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

by K. C. May

  She explained how it worked and that the soldiers of the Legion ate it every day in case they fell in battle. Arc asked questions, such as why the enemy soldiers weren’t frightened off by the fact that the Serocians lived again and why they didn’t try to steal the fruit. “They do,” she said. “And someone is helping them do it. Someone is smuggling godfruit to our enemies and profiting from this war—and from the deaths of Serocian soldiers”

  Arc’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened. “’Tis not right. We must stop them. We will redress this.”

  Jora nodded. “That’s why I need your help and perhaps that of your friends, too.”

  Arc pursed his lips as he regarded the statues lined up along the exterior walls of the Legion headquarters. He strolled past them, naming each one and touching them on the arm or shoulder. Jora followed him around the building, keeping her eyes open and her ears alert for a sign they’d been spotted. The leather trousers and mail tunic might not draw much notice, but the glaive would, as would the black marks on the inside of his left forearm.

  “What is that on your arm?” Jora asked.

  Arc turned his wrist to display the strange characters imprinted there. “’Tis the vision ward, imprinted on the arm of e’ry Colossus.”

  “What is it for?”

  “Wyth this ward the portwatcher and others wyth the mind vision can nie ken our emplacement.”

  Jora couldn’t be certain without looking at Rivva’s wrist cuff again, but she suspected the symbols were the same. A barring hood of sorts. She nodded appreciatively at the ingenuity of tattooing the symbols directly into their skin. “Do you know what the symbols mean?”

  Arc ran a finger over the black shapes sewn into his skin. “Nay, only that it achieves the purpose. Scribes know them and guard the knowledge well.”

  “What kind of scribes?” Jora asked.

  “Scribes who study the scripture,” he said with a crooked grin. “I wot little o’these matters. Thou mustest ask another, mayhap the dominee, if thou wishest to wit.”

  Jora groaned. The dominee was the last person she wanted to talk to—about anything.

  “You yet have a dominee in these modern times?”

  “We do.”

  He continued around the building, naming each warrior and touching them as if he were greeting them after a long absence. His brow was crinkled in concern, his shoulders stiff. He stopped in front of one in particular and stared.

  It was a female, Jora realized, a few inches shorter than Arc. Apart from the small breasts beneath the mail shirt, she looked every bit like the other warriors—fierce, muscular, and filled with rage.

  “Was she your friend?”

  He said nothing, but the way he touched her shoulder was different. Tender.

  Jealousy burned in her gut like the ember from a dying fire. At some point, she’d begun to think of him as hers, but he wasn’t hers. He belonged only to the king. The magnanimous thing to do would be to release her so they could be reunited, but the thought of sharing Arc’s attention with another woman gave her pause, which embarrassed her at the same time. “I’ll free her next, if you want.”

  “Nay,” he said, moving on to the next statue.

  Jora was ashamed of the satisfaction she felt. “You haven’t seen her in a long time.”

  “I did see her just this morn.”

  She supposed he was right. From his perspective, only a few hours had passed since he began the battle that resulted in his battalion turning to stone. She followed him around the building, seeing the emotion in his face as he acknowledged each statue. The distress in his eyes was plain. These were his friends, stony and silent for over five hundred years. What surprised her the most was that a warrior so hard and fierce could feel so intensely.

  “What bechanced Hadrian?” he asked, stopping before one statue. It was cracked across the face, shoulder and arm, and a few small chunks of stone had crumbled away. Its right hand, broken off at the wrist, lay by its feet, a tempting toy for a mischievous child.

  “I don’t know. It must have fallen down and broken. Maybe we can have a sculptor repair it.” Jora didn’t know whether the loss of his hand would mean a loss in the flesh, but a repair would at least give him a chance to regain use of the hand. It might not work, but it was worth a try.

  At last, they returned to the corner where Arc had been standing. Once she’d taken the time to look at them more closely, Jora counted three female Colossi in all.

