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

by K. C. May

“The Colossus? You can free them?”

  “Yes. I’ve freed one so far—as a test. To make sure they wouldn’t attack me on the spot. They considered the Gatekeeper an enemy, after all.”

  Rivva’s mouth and eyes were open in surprise and disbelief. “And did he attack you?”

  “No. He was confused at first, and a little wary, but we’ve become friends.” She explained to Rivva how she had to sneak out during the darkest hours in the night to see him, to explain the situation they were facing and teach him about the changes in the world since his time, and to put him back into stone every night. “It’s not ideal, and I’ve already been caught sneaking out at night. The enforcer made it clear that if I do it again, he’ll tell Justice Captain Milad and lock me in my room.”

  “What did you have in mind?” Rivva asked.

  “I was hoping you might know of a place he could live not far from here, and perhaps give him a job or loan him money to buy clothes and food. My thought was that I could more easily see him during the day. One problem is that he’s nearly seven feet tall and big as a horse. He’s going to stand out, especially dressed the way he is. Maybe disguised as a guard or enforcer, he won’t be so recognizable. I’m afraid that once someone starts noticing the statues missing, the officers in the Legion will know him for what he is and commandeer him.” She didn’t go through the trouble of releasing Arc so he could be sent off to fight in the war she was trying to end.

  Rivva chewed her bottom lip as she peered thoughtfully into Jora’s eyes. “I’ve got an idea. There’s an empty jewelry shop on Tipping Street with an apartment atop. I used to be friends with the jeweler, but when her husband’s Legion service was concluded, they moved to Tourd.”

  Jora liked the idea of him being closer, but having a shop would just put him more in the public eye rather than hiding him. “He’s a warrior, not a jeweler, and he hasn’t any goods to sell.”

  “He doesn’t need to be a jeweler. It’s a place for him to live, nothing more. With modern clothes, nobody will look at him askance. I’ll have my tailor begin straight away to outfit him properly. Which statue is he?”

  “He’s in the back facing the stable, first one on the north end. He stands like this with a glaive.” Jora mimicked his stance. “He’s also cleaner and newer looking than the others.”

  “Very well. She should be able to get his measurements and stitch at least a plain suit for him quickly. We can work on a few changes of clothes in the coming days.”

  “The moment he opens his mouth, people will know him for a stranger. His manner of speech is unusual. I’m trying to teach him to talk more normally, but he can’t change something like that so quickly.”

  “Hmmm. He’ll need a false identity and a story. For instance, let’s say he immigrated from Noossmor. They’re known to speak with a heavy accent. I’ll go ahead and secure the shop.”

  Jora had never met a Noossmoran and didn’t know whether Noossmor men typically wore their hair long, but it was a better idea than any she had. “Thank you, Rivva. I believe it’ll work, at least for now, though I plan to free the rest of the Colossi at some point.”

  “All of them? There are more than thirty.”

  “Yes,” Jora said, “a small army, as Retar said.”

  “All right,” Rivva said. “I’m not sure how we’re going to hide thirty-four Colossus warriors, especially when people begin to notice the missing statues. We’ll think of something. In the meantime, you’ll continue with our research?”

  There wasn’t any way she could decline now. Rivva was doing everything she’d asked and then some. Jora owed her this, if nothing else. “Yes. I’ll pick up where I left off.”

  “Good,” Rivva said, standing. “When will you bring your new friend to the shop?”

  “I don’t want to free him during the day when people can see. I’ll do it tonight.” And hope she didn’t get caught again.

  “Very well. I’ll see what I can do to get it furnished today. One of my men will guard it until you get there and give you the key.”

  That night, Jora and Korlan returned to the Legion building, walking silently through the empty streets. She’d promised him it would be the last night, and he reluctantly agreed to let her out. The moon hadn’t come up yet, and so the streets were dark and foreboding. Rats scurried within the shadows, their claws scrabbling across the brick paved streets. A bottle fell from the loose grip of a drunk and rolled.

