Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles)

Song of the Sea Spirit

Book one of The Mindstream Chronicles

by K.C. May

Song of the Sea Spirit

Copyright 2014 by K.C. May

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This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover art by Damon Za (www.damonza.com).
Map of Aerta: The Inner Sea Corridor by Jared Blando (www.theredepic.com)

Chapter 1

Working under the glow of two lamps, Jora Lanseri sat hunched at her workbench. The scent of tanned leather and oil had long since faded from her notice, for the night was late or the morning early. She wasn’t sure which. With every tap of her hammer on the awl, the moment grew closer that Jora would have to say goodbye to her dearest friend. It was no wonder the tools felt so heavy in her hands. The holes she punched into the leather strap might as well have been going directly into her heart.

She tried to imagine life in the small town without him and couldn’t. In every scene, he was there: Jora trading half her meat for the vegetables he didn’t like; playing Winds and Dragons together so late into the night that their tired eyes could no longer distinguish one tile from another; sharing thoughts on the stars, the god Retar, the meaning of life, the secret ingredient in the bread pudding that made it irresistible. Boden would have plenty to occupy him in the coming days and weeks and years, far too much to miss her, but she couldn’t say the same. For her, his absence would leave a gaping hole in her life.

“You’re here early,” said a deep voice.

Jora flinched, turning to find Boden at the shop’s door. “Goodness, you startled me.” It was then that she realized the sun had peeked over the horizon. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of people outside, talking, getting started on the new day. She stood to hug him.

“Sorry,” he said with a grin. He returned the embrace, patting her back affectionately. “I heard the pounding and figured it was you.”

Sometime in the last two years, he’d grown from being her own height to towering over her by a head. Like most boys, he let his dark-brown hair grow long, and it trailed nearly to his waist. Jora pulled a handful of it over his shoulder and smoothed it across his chest. In only a few short hours, it would fall to the floor in a heap and be offered to the chickens for nesting. It was a shame to have to cut it off, but Boden wasn’t one to question tradition, much less hard and fast rules imposed by the Legion. “Want me to braid it one last time?”

A slight blush crept into his now-angular face, a face whose once-chubby cheeks she’d pinched countless times over the years. He’d become a man right under her nose, and yet, she was seeing it for the first time. “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” he said.

She lay her hand against his prickly cheek and smiled warmly. Oh, how she would miss him and worry about him. Only one out of every seven men ever returned from the war, but Jora pushed that thought aside. Gunnar had prepared him well. He would come back.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Boden asked.

“Of course not. Do I look like your mother?” She went to the window, wiping her eye surreptitiously when her back was turned to him, and opened the shutters. Outside, the marriage council members stood about in their ceremonial garb, conferring about the details of the upcoming ceremony. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? It looks like the council is gathering.”

“Soon,” he said. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

“Ooh, here come the musicians.” Jora heard a couple of them warming up with runs and exercises. When she heard the delightful sound of the flute, she put her hands over her heart. “The flute. I hope they play Song of the Sea Spirit.”

“That’s the one with the long flute solo?”

“Yah,” Jora said. “It’s so lovely, it always makes me weep.” She’d tried a few times to talk to the flute player, but she was a twitchy dame who seemed disinclined to talk about her art. Or anything else, for that matter.

Boden chuckled. “Sap.”

She didn’t mind being a sap if she could hear that song again, or better yet, learn to play it herself. Of course, she would need a flute for that, and such a thing was made only for those apprenticing in the musical arts. At twenty-two, Jora was too old to begin a new apprenticeship now. Besides, Nuri kept her busy in the leather shop, making items to sell to the traveling merchants so the town could pay its taxes.

“What are you working on so early?” he asked, picking up the knapsack on her workbench. “It must be important.”

Jora rushed over and tried to take it from him. “You’re not supposed to see it yet. It’s not finished.”

He pushed her hands away. “This is for me?” He turned the bag over, inspecting it. “I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s supposed to be useful. Here, look.” She tugged it open to show him the pockets. “I made a pouch for your papers to keep them smooth and dry, and on the outside, a pocket for your flint and a strap to carry a knife or axe. And...” She lifted a flap inside. “A false bottom, in case you want to keep something hidden, like a journal or other flat thing. There’s even a loop here to hold a lead pen for when a quill and ink are impractical.”

