Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (27 page)

“Aye. Where to dump the tord emmel?”

“The what?” Korlan asked.

“Tord emmel.” Arc squatted and used his lips to imitate a vulgar sound like farting. “The emmel where thou dropest the tord.”

Jora laughed. “He means–”

“I get it.”

Jora explained that every block had a sewer hole covered by a circular iron plate. There was generally a foot pedal that opened it so the waste could be dropped in. “If you walk around the block in the morning, you’ll see people coming and going. Follow the ones whose waste emmels—I mean buckets are full. Now look, you’re making me talk like you. If you must ask someone, ask for the waste drop.”

“Where wilt thou be should I need thy counsel?”

Jora and Korlan exchanged a wary look. Having Arc show up asking for her might get them both into trouble. “Uh, we’ll be at the Justice Bureau, but it would be best if you waited until I come to see you. I’ll try to come whenever I get a free hour.”

“Stay here,” Korlan said, using his hands to gesture a stay. “She will come.”

Arc scowled at him. “Thou thinkest I do nie understand? Thou thinkest I am faible o’mind?”

“No,” Jora said, getting between them. “He doesn’t think that. It’s important that you wait for me because I could get into trouble if you come find me.”

The big warrior narrowed his eyes at Korlan before looking down at Jora. His gaze softened. “Thou needest only so say.”

“You need only say so. Say it that way.”

“You need only say so.”

“Good. I’ll be back in the morning.”

Chapter 17

The following morning, Jora awoke with a start, interrupting a dream in which Finn was being tortured for information about her. She took a moment to let her thundering heart slow and then opened the Mindstream to Observe him.

He was sitting alone in a stark room within the Legion building, waiting. Though his wrists were shackled, he didn’t appear to have any bruises or cuts. His head was prickly with dark stubble from the days traveling from the Isle of Shess. She took a moment to retrace his path, looking for indications he was being mistreated. She found none. Satisfied for the time being, she went down to hear the Spirit Stone’s tone change, making uncomfortable small talk with the elders and adepts there before the moment of sunrise. The morning was pleasantly cool, the street damp. She wondered whether the overnight sprinkle had been enough to disguise the marks on the ground where the two men and the ally had dragged the statues into their new positions.

As usual, she was alone by the time she opened her eyes. None of the enforcers were there to ensure she didn’t go anywhere, so she walked to the abandoned jewelry shop, stripping off her robe on the way.

Archesilaus greeted her at the door with a wide smile. “I have procured a gift for thee,” he said, looking rather pleased with himself. From behind his back, he produced a hat made of red silk with a narrow brim and a black ribbon tied around the bottom of the crown. “For to co’er thy bald pate.”

She laughed and took the hat. It fit perfectly and covered nearly her entire head, stopping just above her ears. In fact, if she’d had all her hair, it might have been too small. “That was kind of you, but you shouldn’t have spent your money on this.”

Arc winked at her. “I argued for a fair price.”

She had to admit, she wouldn’t stand out as much. A bald girl in street clothes was obviously a Truth Sayer trying not to look like a Truth Sayer. “Thank you, Arc.”

“How became thou—you—the portwatcher?” he asked. “You wert born as such?”

“No, I was born with the ability to access the Mindstream—the mind vision as you call it, but I didn’t become Gatekeeper until a few weeks ago.” She told him about being discovered by the Truth Sayers at the Justice Bureau, about Boden and the flute he’d given her, about Sundancer and how she’d learned to communicate with the dolphin and understand the Spirit Stone. Arc’s eyes brightened when she spoke of the Spirit Stone, and he expressed interest in seeing it again.

“Come on, then,” she said, smiling. “We won’t get too close because I mustn’t be seen with you.”

Jora showed Arc the way to the Justice Bureau. They stopped behind a building in a nearby alley where she could point out the Spirit Stone at the top of the front steps. He admitted he’d never felt the tones hum through it, but he’d been captivated by the statue’s beauty and by the stories he’d heard of the seven Spirit Stones’ mystical nature.

“Are you also the Concord?” he asked as they walked back toward the market. “Or only the portwatcher?”

“What’s the Concord?”

He smiled down at her. “If thou—you wost nie, then you art nie the Concord.”

“Say
know
instead of
wit
or
wost
. Wit isn’t something we do anymore. It’s something we have.”

“’Tis difficult to change the manner that I speak.”

“I understand,” she said. “I don’t expect you to wake up tomorrow speaking like a modern man.”

Next, she spent an hour showing him around the market and explained how the monetary system worked. She offered a few tips on avoiding Legion soldiers, how to recognize them, and what to say if he happened to encounter one. Satisfied Arc would be all right on his own for a time, she saw him back to the empty shop and bid him good day. Before she’d gone more than two steps, he stopped her with a grip on her wrist.

“What am I to do here? I am nie a merchant.”

“Tell people the shop is closed if they knock. Until then, just… sit tight. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I am to sit idle for hours and hours? My mind will be lost to madness.”

It occurred to her that she could bring him a book on Serocian history to give him something to read. He might appreciate knowing what had happened since the previous Gatekeeper had set him into stone. “Do you know how to read?”

“Aye, I can read.”

She smiled. “Good. I’ll bring you a book next time. In the meantime, sleep. It’s been five hundred years. You must be tired of standing all that time.”

