Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (9 page)

“You’re evading the question,” Jora muttered as she continued walking again. When they reached the rear door, Jora shoved it open and went through, but she paused to hold it open for the elder.

“What would you have me say?” Devarla asked, letting the door close behind her. There was tension in her voice, a barely restrained frustration. Or perhaps it was fear. “You’re capable of turning me into some accursed worm thing to do your bidding, so obviously you have all the power in this relationship. Tell me, Gatekeeper. What would you have me say? Command me, and I’ll say whatever you’d like to hear.” The two women stood outside the justice building, glaring at one another.

Jora’s face burned with shame and anger. “You can’t guilt me out of expecting to be treated with respect. You people wanted to put me to death. Let me ask you, Elder. If Elder Sonnis had issued a command to have your entire hometown slain, would you have punished him? Or would you have waited for him to go to trial, knowing his friends were judging him?” She pointed back at the justice building. “Knowing they would probably find some way to excuse or justify his actions and send him back to work with a mere slap on the hand?”

Elder Devarla regarded her with a cocked head. “Do you honestly believe there’s such corruption within this establishment that friendship would trump justice? That favors can be exchanged to overlook immoral or illegal behavior?”

Jora considered for a moment what Rivva had said.
Because Elder Sonnis was involved. We don
’
t know how many more of them still are or who they might be.
There had to have been more within the Order who were like Sonnis—corrupt and quite possibly involved in the godfruit smuggling. “Yes,” she said quietly.

The elder grasped Jora by the elbow, sharp fingers digging into her flesh, and marched her down the covered walkway. She released Jora’s arm and sat on the first of several stone benches on the left that overlooked the open, grassy courtyard between the two buildings. “Sit with me a moment.” Her voice was softer now, less accusatory.

Jora joined her on the bench. The early evening air felt cooler there in the shade. Around them, birds chirped and squirrels darted from one hiding place to another. The brick wall that surrounded the justice bureau compound was tall enough to hide the rooftops of the adjacent buildings, but it didn’t quiet the sounds of a barking dog and children playing nearby. Still, it was peaceful there.

“Are you willing to tell me who?” Devarla asked.

Jora shook her head. She didn’t know who. To guess would be to cast suspicion on people based on her own dislike, and that wasn’t fair.

“I arrived in Jolver a few days ago, transferred from Halder, and haven’t had time to assess the character of my colleagues. You can trust me, Jora. I’m as interested as you are in weeding out the corrupt and returning integrity to the Order.”

“I only know what Elder Sonnis did. He had to have been–”
Taught?
She shook the notion out of her head. Elder Kassyl wasn’t corrupt. Elder Kassyl would not have taught Elder Sonnis or any of his other adepts how to skirt the law or funnel ill-begotten money into Serocia’s economy.

Devarla watched her for a moment. “Then he might’ve been the only corrupt one here.”

Jora shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible.”

The door to the justice building opened, and Elder Gastone stepped out. He caught Jora’s eye and gave her a grim smile and a nod. “Elder,” he said as he passed. “Novice.”

The two women watched his back as he continued to the dormitory.

“He wanted to have you transferred to his hierarchy,” Devarla said. “You two have history?”

Jora nodded. “He was the one who showed up in Kaild to bring me here in the first place. Somehow they tracked me down through my Mindstreaming.”

“You coined that term, didn’t you? Mindstreaming?” Devarla asked. “I’ve heard others here use it, especially the novices and disciples.”

“I suppose so. That’s how I’ve always thought of it, and I guess the word caught on after I first took my oath.”

The elder winked at her. “A person’s influence generally starts small and then grows over time. It’s fitting that this term would be introduced by the Gatekeeper.” She slapped her palms against her thighs and stood. “Shall we?”

They continued on their way to the dormitory and climbed the stairs. As they passed the second floor, Devarla said, “My room is number two fourteen, in case you need me outside of normal hours.”

Jora’s old room was clean and tidy, the bed made with fresh sheets. On the foot of the bed was a pair of hemp sandals and bundle of folded violet cloth—her novices’ robe. The wash basin sat upon the dressing table with a razor beside it, though there was no water yet to wash or shave with.

She went to the window and put one hand on it, admiring the tree whose smaller branches tapped the glass in a stiff breeze. She’d learned from this tree several things, the first and most interesting of which was that plants could be Observed.

“Let’s go over the ground rules,” Devarla said. She sat on the plush, brown lounge chair and put her feet up, pulling the gold fabric of her robe to keep from binding her legs. “You’ll wear the novice’s robe and eat at the second dinner bell with the rest of the novices. You’re forbidden to use the skills granted to the ranks you haven’t earned.”

“What?” Jora asked, scowling. “No.”

“Those are the rules novices live by here.”

“Well, they aren’t the conditions of my pardon. I’m willing to continue my instruction and follow the rules everyone else obeys, but you can’t tell me novices aren’t
permitted
to use the barring hood or identify other Truth Sayers or move through the ’twixt.”

“Novices aren’t supposed to know how to do those things,” Devarla shot back.

“My point exactly. Nobody writes a rule to cover scenarios that have never occurred. Show me in the rule book where it says I’m not permitted to use these skills.”

The elder harrumphed and looked away. “I would prefer it if you didn’t.”

“I understand, but I’m sorry. Elder Kassyl himself taught me the barring hood. The rest I learned on my own.”

Devarla turned on the chair and set her feet back onto the floor. “That won’t please the other elders.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Jora said. Emboldened by her victory, she said, “I’m not like the other novices.”

“True,” Devarla conceded. “You are not, but you’re still undereducated in matters pertaining to the law. Since you’re familiar with Disciple Bastin, I’ll have her oversee your instruction as before. Let’s agree that you will take your lessons with her between breakfast and dinner. In the afternoons, you’ll meet with me and perhaps some of the other elders. I may have an adept join us from time to time.”

