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

by May, K. C.

  “All people?”

  “Five men killed them. I not know what do. I not know how fight. They want kill me.”

  “I teach you calling,” Sundancer whistled. “Ally protects you. Ally helps you get revenge.”

  Revenge? Jora shuddered. She didn’t want revenge. She only wanted justice. “Ally is from spirit flow power?” she asked.

  “Ally is from other helix. First, you overpower ally, then you can command. Use spirit flow power at dusk or dawn. Must be dusk or dawn.”

  Jora dug into the bag for her journal and the string-wrapped lead pen and wrote down Sundancer’s instructions.

  He sought the gate, scratched at the inky air to find it once again, knowing she was on the other side. He sensed it. He knew it. But his gnarled fingers felt nothing but the occasional flesh or stone or wood of another like himself. They, too, gathered where the gate had appeared, but in time, they meandered away. Not him. No. He waited and searched, tempted by her nearness and reminded of his promise. He would find her, and he would be with her.

  After a long, dark night, the glow appeared again, this time in the east. It drew others to it, as if they, too, had someone to find. At last the moment came, and the gate appeared.

  He lumbered toward it on his thick, wooden legs, reaching desperately. It must open. He must find her.

  And then the gate opened.

  The others murmured their surprise and delight, but they stepped back as if to see who would enter.

  He waited uncertainly, watching. This was new, something he’d not seen before, or if he had, he didn’t remember.

  She stepped through.

  It was her. It was Jora.

  He rushed forward, pushing others out of his way, desperate to reach her. Jora. He wanted to call to her, but he’d long forgotten how to make the mouth sounds that had once been so familiar.

  She stood there like a goddess, her brilliant eyes filled with knowing and love and kindness, her skin glowing like the gate itself.

  “Chaw,” he cried, trying his best to say her name.

  She looked around with wide eyes, but she didn’t see him. Her gaze fell upon another, a weaker one. One that flopped and squirmed on the fog-covered ground.

  Not that one, he wanted to say. Me. Choose me. “Chaw,” he said again. “Chaw... la.”

  She turned her head, and her brilliant gaze fell upon him. She was even more beautiful than she’d been in his dreams.

  “Chaw... la,” he cried, reaching one long limb toward her.

  “You,” she said. Her voice was music, her word one long note that rang in his mind and sang in his heart. He pushed his way to her, eager to be chosen.

  And then her arms enveloped him, squeezing, choking.

  He didn’t resist, didn’t fight. Not her. He would never fight Jora. “Chaw... la.”

  Her fingers dug into him. The pain intensified as the world around him brightened, and then the gate was closing. She was dragging him with her through it, into that other world, that place of brilliance and sharp swords and foul stench.

  It hurt. It was agony, and his body railed against it, resisted her efforts against his will. He didn’t want to stop her. Stopping her meant he would lose her. He couldn’t. Not again.

  Jora.

  He’d promised he would come back for her. That promise was all he had left. With a great effort, he let go of his resistance, let her do as she would with him.

  I submit to you.

  And then he was through. He stood beside her on the shore of a lake. No. Bigger. An ocean but not an ocean. The trees around them waved to him in recognition, and he waved back to his cousins. The air here was bright, painful. It stank of sea water and burning flesh, but he didn’t mind because sitting before him was Jora—a shaven version of her, but still Jora. Beautiful, bald Jora.

  She was staring at him with a mixture of wonderment and horror. Did she recognize him?

  “What is your name?” she asked, pronouncing the words slowly.

  It’s me, Jora. It’s Boden. But the mouth sounds came so arduously, and all he could manage was, “Po... teng.”

  Chapter 22

  Jora sat on the beach with the sun rising at her back, watching with a mixture of horror and disbelief at the... thing in front of her. She hadn’t intended to bring it back with her, but there it was, a tree-like being with warm, brown eyes that looked familiar and alien at the same time. It had a mouth of sorts, but it was misshapen, with a bony protrusion that looked more like a plate than teeth. Its arms were short and stumpy like tree limbs, with branches on the ends for hands and fingers. Its legs were similar but heavier, like trunks with roots for feet.

