Читать книгу Keepers of the Flame - Robin D. Owens - Страница 14

With a last stroke of Mud’s softly feathered mane, Bri said, “I’ll get my backpack.”

Calli nodded and Bri was off before Sevair could say anything. She walked fast. Her feet weren’t itching, but her hands were, wanting to pet that volaran more. Riding a flying horse! That would be worth this trip. She shut down the thought of her parents. They were in Hawaii right now and enjoying themselves, basking in the sun.

Then she was at the door and up, into the suite that was the most luxurious quarters she’d stayed in since she’d left home for college. She grabbed her pack, stuffed her clothes into it, eyed her stack of books and dumped them in, too, then hesitated. She fumbled for the digital camera, checked the memory. She had plenty, had just put in new for her Dad’s birthday party.

When she reached the courtyard again, she saw that the clouds had parted and the sun shone bright, gleaming on Mud’s rich hide, lighting hints of red in Sevair Masif’s hair, turning Calli’s coloring of blond hair, blue eyes, pinkened cheeks into a perfect picture. So she snapped it, and tucked the little camera back into the pack, began to hook up the charging cord up to the solar panel, then had second thoughts. Who knew what spectrum of light this sun had? How the solar power collected would affect Earth devices? She replaced the memory bit with a new one, took the shot again, backed up and took a few pics of the Castle—the keep and Temple. Then she connected the camera to the battery pack, not the solar panel, and headed out.

Calli stared at the backpack and touched a silver grid. “What is this?”

“Solar power, for all my electronics except laptop. Which I didn’t bring with me anyway.” A little pang of regret, though it would have been useless here.

“I can’t believe this,” Calli said.

Bri thumbed on the music player, put an earbud next to Calli’s ear.

“Wow,” Calli said.

“What is that?” Sevair’s brows were down again.

Somehow Bri didn’t think he’d appreciate her music. Music for itchy feet. Loud and raucous. She sent him a cheeky smile. “Just toys.” She put the music player away. “Reminds me.” She pulled her cell from the pouch, looked at the power indicator which showed it was juiced though the connectivity showed nothing. She hit redial for Elizabeth’s apartment. Futile.

She gulped, turned the phone off, stuck it back in its pocket, made sure everything was protected. Shrugging, she said, “That was a communication device. Nothing.”

“Hmm,” he said.

“You had to try,” Calli said softly.

“Yes.”

Let’s fly! said Mud.

“Yes. Castleton awaits.” Sevair looked at the sundial affixed to a wall. “We’re not too late.”

Which told Bri that he’d arrived at their suite very early, probably calculating that it would take quite a while to get them moving. Clever man.

“And arriving by volaran will be impressive,” Calli said.

His smile returned. “Indeed.”

The volaran had been equipped with a long modified western saddle that would carry two. Sevair swung onto the flying horse with ease. Bri handed her bag to Calli then mounted, too. The light robe scrunched high above her knees.

“Your sister is wearing the right tabard for flying,” Sevair said. He took the pack from Calli and examined it. “Odd cloth.”

“Yes.”

“Something from the Exotique Terre machines. Good craftsmanship. Excellent design.”

“It’s, um, magical.” She tapped the panels. “These will capture the sun’s power and give it to my toys.”

“Amazing.”

He strapped her bag onto Mud. The volaran craned her neck to sniff at it. Sounds and a couple of images flickered to Bri, but she didn’t catch the details.

Calli chuckled. “Mud says your bag smells of many interesting scents.”

“I’m glad she likes it.”

Calli’s hand grabbed Bri’s. “We’re only two miles away.”

Bri stared down at Calli. “I’ve been in places where two miles away is like another dimension. I reckon this is one of them.”

Flushing, Calli nodded. “Ayes.” She held out a small sphere. “A crystal ball for you.” Her mouth twisted. “Think of it as a cell phone programmed to call any Exotique. We all have one.”

“Thanks.” Bri took the inch-sized sphere. It was warm in her hands. Naturally, or from Calli’s body heat? Bri started to pocket it, realized she wasn’t wearing her jeans.

“Here.” Sevair’s large, calloused hand slid across her thigh and sent tingles through her. Now that she thought of it, he smelled good too. But he was holding fabric of her tunic apart and she saw a large pocket.

“Merci,” she said.

He clicked his tongue and the volaran trotted to the center of the courtyard. Sevair braced.

Large wings opened, lifted, and they were off the ground and up, up, up!

They were flying! The sheer exhilaration of it, of zooming through the air was like a fabulous, fantastic dream.

As soon as the initial glee wore off, Bri was inundated with Song. Loud, somehow horsey-beats—clip, clip, clop—and brass came from Mud, along with an occasional flat note reminding Bri of a squelching footstep in wet earth.

Then there was the Song of the man behind her. Now that the only natural sound was air rushing by her, she heard it, thought she heard his steady heartbeat—a little rapid as her own must be—but strong and even. To her surprise she didn’t just get a few notes from him, but a long, streaming melody, and she liked the tune. Definitely intriguing. Strong, stable but with an unexpected intricate twine of notes repeating at well spaced intervals, changing minutely each time. As life changed the man?

Personal Songs must change as an individual did. If so, her pattern must be shot to hell, and Elizabeth’s, too. She chuckled deep in her throat; the arms around her tightened and glancing back she thought she saw another smile.

