Keepers of the Flame (12 page)

Calli
waved that away. “I understand. Lladranan society has been segmented.” She
lifted her chin. “But we Exotiques are mending the situation. Mud will love to
partner with you.”

“I
don’t have room near my house to stable volarans.” Sevair’s voice was even.

“Contrary,”
Bri said.

He
frowned, then said, “We’ll fly to Castleton. Mud, would you like to be my
regular mount? Stay in Castleton?”

Mud
pranced in place.

Calli
slid her gaze to Bri, “Along with the estate and the salary, volarans are an
Exotique perk.”

Bri
didn’t answer. She looked at Elizabeth, who was watching their little scene,
hearing the shadows of their conversation through their twin link. Bri would be
the first of them to fly on a winged horse! Elizabeth might stay in the safety
of the Castle, but Bri would fly! She couldn’t prevent a grin, and heard an
audible mind-sniff from Elizabeth.

9

W
ith 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.