Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) (29 page)

Something rustled in the grass, coming closer. It was too small to be a human and didn’t have the rhythm of human footsteps. A rabbit hopped up to him and sat up on its hind legs, nose twitching. Its black eyes sparkled as if a tiny star were embedded inside each one.

“Do you see me now?” the rabbit asked.

“What the hell?”

“You wanted to talk, so here I am. Talk.” The rabbit lisped badly and had difficulty with the R.

“Retar?”

“In the flesh. And fur. And ears. Now, these are for hearing. Mouth isn’t the best for talking, though.”

Boden gaped in disbelief at the rabbit. Retar and the gods who’d come before him were well known for speaking through animals but always in a temple. Never out here in the wilderness.

“What can you tell me about the smuggling?” he asked quietly, not wanting anyone to awaken and overhear him. He’d already been warned twice.

The rabbit’s nose twitched. “You should have let those smugglers go, Boden. Pharson warned you, Turounce warned you. And you really shouldn’t have written about it in your journal.”

“Why are they letting it go on?”

“Listen,” Retar said, pulling his left ear down with his paws as if to wash it. “It’s my fault, and I’m sorry. It’s like when you cut off that Mangendan’s arm. He escaped, but he bled to death.”

“I don’t understand. Smuggling godfruit is like cutting off a man’s arm?”

“Precisely. Now you’re following.”

Boden shook his head. “No, I’m not. Sorry.”

“Ah, well. It’s a long story anyway and not that interesting.”

“You aren’t helping,” Boden said. “Can you please explain it in simple terms?”

“Wars cost money. Let’s leave it at that.”

“You’re saying we’re defending the Tree so that we can sell its fruit to the countries who want to destroy it so that we can afford to defend the Tree?”

“Despite what your leaders tell you, no one wants to destroy the Tree,” Retar said.

“Then why can’t we stop the war?”

“It’s like when you cut off that Mangendan’s arm. He escaped, but he bled to death.”

“You said that already. Can you be less mysterious, more forthcoming?”

The rabbit’s long top teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “I like being mysterious. It’s one of the perks of being a god, and let me tell you, there are very few perks.”

Boden sighed. Retar was being more confusing than helpful. “Then whose arm would stopping the war cut off?”

Retar’s rabbit nose twitched. “Mine, of course. Cut off the supply of blood and...” The rabbit stuck out his tongue and flopped over onto his side, eyes closed. He leaped to his feet again. “Sorry, but I’ve got to hop along. It’s almost daylight in Qanderia, and I’ve got prayers to answer.” With that, the light went out of the rabbit’s eyes, and it darted away.

“Wait! Retar, please.”

The rabbit hopped back around the corner of a tent, eyes sparkling once again. “Yes?”

“One more question, if you don’t mind. How’s my wife?”

“I’m sorry, Boden. She took a bad tumble a few days ago. The baby has died.”

“No,” he said, standing. His heart fell into his feet. “Please, can’t you... fix it?”

“I’m not that kind of god. I’m very sorry.”

By the time Adept Orfeo received word that another enemy force was incoming, Boden’s chest wound had healed and he’d regained his strength. The fighting didn’t last as long as the previous battle had. The Mangendan fighters who died stayed dead, and all but two Serocians survived their wounds, either because of the godfruit they’d eaten that morning or because their injuries weren’t fatal and the medics got to them quickly enough to save them.

Boden fought like he’d never fought before. He and Korlan watched out for one another, brothers on the battlefield. Rasmus still fought with the conviction of a man who thought himself invincible. It was becoming clear why the Legion wanted its soldiers to eat the godfruit. Those who had never died fought with abandon, taking down more enemies than their Relived comrades simply because they were reckless.

Rasmus joined Boden and Korlan on their way back to camp, his smile wide and his body drenched with sweat. He flung an arm around the shoulders of his two friends. “Now that was a battle. Did you see that big fellow go down? The look in his eyes was priceless. Bet he wished he’d eaten godfruit this morning.”

Boden would have bet so, too. Or maybe the Mangendan was already Relived.

Korlan pushed Rasmus’s arm off his shoulder. “Yah, good for you. Just wait. You’ll die, too, someday.”

“Especially the way you fight,” Boden added. He shielded his eyes from the setting sun with the flat of his hand. “You’re not invincible.”

“I feel like I am,” Rasmus said. He thrust his fists into the air and shouted, “I’m invincible!”

A few other men chuckled. “Dumb ass,” someone muttered.

“What’s today?” Boden asked.

“Suns Day. Why?” Korlan said.

Boden shrugged. “Hard to keep track anymore.” Judging from the position of the sun, he had another half hour before sunset, enough time to wash the blood off and put on clean clothes. He could make a quick journal entry to Jora before supper.

He grabbed clean trousers and shirt and ran to the bath house, getting the third place in line. The men already in the bath, singing a bawdy song in terrible harmony, must have either taken their clean clothes with them to battle or they left before the corporal called the all-clear. When Boden’s turn came, he bathed as quickly as he could and dressed, shivering in the cooling air, before running back to his tent. Thankfully, he was alone.

He pulled the journal and lead pen from his knapsack and then knelt on the floor, using the bed as a writing table. He might not have been able to do anything about it from where he was, but maybe Jora, being at the Justice Bureau, could.
Song of the Sea Spirit
came to mind, her favorite. His mind drifted to the flute he’d given her. Had she learned to play it yet? He turned to the page he’d written last, before Turounce had killed him, and drew a dolphin in the corner of the page. Next, he flipped to the back and scribbled a hasty note.

