by May, K. C.
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?”
She smiled, glad to have some good news to share. “I have.” And she told him what she’d learned so far.
As Jora was shaving her head that night, preparing for bed, she was reminded of Boden’s departure from Kaild and his shaven head, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t checked his journal for messages recently. Though there wasn’t any way to relay messages to his family and friends at home, she at least wanted to get a sense of how things were going for him.
And whether he was still alive.
She set down the razor, ran her fingers over her scalp to feel for spots she’d missed, then rinsed and dried her head. Seeing herself in the mirror without hair wasn’t so shocking anymore, though she wasn’t yet comfortable with her appearance. At least she was in good company. Hair made identifying nonmembers of the Order working within the Justice Bureau much easier.
Satisfied, she sat cross-legged on her bed, closed her eyes, and opened the Mindstream, easily picking out Boden’s thread from the bundle that formed in the center of her torso. She wasn’t sure whether her training at the Justice Bureau made it easier, or if Boden’s being the most-used thread did.
Boden was undressing for bed in a tent with four other men. Assured that he was uninjured and not wanting to see him naked, she raced backward along his thread to sunset on the most recent Suns Day. In the back of his journal, he had written:
I wonder how you are and wish there was a way you could reply. The Truth Sayers told me you’re in training at the Justice Bureau, but that’s all they will tell me. Maybe one day you’ll be sent to my company to serve March Commander Turounce and I can see your bald head for myself. (smile)
She smiled back, though she doubted she would earn the Adept title before his ten years were up. According to Bastin, people who joined the Order as adults typically spent three years as a novice, and eight to twelve as a disciple. It would be at least eleven years before she reached that level. Considering how angry he’d been with Gunnar for reenlisting, it wasn’t likely he would reenlist and risk alienating his child. No, chances were good she would never see Boden again in person.
She felt a tear trickle down her face, though to wipe it away would’ve disrupted her concentration. Instead, she moved backward in time to the previous Suns Day, to see whether he’d written anything then. He had, though it wasn’t in the back of his journal but in the front.
Korlan told me about his death experience, and though it sounds frightening, the idea of surviving a death makes it worthwhile. Every day I think about Micah and our growing babe, wondering how big her belly is and whether she can feel the baby kicking. I’ve seen men lose limbs, I’ve seen entrails spilling out and faces disfigured, and seen men’s eyes go flat after their hearts beat their last. Ugly is this war, bloody and painful. The sound of a woman screaming in the throes of childbirth no longer terrifies me. Now I only wish I could be with her to hold her hand while our baby is born. Death is ugly. Birth is beautiful, especially when it’s my own son.
Jora smiled at his words, at how he had matured and his perspective had changed. How sad it was that it sometimes took seeing and experiencing the ugliest life had to offer before one could appreciate the beauty.
She wondered whether he’d written these words for her. This wasn’t the kind of conversation they normally had. When she realized that she’d streamed to sunrise on that previous Suns Day rather than sunset, she raced forward in time, embarrassed and ashamed for having been eavesdropping on his private musings. She would be more careful next time.
The message in the back of his journal, presumably meant for her, was:
I wonder if godfruit is common in the cities. Do people eat it before setting out to sea for a day of fishing? Do pregnant women eat it when they start their labor? Godfruit saves people from one death, and I saw it work on the battlefield when my friend Korlan fell from a sword to the chest. He died right in front of me, and when I was certain he was gone, he awoke with a start, as if he’d merely had a bad dream. We call men like Korlan Relived. I wonder if crates and crates of it are shipped to the cities, or if they’re going to other destinations. I saw someone carting off godfruit under the darkness of night. Would Serocian merchants need to conceal their desire to harvest and sell godfruit to our own people, or is something more sinister going on? To ask the Legion Truth Sayers would get me worse than a reprimand. If only you could tell me whether I’m worrying about nothing.
Jora didn’t remember seeing godfruit for sale in the market, but she had to admit not knowing what a godfruit looked like. She would inquire next time, though she still had no idea how to get the answer to Boden.
She didn’t see him write a journal entry for her on the previous Suns Day, and so she closed the Mindstream, remembering to put up the barring hood first, as Elder Kassyl had taught her. Then she blew out the lamp and lay down to sleep.
Why ask these questions of her? The question went around and around in her mind. Did he want her to investigate, and if so, what or
whom? And what would she be able to do about it anyway? If the godfruit truly erased a death, then every warrior would be eating them, giving the Serocian Legion a distinct advantage in the war. Surely the carts of godfruit he’d seen were being shipped to other warriors along the coast or at the Barad border.
What if the enemies were getting godfruit? It would essentially double the number of soldiers on the battlefield.
Jora shuddered. Could that be why the war had lasted so long? If neither Serocia nor its enemies were running out of men to fight, it could go on indefinitely.
Chapter 16
Boden let his sword drop to his side and wiped the sweat from his brow. Most of the men were idle during the day, sleeping, playing Winds and Dragons, tossing a ball, or sitting and talking. Though he was sore from the recent battle, he preferred to work out the soreness than stiffen up by lying around. Working the sword drills also calmed his agitated mind and kept his skills honed.
He noticed Corporal Pharson watching with arms crossed over his chest. “You’ve got good form, Sayeg,” he said. “Focus on keeping your elbow up when you come out of that half-strike, though. It’ll keep you in better position for a lunge or flash.”
Boden nodded. “Thanks.” He walked over to a nearby table where he’d left a cup of water, drained it, and wiped his chin. “Care to spar a bit?”
“Maybe later,” Pharson said. “I need you to scout again tonight. I’ll send Korlan with you. He’s got good far sight. Remember what I told you last time about paying attention to what you need to pay attention to.”
“Yes, sir,” Boden said, but he had to ask. “March Commander Turounce is taking the appropriate action?”
