Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) (36 page)

Uh oh.
Jora swallowed. The dominee must have noticed the books missing. Why else would Sonnis be so anxious to talk to her? “Um, yes, of course. I need a few moments to, ah, take care of something first.”

“He said it was most urgent, Novice,” Adept Fer said. He took her arm in a firm but painless grip.

“I understand, Adept, but I truly must run to my room first. I, um...” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I started my monthly menses, and I must change my rags rather urgently.”

He released her arm immediately and took a step back, as if afraid to catch some disease. “Oh. Yes, of course. Please hurry. His schedule for today is quite busy, as you can imagine.”

She started to the back door. “I will. I wouldn’t want to keep the elder waiting.”

She scuttled down the hallway and out the door. When she reached the walkway that led to the dormitory, she slipped around the side of the building. Her bag was right where she’d left it, and she pulled it out of the bushes, slung the strap over her shoulders, and exited through the side gate. She rounded the corner, her heart thundering in her excitement about getting away unseen. That was close.

As she made her way east, toward the docks, she looked casually over her shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t be spotted. Not far away, she entered a narrow alley of apartment houses. Ahead, someone opened a door and a dog stepped out, then began barking at her. Jora stopped, unsure whether to try passing the dog or backtrack.

“Don’t mind her,” the owner said. “She’s all talk.”

“I see,” Jora said. She walked along the wall of the opposite building anyway, just in case.

“Are you lost, Novice? Justice Bureau’s back that way.”

“Ah, no. I’ve got a package to deliver,” she said over her shoulder. She picked up her pace, not wanting to be questioned further—or worse, robbed of her bag. No one would rob a Justice Official, would they? That would be the dumbest crime ever committed.

Though the purple robe and shaven head might give her immunity from crime, they would draw attention to her the farther she got from the city. Across the next street, she came upon a vacant apartment that looked like it had recently been destroyed by fire. Its ceiling was collapsed, and charred wood and other debris littered the front room, but it gave her the privacy she needed.

She slipped off the sandals and pulled on her boots. Her feet practically sighed, relishing the fine fit. She took off the robe and stuffed it into her bag. Passersby would remember a purple-robed novice with a bag slung over her shoulder, but they might not notice a plainly dressed woman. Without hair on her head, her hat sat lower, completely covering her ears and her bald head.

Glancing behind her, she saw no sign of alarm, no indication she was being pursued. Sonnis wouldn’t wait long before sending someone to her room and beginning a search for her. Without a horse, she wouldn’t get as far in the time she’d bought herself as mounted pursuers could, but with the help of a tall tree or two, she was hopeful she could evade capture, at least until she reached Kaild.

She bought an orange in the market and peeled bits of the skin as she walked, tossing it into the gutter where birds and mice hunted for morsels to eat.

By the time she reached the docks, the sun appeared to sit on the horizon like a yellow duckling paddling across a pond after its mother. Men and women were toting bags and nets and poles, loading their boats for a day of fishing. Their arms and shoulders were tanned from the sun and heavily muscled from working the oars.

She sat under a tree and ate her breakfast while waiting for enough of the fishers to leave so she could call to Sundancer without attracting too much attention.

While waiting for the docks to clear, Jora took a moment to enter the Mindstream. After finding the dominee’s thread, and finding the dominee pacing in her office, she traced the thread backward. The dominee, sitting at her desk, had penned a hasty note. Jora paused the scene to read what she’d written:

Books are gone. Find out who took them and get them back, and then punish the thief.

She then let the stream flow forward again and jumped to the white-robed man the dominee had called to deliver it, observing him as he scurried out of the temple and down the street to the Justice Bureau. In fact, he ran up the steps past Jora, who stood alone, her hand on the Spirit Stone. After speaking with the desk clerk and waiting for an enforcer to escort him, he went to Elder Sonnis’s new office and presented him with the note. The elder kept a straight face except for a twitch in the side of his mouth and thanked the messenger. The messenger left before she saw what Elder Sonnis did next, but she could guess. That must have been shortly before Adept Fer stopped her in the hall.

Adriel’s words came back to her:
I overheard Elder Sonnis talking about you. Talking with a Legion captain.

Jora considered the possibilities. If she Observed Adriel at the moment she’d overheard Sonnis discussing her, maybe she could hear the rest of the conversation. She plucked Adriel’s thread in the Mindstream and followed it back to the day she’d met with Elder Gastone.

Adriel sat on a wooden chair in front of the elder’s desk, casually looking around. Faint voices carried from the hallway and moved to the room on the left, muffled through the wall.

