Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2)

by K. C. May

  “Yes, of course,” Jora said.

  “Of course, because you’re a loyal Serocian citizen. You would want him to know so that he could hold them accountable. You might even gather evidence without anyone knowing so that you could either catch them in the act or arrange it so that the king could witness their vile behavior for himself.”

  Jora nodded. “Yes, but to promise the king to drop the matter and then investigate would also be treason.”

  “If you had reason to believe that the king was under duress when he gave you that command, and if the princess and heiress to the throne told you in no uncertain terms that he had planned differently only hours earlier, if she begged you to find out who was responsible so that we could stop the smuggling and perhaps one day end this awful, bloody war, would you not entertain the request?”

  Jora chewed the inside of her cheek. Stopping the war was the ultimate goal, wasn’t it? And if the enemy soldiers were reliving because some traitors were selling away Serocia’s advantage, then it only made sense that stopping the smuggling would ultimately stop the war. Eventually, Mangend and Arynd Ban would run out of soldiers to fight, and they’d be forced to call a truce.

  “Think of it,” Rivva said. “Having someone who could track down the leader of the smuggling operation by using the power you have would be much more efficient than using investigators who lacked those powers, even if those investigators were uninvolved in covering it up.”

  “I-I don’t understand why the king hasn’t requested the help of the Justice Bureau,” Jora said. Her hands began to sweat, but she didn’t want to wipe them on her borrowed trousers.

  “Because Elder Sonnis was involved. We don’t know how many more of them still are or who they might be. That’s precisely why he and I agreed to ask you to do it.”

  The king could have reversed his conditions for her pardon after the dominee left if that was what he truly wanted. Jora shook her head doubtfully.

  “Kings have a way of being murdered when they act contrary to someone with an agenda of their own.”

  Jora gasped. “Murdered? Do you believe his life is in danger?”

  “Not immediately, no, but if someone is getting ridiculously wealthy by working behind his back to prolong a war as the king searches for peace, they would work against even the most minor successes. The only way to end the war is to first stop the smuggling, and the only way to stop the smuggling is to first find out who is behind it.”

  Now Jora found herself nodding. She couldn’t disagree with the argument, but what did she know about such things?

  “In many ways, we’re alike, you and I,” the princess said. “We’re the kind of person who rolls up her sleeves and does what needs doing. The difference is that you’re free to act. I’m constantly hobbled and expected to sit back like a good little princess while others handle it. How can I not be dissatisfied with the outcome when those others have their own agenda? I need someone I can trust to do what I cannot.”

  Jora wondered how one of the most powerful women in the country could feel hobbled. She thought back to her own life—a leatherworker from a seaside village who’d aspired only to marry an upstanding man and bear him sons while crafting leather goods to earn her keep. Instead she’d become the Gatekeeper, commanding creatures from the other realm of perception to kill for her. She supposed power wasn’t something one was born with. It was something one earned.

  “I’m only asking you to do what I would if I had your talent. I’m not asking you to stop them yourself.”

  “So you only want me to find out who’s leading the operation?”

  “Exactly. Give me their names and a few bits of concrete information, like where and when they meet to receive their payments. Armed with that knowledge, I can go to my father. He’ll put an end to it.”

  The carriage pulled up in front of the Justice Bureau and stopped.

  “There’s not much time,” Rivva said. “Can I count on you?”

  It sounded reasonable when Rivva laid it out, but there was still the matter of the promise Jora had made to the king. To renege on that would make her a traitor. Except for the nagging certainty that the king had been about to ask her to investigate before Dominee Ibsa entered. If King Yaphet suspected the jewel-loving, book-stealing dominee of being involved in the smuggling, her presence would have stilled his tongue.

  The footman opened the door and offered his gloved hand to assist the women.

  “Jora?”