  “Where is the shop the princess got for him?” Korlan asked.

  “It’s on Tipping Street, not far away.”

  “I prefer not to leave him unattended all day. What kind of trouble could a man like him get into?”

  She shot him a questioning look. “It was your idea in the first place.”

  “No, I suggested you hide him away somewhere, not set him loose upon the unsuspecting city.”

  She waved off his concern. “He’ll be fine. He’s obviously a survivor. Besides, he needs to learn how to fit in.”

  “Well, I don’t like it.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Freed from the stone, Arc flinched, his weapon snapping into position. He let out a breath and relaxed. “Thou’rt nie standing where thou wert a moment agone. I was taken aback.”

  “Sorry about that,” Jora said. “Come on, Arc. We have a surprise for you.”

  He stood his ground with a wary expression on his face. “What surprise?”

  “A place to live so I don’t have to make you a statue every night. Come on,” Jora waved him on and started off.

  “And my bro’er?”

  “Only you for now.” She turned and waited for him, but he didn’t budge. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  He sighed and started toward her. “Aye.” He paused in front of the third statue. “I shall return for thee, bro’er. Seke within thee thy patience.”

  “I have an idea,” Jora said. “There’s obviously a space here where a statue is missing. What if we spread them out a bit? Can you two move them?”

  “There’ll still be only eleven statues instead of twelve,” Korlan said.

  “Yes, but as long as there’s one on each end and no obvious gaps between them, maybe no one will notice.”

  Arc nodded. “’Tis a good plan.” He put his arms around the waist of the statue that had been next to him and tried to lift. “’Tis ful heavy—too much for one man.”

  Korlan stood on the other side of it and reached down for the legs. “The two of us could do it.”

  “Three,” Jora said. “Give me a second.” She opened the Mindstream and summoned Sonnis. “Take Arc’s form,” she said.

  Arc cried out in alarm when he saw the ally morph into his likeness, but then he walked around his twin, taking it in. “’Tis remarkable. My own mo’er would nie know it for an imposter.”

  Jora smiled, pleased with herself. “Sonnis, help them move these statues.”

  Under the star-filled night sky, they started off toward Tipping Street. Sweat gleamed on Korlan’s bald head and stuck Arc’s hair to his neck, but they spread their arms and moaned in pleasure with the occasional cool breeze of the approaching autumn.

  Jora told Arc what she knew of the city’s recent history. Walking beside him reminded Jora of her childhood, walking with her father. To a little girl, he’d been so tall and broad, like a giant. The older she got, the smaller her father looked to her until he was the size of a normal man. Not Arc. He was a giant. Every long stride matched two of hers, and so he looked to be taking a casual stroll while she scurried beside him. Korlan walked behind them, perhaps for the same reason. Arc looked over his shoulder now and then, distrustful, but the two men said little to each other.

  They maneuvered the streets to Tipping and started north. Ahead, a candle glowed from within a window. The faint outline of the word Jewelry on the sign outside remained where the paint had been scraped away. Jora went to the door and knocked, but Arc pulled her out of the way and stood in her place, hand flexing on his pol
eaxe.

  The door opened, and the man within muttered an oath. “You must be the Colossus. Princess Rivva said to expect you with Miss Lanseri. Where is she?”

  “I’m here,” she said, easing past Arc to enter the shop.

  The guard was an older fellow in his mid-forties with a few gray hairs on each side of his narrow face. “Here’s the key. There’s a bed upstairs, though it’s far too small for, uh, him. Behrendt will try to buy another. Maybe two together will suffice. You’ll find a suit of clothes upstairs and a coin pouch. It should last a month or so, if you spend it only on food.” He opened his hand to the main room. “He hopes this is sufficient for the time being.”

  The square table had a rough, stained surface, and two wooden chairs sat across from each other.

  “It’s fine,” Jora said.

  Arc sat on one of the chairs. It creaked and groaned under his weight. “Such a faible chair can nie uphelde my weight.” Not only that, but he looked ridiculous there, like he was sitting on a chair made for a child.

