Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) (25 page)

“I understand. Thank you, Elder, for entrusting me with this knowledge so soon.”

“You’re quite adept. Were I not so ill, I would take you as my own student.”

“Oh, I’m just a novice like any other,” she said, feeling warmth rise to her cheeks.

“No, you’re not. I don’t say such things lightly, Novice Jora. You’re unusually gifted, though I appreciate your humility. It’ll serve you well in the future. I daresay, it’ll serve all of Serocia well, too, if I’m right.”

Jora tucked Elder Kassyl’s book into the bodice of her robe to keep from drawing curious questions on the way up to her room. She hadn’t expected him to hand it over so readily, but as she’d explained how she’d figured out the connection between Azarian and the musical notes, he’d grown more and more excited. By the time she’d told him everything, he was begging her to take the book, which he’d kept in the sick ward with him, not daring to let it out of his sight. He invited her to return as often as she wanted and asked her to share with him whatever messages she discovered through her study of the tones. It was less a condition and more a dying wish, inspiring Jora to vow to do her best to fulfill it.

Alone in her room, she sat with her journal open in front of her and Elder Kassyl’s book open beside it. His book was filled with horizontal lines upon which he’d drawn small black circles. She sighed. The elder had written down the tones using the conventional musical notation that Jora had never learned. It was her ignorance and impatience that had led her to devise her own system. Now she was forced to learn it if she wanted to know what tones Elder Kassyl had recorded over the years.

She hid the book beneath her mattress and strode across the courtyard to the bureau’s library, so much bigger than the one in Kaild, to find a book that would teach her to read the musical notation. It only had books pertaining to law and history, and the librarian directed her to the public library in Jolver. There she found a book written for children, teaching the conventional musical notation, and the librarian let Jora borrow it solely on the basis of her dress. She wondered how many doors opened for members of the Order that were closed to most other people.

Jora thanked her profusely and hurried back to her room in the dormitory to read and learn. It occurred to her that once she learned how to interpret the circles and lines, she would need to learn how to associate them with the fingerings on the flute. If only she’d taken the time to learn the notation in the first place, she could have been deciphering the tones in Elder Kassyl’s book by now.

When Gil knocked at her door, she tucked the books under her mattress once more and joined him for supper. She decided to keep her visit with Elder Kassyl her own secret for now, at least until she knew who she could trust with that knowledge.

“Hey,” Gil said, bumping her with his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?”

She realized that she’d paused with the spoon halfway to her open mouth, undoubtedly looking quite demented. “Have you ever used a god vessel?” she asked. It was the first thing that came to mind.

“A few years ago,” Gil said. He took a bite of bread slathered with butter, but that didn’t stop him from talking. “Suggested I join the Order before my eighteenth birthday so I wouldn’t have to join the Legion.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I never let my family know I had the Talent. I’d heard enough talk about those freaks to know I didn’t want to be one, so I kept it to myself. I have five elder brothers and six elder half-brothers, and my father had four brothers, each of which have between a half-dozen and a dozen sons, not to mention my mother’s three brothers and their sons. Trying to explain to the men in my family why I decided to join what they often called the Order of Milksops instead of doing a man’s duty wasn’t something I relished, so I didn’t. I thought I could get out of it. The only person I ever entrusted with the knowledge that I have the Talent turned me in. You know the rest.”

“Your family knows now, though,” Jora guessed.

Gil nodded slowly with a dejected twist to his mouth. “Because service in the Order is lifelong, the Legion was required to notify my wife. She has the option of being declared a widow and remarrying after the mourning period or moving to Jolver to live near me.”

Jora remembered Adept Uster’s question about her marital state, explaining that her husband would have had a similar option. “Will she come to Jolver?”

“I don’t know yet. She hasn’t answered my letter. Why do you ask?”

“About your wife?”

He grinned. “No, about the god vessel.”

Jora had to think back to her original question. “Oh. Just curious. I used one for the first time.”

“Oh? What did good ol’ Retar have to say?”

“He likes that I’m interested in the tones and wants me to keep at it.”

“That’s it? He didn’t give you any ideas about how to get hold of Elder Kassyl’s books?”

Jora wasn’t ready to reveal that detail quite yet. “He’s a bit miserly with advice, said something about interfering with our freedom of choice.”

“A dispiriting fellow, isn’t he? You’d think a god would be enthusiastic about the people paying to have a word with him from time to time.”

“Paying? The cantor didn’t ask me for any money.”

He gestured to her clothing. “I’ll bet it was the robes. They probably don’t charge members of the Order for access to the god vessels. After all, the Justice Bureau is a subordinate institution to the Iskori Temple. Besides, it’s not like the temple is going broke, right?”

“Not at all. It seemed quite wealthy.”

“Have you seen those glorious manors on the north end of Jolver?”

Jora shook her head. She hadn’t spent much time touring the city yet.

“The dominee, devoteds, and monks live up there. I wonder sometimes whether the temple has more money than the king. The palace isn’t as decadent as some of those homes they have.”

“You’d think with all that money, they could help more people,” Jora said, keeping her voice low. “Children run around without shoes, eating scraps the dogs drop.”

“Speaking of shoes, how’re your feet?”

“They didn’t look so bad once I cleaned up the blood. Still sore, though.”

“Once they heal, we can go back to the docks. Next time, put on your old boots. These sandals are awful for long walks. I have a couple blisters of my own.”

She drew his attention to her feet and pulled up the hem of her robe to reveal her boots, then put one finger across her lips.