  “I’m sorry, Rivva,” Jora said. “I don’t–”

  The princess raised one delicate hand. “Forgive me,” she said, shaking her head. Her loops of careful curls flopped, threatening to break free from their pins. “You haven’t had time to consider, and I apologize. It’s unfair of me to ask you for a decision now. Before you give me your final answer, could I ask you to sleep on it? That will also give me time to ask my father why he changed his mind.”

  Though Jora was inclined to refuse unless she heard the request directly from the king, she couldn’t dash Rivva’s hopes without at least promising to think it over. Perhaps the king would grant her another audience without the dominee there to interfere. She nodded. “All right.”

  “Good. Thank you. I’ll come by tomorrow to get your answer.”

  They strode together down the wide corridor toward the courtroom where Jora’s trial had been held. Members of the Order, including the elders and adepts who were serving as her judges, scurried down the hall and into the room, obviously responding to the warning that the princess and the accused had returned. When Jora entered and returned to her seat, she placed the folded parchment containing her pardon on her lap and tried to wipe her hands off on her trousers without anyone noticing.

  Across the room, Justice Captain Milad glared at her, his armed crossbow cocked and pointed directly at her chest.

  Once the three elders and three adepts had settled into their seats, Rivva stepped forward but only as far as the well of the room, a single step beyond the spectators’ gallery. “If it pleases the court, I would like to speak on behalf of Miss Jora Lanseri.”

  The audience members shuffled and settled onto their seats, whispering, “pardon me” or an occasional apology after eliciting a wince of pain.

  “Elder Tornal,” Rivva said as she approached the elders’ bench. “As Miss Lanseri will show you, King Yaphet has issued her a pardon.”

  Murmurs ripped through the gallery.

  The elders looked at each other. “A... pardon?” Elder Gastone asked. “Let me see it.”

  Jora started to rise, but one enforcer shoved her back into her seat with a hand on her shoulder while another held out his hand expectantly for the paper on her lap. She hesitantly gave it over, worried that one of them would rip it up. Surely not. Not in front of the princess.

  The enforcer handed the paper up to Tornal and returned to his position behind Jora’s right shoulder.

  Tornal peered through his spectacles at the paper in his hands. He harrumphed and passed it to Elder Gastone. “Well, then, young lady,” Tornal said. “I suppose fortune smiles upon you today.”

  “This pardon is conditional,” Gastone said as he passed the paper to Elder Devarla. “Should she fail to adhere to its terms, it will be revoked. I call for a pronouncement of her sentence based on the Witness testimony.”

  “I concur,” Devarla said, handing the paper back to Tornal. “If the conditions for the pardon are not met, we should have the court record to fall back on.”

  “Very well.” Tornal motioned the enforcer flanking Jora’s right side to step up and retrieve the pardon, which the enforcer then handed back to Jora before taking his place once again. “Give us a moment to deliberate.” He and the two other elders huddled together, whispering amongst themselves.

  Rivva gave Jora a hopeful smile and a wink. What sentence did insubordination carry? It wasn’t a crime. She’d merely broken the rules of the Order—an Order from which she’d already been dismissed. No, they couldn
’t punish her for that. They would have to set her free, though she had no idea where she would go. Perhaps to Halder in search of a leather worker with whom to finish her apprenticeship. Of course, the king would likely want her to remain in Jolver to confer with the Minister of War and whatnot. If that was true, she would start searching for the leather shops first thing in the morning.

  At last the elders retook their seats. Tornal cleared his throat. “Should Jora Lanseri fail to adhere to the terms of her pardon, she is sentenced to death by beheading. In compliance with the king’s pardon, however, she shall return to her duties as a member of the Order of Justice Officials.”

  They can’t put me to death, so they want me back? Jora laughed, unable to silence the outburst before it escaped her lips.

  Heads turned to regard her.

  “That’s preposterous,” Princess Rivva said. “You wanted to kill her a few minutes ago, and now you want her back among you?” She turned her fiery gaze to Milad. “Put that damned crossbow away before you accidentally shoot her.”