  “Where are the others?” Arc asked. “Scipio and Septimius are not among the rest.”

  Jora shrugged. “They might be in elsewhere in the city, but I only know of thirty-four statues.”

  “There were six and thirty in all. Thou knowest nie what hath bechanced Cyprianus?”

  “That’s right. I could bring you the history book we have, though I doubt it’ll answer the question. Maybe the two missing Colossi defeated him.”

  Arc rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps. For now, let us take thy knowledge o’smuggling to the king. Long has the king relied upon the might o’the Colossus. He will welcome our return.”

  “I have. In fact, the king asked me to investigate the matter in secret. He suspects some of his cabinet ministers are involved. He doesn’t know who yet, but I intend to find out. I can’t have you traipsing through the palace—his enemies will know I’m releasing the Colossi, and they’ll become suspicious.”

  He regarded her with his head slightly cocked as if judging the honesty of her story. “I shall help thee wyth thy quest, portwatcher. Thou shalt have my duty.”

  “You don’t know what my quest is yet.”

  “It matters nie. Thou pledgest thy service to the king o’Serocia, as do I. My old life is over. I most learn anew or die, and I am yet yare for death.”

  “I am not ready for death. Say it like that.”

  “I am nie ready for death.”

  Jora chuckled. “We’ll keep working on that.”

  For the next several nights, Jora awoke and returned to continue the conversation with Arc, sneaking out through the tunnel and the tavern as before. On the third night of their meeting, she heard his stomach rumble and cursed herself for not thinking to bring him food or water. Though from his perspective, only a few hours had passed between their first meeting and their most recent, the needs of the flesh started to assert themselves. She snuck food from the dining hall on the fourth evening, and when she gave it to Arc, he devoured it ravenously. As she watched him eat, she realized a man that big needed more food than what she’d brought, and she promised herself she would see him properly fed before too long. If she had money, she could buy something from the tavern, but she had none and few belongings to sell.

  When she opened her door on the fifth night, Korlan, who’d been sitting with his back against it, fell onto the floor. He jerked to wakefulness and sat up, craning his neck to see her behind him. “Oh, hey.”

  “What are you doing here?” Jora whispered.

  “Waiting for you,” he said, climbing to his feet. He looked her up and down, taking in her street clothes and flute. “Going somewhere?”

  Caught again, Jora stammered, uncertain what to say.

  “Listen, Nob saw you sneaking out last night. As a favor, he told me this time instead of Milad, since he knows we’re friends. And since you owe me for putting me to sleep and taking my keys the other night, I’m going to go with you.”

  “No,” she said. “You can’t.”

  “Oh, yes, I can. And I will. My job is to keep you safe beyond these walls.”

  “I am safe. You don’t need to put yourself at risk for me.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “Korlan, trust me. The less you know, the better. Another life is at stake here, not only yours and mine.”

  “You’re doing all this sneaking about to see Sundancer? I don’t understand what you two talk about anyway, so what does it matter–”

  “It’s not Sundancer I’m seeing, Kor.”


  A look of suspicious concern crossed his face. “You can call your Boden monster and put me to sleep or turn me into a statue, but if you do, I’ll go straight to Milad. No more games, Jora. Take me with you or you don’t go.”

  She studied him for a moment, saw the determined set of his jaw and his square shoulders. She was trapped. Whether she took him with her or not, they would both be in trouble if Milad found out. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t try to talk you out of it. Did you bring your keys?”

  “Yah.”

  They walked as quietly as they could downstairs and out the door. Neither spoke until they were well beyond the gate.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  It was a ten-minute walk to the Legion Headquarters, most of it passed in silence. Korlan brooded beside her, and Jora thought ahead to how Arc would react to seeing him.

  They stopped in front of Arc’s statue, his stance and position indiscernible from that in which he’d stood for the last five centuries. She’d convinced him to stand that way before Po Teng returned him to stone every night, to decrease the chances that someone would notice him out of position.

