Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) (3 page)

“And the enforcers?” Uster asked. “Members of the Order of Justice Officials were sent to retrieve you, and you killed them for no reason.”

“I believed they’d slain two guards from the town of Three Waters,” she explained. “I had no reason to think they wouldn’t kill me as soon as we’d left town.”

The adepts conferred quietly for a moment. Adept Gerios then asked, “And Elder Sonnis? You slayed him as well. For
justice
?” He emphasized the word as if to mock her.

“He murdered Elder Kassyl,” Jora said. “He sent Gafna to murder Gilon. He ordered the slaughter of two thousand innocent people. What would you call my actions if not justice? And to be absolutely accurate, he’s not completely dead.”

Murmurs rippled across the room. The elders and adepts shared skeptical, confused glances.

“Explain,” Tornal said.

“I could show you,” Jora said, “but I’ll have to summon him. With your permission, of course. I won’t do it if the justice captain is going to kill me for it.”

Gastone gestured to Milad to lower the weapon, and he grudgingly complied, though he didn’t lower it by much.

“Be careful,” Tornal said. “One wrong word and you’ll be dead.”

She swallowed hard. “I’m only going to summon him and give him a command to show you that it’s him—the man we knew as Elder Sonnis. I’ll dismiss him immediately after. No trickery.”

The two enforcers behind her drew their swords. Jora had no doubt that she would die the instant they suspected she intended to hurt them.

She licked her lips and whistled the command. “
Open way betwixt.
”

The black space between the realms of perception opened and enlarged. Were she not in a room full of elders who also had the power to enter the ’twixt, she might have tried to step into it and escape, but she was here to face what she’d done, not flee from it.

“Sonnis, come,” she said.

A plump, spiny worm appeared on the floor at Jora’s feet, its mouth sucking at the air as if it wanted to suckle. The thing was hideous, its oozing skin stinking of waste.

People gasped, their faces twisted into expressions of disgust. This was what Elder Sonnis had been on the inside.

“Show us your previous form,” she told the ally. “The human form.”

It morphed and wriggled, its body bending upward and stretching longer. Within seconds, legs and arms lengthened, the body shrank in girth, and a head formed. A moment later, it appeared to be a bald man, handsome, with a captivating mouth and green eyes. It stood upright, dressed in a golden yellow robe—the very robe he’d been wearing when Jora dragged him through the ‘twixt and into the allies’ realm of perception.

“Bow to the elders and adepts,” Jora said.

The man-worm bowed, smiling Elder Sonnis’s charming smile.

“Who are you?” Elder Devarla asked it.

“Sonnis,” the man-worm replied. It looked and sounded like Elder Sonnis. It was him, and yet it wasn’t.

A few in the audience murmured. Jora imagined how difficult it must have been for them to watch a worm become a man they’d known for two decades.

“Send it away,” Gastone said, turning his face aside. “I can’t bear to look at it a moment longer.”

“You’re dismissed,” Jora said. And the man-worm vanished.

A hush settled over the room. After the demonstration of her ally—her power—no one dared to speak.

“Do you have more questions?” Jora asked softly.

“I think we’ve seen and heard enough,” Tornal said. “Adepts, you may begin your deliberations.”

“On the charges of murder, vigilantism, and insubordination, have you reached a verdict?” Elder Tornal asked.

“We have, Elder,” Adept Gerios said. Adepts Fer and Uster stood with their hands clasped before them, their gaze fixed upon the elders seated at the tall bench to their left. None of them looked at Jora.

She studied her hands, saw them tremble where they lay atop her quivering knees. Her heart drubbed against her rib cage as if it would break free and flee in fear.

This was it, the beginning of the end. She was moments away from being found guilty of murder and vigilantism and sentenced to die. The only question left in her mind was whether to let them kill her or fight back. With little left to live for, the choice was an easy one to make.

“Given the evidence we’ve seen,” Adept Gerios said, “and the Accused’s own account of the events, we have no choice but to find Jora Lanseri guilty of murder and vigilantism.”

Jora’s heart sputtered. She’d expected this, but to hear it said aloud took her aback. She was now officially a murderer. She lowered her gaze to the floor, ashamed. Was she any better than those who’d slain the people she’d defended?

“And on the matter of insubordination?”

“Guilty as well, Elder,” Gerios said.

The doors in the back of the courtroom burst open. Several people gasped in surprise.

A woman in her early twenties strode forward. Her long, golden hair was braided and looped into an elaborate display. Her yellow dress, made of silk and chiffon, flowed behind her with her long strides. Several swordsmen in dark-blue uniforms trimmed with golden embroidery followed her in, their postures stiff and attentive, one hand on their swords.

At once everyone in the room shot to their feet and bowed or curtsied, though Justice Captain Milad didn’t take his eyes off Jora.

Jora started to stand, unsure who the woman was but certain it would be taken as an affront if she didn’t bow. The two enforcers behind her clapped their hands on her shoulders to keep her in her seat.

“Princess Rivva,” Tornal said, bowing once more. “Please accept our apologies. We were unaware you wished to be invited to this proceeding.”

Jora felt clammy all over, and her hands began to tremble. What could the princess possibly want with her?

“I didn’t. I’m here to deliver a summons from my father, King Yaphet of Serocia. The king requests the presence of Jora Lanseri in his receiving room at once.”

The king.
Oh, challenge the god!