Mud was flying slowly. Stretching out her moments of glory? The road from the Castle and its walls to the city of Castleton, also encircled by stout walls, was steep downward, and Mud had hardly dropped. Instead she circled over the city.

“A tour by air,” Sevair said. His whisper puffed warm air by Bri’s right ear. “Fabulous.”

Pride rang in his Song, too, a gleaming silver note. Dedication, a repeating theme of a cadence that reminded Bri of deep stone-like tones, like bedrock singing. What a fancy! But where better to explore fancies than atop a flying horse?

“Lower, please,” Sevair said loudly.

Bri saw rooftops of red tile and gray and blue slate. Some buildings were three stories, a few four, and only one was five.

Masif pointed to it. “The Guildhall.” Again that silver bell chime from his Song.

As they circled down, Bri saw the part nearest the Castle, probably the oldest part, was jumbled on each side of a very thick gatehouse that sent out equally thick walk-ways and occasional towers along the walls. Toward the center, the city became more orderly, with houses surrounding parklike squares or circles. Commercial districts surrounded stone courtyards and pumps or fountains. A small stream threaded through the city, and the walls appeared newer and even stronger around the lower third of the city. She thought she could see where an old wall might have been.

Mud heaved a sigh Bri both heard telepathically and felt beneath her. She got the picture. Time to descend. Even the duty-bound Sevair behind her seemed reluctant; she wondered if he ever allowed himself to play.

Images came to her mind, another volaran, two, near Sevair—the winged horse’s projections.

Sevair replied with an image of roomy stalls with a feed trough full of hay and grain.

Bri realized negotiations were taking place and was amused and interested.

Mud showed Sevair dressed in Chevalier leathers with a raised sword. Flying down to a battlefield. Yellow and black and gray things Bri couldn’t quite discern but which made shivers crawl up her spine were fighting with humans and volarans.

“Ttho!” His negative rang in her mind, must have carried to others. He showed himself dressed in rich pants and shirt, with tabard, flying to other towns and cities.

Whickering in satisfaction, Mud dropped down to the courtyard, and she sent one last vision—of her throat opening and Song flowing from it to other volarans. Bri knew the image and the Song—Mud would tell others that Sevair wanted her kind, would care for them well, would not be fighting. He’d be flying for transportation to other fascinating places. The volaran added a picture of Bri at the end.

Bri laughed.

They landed in what appeared to be the town square, though it was a long, cobbled rectangle. People stood on all sides, looking at her.

Sevair dismounted and bowed.

She was reluctant to get off the winged steed, and Sevair reached up, put his big hands around her waist and lifted her down with ease. Her eyes met his and she saw he was very serious again. As always.

His fingers slid down to hers, then he lifted her hand with his in a gesture of triumph. “This is Bri Drystan who saved widow Marchand’s boy last night and healed all who were sick of the Dark disease. Our Exotique Medica!”

Cheers rose from the square. Bri was surrounded by happy faces. Tears stung. She’d known gratitude before, but it usually came from an individual, not a crowd. Awesome.

Bri’s minutes of basking in glory lasted only until she noticed Sevair conversing with other well-dressed people and watching her from the corner of his eye. She knew that look. She had purple streaks in her hair, an alternative-lifestyle fashion statement that she now regretted since it meant that she might be watched all the time.

No one came up to talk to her. When she stepped close to someone, they sidled back. So they respected Exotiques, were glad she and Elizabeth, and the others, were here, but the Exotiques were also obvious aliens in a culture with few differences.

“Let’s discuss matters inside.” Sevair stepped aside, offered his arm to Bri and took Mud’s reins, then led them both to the guildhall. The crowd parted. He planted Bri on the porch with a look that meant “stay,” and Mud went happily into a walled and grassy garden. The people in the square dispersed, except the kids who were intently eyeing the garden door.

Then Sevair was back with introductions to the other Citymasters, half of whom were women. Bri made note of them, and figured it wouldn’t be as hard remembering what guild they were master of as much as their names. The goldsmith wore an intricate gold ring, the weaver a fine rainbow-colored shawl.

But when they got into the guildhall conference room it became jaw-cracking dull. They talked about the statement that the Dark sent the plague. They spoke of funding a Chevalier team to fight against the Dark, or studies by Circlets. Bri spent the first few minutes looking at the people, then the room—rich wood panels that held a symbol of the craft guilds with ornately carved trim in the shape of fruits and flowers. There were windows, some of them stained-glass as if they were a glazier’s ongoing project, high in the wall offering light but no view.

The scent spoke of polish and understated wealth. Of tradition.

They’d seated her at the end of the room in a fancy chair that was so new-looking that it was evident it was a symbol. The back panel had a woman with raised arms and tilted-back head and open mouth, singing. Not too difficult to deduce that the chair was reserved for the Singer, and Bri wondered if she’d ever used it.

She had only shifted in the chair twice—okay, three times—before Sevair caught her eye. A ripple of a melody came from him. He was as impatient as she with this talk, but he showed no restlessness, continued to make his points as steadily as he’d probably made them several times before. Some would consider that a virtue.

She was just about ready to stand and make a circuit of the room, scrutinize the woodwork, when the door burst open and a woman staggered in holding a sick child.

Adrenaline poured through Bri. Her hands tingled.