  “Challenge the gods, Jora,” Korlan said. “You’ve been talking to the statues?”

  “Just this one. I freed him that first night, and I’ve been teaching him about our world now. Things have changed a lot since he faced Cyprianus in battle. Stand over here,” she told Korlan, placing him several yards away from Arc. “He’s a warrior and has quick reactions to changes in his environment. From his perspective, you’ll suddenly appear out of nowhere.”

  Korlan did as she asked and waited, though when Jora summoned Po Teng he started and cursed under his breath.

  “Kaw-leng,” Po Teng said with an affectionate gleam in his eyes.

  “Relax, it’s Boden.”

  “I know,” he said. “It’s just that the nightmares from reliving still plague me. I don’t know how you can venture into that world of monsters and not go raving mad.”

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. “I suppose I’m used to it. I’ve been seeing them since I was a child when I open the Mindstream. They haven’t hurt me yet, and unless I tell them to, they won’t hurt you either.”

  Korlan nodded, but he eyed Po Teng with apprehension.

  On Jora’s command, the ally released Archesilaus from stone.

  Arc’s eyes immediately flicked to Korlan, and he dropped into a battle stance, pushing Jora protectively around behind him as he raised his weapon.

  “Arc, wait. That’s my friend, Korlan. Don’t hurt him.”

  Korlan raised one tentative hand to wave.

  “Thy freond? Thou art certain?”

  She waved Korlan forward. “Korlan, meet Arc. Arc, this is Korlan.”

  Korlan stepped forward and extended his hand. “Korlan Rastorfer.”

  Arc reluctantly shook it. “Archesilaus Asellio, First Commander o’the…” He scowled, as if realizing that his former battalion no longer existed. “I am wythout a title now.”

  “How about Gatekeeper’s Champion?” Jora asked.

  Korlan shot her a look that was both surprise and annoyance. “So, you were once a warrior,” he said.

  “I am yet a warrior,” Arc shot back, glowering. “As Jora says, I am Portwatcher’s Champion. And what art thou?”

  “What are you,” Jora corrected. “Not what art thou. And Korlan is an enforcer, one of the peacekeepers in Jolver, and my friend. He was with me in my final battle, when I became the Gatekeeper.”

  Arc looked down his nose and laughed. “He is a faible ambodexter. He holded thy drink whilst thou battled thy foe, did he?”

  Korlan scrunched his nose. “What did he say?”

  “He was jesting,” Jora said. “Korlan wanted to meet you.”

  “No, I wanted to come with you,” Korlan said. “To make sure you’re safe.”

  “She hath naught to fear from me,” Arc said.

  Jora blinked at them, confused as to why they emanated such hostility toward one another.

  “Well, if you’re going to keep him,” Korlan said, “you need to get him some clothes and food and a place to stay. You can’t keep coming here at night.”

  “I agree,” Arc said. “Becoming a statue is nie to my liking. How am I to help if thou leveth me here twentig and three houres e’ry day?”

  Jora knew they were right, but she couldn’t exactly keep him in her dormitory room. She had no money to pay for his boarding, even if she did make peace with the notion of letting him walk around Jolver unattended.

  “Why not ask your friend the princess?” Korlan asked. “She seems willing enough to grant you favors.”

  She held one finger to her lips in thought. “Hmm. She might be willing to help.” Especially if Jora told her about the conversation with Retar. “I’ll ask to see her first thing in the morning.”

  As Jora and Korlan walked back to the dormitory, he bent her ear about Arc and what a brute he was. His complaints ranged from the man’s smell to the impropriety of the two meeting privately at night as they did. “You don’t know anything about him. He could be some horrible raper of women or something.”

  “Are you jealous?” she asked, smiling up at him. She’d meant it as a jest, but his scowl deepened.

  “As your friend, it’s my duty to watch your back. You don’t need him as your champion—you have me.”

  “I meant no insult, Korlan, but you have to admit, nobody’s going to bother me with him at my side.”