“But Your Highness, we were about to issue her sentence. Surely His Majesty is aware of the heinous crimes of which she has been accused and found guilty.”

“Of course he is,” the princess snapped. Her gaze softened when she met Jora’s eyes. “Will you come?”

“Yes,” Jora started to say, though the word caught in a nervous wad of phlegm. She cleared her throat. “Yes, Your Highness.” She stood. This time, the enforcers didn’t try to stop her.

“Remove those dreadful irons,” Rivva said.

“I humbly beg you reconsider, Your Highness,” Milad said. “She’s a dangerous criminal. A murderer. You could be dead before your guards have a chance to intervene.”

She turned her blue eyes to him. “I understand she commands beings from another realm to kill for her. Are you saying she cannot do that with her feet and hands bound?”

He blushed crimson. “No, Your Highness. At least allow me to accompany you.” He glanced pointedly at the crossbow in his hands. “Should she begin to call for her minions, I will end her.”

“Nonsense,” Rivva said with a look of disgust. She met Jora’s eyes again. “Novice Jora, do you mean me any harm?”

“No, Your Highness,” Jora said earnestly. “Never. Nor your father. I’m loyal to Serocia, as the justice captain is aware.”

“Justice Captain Milad, replace the kendern atop her head,” Tornal said.

“I assure you, that isn’t necessary,” Jora said.

“On this I must insist,” the elder said.

“Oh, very well. But remove the shackles,” Rivva said to Milad. “I won’t ask you again.”

“Is this some kind of trick?” Gastone asked.

“Trick? What ever do you mean?” the princess asked.

“Jora has demonstrated her minion’s ability to change its shape, to look like Elder Sonnis.” He looked around at his peers. “She could be doing it again—making it look like the princess.”

Jora cringed. It was certainly possible. Sonnis could mimic anyone she told him to, but he couldn’t carry on a detailed conversation. He could answer yes or no questions and perhaps supply one- or two-word responses to others, but that was about the extent of his verbal abilities.

“Are you comparing me to a monster, Elder Gastone?”

His eyes flew open wide. “No! Gracious, no, Your Highness. Just that you cannot be Observed, and with her ability to summon a shapechanger–”

The princess pulled her left sleeve up to reveal a gleaming silver wrist cuff. Approximately six inches long, it was marked with several strange characters, deep black as if they’d been burned into the metal. “If there are any present who doubt my true identity, let him or her step forward now. We will address the accusation immediately.”

Though Jora didn’t know what the cuff was, the rest of the Truth Sayers seemed to. The courtroom was as silent as if it had been filled with statues. Not one foot shuffled, not one throat swallowed. No one dared breathe, especially not Jora, who sensed the princess was inexplicably coming to her rescue.

“My apologies,” Gastone muttered, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I meant no offense.”

“Now,” she said, turning her gaze back to the justice captain, “will you do as I’ve commanded, or shall I have your own enforcers arrest you?”

Milad pressed his lips together, but he uncocked the crossbow, set it on the desk in front of the adepts, and fished something from his pocket. He strode across the room, his eyes alight with anger and humiliation, and unlocked the shackles and fetters while the two enforcers placed the metal ring about her head and tightened the screws.

Though the uncomfortable silence descended upon her mind once again, her arms felt immediately lighter, like they might float away. She rubbed her wrists where the metal had chafed her skin, though she kept her eyes directed downward. Humble. Obedient.

“Very well. Please come with me, Miss Lanseri.” Rivva picked up her skirts and turned before striding from the room.

Jora cast an apologetic glance at the judges and followed the princess out.

Chapter 2

Jora walked with the princess through the corridor, flanked by her six royal guardsmen, their steps timed perfectly. Both hands swung by their sides as if they trusted her not to harm the princess. But why?

“Oh, if I could be a fly in that room,” Princess Rivva said. A laugh bubbled through her voice, and she cast Jora a wink.

Jora smiled at the princess’s unexpected mischievousness. Though she thought to walk a step behind, the princess slowed her pace so that Jora kept up. As if they were equals and not ruler and subject.

“Which one of them do you think is more livid? Tornal?” Princess Rivva chuckled softly. “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not usually one to kick up the dust, but in this case, I found it quite delicious.”

Outside, Princess Rivva lifted her ample yellow skirts and descended the wide, stone stairs, appearing to float with her practiced steps. Jora cast a longing look at the Spirit Stone, wishing she could touch it, just once, for just a second. But no, the princess and king were waiting. Their time was more valuable than the longing of a girl to touch a rock. She followed Princess Rivva down the stairs, though her longing only intensified with every step.

A white carriage trimmed in gold waited on the street, along with a half-dozen saddled horses—one for each of the guardsmen. As she approached, a footman dressed in blue knee breeches and a waist-length, long-sleeved coat appeared from behind it and opened the door. He held one gloved hand out. Princess Rivva placed her hand into his, stepped onto the box below the carriage opening, and climbed in. She settled on the forward-facing seat and arranged her skirts.

Jora looked about, unsure where she was expected to ride. The guardsmen mounted the horses, leaving none free.

“Miss?” the footman said, his hand held out for hers.

I
’
m to ride with the princess?
She hesitantly put her hand into his, stepped up and climbed into the carriage.

“Come, come. There’s plenty of room,” Princess Rivva said, patting the seat beside her. “I get queasy riding backwards. I wouldn’t ask you to do it.”