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

by K. C. May

  He opened the door and peeked inside, leaving just enough room for her to duck past him. Though she brushed his arm with her shoulder, neither of them felt it.

  He followed her down the stairs, oblivious to her presence, but his pace was quicker than hers. She stepped aside to let him pass. Once he was out of sight, she opened the dormitory door and dodged her peers as she made her way to the side gate. When no one was looking, she opened the gate and stepped through. Doors and gates opening and closing of their own volition would only arouse suspicion, and she didn’t want some nosy elder to enter the ’twixt and see her.

  As she walked through the streets, dodging and ducking people who didn’t know she was there, she pulled the hat over her bald head and took off the red robe. Dressed as a regular person, she left the ’twixt and walked more comfortably out in the open.

  When she reached the jeweler’s shop, breathing hard from her brisk walk, the door was locked. She pounded on it with her fist. A sea-green eye peered at her through the shutters, then the lock rattled and the door opened.

  “Miss Jora,” Arc said with a smile. “A lovely surprise. I did nie expect to see thee again anon. The hat is fine fashion upon thy pate.”

  She went in and draped the now-purple robe over the back of a chair. “I need your help.”

  “How might I aid thee?”

  The two sat at the table, though there was no wine or water to drink nor fruit to nibble upon. Arc leaned forward, resting his forearms across the table’s scratched and stained top. The table groaned and creaked in response.

  “Do you remember when I told you about the godfruit and the Tree of the Fallen God?”

  “Aye, o’course.”

  “I’ve found out who receives the smuggling money. She’s the treasurer—the king’s Minister of Finance.” Jora explained how she traced the smuggling money to Jolver . “The money is delivered to a barbery every Martis Day.”

  “You wantest to steal the money?” he asked.

  “No, no. Well, yes. But not to keep for myself. I want to disrupt the smuggling. If the money doesn’t reach its destination, then they’ll have to scramble.”

  Arc shook his head. “Nay, portwatcher. That is not how to handle this thing. Steal the money and draw thine enemy’s eye. Go instead to the king and tell him all that you didst tell me.”

  “I’ve already told the princess. I must let her take the news to the king.”

  Arc crossed his arms and studied her. “There is more to thy story.”

  “There is, but it’s not relevant right now. We have little time before the money arrives in Jolver. What do you suggest I do?”

  “To defeat thine enemy, thou mustest wit thine enemy as thou wost thyself. Dost thou understand thine enemy’s motivation? His reason for smuggling the godfruit?”

  “Greed probably. I don’t know.”

  “First, appraise thine enemy’s strength,” Arc explained, “find the weakness, then attack it.”

  That would take too long, she thought. “But the money delivery happens today.”

  “Then I shall begin today.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You hast said I ought nip my hair, so I shall visit the barbery for to nip my hair.”

  “You aren’t planning to confront the captain, are you?”

  “Nie, only to see for myself who comes and who goes, and to assess the character of the barber.”

  She nodded, thinking it was a good plan. They wouldn’t recognize him or have any reason to question his presence there. “All right, but say cut my hair, not nip my hair.”

  “Cut my hair,” he said, mostly to himself. “I should like to cut my hair.”

  She puffed out a hard breath, still not convinced she should let the week’s money be delivered. To defeat her enemy, she must know her enemy. If she understood why they were smuggling godfruit, she could form a plan.

  “I see doubt in your face. ’Tis the king’s man who retrieveth money from the barbery, aye? I am scouting the area. You attackest nie the head wythout readying thy forces for battle, knowing what for to expect. Sometimes you learnest the best strategy is attacking the legs—the weak place that holdeth up the head.”

  The legs. That gave her an idea. “Be careful, Arc. I don’t want anyone to suspect you’re a five-hundred-year-old Colossus come to life.”

  He winked at her. “I shall leave the voulge behind.”

  Jora reminded him to leave the -eth and -est off his verbs and to say you instead of thou and thee.“ She winked at him.

