Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (22 page)

“Yes. Finn, of all people. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t Observed it myself.” It touched her that he’d stood up for her, but she wished he hadn’t hit an officer. She pulled the cording out of the binding holes and lifted the journal’s top cover off. “And now he’s at my mercy, in a twisting, meandering fashion. I have to relinquish these books to the dominee, but she’s not getting everything.” She leafed through the first quarter of the journal, identifying the first page she wrote after arriving in Jolver. The earlier pages she set aside, laid the cover back into place and aligned the holes, then began to relace the binding. “I have to give her the book of tones, though.”

“Caw-luh?” Po Teng asked.

She glanced at him. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Caw-luh me?”

“Are you asking if the dominee will be able to summon you?”

Po Teng nodded.

“No, not if I can do anything about it. The pages I removed describe how to communicate with Sundancer. They describe the language of Azaria, how it works, and how it can be spoken using notes.” She snorted a quiet laugh. “Not spoken, really. Played on my flute or whistled. Though Sundancer sings them. I guess the definition of speaking depends on the speaker, doesn’t it? Anyway, she won’t be able to make sense of the tones without these pages.”

She checked her work. The binding was stiffer now than it was after a few weeks of daily opening and closing, and the cord had clean spots along its length. Dominee Ibsa would likely figure out quickly that some pages had been removed, but she couldn’t do anything about it, especially if those pages were destroyed.

She lifted the glass shade from her lamp and touched her notes to the flame. The paper caught fire and burned blue and orange in her hand.

Po Teng shuffled away, his eyes wide with fear. “Fi-uh ba-duh.”

“Sorry,” Jora said. “Dismissed.”
Of course he would fear fire. He
’
s a tree.
After the ally faded from view, she dropped the burning papers into her wash basin and watched them blacken and curl. Satisfied her notes were destroyed, she doused the flame with water.
There. Now there
’
s no way the dominee can use the book of tones.

Jora picked up the books and started downstairs, intending to take them to Elder Devarla’s office, but the two women met outside the dormitory on the walkway. Elder Devarla approached with an expression that was equal parts victory and remorse.

Jora was so angry, she trembled. “Here,” she said, shoving the books into the elder’s arms. “Take them. When will Finn be released?”

“I didn’t say he would be released. I said Dominee Ibsa promised leniency, that’s all. He struck an officer. That cannot go unpunished.”

The air went out of Jora’s lungs. The elder was right. Finn had done wrong, but at least he wouldn’t be punished for Jora’s offenses.

“You’re doing the right thing, Jora. I know you feel otherwise, but you have my gratitude.”

The rear door of the justice building opened, and Elder Gastone exited. When he lifted one hand in a wave, the golden yellow sleeve of his robe fell to reveal the pale skin of his forearm. “Elder, Novice.” He quickened his pace and was slightly breathless when he reached them. “Chief Usebeon is here to see Novice Jora. Come with me.”

“Give me the mantle,” Elder Devarla said. “You needn’t wear it any longer.” The elder held out her hand for the black cloth.

Jora stripped it off her shoulders and handed it to her. “Who’s Chief Usebeon?”

“The Minister of War,” Gastone said.

Elder Devarla insisted on accompanying Jora, which was fine with her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to sit alone in a room with anyone who bore the title Minister of War. The three of them went upstairs to Elder Gastone’s office, where a man with white eyebrows and mustache waited. His legs were so long that he looked uncomfortable sitting in a chair made for normal sized people. When he stood, he towered over them all. He must have been at least six-and-a-half feet tall with an imposing build even for his advanced age. Though his face was wrinkled, his eyes were sharp as he took in her red robe.

“Chief Usebeon,” Elder Gastone said, “may I introduce Jora Lanseri and Elder Devarla? Ladies, this is Legion Chief Hodevve Usebeon, Minister of War.”

Elder Devarla inclined her head. “A pleasure, sir.”

Jora recognized him from the painting in the palace, though he looked more stern in person. She offered her hand, but he simply stood there in a wide stance with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I expected you to be older,” he said, his voice deep and rough.

Jora swallowed. Everything about the man, from his intense gaze to his freakish size, made her want to slink away into a corner.

“Most novices are under age twenty-five,” Elder Devarla said.

“But she’s not a typical novice, now, is she?” Chief Usebeon said. It didn’t sound like a question.

“How can we assist you today?” Elder Devarla asked with a false smile.

“King Yaphet said I could avail myself of the Gatekeeper. He assured me she is a patriot and would be cooperative.”

Again, Jora swallowed. “What do you need me for?”

“For now, I merely wish to learn the extent of your abilities so I can develop a military strategy that includes them.”

“She’s not a weapon, sir,” Elder Devarla said. “She’s a girl.”

He turned his fiery gaze to her. “You must not be aware of the dozen men she’s slain. She is most definitely a weapon. In exchange for the pardon which allows her to keep her head, she’s whatever the king says she is. As I am the king’s hand, wielding the weapons he has at his disposal, that makes me the finger on her trigger. If you have any objections, I suggest you take them up with King Yaphet.”

Jora’s knees wobbled. The king had asked her to meet with the Minister of War, but he hadn’t suggested the meeting would be anything like this. Briefly she wondered whether the last Gatekeeper, Cyprianus, had been forced to attack Serocia by his leaders.