  “You’ve got Po Teng to keep you safe. What use is that old dodder?”

  Jora burst out laughing and then clapped a hand over her mouth. The sound of her laughter echoed down the dark, empty street. “He may be old, but he’s far from feeble.”

  Recognition lit Korlan’s face. “Faible... That bastard called me feeble, didn’t he?”

  “He was jesting. Don’t be so sensitive. Besides, Po Teng can’t keep me safe while I’m asleep.”

  He looked at her with alarm in his face. “And he can? Do you have plans to sneak him into your room to watch over you? Because if you do, let me just put my neck on the chopping block now. Milad won’t believe I innocently failed to notice that.”

  “I’m not, don’t worry. I don’t expect you to sacrifice yourself for me, but now you understand why I didn’t want you to come with me.”

  He stayed quiet for the rest of the way, only wishing her a quiet goodnight when they reached the dormitory and went their separate ways.

  Chapter 16

  The next morning, after a visit with the Spirit Stone to hear the day’s new tone, Jora found the big enforcer they called Gruesome waiting for her at the building’s entrance. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said, giving him a wide berth as she stepped past him on the way back to her room. She had an hour or so before the second bell and thought to try dozing until then.

  He kept pace with her down the corridor, a twinkle in his usually hard, cruel eyes. “No, you’re not. Not no more. I don’t know what you do out and about in the mirknight,” he said in a low voice, “and I don’t care, but Nob did Korlan a favor by not reporting you to Milad. That was a one-time kindness as a welcome to the brotherhood of enforcers. You get no such treatment.”

  Jora swallowed hard but lifted her chin to try to appear confident. “I don’t expect any special treatment from you.” She hurried her step, hoping he would take the hint that she didn’t wish to talk to him.

  “The choice is yours. Stay in your room or get locked in it. No more o’your nighttime jaunts.”

  He didn’t follow her out the back door, though he glared at her as she left the dining hall after breakfast. He pointed to his right eye and then to her in a gesture that made it plain he would be watching her.

  After a time, she received a summons to Elder Devarla’s office. When she arrived, Princess Rivva’s guard was standing outside the closed door.

  “The princess requests you wait for a mom
ent,” one of them said.

  Jora nodded and leaned against the wall opposite the door. She’d been waiting about ten minutes when the door burst open, and Princess Riva swept out, immediately stopping when she caught sight of Jora. She pushed a smile to her face. “Jora, how are you?”

  “I’m well, Rivva, and you?”

  Rivva hooked her arm in Jora’s and started leading her off down the hall. Jora looked back over her shoulder, thinking Elder Devarla wanted to see her about something, and caught sight of the elder with her face in her hands.

  “I heard about what they did to you,” Rivva said in a hushed voice, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to overrule it. I tried, though. Tell me honestly now, how are you?”

  “The soreness has gone, though if I sit too long, my knees and hips start to ache. As long as I move around, I feel back to normal.” When they reached the stairs, Jora did her best to descend without wincing in pain or clutching the rail as she had been.

  “I think you’re hurting more than you admit,” Rivva said with a gentle smile.

  “I’m fine, really.”

  “How are you coming with our project?”

  Jora gestured to one of the empty courtrooms. “Let’s go in there so we won’t be disturbed.” They settled on one of the benches in the spectators’ gallery, while the four guards waited outside. The room was huge and empty, causing their voices to echo off the plaster walls and wood paneling. “I’ve made some progress,” Jora said. “I traced the smugglers back to someone called The Captain, but I haven’t yet identified him.”

  “Oh,” Rivva said, her face dropping. “I was hoping you’d have made more progress than that by now.”

  “I would have, but you see, Retar interrupted me. He said that pursuing this task puts me in danger. While he’d rather I dropped it altogether, he said that if I was going to do it, I should have an army of my own.”

  “Gracious! What sort of army? Like…” Rivva leaned forward and whispered, “allies?”

  “No, not allies.” Jora said. She licked her lips. “Colossus warriors.”