  “I will endeavor to speak as you do,” he said slowly, enunciating carefully as if he thought hard about each word before saying it.

  She smiled and adjusted the hat on her head. “I’ll meet you here in a short while. Stay out of trouble.” After bidding Arc goodbye, she opened the Mindstream, and stepped into the ’twixt, hoping he knew how to be subtle. With his size, the last thing she expected was subtlety from him, but she needed his help and she needed a friend she could trust. As much as Korlan wanted to be that friend, he was compromised.

  Out of sight, she went straight where she should have turned, and walked down as many side streets as possible to avoid the traffic. Horses that couldn’t see her could still trample her, and passers by could still jostle her as she walked without even knowing they’d done it, aside from their own body inexplicably jerking to the side.

  She made her way to the Legion headquarters and stood by the door until someone left, then she slipped into the building before the door swung closed again. She retraced the sergeant’s footsteps past the fellow at the desk, upstairs, and into an open office.

  Her quarry was sitting at his desk, hunched over some papers with a pen in hand.

  Jora exited the ’twixt and closed the door, but before she closed the Mindstream, she called for Po Teng. He faded into view beside her. “Good afternoon, Captain Kyear. Do you know who I am?”

  He flinched, shot to his feet, and reached for the thin-bladed sword that lay across his desk. “Gatekeeper.”

  “That won’t do you any good,” she said, lifting her chin toward the weapon. “Please sit down. I’d like a word with you.”

  Chapter 20

  “What do you want?” Captain Kyear asked. His eyes flicked to the tree-like creature by her side.

  “Answers,” Jora said. She sat in the chair facing his desk and tried to look at ease, though she was anything but. Her heart beat furiously, and her palms were so wet with sweat, they practically gleamed in the flickering light of the candles and lamps positioned about the room. There were no windows in this office, she realized. Did he not have enough power to command an office with a window, or did he prefer the dimness? Perhaps he was the sort of man who liked to have control over everything to the last detail.

  Kyear sat back down, though he looked tense, ready to spring to action. “As do I. What do you know about the missing Colossus?”

  “He’s not missing,” she said. “He’s enlivened.”

  “What is your purpose for him?”

  “Protection,” she said simply. “I’ve got enemies, you among them.”

  “I don’t even know you. Why would you consider me your enemy?”

  “You wanted me dead. Why?”

  “That was before I knew—before any of us knew—you were the Gatekeeper. At the time, you were simply a girl who could spread rumors about things you didn’t understand.”

  “I understand perfectly. You’re smuggling godfruit to our enemies—godfruit that was supposed to be the advantage we need to win the war and end it for good.”

  “You were expressly forbidden to investigate the matter, and yet here you are, disobeying the king himself. You might as well have ripped up that pardon. Your head will roll. A pity, considering how much you could help your country instead of working against it.”

  “I came to find out why you tried to have me killed. You’re the one who brought up the godfruit smuggling. If I’m going to die, I’d at least like an explana
tion.”

  “You don’t know what you don’t know. As a woman, you couldn’t be expected to understand the delicate balance of warfare.”

  “Even the playing field and let the war rage on until both sides run out of men? A mighty stupid strategy, if you ask me.”

  Kyear chuckled as he picked up his pen and wiped the ink from it with a soiled rag. “As I said, you don’t know what you don’t know.”

  She studied him, letting the silence draw out a moment to see if it made him nervous. He merely watched her in return, his gaze calm and steady.

  “Did you know we’re related?” she asked.

  His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “My father’s name was Dyre Kyear, a cousin of yours. He’s dead now, killed by your men.”

  “I see. My condolences on his untimely death. As a Truth Sayer and the Gatekeeper, you must know I had nothing to do with that. In fact, I argued against the strategy, but Elder Sonnis took matters into his own hands. He sensed something in you, said you were too valuable to eliminate. Ironic, isn’t it? That he fought so hard to save you, and you murdered him.”