  The justice captain’s bushy eyebrows dipped for the briefest moment before he complied with her command.

  “How did you come to such a decision?” Rivva asked.

  “In light of the king’s pardon,” Tornal said, “we must consider her crimes uncommitted from a legal standpoint. If there’s no crime, then her dismissal from the Order is unjustified and is therefore reversed. Novice Jora will return to her studies here at the Justice Bureau. Is that acceptable, Princess Rivva?”

  Rivva looked pensive for a moment, before a pleased expression lit her face. “Yes,” she said, “that is acceptable to the crown.”

  Jora could hardly believe it. She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or distressed. Were they supposed to simply forget that they’d judged her a murderer and go about their lives as if nothing had happened? She opened her mouth to ask whether she had any say in the matter but then shut it again, remembering Elder Gastone’s words when they’d first met. Her service is compulsory. She supposed she didn’t. “Who’s to be my elder?” she asked, awkwardly twisting the screws in the kendern. “Elder Kassyl was murdered, and Elder Sonnis is no longer capable of fulfilling those duties.”

  “I am,” Devarla said.

  One of the enforcers pushed her hands away and finished loosening the band of the kendern and lifted it from her head. Jora breathed her relief. At last, she felt like she could truly think.

  Gastone bent toward Tornal and whispered something. Tornal waved him off with an impatient expression.

  “Elder Devarla has come from Halder to assume Elder Kassyl’s hierarchy. I see no reason to move you to another. This proceeding is now concluded.” He banged his gavel and then rose.

  Jora looked around the courtroom as people stood and began to chatter. The enforcers who’d been guarding her ambled over to where Milad was standing, leaving her alone in the Accused’s chair. Assuming she was free to leave, she stood and slid her folded pardon into her blouse over her left breast, then wiped her hands down her thighs. Though many people glanced at her, she was no longer the focus of attention. The spectators began to file out of the courtroom as if a simple meeting had just concluded, though a few remained behind, gathering in small groups and talking quietly amongst themselves. On the elevated platform behind the elders’ bench, Gastone and Tornal argued in hushed voices.

  Rivva came over, reaching for Jora’s hands. “Congratulations. I hope you’re pleased with the outcome.”

  “It’s better than being beheaded,” Jora said with a grin. “Thank you.”

  “Justice Captain,” Rivva said, beckoning him with a crooked finger. When he neared, she told him to have Jora’s belongings delivered to her room at the dormitory. “And make certain her flute is among them. I expect it’ll be in pristine condition. If the dominee has any complaints, direct her to me. I expect her full cooperation.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Milad said. He snapped a bow and gestured to his enforcers to follow him, then left the courtroom.

  “I’ll be back tomorrow to continue our earlier conversation. Rest well, Jora. It’s been a trying day for you. Not intending the pun, of course.”

  Jora chuckled. “I will. See you tomorrow.” She watched the princess sweep from the room, her guards following behind.

  Now what? she wondered, looking around. Do I have my old room in the dormitory?

  Elder Devarla stepped down from the platform and approached. Her expression made her look far more stern than Elder Kassyl had or even Elder Sonnis before he revealed his true nature. “You and I need to talk.”

  “Come with me,” Elder Devarla said. She strode from the courtroom, her back straight and her eyes directed ahead.

  Jora followed obediently, casting shy smiles at the three judges who stepped aside to let her pass. The small groups of chattering elders and adepts in the spectators’ gallery paused their conversations to stare as she went by.

  Devarla had paused in the corridor for Jora to catch up. They walked side by side toward the back door and the walkway beyond, which led to the dormitory. “You’ll be staying in your old room on the fourth floor, number four thirty-four. I’ll have Disciple Bastin lead you through your assignments, but you’ll report directly to me. I want to meet with you daily–”

  “Are we going to pretend all that didn’t happen?” Jora blurted.