He smiled slyly and winked. “Your secret is safe with me.”

At her first opportunity the following afternoon, Jora returned to the library to look for a book that would teach her how to play the flute. The librarian wasn’t able to find a book that suited her purposes and suggested she interview one of the flutists who played in the Royal Symphony. Jora hadn’t known there was a Royal Symphony, but she located it not far from the palace with the help of a few passersby and a guard at the palace itself, stopping at the dormitory on the way to tuck her flute into her robe.

Inside, she found a horn apprentice who, while not trained on the flute, had a good ear and was able to tell Jora how notes she played matched up with the placement of dots on the horizontal lines. Mapping out several notes in this way gave her enough of a starting point to figure out the rest, and she hurried back to the dormitory to continue her work.

She only had enough time to write down what the apprentice had taught her before it was time to once again spend a couple of hours in the Observation Request Room. After that, she spent another hour reading her text on Justice Bureau policy and Serocian law to prepare for her meeting with Bastin.

Despite her mentor’s youth, she turned out to be quite a hard taskmaster, grilling Jora on what she’d read thus far and chastening her for not having made better progress on her reading. “If you require assistance with the reading assignments,” Bastin said, “you need only ask. You assured me you could read.”

“I can read,” Jora said.

“Then read more quickly. I want you to have chapters five, six, and seven read by noon tomorrow. That means read and understood.”

There was a lot of information in the book, too much to memorize in such a short time. Jora thought it unrealistic and unreasonable, but she promised to do her best.

“Until you achieve the rank of Adept, your job is to learn,” Bastin said. “You don’t have time to pursue other pleasures, so whatever you’re doing when you should be reading, stop.”

“But...” She tucked her lips between her teeth. Bastin knew nothing of her visit with Elder Kassyl. If Jora explained that the elder had expressed a desire to know what she learned of the tones, she would have to explain how she got permission from the dominee to see him, and Retar had specifically instructed her to keep secret his influence. The god’s influence was the only logical explanation for why she’d been so successful. For now, she thought it best to say nothing of her study of the tones and instead endeavor to get caught up on the lessons. Though Elder Kassyl had encouraged her to learn more about the tones, he hadn’t given her leave to ignore her regular studies. Instead, she apologized for disappointing Bastin, which went over well.

She returned to her room and read the textbook, but her mind kept drifting to the musical notation. It wasn’t difficult to convince herself that she could spare a minute to look up the first few notes in Elder Kassyl’s book.

Beyond

The first word on the first page of his book was
beyond
. That might have been coincidence. After all, Azarian was made up of notes. Even a bird’s song had an Azarian translation. Whether it made sense or not was the real question. She transcribed and translated the rest of the notes on the first line.

Beyond dawn gates...

The rudimentary structure of Azarian made the text difficult to understand until she applied the grammar of her own language.

Beyond the gates of dawn...

A rush of emotions shot through her body at once, making her insides vibrate with the need to shout and dance. She was right. The tones were a message. This was monumental. She wanted to race over to see Elder Kassyl and share with him what she’d learned, but she had to know more. What were gates of dawn? And what was beyond them? “Just one line of notes” turned into “just one page.” She continued translating, aware that she was defying her mentor but unable to put it aside until she satisfied her curiosity.

Beyond the gates of dawn and dusk live magical beings of Aerta, ready to pledge themselves as allies to those with the fortitude to call them.

She looked up from the books, remembering something Sundancer had said. Something about calling.

“Calling brings ally from another helix.”

God’s Challenger! Sundancer had been teaching her what the Spirit Stones were saying. Could the dolphin hear the tones?

She was too excited to concentrate. If she didn’t tell Elder Kassyl, she might burst. Because she knew nothing about his health condition or how much time he might have left, her inclination was to not waste what precious little she had.

After crossing the courtyard and entering the bureau, she slipped once again into the basement stairwell and went down to the bottom level. Instead of knocking on his door straight away, she went to the washing room and knocked on that door. A white-robed medic opened the door and looked at her in surprise.

“Novice, are you lost?”

“No, I’m here to see Elder Kassyl—”

“Elder Kassyl isn’t receiving visitors,” he said. “You must go back upstairs.” He tried taking her by the arm to escort her back down the hallway, but she jerked out of his grasp.

“I have permission from Dominee Ibsa. I saw him yesterday.”

“It’s all right,” said Naruud, the blonde in the white robe, pushing the door open farther. “I’ve seen it. Next time, Novice, bring the note.”

“Yes, madam. May I wash my hands again?”

Naruud gestured to the wash basin, though this time, she let Jora prepare the water herself. After her hands were clean and dry, Jora went down the hall and knocked on Elder Kassyl’s door.

“Come—” His words were broken up by a fit of coughing. Assuming he’d intended to tell her to come in, she opened the door and peeked inside. He beckoned her with a wave while he coughed into a handkerchief.

“I can come back if you’re not feeling well enough for a visitor,” she said.

He shook his head and gestured for her to sit. She shut the door and sat on the stool while she waited for his coughing fit to subside. His eyes, bloodshot and weary, teared up from his effort. She felt sorry for him and wished she could do something to help. At last, his coughing quieted, and he reached for a glass of water with a trembling hand.

“Here, let me.” She held the glass for him while he sipped until he nodded that he was finished and then set the glass back on the bedside table.

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” he said in a voice hoarse and scratchy. “Have you had any success with the tones in my book?”