  “I didn’t…” She refused to argue the point with him. “Explain it to me then. Explain why you continue this war rather than make peace and sell godfruit to anyone who wants it?”

  “Because, young lady, that’s not how war works. Enemies don’t suddenly decide to stop caring about the central conflict. Let’s assume for a moment we did as you suggest. We pull our soldiers off the Isle, send them home to their families, and erect a fence around the Tree, then sit at the opening and take payment for every crateful of godfruit someone carries out.”

  Jora nodded. Though she didn’t envision it working quite like that, it was the general idea.

  “Now imagine the Mangendans or Arynd Banners showing up in force, slaying our merchants–”

  She opened her mouth to interject that they would leave behind men to guard the merchants and the Tree.

  “–and the paltry guard we left behind,” he added quickly, “and seizing not only control of the Tree but stealing whatever money we’d taken in, too. Their soldiers now have the advantage of two deaths to our one. They attack Serocia. They attack Jolver, driving right up through the city in force. With our Legion forces dismissed to return home—scattered across the country—we couldn’t mount a defense fast enough.”

  “There’s no reason you have to abandon the Isle that way,” she argued. “These things don’t happen in one day. You take it one step at a time.”

  Kyear leaned back in his chair with a haughty look on his grizzled face. “Oh? Enlighten me, o wise Gatekeeper. Impart the wisdom you’ve accumulated over your nineteen years of life.”

  “Twenty-three, and there’s no need to be snide. You’re being difficult for the sake of argument. First step is stop supplying the enemy with godfruit. Their soldiers will die and stay dead, and they’ll be weakened.”

  “What you fail to consider is that without the income from the so-called smuggling, I wouldn’t be able to afford to feed my men.”

  She gaped at him. “What?” She’d assumed greed was behind it. The smuggling is funding the war? She felt light headed. Without the smuggling, Serocia would fall, and with it, they were locked in an unending war. The revelation was entirely unexpected and almost as disturbing as the smuggling itself.

  “Ahh,” Kyear said. “She begins to understand.”

  “If it’s money you need, establishing trade agreements would bring in much more without killing our husbands, brothers, and sons.”

  “Which, as you pointed out, takes time to develop. In the meantime, our men go hungry. They haven’t the strength to fight, and they die or they desert. Our enemies take the Tree by force and begin making their way farther inland.”

  “No, you start by selling it to friendly nations. You’re already selling it to enemy nations illegally. Why not turn the smuggling into legal trade and offer discounted prices if they cease hostilities?”

  “Why pay for it if they can steal it? Boatloads of godfruit being shipped up the strait would be vulnerable to attack. We lose our ship, our men, our cargo, and the Mangendans would have it anyway. ‘What about shipping it by land?’ you would ask. Godfruit stays ripe for about two weeks. Assuming we can hitch up fresh horses every twenty miles, it’ll take at least half that time just to get it to the Noossmor border. By the time it reaches the market in the cities, it’ll be inedible. Yes, we’ve thought of that too. At least this way, they supply the shipping and we take no risks.”

  “Except that we’re still losing our fathers and sons and brothers,” she said.

  Kyear shrugged. “Such is the cost of war.”

  We’ve been fighting so long, we’ve forgotten any other way of life. There had to be an answer to this. There had to be some way to break the cycle. “Then why don’t you attack them and end the war? Storm their beaches and take their cities. Why let them continue to bite and sting with neither side declaring victory?”

  “What’s the advantage to defeating the enemy? There’s none. Our economy is balanced, and our culture has adjusted to this way of life. Our advantage is in keeping the war constant. That’s what you must try to understand. Now,” he said, standing, “if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He pointed to the door. “You can see yourself out.”

  No, Jora thought. She couldn’t simply leave and let him carry on as if nothing had happened. She couldn’t let him report this conversation to the Justice Bureau. The money was going to be delivered soon, and despite what Arc said, she had to do something. She had to stop it.

  “Po Teng, stop him.”

