Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) (22 page)

“Freeheart wants give you fish
,
”
Jora told her.

“Good. I eat fish.”

But when he knelt down to offer her the fish from his hand, the grumpy fisher put a boot on his rear end and pushed him into the water.

“Gilon!” she cried. He went completely under the water, disappearing from view.

The two fishers roared with laughter.

“I find him,”
Sundancer whistled. She dove down.

Jora could only see a grayish blob in the murky green water, and then that disappeared.
Please save him, Sundancer
, she thought.

At last, the dolphin surfaced several yards away with Gilon clutching her dorsal fin in both hands. He gasped for air and began to cough and choke. Sundancer brought him to the pier, and he grabbed it and clung to it until he’d finished coughing the water out of his lungs. Jora grabbed his arm and helped him climb out of the water.

She shot the fishers a seething look. “You tried to kill a member of the Order of Justice Officials. You’ll be punished for this.”

“We was just having fun,” the fisher whined. “Didn’t know the boy couldn’t swim.”

Sopping wet, Gilon shivered madly, his teeth chattering.

“Let’s get you back to the dormitory.” She tucked her flute into her robe again, slipped one arm around his waist, and placed his arm across her shoulders. He was much taller than she was and couldn’t really lean on her for support, but that didn’t stop her from trying. “Bye, Sundancer,” she said. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Sundancer twittered softly and then whistled one long, sad note before swimming away.

Jora and Gilon found a merchant willing to transport them in her wagon back to the Justice Bureau, refusing payment when they arrived.

“Thank you,” Jora said. “Thank you so very much.”

“Let’s go through the side gate,” Gilon said. “I don’t want to drip water through the bureau.”

They walked around the side of the building and through a gate Jora didn’t know was there, ending up in the courtyard between the bureau and dormitory. Though he was walking fine on his own, she saw Gilon to his room, where he assured her he would be fine.

“You’ll regain your strength after supper,” she said, touching his arm gently. “See you in the dining hall.” She returned to her own room to put her flute away. There was a violet ribbon tied to the latch on her door, a signal that a message was waiting for her in the registrar’s office. She tucked the flute under her mattress, knowing it was silly to try to hide it from Truth Sayers who could simply observe her hiding it. Still, it set her mind at ease to know it wasn’t in plain sight of those who would ask questions she would rather not answer. She took the ribbon and hurried to the bureau.

The registrar was adding some papers to a loose-paged book when Jora arrived and didn’t look up until she’d closed the book. The title of the book was
Petitions
.

“You have a message for me?” she asked.

The registrar pulled her lips back into a thin, humorless smile. “Your petition to be excused from the Order was denied. You’ve only got one petition left, Novice Jora. I suggest you use it wisely.”

Jora sighed. She doubted the king had seen her petition himself, let alone denied it. He probably had some kind of bureaucrat who read them and rejected all but the most serious ones out of hand. “Can I at least see Elder Kassyl?”

“Elder Kassyl is ill,” the registrar said.

“I realize that, but nobody will ask him if he’ll see me.”

“Because he’s terminally ill. We don’t disturb the elders when they’re so ill.” The woman made a disgusted face. “Any dirt you bring in there with you could have disastrous effects.”

Because dying wasn’t already disastrous enough. “I’ll do what the healers and medics do to cleanse myself before I go in. Please. I must speak with him. Do you know who can get me an audience?”

She pursed her lips and regarded Jora with contempt. “Ask Adept Sonnis. If he gives you leave, who’s to stop you? But good luck convincing him your need is desperate enough to risk further decline to the elder’s health.”

“Thank you,” Jora said with a bow and turned to leave. The way Adept Sonnis looked at her made her uncomfortable, and she didn’t want to talk to him if she didn’t have to. There had to be another way to get in to see Elder Kassyl.

“Novice,” the registrar said.

Jora paused and turned to her.

A light brightened the registrar’s eyes, as if a lamp had been lit inside her head. “Perhaps I can help after all,” she said in a voice uncharacteristically gentle. “If you speak with Dominee Ibsa at the First Godly Redeemer tomorrow, she’ll grant you an audience with Elder Kassyl. Perhaps you’ll stay and consult the god vessel while you’re there. You might find the experience... enlightening.”

Why was this woman helping her all of a sudden? Jora nodded. “All right. Thank you again.”

As quickly, the light left her eyes, and she made a shooing gesture with her hand before returning to the papers on her desk.

The next morning, after feeling the tone change in the Spirit Stone, Jora sat in the Observation Request Room, barely able to manage her own impatience. People stood in line for hours to get word from the novices about their loved ones serving in the Legion. Jora was able to give most of them the good news that their husbands and sons and fathers and brothers were alive, though a few were recovering from injuries sustained in battle.

The first time she had to break the news to a seven-year-old girl that her papa had been slain, she felt ashamed for wanting to hurry through her duties here. The distress in those large blue eyes renewed the pain of witnessing her own brother’s death and the anguish her mother and father endured when she’d broken the news ten years earlier. She spent the rest of her shift fully in the moment, sympathizing with those who received the same tragic tidings and celebrating with those whose beloved soldier was still well.

At last, when her shift was over and she was relieved by another novice, she checked in with Bastin to be sure there weren’t other tasks she needed to take care of before she focused on her own pursuits. As luck would have it, she was free for the next couple of hours—enough time to eat a hasty meal and hobble on sore feet to the temple.

