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

by K. C. May

  “He shall nie hurt thee,” Arc said softly. “Let mine be the first face he sees when he awakens.”

  Jora stood behind the statue, and Arc stood to one side. On his nod, she pressed her elbow against the cool stone and started to play. Though her hands were wrapped and her wrists stiff from the bandages, she had no trouble playing the Borrowed command on the flute.

  “Free from stone, let blood flow through.”

  This time, she was prepared for the warmth that emanated from the statue and maintained contact with the stone as it warmed and softened until the last note faded into silence. The warrior shifted, drawing his sword back for a swing at Arc.

  “Ho!” Arc said, putting his hands up. “’Tis I, bro’er. Stande down.”

  The warrior wheeled about, taking a step backward away from Jora at the same time, his pale eyes alight with fury. He glanced about and took another wary step backward, sword at ready.

  “Archesilaus,” the warrior said. “What dost thou here? Who is this boy? What is this building? And in what odd manner of raiment art thou clad?”

  “She is nie a boy but a girl,” Arc said, his voice thick with amusement. “She is hight Jora. Sheathe thy sword. We have much for to discuss.”

  “But the portwatcher,” the warrior said, looking around. “He is nigh.”

  “Hark, bro’er,” Arc said with a crooked smile. “Cyprianus is long dead.”

  The blond turned to Arc with surprise. “Thou hast kill’d him wythout me?”

  Arc laughed. “Nay. Many centuries have pass’d.”

  Ludo made a face of disgusted disbelief. “What babblement is this? Art thou besotted?”

  “Again I say sheathe thy sword and allow us to explain.”

  The warrior looked Jora up and down for a moment, then slid his sword into the scabbard on his back. “Jora,” he said, inclining his head. “I am hight Ludovicus Eliade.”

  “Hight him Ludo,” Arc said to Jora. “Jora is now portwatcher, and she allies wyth the King o’Serocia, as do we.”

  Ludo laughed loudly, his voice threatening to awaken citizens sleeping nearby.

  “Shhh!” Arc said. “Loke about bro’er. Loke at the faces o’these statues.”

  Ludo was taken aback by their likeness to the warriors he knew and fought beside.

  “Fif hundard yeres they have stood, as thou hast, as I have, encasen’d in stone. Jora hath free’d us.”

  “Portwatcher?” Ludo said, eyeing Jora with a skeptical and amused expression. “Thou dost jest. What manner o’lafaard dost thou take me for?”

  “I wot well as any thou’rt nie a lafaard,” Arc said. “Jora, show him. Send for the tree.”

  Jora summoned Po Teng back. Ludo’s initial reaction was to attack him, but Arc stayed his hand.

  “Nay. ’Tis the portwatcher’s ally, and ours as well. Dost thou believe now?”

  Wariness crept into Ludo’s eyes, as he glanced back and forth between Jora, Po Teng, and Arc. “Thou’rt a trickor.”

  “Nay. ’Tis real. Show him,” Arc told Jora. “Make a statue of me, if you wilt.”

  Jora instructed Po Teng to statuize Arc. Ludo cried out in alarm, and then walked around Arc, studying him, poking him, rocking him back and forth.

  Ludo bore down on her from his freakish height, muscles tensed. “Return him.”

  She did as he asked. “He’s not hurt. See?”

  “I am unhurt, bro’er,” Arc said. “As I have seyed, she is the portwatcher now, and she is my freond. Pledge thine obedience to her forthwith, as I have done, or return to stone evermore.”

  “Obedience to a girl?” Ludo argued.

  “To the portwatcher.”

  Ludo eyed her up and down. She felt naked, trembling with fear, and yet heady with the idea of commanding these powerful warriors. With one final glance at Arc, who nodded, Ludovicus went to one knee before her. From this position, he was at her eye level and looked at her squarely. “I pledge to obey thy commands, Jora the Portwatcher, for so long as thine interests art aligned wyth the king o’Serocia.”

  “Thank you, Ludo,” she said. A shudder rippled through her, and she wished she’d brought the robe for what little warmth it provided.

  “If Cyprianus is dead,” Ludo said, “what are we to do? Who is our enemy now?”