  Her gaze kept returning to its eyes, so human-looking and somewhat kindly.

  It studied her, its head cocked, its tree branch fingers clicking together in an oddly familiar manner.

  Behind her, Sundancer twittered. “You succeeded, Autumn Rain. I knew you had power.”

  She lifted the flute to her lips, still not taking her eyes from this strange creature, and asked, “Will it stay here with me? It will frighten people.”

  “You can send it away and beckon it when you want. To beckon it, you use spirit flow power and call its name.”

  Entering the Mindstream and playing the flute at the same time had been challenging, especially considering she’d had to time it precisely at the moment the sun peeked over the horizon. The same moment that, in another city, the Spirit Stone was changing its tone. “I must use flute to call ally?”

  “Yes, first open way betwixt and then speak its name.”

  “I must call the ally at dusk or dawn?” she asked.

  “No, you can call it any time. Must open gate between realms and fight new ally at dusk or dawn. Now ally can come when you call.”

  “Now that I have ally, what do I do with it?”

  “Ally does what you command. If you want travel, it takes you. If you need food, it finds you food.”

  Jora couldn’t help but imagine this creature lumbering into a town like Kaild, its hands fashioned into a bowl, begging with those human eyes. People might panic and flee or attack it with their knives and swords.

  She fought back tears. The people of Kaild had already lived the worst horror imaginable. They would never feel fear again. “Sun Dancer, will it kill men who killed my family?”

  “Yes. It will kill if you command.”

  Good. Then that was what she would do. Those assassins would die for what they’d done. She climbed to her feet, put the flute back into her satchel, and put it into the boat. “Come, Po Teng,” she said.

  The creature lumbered toward her. Though its steps were jerky and awkward, it moved very quickly, and as it did, it faded, becoming transparent, almost invisible.

  “Wait. Do that again. Go to that tree.”

  It took two or three steps, but it crossed the distance of thirty or forty feet in only two heartbeats. Again, it became transparent while it moved, such that she saw only a vague outline of its form, as if it had been made of the purest glass. When it reached the tree, its form became fully whole and opaque again.

  “Remarkable. I wish I could do that.” She thought of how that ability would come in handy to avoid any enforcers the Justice Bureau might have sent after her. “Come on, let’s go. We have some justice of our own to dispense, my new friend.”

  It returned to her side and looked up at her like a bizarre dog, waiting for its next command.

  “Well? Let’s go.” When it stood there, staring at her with its funny head cocked, she realized it was waiting for a specific command. “Get into the boat, Po Teng.”

  It climbed into the boat and stared at her from the bow, waiting.

  “Sit on that bench there,” she said, pointing.

  The creature settled on the bench, though it didn’t look comfortable. Well, it would only be for a short time. If it didn’t want to sit, it could stand. Jora pushed the boat into the water and turned it so the bow was pointing to the open wa
ter. With a few steps to push off, she jumped in, settled onto the rear seat, and looked around for Sundancer.

  “Sun Dancer, are you here?”

  “I am here.” The whistle was faint and distant.

  “Please pull boat to beach near my home.”

  The rope became taut, and the dinghy moved through the water.

  “Thank you, Sun Dancer,” she played.

  “When I am not near, you can use ally pull boat.”

  “This ally?” she asked. “He not look like can swim well.”

  “No, one like man I drowned. He is ally now, lives in water. You can command him or another like him pull boat.”

  That assassin was an ally now? “All men become allies when they die?” she asked.

  After a pause, Sundancer whistled, “I not know. Different now.”

  Maybe Elder Kassyl’s book of tones had the answer to that question. That could wait. Right now, she had business to attend to.

  When they rounded the shoal, she spotted one of the assassins on the beach, riding a brown horse and leading a skewbald by the reins as he shouted for his friend. When he caught sight of the dinghy coming toward the beach, he dismounted and drew his sword.