  Captain Kyear’s body, his hair, his clothes and boots turned white as he froze in place, one arm raised and index finger pointing at the door.

  She needed a minute to think. She paced the width of the room, rubbing her bald scalp with one hand and snapping her fingers with the other, hoping an idea would come to her. How far away is the sergeant? she wondered. Opening the Mindstream, she was surprised to find that Kyear had no thread to follow. She’d never noticed that the men she’d statuized weren’t Observable, which was not necessarily a disadvantage. As long as he was statuized, no one could Observe her actions through him.

  For right now, she focused on the most immediate danger: the approaching sergeant.

  Chapter 21

  Korlan checked the hallway then ran down the staircase and out the door to the courtyard. He knew enforcers weren’t supposed to use that exit, but he didn’t want to waste time running to the other end of the dormitory to use the other. Though he knew it would be fruitless, he checked the justice building. She wouldn’t have any reason to sneak over there, so she must have left the grounds.

  He cursed himself for having let her get away. She might have gone to Arc’s shop, but when he checked there, it was empty. The two of them could have been anywhere, or Arc could have been out on his own, wandering the streets, and Jora was down by the Legion headquarters freeing more of the Colossus. No, he thought. She wouldn’t do it during the day. She would wait until nighttime when no one would see her.

  What about her flute? he wondered. Had she taken it with her? Korlan hurried through the tunnel toward the dormitory, his concern for Jora’s whereabouts momentarily distracting him from the narrowness of the passage. One of the other enforcers called his name, and his voice echoed ominously in the darkness. Korlan paused, turning. “Yah?”

  It was Nob. The glow of the candle he was holding cast an eerie light onto his already frightening face.

  “Milad wants to see you. He’s fuming, so you’d better run up there like your ass is on fire.”

  The justice captain was standing at the window of his office, picking his teeth with a letter opener, when Korlan knocked on the open door. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

  “Shut the door,” Milad said. “Where the hell is she?”

  Korlan didn’t have to ask who he meant. It was his job to keep an eye on her, and he’d faile
d. “I’ve been trying to find her, sir. She snuck out.”

  “Snuck out.” Milad’s tone dripped with disgust. “You need to piss, you take her to the damned privy with you. Do I need to shackle your wrists together?”

  “No, sir,” Korlan said, though it wasn’t a bad idea.

  “I had a visit from Captain Kyear earlier today. The same Captain Kyear who lost five soldiers and a march commander to this woman.”

  “Is something wrong?” Korlan asked. His mind raced as he tried to think of reasons for Jora to take action against the man. As far as he knew, Kyear had argued against Elder Sonnis for wiping out Kaild, so she couldn’t have held that against him.

  “One of the Colossus is missing.”

  “The statue?”

  Milad gave him an impatient look. “Of course the statue. Do you know of any living…” His brow furrowed. “Did she enliven a Colossus statue?”

  Korlan swallowed. He’d considered telling Milad earlier, but he didn’t exactly know how to bring it up without getting into trouble. Freeing the statues from the stone wasn’t illegal, nor had Jora been instructed not to. That wasn’t a stipulation of her pardon, but he knew that somehow it would snake around to bite his ass.

  “Did she enliven the damned Colossus?” Milad hollered, leaning across the desk toward Korlan.

  “Yes, sir. One of them.”

  Milad slammed his fist onto the desk and spewed a string of curses. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”

  “As far as I know, she wasn’t forbidden from doing that.”

  “And you didn’t think that acquiring her own army of giants wouldn’t be of interest to the Legion, the Justice Bureau, or the king?” Spittle flew from Milad’s mouth as he bellowed.

  “It’s not an army, sir. It’s one man, and the Colossus can’t do anything to us that Jora couldn’t already do by herself. Her command of allies is far more dangerous–”

  “Shut up, Rastorfer. Shut the hell up.” Milad paced for a minute, mouthing ideas to himself as he considered his options. “She had to have learned how to do it from the dolphin, so the only way to keep this woman under control is to keep her from talking to it again.”