  “We are to stop a war,” Arc said, “nie to fight in one.”

  “Gar!” Ludo exclaimed.

  Jora explained briefly about the Tree of the Fallen God, the godfruit, the smuggling, and Arc’s idea of making the Isle a sovereign nation.

  “The Isle o’Shess?” Ludo asked, shaking his head. “It belongeth to Dekonin Kryk.”

  “Not anymore,” Jora said. “Dekonin Kryk fell at the end of the Great Reckoning and split into three countries: Mangend, Barad Selegal, and Arynd Ban. The Isle of Shess has been part of Serocia for three hundred seventy-seven years.”

  “And now that it has the most valuable resource in all the world, thou wantest to share it?” Ludo asked, his face a mask of disbelief.

  “The god Retar hath given the fruit to all the peoples of Aerta, bro’er,” Arc said. “’Tis the right thing to do.”

  Chapter 27

  Rivva hummed to herself as she finished dressing, her mood light and her outlook positive. Though the sun still sat on the horizon, reflecting its orange glow across the strait’s shimmering surface, she was eager to begin this day. She planned to visit Jora later to meet her warrior friend and talk about strategies for ending the war. Her father had claimed that Retar favored the war, but her own chat with the god in the temple the previous day revealed that to be untrue. Retar simply let it go on because it suited him, not because he favored war over peace. In his typical elusive fashion, he wouldn’t give her any suggestions for an alternative, but it was heartening to know that a peaceful solution to the conflict might suit him as well.

  She met her father outside her room, his brisk steps muffled by the running carpet as he hied down the hallway. She hurried to catch up and keep pace with him. “Good morning, Papa.”

  “Yes, good morning, dear. Dominee Ibsa’s here and in a bit of a mood, I’m told.”

  “So early? We haven’t even broken our fast.”

  He offered his elbow for her to take and patted her hand when she did. “She likes you. Why don’t you come with me? Perhaps together we can send her off with a smile.”

  “What’s she on about this time?”

  He gave her a look of wary exasperation, eyebrows arched as he sucked in a breath. “Only the challenger knows.”

  They descended the stairs to the second story, where the offices and meeting rooms were.

  “She’s not upset about Jora’s brother, is she?” Rivva asked.

  “I don’t see why she would be. If anything, she should be pleased. The Gatekeeper wouldn’t move against us as long as we have him.”

  “Papa,” she drawled, “Jora’s not going to move against us at all. She doesn’t want power. She wants peace. That’s all.”

  They reached the king’s office, roomy and well furnished. Dominee Ibsa, dressed as usual in her orange silk and glittering jewels, stood at the window overlooking the blooming, autumn flowers in the back garden. Her hood was down, revealing graying black hair clipped back with a jeweled barrette. Does this woman have no shame? Rivva wondered. She never failed to draw attention to her lavish collection of gold and gems.

  “Dominee,” King Yaphet said as he strode toward her with his right hand extended. “It’s always good to see you. Has Behrendt offered you tea?”

  “Your Majesty.” The dominee curtsied demurely. “Your Highness,” she said, flicking her eyes to Rivva. “Yes, thank you.”

  “What brings you so early?” the king asked. He gestured to the comfortable furniture in the near corner. The three of them gathered there, Ibsa taking a seat in the center of the plush, golden sofa, while Rivva and King Yaphet sat in the two matching chairs opposite.

  “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but it see
ms our Gatekeeper is freeing the statues around the Legion building.”

  The king glanced at Rivva as if to ask Do you know anything about this? “I know of only one. How many has she released?”

  “Two so far, but it’s only a matter of time before she frees them all, putting thirty-four Colossus warriors at her command. This cannot be allowed.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Does it matter?” Ibsa shot back. “She’s planning something and moving her pieces into position, all without your knowledge or consent.”

  “Hmm,” King Yaphet said. He sat back in his chair, a pensive look on his face. “First Captain Kyear goes missing, along with his wife, and now this.” He turned to Rivva. “Has she mentioned anything about freeing the Colossi? Do you know what she’s up to?”