  Devarla blinked down at her. She was a tall woman, lean and bony, with a long neck and a nose too small for her face. Jora found herself envying that nose, so much smaller than her own, as well as the elder’s blue eyes and the confidence she exuded. “No, we aren’t pretending anything. How could I forget that you murdered your last elder? Do you think that doesn’t worry me?”

  Jora stopped, her hands balling into fists. “I didn’t murder him. He’s not even dead. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “Pardon my poor choice of words. He’s not here, serving Serocia through his duty to the Order, is he? Regardless of what he’s become, he isn’t the man we knew as Elder Sonnis.”

  “You’re evading the question,” Jora muttered as she continued walking again. When they reached the rear door, Jora shoved it open and went through, but she paused to hold it open for the elder.

  “What would you have me say?” Devarla asked, letting the door close behind her. There was tension in her voice, a barely restrained frustration. Or perhaps it was fear. “You’re capable of turning me into some accursed worm thing to do your bidding, so obviously you have all the power in this relationship. Tell me, Gatekeeper. What would you have me say? Command me, and I’ll say whatever you’d like to hear.” The two women stood outside the justice building, glaring at one another.

  Jora’s face burned with shame and anger. “You can’t guilt me out of expecting to be treated with respect. You people wanted to put me to death. Let me ask you, Elder. If Elder Sonnis had issued a command to have your entire hometown slain, would you have punished him? Or would you have waited for him to go to trial, knowing his friends were judging him?” She pointed back at the justice building. “Knowing they would probably find some way to excuse or justify his actions and send him back to work with a mere slap on the hand?”

  Elder Devarla regarded her with a cocked head. “Do you honestly believe there’s such corruption within this establishment that friendship would trump justice? That favors can be exchanged to overlook immoral or illegal behavior?”

  Jora considered for a moment what Rivva had said. Because Elder Sonnis was involved. We don’t know how many more of them still are or who they might be. There had to have been more within the Order who were like Sonnis—corrupt and quite possibly involved in the godfruit smuggling. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  The elder grasped Jora by the elbow, sharp fingers digging into her flesh, and marched her down the covered walkway. She released Jora’s arm and sat on the first of several stone benches on the left that overlooked the open, grassy courtyard between the two buildings. “Sit with me
a moment.” Her voice was softer now, less accusatory.

  Jora joined her on the bench. The early evening air felt cooler there in the shade. Around them, birds chirped and squirrels darted from one hiding place to another. The brick wall that surrounded the justice bureau compound was tall enough to hide the rooftops of the adjacent buildings, but it didn’t quiet the sounds of a barking dog and children playing nearby. Still, it was peaceful there.

  “Are you willing to tell me who?” Devarla asked.

  Jora shook her head. She didn’t know who. To guess would be to cast suspicion on people based on her own dislike, and that wasn’t fair.

  “I arrived in Jolver a few days ago, transferred from Halder, and haven’t had time to assess the character of my colleagues. You can trust me, Jora. I’m as interested as you are in weeding out the corrupt and returning integrity to the Order.”

  “I only know what Elder Sonnis did. He had to have been–” Taught? She shook the notion out of her head. Elder Kassyl wasn’t corrupt. Elder Kassyl would not have taught Elder Sonnis or any of his other adepts how to skirt the law or funnel ill-begotten money into Serocia’s economy.

  Devarla watched her for a moment. “Then he might’ve been the only corrupt one here.”

  Jora shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible.”

  The door to the justice building opened, and Elder Gastone stepped out. He caught Jora’s eye and gave her a grim smile and a nod. “Elder,” he said as he passed. “Novice.”

  The two women watched his back as he continued to the dormitory.

  “He wanted to have you transferred to his hierarchy,” Devarla said. “You two have history?”

  Jora nodded. “He was the one who showed up in Kaild to bring me here in the first place. Somehow they tracked me down through my Mindstreaming.”

  “You coined that term, didn’t you? Mindstreaming?” Devarla asked. “I’ve heard others here use it, especially the novices and disciples.”