Arc lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry grin. “Nay. I should like to wander.”

Her heartbeat quickened. That wasn’t a good idea. As much as she hated to do it, she thought keeping him here and out of sight was the best course. “Don’t go far or you’ll get lost. Don’t go to the Legion building where the other statues are. We don’t want people to get suspicious and start counting them. And don’t take your glaive with you.”

“’Tis nie a glaive,” he said. “’Tis a voulge.”

“Whatever,” Jora said. “Leave it here, all right?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “All right.”

She smiled, pleased he was making an effort to pick up some of the more modern speech habits.

After returning to the Justice Bureau, Jora met Bastin in the library for the day’s lesson. The two women sat next to each other at one of the many tables in the reading room amidst other disciples giving lessons to their novices. Korlan stood outside the room, leaning against the wall opposite the door with his arms crossed, waiting.

Sitting in the warm library with the constant hum of voices, Jora began to feel the accumulation of broken nights pull her heavy body down into the chair. Bastin’s voice droned in her ears, her vision blurred, and her head and eyelids grew heavier with every passing moment. When she felt her chin drop, she jerked herself awake, grateful the disciple hadn’t noticed her inattention.

“Jora!”

She opened her eyes and found her face against the table. Bastin was shaking her and looking at her with concern wrinkling her brow. Jora sat up and wiped away the saliva on her cheek and the blob of it on the table.

“What’s wrong? Do you need the physician?” Bastin asked.

“No, I’m fine. Sorry. I had a rough night.”

The disciple closed the book in front of her. “I’ve got to prepare for my exam. Study the last three chapters again and read the next two. We’ll start with the next textbook tomorrow, so bring it with you.”

Jora nodded and picked up her book and the book on history she’d found for Arc. She was so sleepy, she could barely walk without stumbling, but she made it up to her room with the help of the banister and Korlan’s grip on her arm. After shutting the door in his face, she staggered to the bed and collapsed upon it. She didn’t remember untying her sandals or pulling the sheet over herself, but she awoke sometime later, feeling refreshed and ravenous. She opened the door. Korlan wasn’t there. She padded down the hallway to Adriel’s room.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Someone must’ve beat you with the slumber bat. Are you feeling all right?”

“Aye, I was just tired.”

“Aye?” Adriel chuckled. “Where did that come from?”

Jora smiled disarmingly. “I was dreaming about times past. I must not be completely awake yet.” A notebook open on the dressing table caught her eye. “Goodness, your hand is exquisite.” The letters were legible and artistic at the same time, especially compared to Jora’s own uneven and jerky writing.

“Did I ever tell you I was a scrivener’s apprentice before I was captured?”

Jora giggled.
Captured
was an apt word. “No, I don’t think you mentioned it. Were you studying to be a scribe?” She wasn’t sure what a scribe was aside from having something to do with writing.

“Challenger, no,” Adriel said. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “But I wouldn’t mind learning a thing or two about the scripture.”

“You have the aptitude for writing. What’s stopping you?”

“I don’t think I’d be allowed, at least not before I became an adept.”

Jora nodded. “You should talk to Elder Gastone about it. You never know. Hey, the second bell hasn’t rung yet, has it?”

“About forty minutes ago. I missed you and came up to see if you were in your room. It looked like you just collapsed onto the bed with your shoes on. You even fell atop one of your books and crumpled the pages. I did my best to make you more comfortable.”

“Gar! I must’ve been more tired than I thought. I’m late for my meeting with Elder Devarla.” She beckoned Adriel to come with her and scurried back to her room.

“What’ve you been doing when you should be sleeping, hmm?” Adriel said, following. “I’ve noticed Korlan following you around from time to time.”

Jora snorted a laugh. “Korlan? You think we’re... no.” Trusting Adriel with her secret wasn’t the problem. Seeing her punished for not reporting Jora was. “I just haven’t been sleeping well. Disturbing dreams.” She pulled her sandals on.

“Oh, well try to get some rest. The third bell rang ten minutes ago. If you’re hungry, you could brave eating with the enforcers.”

“I’m not that hungry,” Jora said, making a sour face.

“I don’t blame you. See you at supper?”

“Yah, see you then.”

Jora hurried across to the justice building and up the stairs to Elder Devarla’s office. Three other elders and an adept were talking when she walked in, breathless.

“I’m sorry for being late.”

“Come in, Novice,” Elder Devarla said.

The others greeted her amiably and offered their hands as if she hadn’t been their enemy only a few days earlier. There was an air of excitement in the room. Jora thought this was what it felt like to be very wealthy. Everyone was friendly and polite, as if by treating her well, she would bestow upon them great gifts of power.

“We were just talking about the remarkable things you’ve learned on your own in such a short length of time,” said Elder Gastone.

Elder Devarla indicated the only empty chair left in the room, set off to one side and positioned so that all could see her. “Today we’d like to explore what the Spirit Stones have taught you about scripture.”

Arc had mentioned scripture on the second day after she’d released him. “I’ve heard the term, but I don’t know what that is,” she said, wondering if Adriel knew what scripture was.

“Scripture,” Elder Gastone said, “refers to the Canticus symbols and the power inherent in them. Individuals who dedicate their lives to becoming scribes, such as Dominee Ibsa, use the scripture to create artifacts of power. The barring cuffs worn by the royal family and the cabinet ministers are prime examples.”