  Rivva swallowed. The last thing she wanted was to paint her friend in a negative light, but she didn’t yet know what Jora was planning. “Not yet, but I’ll speak to her this morning and find out. You don’t suspect her in Captain Kyear’s disappearance, do you? He and his wife might be visiting relatives. He must’ve forgotten to tell his colleagues at the Legion, or he told them and they forgot.”

  “If that were true, then the Truth Sayers would see them. They cannot. The only logical conclusion is that he and his wife have met their end.”

  “If they were dead,” Rivva argued, “the Sayers would see that, too.”

  “Unless their bodies have already been burned,” Dominee Ibsa said.

  The king gave her a nod. “The captain’s disappearance and presumed death is especially meaningful in light of the fact that he was responsible for delivering the godfruit payments to us.”

  Rivva shot a surprised glance at Ibsa to judge her reaction to the king’s admission of smuggling. The dominee’s face was pinched, the lines around her mouth and eyes etched deeper in a scowl, but there was no surprise there. She knows.

  Rivva’s thoughts tumbled. The only reason Ibsa would know about it was if she was involved. Had she played a part in orchestrating the entire thing? With all the money she made from the citizens’ use of the god vessels to commune with Retar, she was buying gold and gems to adorn herself rather than returning the money to the kingdom to feed and clothe soldiers.

  And the king let her.

  Why? What hold did she have over him?

  “Despite my order to the contrary, Jora must have been investigating the smuggling and traced it back to him. We must assume she knows we’re involved and is gathering her forces in preparation for usurpation.”

  “What?” Rivva asked. “No. I don’t believe it. Jora wouldn’t do that.”

  Ibsa crossed her legs and arranged the fabric of her robe to drape over her dangling foot. “I told you to keep an eye on that girl. I warned you to keep her from meddling. Everything we’ve worked so hard to build will come crashing down upon us. You shouldn’t have to worry about the Gatekeeper challenging your rule, Yaphet.”

  The way the dominee called him by his first name was like the squeal of rusty axels to Rivva’s ears. No one else, not even his closest friend, who served as Minister of Domestic Matters, spoke to him so impudently in front of other people. He didn’t even flash her a warning glare as he would have to anyone else. What is going on between them? Rivva’s head began to swim with her mind pulling her thoughts in so many directions.

  “Once the people find out, they’ll revolt,” Ibsa went on. “You’ll be the one whose head is on the chopping block.”

  Something about the way she said that made Rivva think there would be no repercussions for the dominee’s involvement in any of it. It was we when they were building the smuggling empire, yet you when contemplating the consequences of the citizens finding out about it. Rivva felt the heat of blood flowing to her face. She did her best to hide her stiffening upper lip.

  King Yaphet stood and strolled pensively to the window. “I know, I know. I’d hoped to make a friend of her. Our southern campaign is dependent wholly on her cooperation.”

  What southern campaign? Rivva thought. Her father had never spoken of attacking Barad Selegal before. It had to have been another one of the dominee’s ideas, another manipulation. “Let me talk to her,” she said. “I’ll find out why she’s releasing the warriors. Perhaps she’s received some instruction from Retar.”

  “What?” King Yaphet asked, wheeling about. His face was taut with alarm. “What business does she have with Retar?” He directed his question to the dominee.

  Ibsa’s black eyebrows crouched over a furious glare as if they would spring forth and attack. “None that I’ve sanctioned.”

  Sanctioned? Rivva thought. Who in the Challenger’s name does she think she is?

  “Has she been in the temple?” he asked.

  “Once, but I threw her out. If that girl has been communing with Retar, she’s doing it illegally.” Ibsa stood, seeming taller than her true height. The veins in her neck bulged almost as prominently as the bands of tissue that ran up her throat. “This is outrageous. We cannot stand for this, Yaphet.” She began to pace as well, though at a stroll and only within the boundaries of the circle of furniture.

  Rivva clasped her hands to keep from wringing them the way her mother did when she worried. This conversation had gone far off course. “I was merely speculating. I’m sure she’s not doing anything illegal. Perhaps she’s releasing the Colossi for humanitarian reasons. She’s a kind person, after all. Imagine spending eternity in stone, never dying–”

  “No,” Ibsa said. Her voice had a finality to it, as if she were the Queen of Serocia making the decisions. “She’s dangerous and must be ended. Everything was fine until she came along. Revoke her pardon and have her executed.”