  Jora giggled. “Maybe you should sit on both chairs.”

  “There’s a city well one block west of here,” the guard said, “and we’ve left a pair of buckets—one for clean water, and the other for waste. You also have a cup, bowl, and spoon upstairs.”

  “Thank you,” Jora said. “This will do nicely. Please pass along my gratitude to the princess.”

  “I wish to meet the princess and thank her for myself,” Arc said.

  “That won’t be possible,” the guard said. “I’ll express your gratitude personally. Good night.”

  After he left, Arc stood and explored the small shop. Behind the main room was another, a smaller storeroom with a cellar hatch on the floor to the right. Shelves lined one wall and a staircase another. Jora put one hand on the staircase and shook. It seemed sturdy enough, without signs of a wobble or creak.

  Arc went up. The stairs groaned under his weight, but he didn’t seem afraid. He ducked his head to avoid whacking it on the ceiling before it opened to the upper floor, and then he was up, his heavy footsteps clomping the floor above.

  “Does everything look all right?” she called up the stairs.

  “Aye.” After a moment, he appeared at the top dressed in a beige tunic and brown pants. “The raiment conformeth to my body. ’Tis a marvel.”

  “While you were statuized,” Jora said with a grin, “the princess’s tailor measured you.”

  He came down the stairs. If not for his long hair and massive size, he’d have looked like a regular man. There was nothing to be done about the size, but the hair could be cut.

  “You should visit the barber tomorrow,” she said. “A haircut will do wonders for disguising you as–”

  “Nay.”

  “Men don’t wear their hair long, Arc. Boys often do, before they go off to join the Legion, but you’re clearly not a boy.”

  “Nay. A man who nipeth the her—the hair is a lafaard.” He looked at Korlan. “Nie offere offense to thee.”

  “That’s not how modern men think,” Jora said. “You want to fit in, don’t you?”

  “Eh?”

  “To fit in. To look like you belong here.”

  “Aye, but nie to lose my honor meantime.”

  She sighed. It would take time to convince him that cutting the hair had nothing to do with a man’s honor. For now, she needed to return to her room. The nights of interrupted sleep were catching up to her. “All right. Korlan and I must go. You remember where the well is? One block west.”

  “Aye. Where to dump the tord emmel?”

  “The what?” Korlan asked.

  “Tord emmel.” Arc squatted and used his lips to imitate a vulgar sound like farting. “The emmel where thou dropest the tord.”

  Jora laughed. “He means–”

  “I get it.”

  Jora explained that every block had a sewer hole covered by a circular iron plate. There was generally a foot pedal that opened it so the waste could be dropped in. “If you walk around the block in the morning, you’ll see people coming and going. Follow the ones whose waste emmels—I mean buckets are full. Now look, you’re making me talk like you. If you must ask someone, ask for the waste drop.”

  “Where wilt thou be should I need thy counsel?”

  Jora and Korlan exchanged a wary look. Having Arc show up asking for her might get them both into trouble. “Uh, we’ll be at the Justice Bureau, but it would be best if you waited until I come to see you. I’ll try to come whenever I get a free hour.”

  “Stay here,” Korlan said, using his hands to gesture a stay. “She will come.”

  Arc scowled at him. “Thou thinkest I do nie understand? Thou thinkest I am faible o’mind?”

  “No,” Jora said, getting between them. “He doesn’t think that. It’s important that you wait for me because I could get into trouble if you come find me.”

  The big warrior narrowed his eyes at Korlan before looking down at Jora. His gaze softened. “Thou needest only so say.”

  “You need only say so. Say it that way.”

  “You need only say so.”

  “Good. I’ll be back in the morning.”

  Chapter 17

  The following morning, Jora awoke with a start, interrupting a dream in which Finn was being tortured for information about her. She took a moment to let her thundering heart slow and then opened the Mindstream to Observe him.