“Now, if you will excuse us,” Usebeon said.

“I prefer to remain in the room,” Elder Devarla said, though the tenor of her voice belied her waning confidence. “She is under my tutelage, after all.”

“This conversation has nothing to do with her tutelage,” he said. “Your presence is not necessary.”

“I realize that,” she started.

“Enough,” Usebeon barked. “Leave us. I’ll hear no more arguments.”

Elder Devarla cast Jora an apologetic look before leaving the room. She shut the door quietly behind her.

Jora looked forlornly at the closed door, wondering whether she should summon Po Teng, if for no other reason than to reassure her. This man, big not only in size, wouldn’t hurt her. He was there to find out what she knew. Maybe he would like a demonstration of her skills.

“Sit,” he said, patting the back of the chair he’d just vacated. He walked around the desk and sat in Elder Gastone’s chair. That was when she noticed a notebook in his hand, as well as a lead pen. He opened the notebook and smoothed its pages flat. “Let’s start with your monsters. How many of them do you have?” He pulled a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket and put them on.

“I call–” Jora’s voice caught in her throat, and she cleared it, wishing she had a glass of water. “I call them allies, and I currently have three, though one of them is only useful in water.”

Usebeon scribbled some notes. “Which is the one you used to murder my men?”

She swallowed, realizing that his brusque manner might have been caused by resentment or even hatred for what she’d done. “I call him Po Teng.” She didn’t think it necessary to explain that Po Teng was previously her friend, Boden, a Legion soldier whom Usebeon’s men had killed. “He’s like a tree, about three feet tall.”

The chief looked up with a scowl. “Like a tree in what way?”

“He looks like a tree but with eyes and a mouth. His arms are branches, his hands are twigs, and his legs are trunks, with roots for feet.”

He turned his head slightly as if in disbelief and bent back to his book, scribbling madly. The
scritch-scritch
of the lead on paper sounded loud in the otherwise quiet room. “Where did it come from, this ally?”

She explained as simply as she could about the two realms of perception that occupied the physical world—the realm of existence. The reason most people couldn’t see the creatures she made into allies was because they resided in the other realm of perception.

“But you can?”

“Yes, I’ve seen them since I was a girl. Elders learn to leave our realm of perception, enabling them to move about unseen and unheard. At certain times of the day, a gateway opens between the two realms. I can see this gateway, move through it, and see the creatures in the other realm of perception.”

He wrote for a long moment, and then said, “Tell me about the third ally.”

She explained that she’d dragged Elder Sonnis across the gateway with her, turning him into a creature of the twin realm of perception. The longer she talked, the more relaxed she grew in Usebeon’s presence. He was just a man, she reminded herself. Gruff, probably from years of life in the Legion, but a man like any other who had a job to do.

“What abilities do they have?” he asked.

Jora told him about Zokor’s ability to swim and pull a small boat and Po Teng’s ability to kill, sleep, and statue people with a single touch. “He can also move at great speeds over short distances.”

At that, Chief Usebeon looked up and removed his spectacles. “Can you send Po Teng on errands?”

Jora swallowed, wondering where the conversation was leading. What sorts of tasks would he ask of her? Send Po Teng to the enemy nations to kill or statue their leaders? “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it.”

A smirk turned the corner of his mouth. He put his spectacles back on and continued writing.

Jora spent the afternoon with Elders Devarla and Gastone. Though Elder Devarla started the meeting with an apology for not being able to protect Jora from the abrasive Minister of War, she relaxed as Jora relayed the questions Usebeon had asked.

“I’ll speak with Dominee Ibsa to request that I be allowed to be present during any of Chief Usebeon’s future conferences.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jora said. “He’s big and gruff, but he isn’t going to hurt me. Not as long as I have something he wants.”

“Aside from the obvious, what does he want?” Elder Gastone asked.

“I think he wants to attack our enemies.”

That evening, Jora lay abed and stared up at the ceiling, considering her situation. Releasing a Colossus warrior was not only dangerous for her if he attacked her without giving her a chance to speak, but dangerous for him if the Legion captured him and put him on the battlefield.

Retar’s words echoed through her mind.
If you continue on this path, you’ll need a small army.

Her plan was to do only what she’d promised the princess—investigate the smuggling and report who was leading it. Rivva could take the information to the king, and they would sort it out together. So why would Jora need an army? Retar wouldn’t have told her that if it weren’t true, and he knew what other people were thinking and doing.

She grew more resolute with each passing minute. The god loved her. He’d said so. He didn’t want to see any harm come to her, and while he wouldn’t reveal anyone else’s plans and schemes, he guided her in what she needed. And he’d said she needed an army.

She dozed for a while and awoke in a dark room, her lamp wick so low that the flame was but a sputtering blue glow. She blew it out and pulled her boots on. The sandals were fine for walking around the dormitory and justice building, but hiking anywhere in the city required real shoes to avoid blisters.

She tiptoed down the stairs and outside, careful to ease the door shut to avoid awakening any of the elders who were sleeping nearby. In the dark of the night, with only a the moon casting light, she made her way to the rear door of the justice building. On the side of the building was a gate, open during the day but now locked and fastened with a chain and padlock. She tugged on the lock, in case it wasn’t properly fastened. The chain clanged, breaking the silence.