Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (19 page)

“Because your enemies might decide they’re better off with you dead.”

“Who’re my enemies?”

“You already know one of them.”

Jora swallowed. “Dominee Ibsa? But she’s the dominee.” She knew the woman didn’t care for her any more than she liked the dominee, but enemies?

“Yes. If I had more influence, she wouldn’t be, but I’m merely a demigod after all.” He winked at her.

“If that’s a hint that I should slay her–”

“Challenge the god, woman! I meant nothing of the kind.”

Jora burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Retar asked.

His words so tickled her that she could barely get a breath. After a moment, she found her voice. “You said, ‘Challenge the god.‘ Do you know how ludicrous it sounds to hear the god himself, the challenger, say ‘Challenge the god?’”

He grinned. “It’s a wonderful expression. I’m quite fond of it.”

Jora giggled a moment longer. “So back to the matter at hand,” she said as she wiped tears from her eyes. “I have to pursue the smuggling. I promised.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to put your neck on the chopping block.” He studied her a moment and sighed. “I love you, Jora, and I don’t want to see you executed over this.”

“But the king asked me to investigate.”

Retar sighed. “If you were to ask him whether he authorized your investigation, he would probably deny it.”

“Are you saying Rivva lied to me?” Jora asked. She began to wring her hands. “She showed me a note signed by him.”

“No, I’m not saying that, but it’s complicated.”

“In what way?”

“It’s not my place to tell you other people’s private business. If you continue on this path, you’ll need a small army.”

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. With enough allies, maybe I could commandeer the Legion.”

“No, you couldn’t, and attempting it would get you killed.”

“What army would I–” Then it occurred to her that the warrior statues positioned around the Legion headquarters and various other places within Jolver were once a small army. “Tell me of the Colossus. What do you know of them?”

“Ah, the Colossi. After the previous Gatekeeper set them into stone during the Great Reckoning, no others have been created.”

“Created? Weren’t they born regular men and trained like the Legion soldiers?”

“Yes and no,” Retar said. He explained how long ago, children were tested for the qualities suitable for becoming a Colossus and then fed a special concoction that made them grow larger and stronger than normal men. They received combat training and devoted their entire lives to fighting and guarding, much as contemporary Serocian men did. “I say men, but I mean people. Girls could become Colossus too, though they were called Colossa.”

“Can I free them from the stone?” she asked.

“Yes, though the first time, you’ll need to use a particular command called Borrowing.”

“Can’t Po Teng unstatue them the way he does the people he makes into statues?”

“No, he didn’t put them into stone. The last Gatekeeper’s ally did. The magic can be countered, but it’s not as simple as instructing your ally to do it. You yourself must borrow Po Teng’s magic to release each Colossus.”

She nodded slowly as she considered his words. “Once I learn the command and free them, will they be like regular men? They won’t age suddenly and die right before my eyes, will they?”

“No, not at all. In fact, they might be a bit cross, since they were fighting against the Gatekeeper only a moment ago from their perspective. When they realize how much time has passed, you might be able to convince them to work on your behalf through their sworn fealty to the King of Serocia.”

Jora pursed her lips in thought. “Then that means I could free the Spirit Stones, too.”

“Those two things are as different as lemons and dates. The Colossi were ensnared by the last Gatekeeper’s ally. The Spirit Stones are older. Much older.”

Warriors from centuries past at her side. The world was a much more brutal place then. Women didn’t have the freedoms or respect they had in the present age. Would those ancient warriors take commands from her?

“You needn’t worry,” Retar said. “The Gatekeeper will command their respect no matter what body parts she or he has—once they get past their ire, that is.”

“Will you teach me how to do it?”

Retar put up his Sonnis hands. “No, dear. That is not my place. You have other resources at your disposal.”

The book of tones. “All right,” Jora said. “Thank you, Retar. I have a good feeling about this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You might decide I’m not worth the considerable trouble you’ll face.”

She drew back in surprise. “What do you mean?”

But the light had left the ally’s eyes, and he simply blinked at her adoringly.

Chapter 11

Jora tried to go back to sleep—Challenger knew her body needed the rest—but the conversation with Retar in the mirknight kept her thoughts tumbling. He hadn’t explained what he meant by not being worth the trouble. It worried her to think her becoming the Gatekeeper had somehow put the god in jeopardy. The last Gatekeeper, Cyprianus of Labrygg, died some five hundred years earlier, and there’d been no new god at the time. It was said that Hibsar was god for nearly nine hundred years. If Cyprianus hadn’t put Hibsar in danger, Jora reasoned she probably wasn’t hurting Retar by being Gatekeeper, either.

Without more information from Retar, the uncertainty would continue to plague her, and by his own admission, he enjoyed being mysterious. If he wanted her to help him, he would have to be more forthcoming with information. He had given her a hint, though.

After lighting a lamp, she opened the Mindstream and whistled, “
Open way betwixt
” and then said “Po Teng” to summon her first ally, once her long-time friend Boden.

The tree-like creature faded into view, with her books on his outstretched limbs. He stood between three and four feet tall with warm, brown eyes and arms like tree limbs, and legs like trunks, with roots for feet.

“Hello, my friend,” she said. “I’ll take those for the time being.” She took the books from him and set them on the dressing table, then bent to embrace him. His brown, barklike skin was rough and dry, and he smelled faintly of moss. “It’s wonderful to see you again. I hope you haven’t been bored, waiting for me to summon you. Things have been hectic lately.”