  He was sitting alone in a stark room within the Legion building, waiting. Though his wrists were shackled, he didn’t appear to have any bruises or cuts. His head was prickly with dark stubble from the days traveling from the Isle of Shess. She took a moment to retrace his path, looking for indications he was being mistreated. She found none. Satisfied for the time being, she went down to hear the Spirit Stone’s tone change, making uncomfortable small talk with the elders and adepts there before the moment of sunrise. The morning was pleasantly cool, the street damp. She wondered whether the overnight sprinkle had been enough to disguise the marks on the ground where the two men and the ally had dragged the statues into their new positions.

  As usual, she was alone by the time she opened her eyes. None of the enforcers were there to ensure she didn’t go anywhere, so she walked to the abandoned jewelry shop, stripping off her robe on the way.

  Archesilaus greeted her at the door with a wide smile. “I have procured a gift for thee,” he said, looking rather pleased with himself. From behind his back, he produced a hat made of red silk with a narrow brim and a black ribbon tied around the bottom of the crown. “For to co’er thy bald pate.”

  She laughed and took the hat. It fit perfectly and covered nearly her entire head, stopping just above her ears. In fact, if she’d had all her hair, it might have been too small. “That was kind of you, but you shouldn’t have spent your money on this.”

  Arc winked at her. “I argued for a fair price.”

  She had to admit, she wouldn’t stand out as much. A bald girl in street clothes was obviously a Truth Sayer trying not to look like a Truth Sayer. “Thank you, Arc.”

  “How became thou—you—the portwatcher?” he asked. “You wert born as such?”

  “No, I was born with the ability to access the Mindstream—the mind vision as you call it, but I didn’t become Gatekeeper until a few weeks ago.” She told him about being discovered by the Truth Sayers at the Justice Bureau, about Boden and the flute he’d given her, about Sundancer and how she’d learned to communicate with the dolphin and understand the Spirit Stone. Arc’s eyes brightened when she spoke of the Spirit Stone, and he expressed interest in seeing it again.

  “Come on, then,” she said, smiling. “We won’t get too close because I mustn’t be seen with you.”

  Jora showed Arc the way to the Justice Bureau. They stopped behind a building in a nearby alley where she could point out the Spirit Stone at the top of the front steps. He admitted he’d never felt the tones hum through it, but he’d been captivated by the statue’s beauty a
nd by the stories he’d heard of the seven Spirit Stones’ mystical nature.

  “Are you also the Concord?” he asked as they walked back toward the market. “Or only the portwatcher?”

  “What’s the Concord?”

  He smiled down at her. “If thou—you wost nie, then you art nie the Concord.”

  “Say know instead of wit or wost. Wit isn’t something we do anymore. It’s something we have.”

  “’Tis difficult to change the manner that I speak.”

  “I understand,” she said. “I don’t expect you to wake up tomorrow speaking like a modern man.”

  Next, she spent an hour showing him around the market and explained how the monetary system worked. She offered a few tips on avoiding Legion soldiers, how to recognize them, and what to say if he happened to encounter one. Satisfied Arc would be all right on his own for a time, she saw him back to the empty shop and bid him good day. Before she’d gone more than two steps, he stopped her with a grip on her wrist.

  “What am I to do here? I am nie a merchant.”

  “Tell people the shop is closed if they knock. Until then, just… sit tight. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I am to sit idle for hours and hours? My mind will be lost to madness.”

  It occurred to her that she could bring him a book on Serocian history to give him something to read. He might appreciate knowing what had happened since the previous Gatekeeper had set him into stone. “Do you know how to read?”

  “Aye, I can read.”

  She smiled. “Good. I’ll bring you a book next time. In the meantime, sleep. It’s been five hundred years. You must be tired of standing all that time.”

  Arc lifted one corner of his mouth in a wry grin. “Nay. I should like to wander.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. That wasn’t a good idea. As much as she hated to do it, she thought keeping him here and out of sight was the best course. “Don’t go far or you’ll get lost. Don’t go to the Legion building where the other statues are. We don’t want people to get suspicious and start counting them. And don’t take your glaive with you.”