She was unprepared for the lavish extravagance that awaited her. The ten-foot-high doors were intricately carved with a scene depicting a pair of men, both clothed in what looked like a diaper, wrestling. Their faces were fierce and angry, their hands balled into fists or hooked into claws. It wasn’t how she wanted to imagine Retar, and so she darted inside, hoping the rest of the temple wasn’t decorated with such violence. To her relief, the murals on the wall at the altar depicted a large man with a benevolent face as he reached with a sparkling finger to touch the forehead of a sick child. A much better way to represent the Challenger, Retar, the last of the five demigods and the first to pledge fealty to the people rather than insist on the reverse.

Four small chambers sat on each side of the altar, and a man in plush orange robes sat at a table on the dais between them. He looked up when Jora entered and greeted her with a smile and beckoning wave. Jora made her way to the table, her feet sinking into the soft orange carpet that ran the length of the temple.

“Come, Novice,” the monk said. “You’re welcome here.”

“I was told to ask for Dominee Ibsa,” Jora said in a quiet voice. Though the pews that filled the majority of the temple were empty, this was a place that commanded respect and reverence, not shouting.

“Certainly. If you’ll wait one moment, I’ll see if she’s available.” The monk stood and exited through a door in the rear of the temple.

After a few minutes, he returned, accompanied by a tall, slender woman with black hair that tumbled across her shoulders in luxurious curls, embellished with a dramatic gray streak in front. She was a striking woman in an orange robe not unlike those worn by members of the Order, though the jewels adorning her fingers and wrists spoke to her lack of modesty. As she neared, Jora saw that the dominee’s robe wasn’t simple cotton like her own or the monk’s. It was silk, a rare commodity in Serocia. The robe must have cost as much as the jewels had.

“Good morning, Novice. Have you a message for me from the Justice Bureau?”

“No, Dominee. My name’s Jora, and I’m new to the Order.” Realizing the dominee would be able to tell from the violet hue of her robe, she cleared her throat to hide her embarrassment. “I mean, newer than most. I’m interested in studying the tones that emanate from the Spirit Stones. I understand Elder Kassyl has a book that might help me, but I’m told he’s ill. No one will let me talk to him. I only wish to inquire about borrowing his book.”

Ibsa nodded, smiling gently. Her face was wrinkled but her eyes were bright, almost as bright as the registrar’s had been the previous evening. “I believe I can help.” She sat elegantly at the monk’s table, pulled a small sheet of blank paper from a pile, uncorked the bottle of ink on the desk, and wrote something on the paper. “Hand this to one of Elder Kassyl’s adepts. If you aren’t taken to see him straight away, return to me.”

Jora was tempted to look around her to see who was watching from the shadows, hands covering their mouths to keep from giggling at their prank. She took the offered note and read it.

Admit
Novice Jora
to see Elder Kassyl privately.

~Dominee Ibsa, First Prelate to King Yaphet

“Thank you, Dominee” she said, bowing. “Thank you so very much.” This was suspiciously easy. The dominee hadn’t asked for anything in return, nor proof of progress in her study, before giving Jora exactly what she’d requested.

Ibsa inclined her head. “As the Challenger wishes.” She gestured to the chambers behind her with a sweeping arm gesture. “While you’re here, perhaps you would care to consult with a god vessel.”

Jora swallowed. She’d heard of the creatures used by Retar to communicate with people who sought his guidance, but she’d never actually seen one.

“I recommend the parrot in chamber four. His vocalizations are clear and easy to understand.”

“Thank you,” she said, feeling pressure from both the dominee and the registrar to do this, to talk to the god. She stepped up onto the dais and shuffled across the polished wood to the chamber numbered four. She could see through the iron grating in the door that it was empty, and so she opened it and stepped in.

The interior of the chamber, stained a dark brown, was only about three feet square with a bench on one side. A low wall topped with a decorative iron grating, not unlike that in the door, separated her from the other side.

On the other side of the grating sat a squat gray parrot with short tail feathers and golden eyes. “Hello,” it said.

“Um, hello,” she said. “Parrot.”

“You may call me Retar,” the parrot replied.

Jora stiffened. Had it really invited her to call it by the god’s name?

“No need to be nervous,” the god vessel said. “I’m not such a bad fellow, once you get to know me.”

God’s Challenger, she really was talking to Retar.

“I see you took my suggestion,” he said.

“Um, hello, Retar. I-I’m Jora.”

“Yes, Jora. I know who you are. You’re unhappy with your lot, being forced to serve in the Justice Bureau as a member of the Order.”

Despite the fact that the god was talking to her through a parrot, she heard a note of sadness in his voice. “You’re disappointed in me?”

“Quite the contrary,” Retar said. “I hope you continue to pursue your current path. It seemed you needed some help, though. I was happy to oblige.”

“That was you? The note, the tip to see Dominee Ibsa?”

“Let’s keep that our secret, shall we? I’m not supposed to interfere with your freedom of choice. It’s one of the rules.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, but why are you helping me?”

“Oh, I rather enjoy the mysterious nature of being a god. I can’t reveal all my secrets, now can I?”

Jora smiled. A god with a sense of humor. Who would’ve thought? “But Retar, why are you so sad?”

For a moment, the bird didn’t respond. It ducked its head and preened its feathers, and then stretched first one wing, aided by a scaly foot, then the other while it watched her with those piercing, golden eyes. She wondered whether her session was over. Perhaps Retar didn’t like being questioned about himself.

“Sorry,” she said, rising to leave. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No one ever asks how I am,” Retar answered finally. “Everyone asks for knowledge or blessings or miracles, usually for themselves or their children. Thank you, Novice Jora, for caring.”

Jora lowered herself back down, saddened by his revelation. “People care about you. Perhaps they don’t think to ask because they assume that a god is always happy.”

The bird sighed. “I’ve made mistakes, but I’d be a poor god if I burdened you with my problems, especially considering the path you’re on.”

“W-What do you mean? Am I going to get into trouble for seeing Elder Kassyl?”