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

by May, K. C.

  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.

  “How?” she asked. Her voice caught in her throat.

  “He took a turn for the worse last night,” Sonnis said. His gaze turned cold and cruel when it fell upon her. “Perhaps something weakened him. Some burden he was too ill to bear.”

  “What do you mean, Adept Sonnis?” Fer asked.

  “I’m speculating, of course. I saw him yesterday evening after supper, and he was distressed by something.”

  Liar, Jora wanted to shout. Elder Kassyl had been happy when she’d left him, excited about her discovery and eager for her to translate more of the tones. Nothing about him had been distressed, except perhaps his own illness.

  The sun peeked over the horizon, and a new tone sang through her body, lifting her from her aching feet and filling her with elation in spite of her heavy heart.

  When she opened her eyes again, Adept Sonnis was watching her intently.

  The day was quiet. While the work of the Justice Bureau went on, members of the Order went about their duties solemnly. In the late afternoon, a memorial service was held for Elder Kassyl that was both beautiful and somber. Those who knew him spoke of his wit, humor, and unrelenting thirst for truth, justice, and honor. Nearly everyone was in tears, whether they’d met him or not. Though she’d only spoken to him twice, Jora felt the loss acutely. She’d found in him a kindred spirit and a true friend. Part of her wished she’d joined the Order earlier, to give her more time with him, but then she would never have met Sundancer and learned Azarian. She’d have been just another novice in his hierarchy.

  In the evening, after the Justice Bureau was closed for the night, all the novices, disciples, adepts, and elders walked to the First Godly Redeemer House of Prayer, with two notable exceptions: Adept Sonnis and Elder Kassyl. Jora walked alongside Gilon and Adriel, her head bowed for her elder, whom she considered herself fortunate to have met. She wished
she’d joined the Order earlier, before he’d fallen ill. She could have learned so much from him.

  “I never got to meet him,” Gilon said.

  “Most unfortunate,” said one of the other disciples. “He was a wonderful man.”

  Jora nodded, though she wasn’t ready to reveal that she’d had any interaction with him.

  “Why are you nodding?” Disciple Bastin asked from behind. “You didn’t know him, either. He was an adept when I first came here. So kind and generous with his time. If I didn’t understand something and my disciple was busy with his duties, Elder Kassyl would always take time to explain.”

  “I can imagine it,” Jora said. “The elders I’ve met have all been very kind.” Even Elder Gastone, who had dragged her from her home practically by force, was still a kind and compassionate man.

  Gilon glanced at her and winked. Did he suspect she’d found a way to see the ailing elder?

  Inside the temple, the members of the Order of Justice Officials took seats in the pews, and the nave settled into silence.

  At the front of the room stood a statue of a man in a proud, victorious stance. At his feet was a rock made of the same white material as the Spirit Stone, though it was an ordinary, lumpy rock with no discernable shape. Two enforcers stood guard beside it. They hadn’t been there the day she’d gone to speak with the dominee. Jora wondered whether their presence had anything to do with Elder Kassyl’s death.

  A door opened, and out walked Dominee Ibsa dressed in her fine orange robes trimmed with red and gold jewels, which sparkled in the light of the candles in the chandeliers that hung from the high, arched ceiling. Each of her fingers was adorned with gems, as was the elaborate fabric and gold headdress atop her head. The whispers quieted as she approached the lectern. When she held up both hands, the sleeves of her robe shifted down, revealing bracelets of gold, inset with glittering jewels of red and yellow.

  Jora thought the woman would have had jewels embedded into her skin if she could.

  “Truth Sayers and Novices,” the dominee said, her eyes closed and her face pointed upward, “we gather today to pay tribute to a great man, to a man of integrity who upheld the laws of our nation with the highest regard for their sanctity. We gather to honor Elder Kassyl Finnean and to welcome into the ranks of the most esteemed Truth Sayers, Sonnis Gordyn.”

  “Retar’s will be done,” the Truth Sayers in the congregation murmured.

  Jora seethed. Retar’s will? She didn’t know the god very well, having only spoken to him the one time, but she was pretty sure he didn’t wish Elder Kassyl ill, nor would he care whether Sonnis was promoted to Elder. He surely had bigger problems to deal with.

  The dominee went on to talk about the long-standing relationship between the Houses of Prayer and the Order of Justice Officials, together keeping peace within the cities while the war raged on and around the Isle of Shess. She described the spirit of cooperation between the two establishments, both working toward the Good and the benefit of all Serocians. She specifically addressed the novices in the room, admiring their devotion and dedication to learning so that, one day, they, too, could advance through the ranks of the Order to become the wisest vessels of justice within the land. It was a great honor, she claimed, to serve one’s country through the Talent that Retar had seen fit to gift them, and she hoped that she would live to see the day when every one of them could stand upon that altar and receive the blessing Sonnis Gordyn was about to receive.

  Jora thought her dinner would come up right there on the temple’s beautiful wooden floor.

  “Which brings us to the current moment,” Dominee Ibsa said. “Adept Sonnis, will you please join me on the altar?”

  He stood from his seat in the front row of pews and knelt at her feet, his head bowed.

  “Do you, Adept Sonnis Gordyn, solemnly swear to abide by the rules and laws set forth by those who’ve come before you within the King’s Justice Bureau, to uphold the law of the land, and to issue sentencing of criminals based on the guidelines established by your elders?”

  “I do, Dominee,” Sonnis said.

