The Singer opened the door and gestured Jikata into what looked like a closet. She wasn’t claustrophobic, but it was hardly big enough for three people. Everyone on Lladrana seemed to think personal space was a lot smaller than Jikata believed.
The Singer waved her hand up and down. A moving box.
An elevator.
We descend to the Caverns of Prophecy now.
Jikata hesitated. The Singer lifted her brows. I promise neither will hurt you. Jikata wasn’t accustomed to being patronized in her own mind. She shrugged and got in.
The Singer Sang a scale, starting at the top of her range and descending. The elevator moved gently and silently down. This is the only moving box in Lladrana, and I am the only one who can Sing the songspell.
Then the door opened and they were in the caves. As Jikata watched, mist gathered into wraithlike shapes and solidified….
A piercing high C and the mist dispersed. Middle C and Jikata’s vision blurred and she understood the Singer had curved some sort of force field around them. Handy. From her last time in these caves, Jikata figured that the man in white, Luthan Vauxveau, didn’t know that particular spell. But Jikata had also sensed that the man didn’t know the Caverns. Thinking back, the majority of the Friends didn’t know the caves, either.
The Singer walked with a sure step through dark brown rock tunnels, following a spell light brighter than Jikata had learned to make…yet, in the two days she’d been here. “Time passes the same?” She wanted reassurance.
“Ayes.” The old woman didn’t pause, but as they turned left, Jikata saw a tiny marking on the rock wall at about her eye level. High for the Singer, lower for the rest of the Lladranans. The Lladranans, like most Earth peoples, had grown bigger and taller over generations? The sense of the caverns was ancient. Long smoke smears—from torches?—were even with Jikata’s head.
They jogged right and went through an old door. Jikata didn’t recall going through the door before, but now the Power was stronger. It slid smoothly across her skin with a touch that sent warning throughout her body. Danger, visions ahead!
Seven Mile Peninsula
Blossom dispersed the Distance Magic bubble without a sound and she and Raine spiraled slowly downward to a tall gray keep on the bluff overlooking an equally gray sand beach. This was the estate the Lladranans had offered Raine. The place itself was well-kept and looked old and weathered, but still seemed a good stronghold. It was on the southwest side of a small piece of land thrusting into the ocean called Seven Mile Peninsula.
Around it were green fields. The village that supported the castle was farther south, where the land smoothed toward the ocean and provided a good port. Part of the income for the village would come from fishing. Raine wondered if any of the folk could help her if she accepted the estate or whether they’d be as suspicious as the Seamasters themselves. As she and Blossom flew south, still within the boundaries of “her” land, Raine saw a huge building and docks with several boats, one being built the old-fashioned way.
They would owe fealty to you. Want to descend?
No! She could imagine what her father and brothers would say if some clueless guy from the government showed up. But she spotted a couple of men dressed in bright green who shaded their eyes as they watched Blossom and her fly over the open sea. The men raised their arms and waved. Raine thought she even saw a flash of teeth through bearded smiles.
She would rather figure out things on her own. A matter of pride, particularly since she’d been considered useless when she’d first arrived. Her ego and pride had been battered out of her, then, and were just reviving. A thought struck—Blossom?
Ayes?
The land where you found me…the hamlet where I worked, is it owned by anyone? At the time she’d thought the place was owned communally by the Seamasters since it was near Seamasters’ Market, where the great fisherfolk held seasonal fairs.
Blossom snorted. Owned by a great Chevalier. She now knows to keep a better eye on it, and on the Townmaster. The volaran snapped the Distance Magic around them once more. Raine relaxed into the ride, checked Blossom’s and her own energy levels, which were good, and let the flight soothe Blossom’s irritation—that Raine hadn’t committed to staying on Lladrana, hadn’t adored the castle or the estate, and at the memory of Raine’s mistreatment.
Raine went quiet, was sorry she couldn’t see their route to Faucon’s castle, but could tell when they flew over ocean or island on their trip. The feel of the water, more than the sound of surf against land, filled her.
Singer’s Abbey
Caverns of Prophecy, Caverns of Prophecy, the syllables pattered a rhythm. Jikata had a wonderful voice, an instrument, she knew that. Since arriving on Lladrana she’d felt Power. Magic outside her that ruffled, pulled at magic within her. She’d enjoyed learning magical spells.
Did she really think she had a “gift” of prophecy?
Uneasily she recalled the hunches she’d felt all her life, even before the chimes and gong the last couple of years, though her intuition had flashed more often since then. She’d known that to further her career she would have to leave Denver, disappoint Ishi, who wanted her to be a teacher. Jikata could never see herself in a classroom, only and always on stage, singing. Was she supposed to ignore the gift of a beautiful four-octave voice?
Arguments with Ishi buzzed around her head and she grew irritated with the past and herself for dwelling on it. She’d accepted being disinherited.
Ishi’s death, and now the air around her, brought it all back.
Flashes of intuition, vivid dreams that sometimes came true. She hadn’t believed she was psychic. It was easier, even here, to believe in magic outside herself.
They moved into smoothed rock hallways. These floors had thick carpets and their footsteps were lost in fine wool. Jikata still sensed the layers of sediment of the ages above her. Below her was the throbbing heartbeat of the planet. The dim sound seemed to ignite a glow of light in her chest and expand it.
A few minutes later they came to a door of black wood with a rounded top and strap work and hinges that seemed like iron, but were tarnished silver. Beyond the door was a hum of great Power.
The Singer looked at her and for the first time dissatisfaction was gone from the back of her eyes, leaving them serene. Whatever Jikata dimly sensed beyond the door, the Singer felt a hundredfold more strongly.
“You have trained enough to open the door. Listen closely.” She inhaled from her diaphragm, Sang crystalline notes from four octaves in a pattern that stirred Jikata’s blood.
The doorknob glowed, an intricate design of gleaming silver. The Singer touched the knob, said “Lock,” and the knob turned black-on-black again. Then she waited, gaze fixed on Jikata.
Jikata ran a couple of scales to warm her vocal cords. Had she known the Singer would make another of her impatient demands, Jikata would have limbered up her voice as she walked. Then she replicated the Song and the doorknob glowed once more.
“Good.” The Singer nodded shortly. She touched the knob and they both stepped back as the door swung outward.
The Singer went in first. “This is the true Chamber of Prophecy, where Power gathers. This is the room where every Singer for time out of mind has listened to the Song—of Amee, of the universe, of the great creative being we name the Song. It can be many tunes or one or even pure silence.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper.
Jikata stepped into the room and onto layers of thick, colorful rugs and gaped. In the middle the rugs became a pyramid, smaller and smaller until one just long enough to cradle the Singer was on top. There was a down mattress atop it.
The glitter of the walls took her breath.