  “Ally will protect you. You want I will take you away?” Sundancer whistled.

  She trusted Sundancer, but could she trust the ally to do as she said? Better to find out now than forever wonder. “No, I stay here.” As the boat drifted to shore, Jora held her hands up and shouted, “I’m unarmed.”

  The man waded into knee-deep water, grabbed the rope, and pulled the boat up onto the beach. Behind him, smoke rose in thick, billowing clumps above the tops of the trees, and the terrifying sight of orange blazed through the forest. “Get out.”

  “Who sent you?” she asked, making no move to get out of the boat. “Why have you done this?”

  “It’s not personal,” he said. “I just follow orders.”

  “As does my friend. Po Teng, kill him.”

  She caught a glimpse of Po Teng moving past her. It moved so quickly, it was like a blur of wind. The man’s face went ashen before he dropped his sword and collapsed to the sand with barely a sound. Two dead. Three more left.

  She got out of the boat and ran toward the burning town. The creature kept pace with her, fading to its barely visible state. When she stopped, thick black smoke billowing into her face and eyes, she dropped to her hands and knees.

  She listened for screams or cries of help, hoping someone was still alive to save. All she heard was the roaring of the hungry fires as they consumed the homes, the civic building and dining hall, the marriage chamber and leatherworking shop, the library with the book of Azarian, lost forever. All of Kaild was dead and burning, even the livestock.

  She crawled back the way she’d come, to the beach where the fresh air blew inland from the sea, and collapsed onto her back. Too tired to move, too dispirited to force herself, she lay there looking at the blue sky, wondering why. “I just follow orders,” the assassin had said. Whose orders? Who would have ordered an entire town slaughtered?

  A quick observation of the mouse-eared assassin found the rest of them crossing the land bridge on horseback. They rode slowly, as if they had no cares. She waited and watched, and when they turned south, away from Three Waters, she breathed her relief. At least the people there were safe, but those men—those murderers—would get away. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Jora rolled onto her belly and pushed herself up with the sheer force of her will. The ally could move quickly—more so than she could. It could get to the men before they got away. “The other three killers have crossed the land bridge and are going south along the road. Can you go catch them?”

  Po Teng nodded its misshapen head.

  “Good. Go catch those men and slay them.”

  The ally lumbered away, disappearing into the smoky distance through the trees.

  Curious, Jora opened the Mindstream again to observe the mouse-eared fellow. The remaining three assassins rode single-file, their postures relaxed. Two of them sang a folksong. She glimpsed Po Teng moving up quickly from behind. The man riding in the back quit singing, his face ashen. He toppled from his saddle and landed on the ground with a thud. The horse nickered and stopped, nudging its rider where he lay.

  The man in front of him turned to look. His eyes stilled and face paled, and his lips turned white before he fell without a warning. His head cracked on a rock, and a thin stream of red powder poured from the wound, forming a pile like sand in the bottom of an hourglass.

  “What the hell?” asked Mouse Ears, turning. He moved his hand toward his sword but never made it. The Mindstream closed.

  Moments later, Po Teng was back, looking up at her like a faithful dog, its branch fingers clicking against each other.

  “Well done, my friend,” she said. “And they left me some horses.”

  The brown horse the slain assassin had been riding laid its ears back and trotted away, perhaps distrustful of the stranger who approached. Then Jora realized they were wary of Po Teng.

  “Go back to... your normal place,” she said. “I’ll call you when I need you again.”

  With that, Po Teng disappeared.

  “It’s gone now,” she said to the two horses on the beach. “Just you and me now. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll take you to Three Waters, where you’ll be cared for.”

  A skewbald beauty with a brown mane and white tail took a hesitant step toward her. She focused her attention on that one, talking sweetly and complimenting its gorgeous coat, remembering how Kaild’s horse breeder used to say that horses were drawn to kindness and loved to be admired. When the horse was near enough to touch, she lifted one hand slowly and asked permission to stroke its face. The animal’s response was a gentle nibble with its lips on her ear. A kiss.