  “Is there any among us who can offer a reason why Adept Sonnis should not be advanced within the Order of Justice Officials?”

  Jora’s hand twitched where it lay in her lap, as if it would shoot into the air and volunteer her to speak against Adept Sonnis. She grasped her wrist with her other hand and clamped her jaw. Given the way she’d seen Retar influence the registrar and the dominee, she was certain he could have made her stand and speak if he’d wanted to. She hoped he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be he who suffered the consequence but her.

  The moment seemed to last for hours while the dominee’s gaze swept over the audience. Her eyes paused when they met Jora’s, and the row of candles on the table behind her went out, extinguished all at once. Just as Jora’s life would be if she spoke. The audience uttered a collective “oooh,” no doubt assuming it was a sign of Sonnis’s suitability for being promoted.

  “It is time to transfer the power of elders. Adept Sonnis, please join me at the stone,” the dominee said. She turned and strode to the back of the dais, and the two enforcers stepped aside. Dominee Ibsa gestured to the lumpy rock. “Place your hand upon this rock and receive Retar’s gift.” Sonnis laid his right hand upon it. Almost immediately, he flinched, his back arching slightly and his chin lifting. The onlookers let out a gasp.

  “As Dominee of the First Godly Redeemer House of Prayer and First Prelate to King Yaphet, I pronounce you Elder Sonnis Gordyn.”

  Members of the Order stood and applauded, not with raucous cheering but with restraint and dignity.

  Elder Sonnis opened his eyes, removed his hand from the stone. He bowed first to the Dominee and then to the audience before waving, a wide smile upon his face. Amidst the continuing applause, the new elder strode down the aisle, his head held high and his shoulders straight. Everyone turned as he passed, watching him exit through the rear doors.

  The applause quieted. “This service is now concluded,” Dominee Ibsa said. She opened her hands to them all. “Congratulate your newest Elder on your way back to the Justice Bureau. Goodnight, my friends.”

  The people in the front rows stood where they were while those in the back row filed out. As the last rows emptied, the next row began to exit, orderly and calmly, each member holding the large, heavy door open for those behind him.

  Jora and her friends shuffled forward when it was their row’s turn to exit, and Jora followed those in front of her slowly down the aisle to the rear doors.

  To her surprise, Sonnis was already wearing the yellow robes of the elder rank, not the deep green in which she’d grown accustomed to seeing him. He was smiling and nodding, thanking each person as they shook his hand and offered congratulations.

  Jora offered her hand. “Congratulations, Elder Sonnis,” she said.

  His smile faltered, but he took her hand in a bone-crushing grip and renewed his smile. “Thank you, Novice. We have quite a bit to discuss, you and I.”

  She yanked her hand out of Elder Sonnis’s iron grip and scurried away, turning to look at him when she’d gone a dozen paces. He had returned to greeting the other members of the Order, smiling and shaking their hands and thanking them under the sputtering lights of the torches at the temple entrance.

  “What’s wrong?” Adriel asked, joining her.

  “Nothing,” Jora said. The final glow of dusk had faded to night, and the air had cooled, though the long sleeves of the robe kept the chill from sinking into her bones.

  “I overheard Elder Sonnis talking about you yesterday,” Adriel said.

  Jora snapped her eyes to her friend’s. “Me? What did he say?”

  “I didn’t hear much, sorry. I was in Elder Gastone’s office, waiting for him. He meets with his novices and disciples every month or two. Anyway, Elder Sonnis—Adept Sonnis at the time—was talking with a Legion captain in his office next door. I heard him mention your name but nothing after that beca
use Elder Gastone came in. I couldn’t very well shush him and press my ear to the wall to listen with him right there.”

  That troubled Jora. Why would he have been talking to a Legion officer about her? That couldn’t have been good.

  “She thinks he doesn’t like her,” Gilon said, catching up to them. He put an arm around both women’s shoulders. “But that’s all right. I like her.”

  “Don’t let Bastin see you,” Adriel said, shrugging off his touch. “She’ll assume we’re a threesome and report you to your new elder.”

  Gilon let his arms drop. “What’d you think of the ceremony? Did you see all those jewels the dominee was wearing?”

  “A bit excessive, don’t you think?” Adriel asked. “And the gold. I wonder if the Justice Bureau makes as much money as the temple does.”

  “I can’t see any of the elders succumbing to greed that way,” Jora said.

  “I think the Justice Bureau makes as much if not more,” Gilon said, “but we learn to embrace modesty.”

  “All I’m saying,” Adriel said, “is that the temple could stand to contribute more.”

  Jora agreed. It seemed the temple leaders were benefitting far more than the people they were supposed to serve.

  “Retar must like it this way,” Gilon said. They reached the gate that led to the dormitory, which he held open for the two women.

  Adriel laughed. “How do you figure that?”

  “The gods before him hardly ever spoke to people. If Retar didn’t want the temple to be rich, he’d stop talking to us.”

  They climbed the stairs to their rooms, and Jora realized when she reached the fourth floor that she wasn’t as winded as she used to be. Her body was getting used to the exertion. “How does he have the energy for all that?” she asked. Retar had seemed sad, but he could have been exhausted. “It’s not only Serocians he talks to, but everyone everywhere, right?”

  Gilon grinned. “As a god, he probably doesn’t need to sleep. I have no pity for him. If he didn’t want to be a god, he shouldn’t have challenged Hibsar.”