Jora, read the page in the front of this book with the dolphin in the top right corner, written three days ago. Hope you can put that information to good use.

His drawing skills weren’t as good as his imagination was, and the thing didn’t end up looking much like a dolphin, but it was the only page with anything in the upper right corner. Hopefully, she would see it. Hopefully, it would enable her to call attention to the illegal smuggling and stop it.

Hadar came in with Rojyr, and Boden quickly shut the journal and shielded it from view with his body.

“You sure got in the bath line fast,” Rojyr said.

“Yah,” Boden said, pulling his knapsack onto the floor with him. “I hate the feeling of blood drying on my skin.” He lifted the false bottom in the knapsack and shoved the journal in, tamped the bottom flap into place, and shoved the bag under his bunk. He climbed to his feet and grabbed his bundle of dirty, bloody clothes. “Better get these to the campers for washing.”

“Take mine too, will you?” Hadar asked. Without waiting for a reply, he tossed his dirty shirt at Boden, practically hitting him in the face. Boden added the shirt to his bundle and reached out his free hand, offering to take the trousers, too.

“Thanks,” Rojyr said, piling his own dirty clothes into Boden’s arms as well. “And pick me up a clean set for next time, will you?”

Boden grumbled but took the wad of laundry to the drop-off and grabbed three clean shirts and trousers to bring back with him. He found Hadar and Rojyr sitting on Hadar’s bed, hunched over something, laughing. Eron crossed his arms and stood when Boden walked in. Boden tossed a clean shirt and trousers onto Rojyr’s bed, and another onto Hadar’s. When he turned to his own bed, he found his knapsack there. He dropped the clothes on the bed, looked inside and saw the false bottom raised and his journal missing. “Hey!”

Eron blocked his path to Hadar and Rojyr.

“Death is ugly,” Hadar said in a falsetto. “Birth is beautiful, especially when it’s my own son.” More laughter. “Hey Sayeg, we never knew you were a poet.”

“Give it back, you bastards,” Boden growled. He rushed them, intending to take back his property, but Eron blocked his way with a hard shove on the chest. Boden stumbled backward, arms flailing. His heel hit something, and he went down on his backside.

“What’s that?” Rojyr asked.

“Looks like a winged worm with a hunchback,” Hadar said.

“No, no. It’s a dolphin. He drew a little dolphin.”

“Let’s hope he’s not planning to be an artist when he gets back home.”

Boden surged to his feet. “Don’t read that,” he said. “I swear, if you know what’s good for you, don’t read it.”

Hadar read aloud, “On patrol duty last night, to the south, Korlan discovered four men stealing sacks of godfruit. They were headed to a small boat beached on the rocky shore below...” Hadar’s smile fell, and his eyes darted back and forth as he read silently.

“Damn you, Hadar,” Boden said. “Stop. I’m trying to save your miserable life.”

“God’s Challenger,” Hadar said under his breath.

Rojyr leaned in to read, too, and Eron shuffled over to have a look.

“No,” Boden said. He pushed past Eron and reached for the journal, but Hadar turned his body, blocking him. “If Turounce finds out you’ve read that...” He didn’t want to finish the thought, let alone the sentence.

“God’s bloody challenger,” Hadar said, looking up. His face was ashen. “You think the commanders are letting people smuggle godfruit?”

“To who?” Eron asked. “And why?”

“To Mangend,” Rojyr said. “And Arynd-ban and probably Barad Selegal, too.”

Boden let his head drop in defeat and rubbed his brow. These idiots would get them all killed.

“To fund the bloody war,” Hadar said, his voice soft with the horror of what he was saying.

Eron laughed. “You’re full of crap. That’s mad.”

“Yah,” Boden said. He made another play for the journal and this time he managed to snatch it out of Hadar’s hands. “It’s mad. Forget you ever read it.” Then, for insurance, he ripped the page he’d marked out of his journal as well as the note to Jora. If Adept Orfeo was going to poke around in his past, this might make it harder for him to use Boden’s journal against him. It was unlikely that Orfeo knew anything about Boden’s arrangement with Jora on when to read it.

“Why bother protecting the Tree if they’re selling the godfruit to our enemies?” Eron asked.

Hadar said, “Because if you restrict a market, the price goes up. They can make a great profit on godfruit by selling it to our enemies in small quantities. If we quit defending the Tree and let everyone take what they want, they get no money at all. Trust me. My family’s been in the gem business for generations. I know how it works.”

“God’s Challenger,” Rojyr said. “Does Turounce know about the smugglers?”

“He knows. You’d be wise to keep your mouth shut about this.” Boden went outside, tossed the torn pages into the nearest cookfire, and watched them burn.

Chapter 17

While Jora and several of the adepts and elders were waiting, hands on the Spirit Stone, for the sun to rise, a bell began to toll at the Justice Bureau.

“May Retar guide his everlasting spirit,” Adept Fer said. He spoke with a lisp in a baritone voice.

“What?” Jora asked, alarmed. The tolling stopped, but the sound echoed ominously in her mind.

The Truth Sayers hung their heads and whispered something she couldn’t quite make out.

“Elder Kassyl has died, Novice,” Fer said.

Tears sprang to her eyes. No. He couldn’t have died. She’d spoken to him the evening before, and he hadn’t been doing so poorly.

Adept Sonnis came outside, joining them at the Spirit Stone. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been crying, and there was a scratch on his face she hadn’t noticed the previous morning. The others offered him their condolences, as if he were the only one who was grieving. “We’re all saddened by this tragic loss,” he said.