  “You’re a sweetheart,” she told it. “Would you be willing to take me to Three Waters? It’s not far from here. They’ll feed us and give us a nice, dry place to sleep. What do you say?”

  She went to the horse’s left side and grabbed hold of the saddle. When it didn’t balk, she heaved her foot up, almost too weak to get it into the stirrup, and then with a couple of bounces on her right foot to get some momentum, she pushed herself up and hauled her weary body over the horse’s back. Gasping for breath, she grabbed her right pants leg and pulled it over. Finally, exhausted from the effort, she was in the saddle.

  “Come on, horse,” she said over her shoulder. “You come, too.” Though the brown horse didn’t trot right up, it did follow her around the burning town and over the land bridge.

  On the road, she found two of the fallen assassins, but the one with the mouse ears was gone. Just like Boden. Briefly, she wondered whether it had anything to do with the fact that she’d been observing them at the moment of their deaths.

  Too exhausted, hungry, and melancholy to think about the significance of it, she looked around for the other three horses.

  They were snacking on leaves and grass not far from the road, and they looked up when Jora approached on the back of the skewbald. She clicked her tongue and beckoned them, and they fell into a loose line behind her. Good. At least they would be cared for and put to good use rather than falling prey to a cougar.

  The sun, now high overhead, beat down relentlessly on her head and face. Her hair was starting to grow back, but it would be a long time yet before it was long enough to comb. She dozed in the saddle, startling to wakefulness when she caught herself falling.

  After a few hours on the road, she made out the shaded forms of two riders approaching. Or perhaps there were four. Her eyes had trouble focusing. She blinked hard a few times, trying to see who they were, but her mind was too numb, her body too weary.

  “Hail there,” one said.

  “Help,” she said, though it came out in a whisper.

  “Are you a horse trader?” he asked. “Looks like your... Miss, are you all right?”

  Jora felt herself falling. The ne
xt thing she knew, two faces were hovering over her. One of them had Gunnar’s gray eyes. Home. She was home, and everyone was safe. It was all a terrible nightmare. “Kaild.”

  “You’re from Kaild?” one man asked.

  “She looks a bit like one of Kayla Lanseri’s girls,” said the one with Gunnar’s eyes. “Jora, I think. Or is this Cacie?”

  “We saw the fire. Is everyone all right?”

  Fire. The horrible nightmare became a memory once again. Jora couldn’t find the strength or words to tell them what had happened. All she could manage was a quiet, “Dead.”

  The two men shared a horrified look.

  “Let’s get her back to town,” said Gunnar’s Eyes.

  She dreamed of her family and friends, running and screaming through the burning town, their clothes on fire and blood pouring from the gashes in their necks. She bolted upright with a scream in her throat, her face wet with tears.

  “There, there. You’re all right now,” said a brunette with a round face and kind eyes. “You’re safe. Jora, right? Jora Lanseri? Hebb wasn’t sure he recognized you without your braids, but Danna thought it was you.”

  Jora nodded, looking around. She was in a darkened room with a candle burning on a nearby table. There was a cup of water and a pitcher, too, and she licked her lips, summoning the strength to ask for a sip.

  “Let me get that for you,” the woman said, reaching for the cup. She held it to Jora’s mouth and tipped it while Jora guzzled down the refreshing water, cupping her own hands around the woman’s. “I’m Mira Kasuse, a third cousin to your mama, Kayla. Guess that makes us third cousins once removed. You’ve a sister, don’t you? Gracie, is it?” She refilled the cup halfway and handed it to Jora.

  “Cacie,” Jora corrected between sips. “But she’s...” Dead. They were all dead. “Gunnar’s here?” she asked, remembering his eyes. Or had that been a dream?

  “Gunnar Sayeg?” Mira asked. “He’s Kaild’s drill master, isn’t he? He’s not here, no. Why would he be?”