His face glowed with the boyish excitement she knew so well. “It’s excellent. Thank you. Now I won’t have to use my father’s old one.”

“Did you come just to see what I was making for your journey tomorrow?” She retook her seat and gestured to the stool at her mentor’s workbench.

He cleared his throat and dragged the stool closer. “Actually, no. I came to ask, uh, if you’ve decided yet whether, um, you’re going to perhaps consider...”

“Am I going to submit?”

His cheeks reddened, and he nodded, sitting heavily.

The question had tormented her over the last few months. In fact, she was surprised he’d waited until the day of his Antenuptial to ask. On one hand, Boden was one of her dearest friends. There was no doubt that they would get along beautifully and raise wonderful children. On the other, she’d long thought of him more as a brother than a potential lover and had only recently begun to notice his manly qualities. Whenever she envisioned the two of them kissing, her mind at once rejected every mental image she conjured. And yet, she wanted desperately to have children of her own.

Part of her feared Boden was the only one who would take her as a wife, that her only chance to be a mother lay with him. Then she would admonish herself for thinking so selfishly.

For every decision she made to submit, she made another to abstain. It didn’t feel right and proper to marry Boden, no matter how much she cared for and respected him.

But he wasn’t the man she thought of as she went about her tasks every day or imagined in her arms as she hugged her pillow at night. The one she’d developed an intense doe-eyed fondness for when she was fourteen, the man she’d grown to respect and care for and fantasize about wasn’t Boden but his father. Gunnar.

The mere thought of him made her heart pitter-patter, but that was a secret she’d shared only with Tearna. She’d mastered keeping her expression calm, her voice steady, and her words cordial but distant whenever she interacted with him or spoke about him to others. He was thirty-six years old, for Challenger’s sake. She should have been considering a younger man.

She leaned forward and took Boden’s hands into hers, stroking his fingers with her thumbs. His skin was no longer soft and boyish but calloused and rough. “Boden, you know I love you, right? You’ve been like a brother to me since we were both small.”

“I know,” he said softly, staring at their entwined hands. “I... feel the same.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “If you want me to, I’ll submit, but it would be... awkward. Besides, I don’t think I’d qualify anyway. The timing isn’t right.”

He snapped his eyes up to meet hers. “No!” He swallowed. “I mean, I agree it would be awkward. Your friendship means the world to me, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Good,” Jora said, squeezing his hands before releasing them. She was glad he understood, but part of her wondered whether he shared the misgivings of the boys who’d had their Antenuptials before him. The boys who, time and again, had chosen someone else over Jora as their First Wife.

Boys turning eighteen chose the comeliest and most likable girls as First Wives. That was almost an unwritten law of life in Kaild—perhaps across all of Serocia. The other girls remained unmarried until they turned twenty-three or beyond, at which point they could marry an older man, one who had already returned from the war. Those with a homely face or an unpleasant disposition sometimes found themselves maidens well into their thirties, or perhaps forever, but Jora was confident no one thought her unpleasant. True, with her oversized eyes, crooked teeth, and big nose, she wasn’t a raving beauty, but it wasn’t her appearance that turned the boys’ heads away.

It was her talent for Mindstreaming.

Who wanted a wife with the ability to scrutinize every moment of their lives or spy on them from afar? Visiting whores while fulfilling his duty as a soldier wasn’t only common but expected. Most men were away for ten years, after all, sometimes longer. Few among them would relish the notion of having a wife at home who could observe those acts in excruciating detail through the mystical power of Mindstreaming.

“It’s your last chance to be a First Wife,” Boden said. With the tips of his thumbs touching, he tapped his fingertips together as he always did when he was nervous. “I wouldn’t deny you if you had your heart set. Tearna and Briana are both First Wives.”

“Eagle-boy to the rescue,” she said with a smile. It had been his favorite game as a child, pretending to be half-eagle, half-boy, flying high above the land and diving in to snatch up invading armies and dropping them into the sea, saving the women and children of Kaild.