“Will you be instructing me as well?” Jora asked, unsure why she would be asked to spend so much time with elders.

“No,” Devarla said with a small smile. “You’ll be instructing us. I doubt your lessons will turn us all into Gatekeepers, nor is that my aim. One Gatekeeper is plenty. You have information, however, that could be invaluable in other ways.”

“Such as?”

“I understand Elder Kassyl recorded the tones emitted by the Spirit Stone every day for over thirty years. And I understand you have the skills to translate that book. The elders are curious to know what the Spirit Stones are saying.”

Everyone in Serocia is curious
, Jora thought.

From the steeple at the top of the building, a bell clanged—the first supper bell—and Elder Devarla stood. “I’ll have Disciple Bastin stop by later to make arrangements to begin your instruction in the morning. Be sure you’re properly dressed before you go down to supper.” She started to walk away and then paused. “And Jora, if you leave the premises, you’re to take an enforcer for your protection.”

With a whistle and a word, she could call Po Teng and stop whoever or whatever threatened her. “I don’t need–” she started.

“It’s not a request, Novice.”

Just then, an enforcer came up the stairs with her knapsack in his arms. He approached and offered it to her. “Your belongings.”

Jora set the bag on the bed, and began to rifle through it. The stench of her unwashed clothing assaulted her nose. “Where’s my flute?” The enforcer was gone. She ran into the hallway and glimpsed him as he started down the stairs. “Wait. Where’s my flute?”

He backed up and turned to regard her. “The justice captain is still searching for it. Someone will bring it shortly.”

They
’
d better
, she thought.

Chapter 5

Alone in her dormitory room, Jora sat cross-legged on the lounge chair while she waited for the second dinner bell. Closing her eyes, she opened the Mindstream and found the thread, as fine as spider silk, that stretched from the center of her body to Finn. Once one of her four siblings, he was now her only brother.

They hadn’t gotten along particularly well in their youth. Jora had been much closer to their sister, Cacie, and their younger brother, Loel. Their eldest brother, Tosh, had been killed in battle ten years earlier, and while they were thirteen years apart in age, she’d idolized him as a young girl. Tosh had always been kind and funny and affectionate with her.

Finn was fourteen months older than Jora. While he’d been tender and kind when they were toddlers and young children, he’d grown increasingly distant and at times hostile toward her as he approached his training years. She was happy enough to let him be, and for the next eight years, until the day he left Kaild to begin his service in the Legion, they spoke only in passing.

Now he was the only family she had left.

Through the power of the Mindstream, she saw him sitting with his fellow soldiers, laughing and jesting about a recent battle. From the position of her mystical eye hovering above and behind his left shoulder, she saw no wounds on his body, no fresh scars or bandages. She lifted her viewpoint and scanned the shore to the north. No enemy ships were anchored offshore. No opposition forces were storming the beach. She wiped a tear from her cheek and moved on, satisfied he was in no immediate danger. For now, Finn was safe.

Next, she found Korlan’s thread and followed it to the prison cell where he sat on the edge of a cot, his shoulders slumped and head bowed. A tray of food sat untouched beside him. From down the corridor, footsteps approached along with the glow of a lamp. A face appeared in the barred window in the door.

“Better eat,” the jailer said. “Don’t want to faint climbing the steps to the gallows, do you?” He chuckled.

Jora wanted to slap his face.

Korlan didn’t answer, didn’t even look up.

“If you’re not going to eat,” the guard said, “I’m sure one of these other prisoners would gladly take your share.”

“Give it to me,” someone down the hall said.

“My wife,” Korlan said, his voice quiet, scratchy. “Does she know yet?”

“You’ll be given a chance to write a letter the day of your execution,” the jailer said. “It’ll be delivered with your shrouded body. You do realize you’ll be shrouded in black, don’t you? Not white like an honorable soldier.”

Korlan didn’t reply. Jora’s heart ached for him. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t taken him with her, he’d have only faced treason and would probably have been found innocent. But because he joined forces with the Gatekeeper...

It occurred to her that if her so-called crimes were pardoned, they couldn’t hold that against Korlan. He hadn’t colluded with a criminal. He’d simply... well, he did desert the Legion, that was true, but he’d only done so because of the improper accusation of treason against him.

She closed the Mindstream feeling defeated. That she would live and he would be put to death wasn’t fair. There had to be something she could do to help him, maybe demand his verdict be overturned and the court-martial started anew, based on her own pardon. Something.

Someone knocked at the door, and when she opened it, no one was there, but a pitcher of steaming water sat on the floor. She picked it up and put it on her dressing table, closed the door, and began to undress. As she went about soaping her head and shaving off her nubby hair, her mind returned to Korlan and his impending death.

Captain Kyear shared her father’s surname. He’d been Turounce’s commander, and so he would have had an interest in the outcome of Korlan’s trial. If he was a distant relative, then perhaps she could convince him to at least hear her out. Maybe it would buy Korlan a few days, and she could ensure he got the opportunity to petition King Yaphet.

She ran a hand over her now-smooth scalp, feeling for hairs the razor missed. After going back over a few spots to satisfy herself that her head was properly shaved, she cleaned off the razor, poured the dirty water back into the pitcher, and set the pitcher outside the door. She undressed and pulled on the loose-fitting, black trousers and tied the drawstring at her waist. Next, she put the hooded robe on, long enough to touch the floor, and tied the sash around her waist, tugging a bit of the fabric up to shorten the length. When she looked down to check that the bottom wasn’t dragging the floor, she gaped. “Oh, my.”