Unlike Sonnis, who could change into his old human form and speak perfectly well, Po Teng had difficulty with speech. His misshapen mouth twisted and clacked, a plate-like protrusion where his upper teeth would have been. “No ti-muh,” he said, his voice scratchy.

Jora looked at him curiously. “No time? Is that what you said?”

He nodded. “Nah-tuh pah-ssuh.”

“How nice.” Not noticing the passage of time could be a blessing to a creature who spent most of it waiting for her call. “Well, I’ve missed you, even if you didn’t notice my absence.” Jora winked at him.

His fingers clicked together, a gesture reminiscent of the way Boden used to fidget, and he grinned at her.

“I’m going to read for a while. You can go back for now.”

And with that, he faded from view.

With the books on her lap, she began to flip through Elder Kassyl’s book of tones. At first, the symbols he’d written had looked alien to her, but once she took the time to learn the musical notation, they made sense. Now, as she gazed at them, they seemed to dance and float off the page. Her vision narrowed until all she could see were those black blobs and the horizontal lines behind them. In her mind, she imagined the sound of each note as she would hear it with her ears. For a moment, she thought she did hear them as clearly as if she’d played them on the flute.

She blinked and shook her head, casting away the unusual sensation. How lofty and bizarre that had felt. She looked around the room, grounding herself with the reality of her furniture, the walls, the window looking out onto the courtyard below and the tree whose leaves had begun turning golden in preparation for autumn.

When she bent back to the book, her vision once again narrowed, and every note her eyes saw rang musically in her imagination. The faster she read, the faster they played.

At first, she was enthralled with the bizarre melody in her head, smiling as if she and Elder Kassyl shared a secret. After a time, she realized that the words were coming to her as well—the words in her own language that she’d come to associate with the groupings of notes. No longer did she need to look up each note. It was as if she were of two minds—one listening and speaking, and the other reading at the same time from her journal, the Book of Azaria she’d read in Kaild, and the book of tones.

Had becoming Gatekeeper done this to her? She certainly had no complaints, but it was unexpected. Rather than take a chance that this gift was a limited opportunity, she settled in and let the knowledge flow to her from the book.

She flipped pages, looking for information on how to release the Colossus from the stone. Though the specific command wasn’t listed there, she found a passage that suggested she could borrow an ally’s magic temporarily. Since Po Teng had the ability to statuize and release people, she wondered whether she could use it to free the Colossus. The problem was that the phrase itself was missing. She paged through the book, searching for references to the borrowing but found none. On further inspection, she found a few gaps in the text here and there, as well as words that didn’t fit the context, as if Elder Kassyl had gotten the notes wrong or missed some days. Over thirty-three years, it was understandable that the recording would not be perfect. He’d had duties that occasionally took him away from Jolver, after all.

Her rumbling stomach reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. After a time, it so disrupted her concentration that she paced instead, hoping to quell the growling with activity. As the dawn deepened, her thoughts turned to the Spirit Stone, and she grabbed her robe and flute.

She clutched the handrail as she eased herself downstairs. Every step renewed the ache in her hips and knees. She considered bending her torso over the railing and sliding down, but with her luck, she would fall off and crack her head open or break a bone. Then she’d have to lie there until someone found her. Gritting her teeth, she made it down the stairs and then shuffled along the walkway to the justice building, through the dark, empty corridors, and to the front door.

The enforcer on guard duty was sitting with his arms folded across his chest and his chin lowered. When she approached, he flinched, blinking himself to alertness. “Is it dawn already?” he asked.

“Yes. I must be the first one down.”

He yawned and stretched and unlocked the door.

Alone with the old dolphin-shaped statue, she let her hand linger against its cool, hard surface. Its tone hummed through her body, resonating with her soul, her spirit. She ached to think it was a real dolphin, barely alive, its existence frozen in stone over thousands of years. And it was so big, so heavy. Even if she could set it free from the stone, transporting it to the water would be a challenge. She would need a team of horses and men.

Or an ally.

She tried to remember some of the creatures she’d seen in the other realm of perception, but there were hundreds, if not thousands—possibly more. Perhaps she could find one capable of lifting and carrying the statue all the way to the docks. Or if not to the docks then to the river. It emptied into the sea which, for a dolphin, was just as good.

Over the next half hour, several adepts and elders joined her at the Spirit Stone, mostly the people who made a habit of gathering there every day. They greeted her with a polite reservation and made small talk while they waited for sunrise.

“Almost there,” someone said.

The Truth Sayers closed their eyes reverently.

When the sun cast its first rays over the waters of the Inner Sea, the tone changed. It sang through Jora’s body, lifting her off her heels. It resonated within her, tuning her heart with her mind. Tears ran down her face, and she basked in the stone’s beauty and peacefulness as its music hummed through her. She tilted her head back and let the tone take her.

“Jora?”

She flinched and blinked, finding Elder Devarla looking at her, a sympathetic expression on her usually stern face. She held a folded black cloth in her arms. “Good morning, Elder.” The other elders and adepts had left, and the sun was a sliver above the horizon.

“I thought I might find you here. How are you feeling? Do you need something for the pain?”

The Spirit Stone had made her forget about the pain for a time, but the reminder brought it back. Jora pursed her lips and studied the elder. Did she harbor a guilty conscience? “No, I’ll manage.”

“Bastin’s going to be in court this morning, so she’ll be late to your lesson. Take the time to relax. I’m sure your body would relish it.”

“Moving around helps more than lying still does. Was there something you needed, Elder?”

Elder Devarla took a step forward. “I wanted to apologize, personally, for what you went through. It was not my wish to make you suffer so.”