—volaran
and human.

One
of the bodies wore white leathers like his.

Again
his legs gave way and he gasped, fell to the floor, knees bruising.

Endured
the horrendous noise of a dying Dark, the screams of volarans and the Exotiques
echoing in his brain as they died, too.

Then
nothingness.

For
a long moment he lay and ached…body, mind, soul.

He
rose once more and wiped his arm across his forehead, glad these were his
regular white leathers and not dreeth skin that wouldn’t absorb his
perspiration. Panting, he staggered through the dank mists and discovered he
was humming. The realization jerked him to a stop. Bracing himself on the wall,
he converted the hum to a Song and immediately felt better, his vision cleared.
The tendrils of mist still lurked, but he’d developed a shield against them. He
thought of the words he chanted—“I am fine. I can handle this. Not all visions
are true.” Rough words, not harmonious to the ear. But he’d Sing them until he
could craft a potent poem.

He
was still working on the wording when he saw an ancient door and beyond the
door he felt a great cavern where the Singer and some of her Friends
waited—Friends who didn’t have any prophetic Power, as she did. As he did.

He
heard the murmur of real human voices and the last fading note of crystal
bowls. He realized that though it had seemed like a trip of hours, it had been
less than five minutes. Nevertheless, his skin was bathed in sweat. He hoped
his undergarments were releasing a pleasant scent as they were supposed to. The
Singer had a nose as sensitive as her hearing.

When
he opened the door the ghosts of prophecy faded. He let out a breath of relief
and stepped into the large, rough cavern. The circle of Friends, some behind
small tables holding bowls, some with cymbals, the best Singers with no
instrument at all, circled a flaming blue-energy-lined pentacle. The Singer, a
tiny woman especially for a Lladranan, looked down at a figure.

Then
the Singer looked at him, her pointed brows rising high, and pitched her voice
so it sounded next to his ear. “You made it all the way to the Summoning
Cavern.”

He
couldn’t tell whether she was impressed or dismayed or both. Then a slight,
secret smile lifted the corners of her mouth. He didn’t ask what she knew.
He
didn’t want to know. “I was not mistaken in you,” she said loudly.