  Rivva shot to her feet. “No,” she wailed. She rushed to her father and took him by one arm, pleading with her eyes for him to refuse this notion. “You can’t. She’s a good person. Kind. Peaceful. She’s the first Gatekeeper in half a millennium. You can’t do this.”

  The king patted Rivva’s hand before prying it from his arm. He resumed pacing, his expression thoughtful. “You’re right about that, Rivva. The first Gatekeeper in over five hundred years. It would be a shame to sentence her to death without first interrogating her. That device you have—what is it again?”

  “The kendern,” Ibsa said.

  “Yes, the kendern. We’ll use that and question her. I’m sure Justice Captain Milad has a man who’s skilled in extracting information.”

  Rivva gaped at him. “You mean to torture her? Papa, no!”

  “Only if she doesn’t willingly tell us what her intentions are,” he said.

  Rivva shook her head, disbelieving her father could order a woman tortured. Not just a woman—a loyal Serocian citizen who only wanted to help him.

  “No,” Ibsa said. “She has already shown us her intentions by meddling in affairs she was specifically told to disregard. She has already begun assembling forces to move against us.”

  “You don’t know that,” Rivva argued. “You’re speculating because you mislike her. I’m telling you Jora isn’t planning an offensive.”

  “And how would you know?” Ibsa asked, her eyes cold like steel. “Are you in league with the Gatekeeper, Princess?”

  Understanding flared in Rivva’s mind. The dominee didn’t simply disfavor Jora; Ibsa feared her because of her power and her ability to influence the king. Until Jora became the Gatekeeper, no one had ever held the kind of influence with him that Ibsa had—not even Rivva—and now she felt threatened. “No, of course not. She simply strikes me as a naive girl, not a power-hungry villain.” The words of one ancient philosopher came to mind: Attitudes are mirrors for the mind. Rivva wouldn’t find a more poignant example of this than in Dominee Ibsa.

  The dominee waved one hand as if swatting away an annoying fly. “She’s a murderer and a traitor. That’s my final decision. It will be done.”

  Rivva gaped at the dominee. Her final decision? Who does she think she is? She opened her mout
h to give the woman an earful.

  “Agreed,” her father said. “Send Milad and his men to arrest her. If she doesn’t come willingly, let her know we have her brother. If she still won’t comply, I’ll have no choice but to officially revoke her pardon and arrange for her execution.”

  “What?” Rivva screeched. “Papa, no!”

  “I’m sorry, my dear. The dominee is right. Jora’s already proven disobedient. She cannot be trusted. With her books in our possession, it’s only a matter of time before we find someone able to take her place as Gatekeeper. Someone who’s loyal and compliant.”

  Rivva chewed the inside of her cheek while the dominee and the king discussed their next steps of arresting the Gatekeeper. There had to be a way to help Jora without making the dominee suspicious. “If you’ll pardon me, I’m going to lie down. The news of Jora’s betrayal has unsettled my stomach.”

  “All right, dear,” King Yaphet said. He kissed her temple and patted her back. “Have Behrendt bring you up some tea.”

  The moment Rivva was in the corridor, she hurried to the stairs. She had to do something, and she knew exactly where to begin.

  Jora, wake up. They’re coming.

  Jora awoke with a start, Boden’s voice still fresh in her mind. The feeling of vices clamping onto her upper arms and yanking her out of bed had been so real, she wasn’t sure at first that they weren’t. Her mind was still dim, her thoughts sluggish. She heard sounds of quiet footsteps approaching in the hallway. Many footsteps. At least, she thought she heard them. Her mind was slow to grasp what was happening or to distinguish reality from her dream. At first she thought she was at home in Kaild, but the room was all wrong. She opened the Mindstream and saw a half-dozen enforcers, led by Milad, gathering outside her door. She whistled as quietly as possible.

  Just as the door burst open, she rolled off the bed and into the ’twixt, falling silently to the floor.

  “She’s here,” Milad said. “Swing your fists and kick your feet around the room. If you knock her unconscious, we’ll see her.”