“Good afternoon, Adept.” a stranger’s voice said. Jora took the opportunity to jump to that man’s thread, a Legion officer.

“Captain Kyear,” Sonnis said with a shallow bow. “Thank you for coming.”

Kyear? Jora wondered. He must’ve been related to her father, though she didn’t know any soldiers from Kaild who currently served the Legion as a captain, let alone one of Dyre’s brothers or cousins. His face was unfamiliar, though she saw a slight family resemblance in the square jaw and wide mouth.

The two men shook hands and sat, the captain in a rigid chair in front of the desk and Sonnis in a cushioned chair behind it. The position of power.

“The order was quite clear,” said Captain Kyear. “I don’t know how much more light I can shed on the situation.”

“You must understand,” Sonnis said, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. “What you’re asking us to do is... severe. Novice Jora is one of the most talented we’ve had in many years, perhaps decades.”

Jora was surprised to hear him say that aloud. He’d never let on that he considered her particularly talented.

“The Legion appreciates your position, Adept. There’s simply no other choice.”

“What if there was?” Sonnis asked.

“And what would it be?”

“The issue isn’t what she knows or doesn’t know but whether she would discuss what she learns with those she trusts most, in particular the leaders and returned soldiers of her hometown. Am I understanding correctly?”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Kyear said, his voice tinged with doubt.

“Your commander and his officers were careless enough to let a recruit see something he wasn’t supposed to see—”

“And he will be dealt with.”

“—and now you want us to slay one of our most talented novices. Because of your carelessness.”

“It’s the simplest solution to the problem.”

“Simple for you,” Sonnis said. “I assure you, I can manage her.”

“How do you know that when she can’t be Observed?” Kyear said.

“True, someone has taught her the barring hood,” Sonnis said, “but the girl is pliable. I can manage her, especially if she had no one else to turn to.”

Jora’s heart sputtered. What had he meant by that?

“No,” Kyear said. “The Legion will not sanction this... alternative of yours. It’s extreme and entirely unnecessary.”

“It solves both of our problems.”

“It crosses the line.”

Sonnis sighed. “Then at least give me the evening to discuss it with Elder Kassyl. This isn’t an action I can take without his consent.”

“Very well. Notify us tomorrow once the deed is done.”

Jora shuddered, closing the Mindstream and looking about. They’d intended to kill her because of something they were afraid she would find out. Something about the tones? About what Gilon had witnessed? It had to be one of those. What else would’ve alarmed the Legion so greatly?

Chapter 20

Boden sat in the back of the wagon, his hands bound in iron shackles, eating bread and cheese. It had been four days since he’d left company forty-four, and he expected to arrive in Jolver by the end of the following day. He almost welcomed it. At least a court-martial would give him a chance to explain himself, and he might get some answers to the question that tormented him: Why?

Though they’d stopped for the night at one of the smaller way stations inland, he wasn’t permitted to leave the wagon for more than a piss. Two ropes were looped around the shackles, each tied to one side of the wagon. He could move his hands a few inches forward and back, enough to raise the food to his mouth, but not side to side. A cup of water sat between his outstretched legs, and he set the bread on his thigh before carefully raising the cup to his lips for a drink.

He thought about his family, about his father and how disappointed everyone would be in him once the Legion sent word of his court-martial. Surely they wouldn’t tell his family the truth. How could they, when it was the truth they wanted to keep secret in the first place?

Micah would be declared a widow and remarry. He didn’t begrudge her that. She had no baby, no husband. She could at least find some measure of happiness with another man.

The man assigned to guard him walked past.

“Hey, Slone,” Boden said, “has my family been notified about my court-martial yet?”

“Doubtful,” Slone said. “What would be the point?”

“My wife should at least have the choice to remarry instead of waiting for the outcome.”

Slone shook his head. “I mean there’s no point in sending word. There’s a cull order on your town. They’ll all be dead in a few days.”

Boden stiffened in shock, the words reverberating in his mind. Cull order? “No,” he said, though it came out as a whisper. “You can’t.”

“I didn’t. The order came from higher up than me, higher than Turounce. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Slone walked away.

The faces of his family and friends came to mind. This couldn’t be. Why would the Legion slay innocent people? Because of his journal? Because they were afraid of Jora reading it? She wouldn’t know what to do with the information. Knowing her, she would seek out the advice of those she trusted: Dyre and Gunnar and the town council.

God’s Challenger! That was what Turounce was so upset about. This was all Boden’s fault. If he hadn’t written down his suspicions and urged Jora to use the information, Kaild would be safe. Jora would be safe.

He had to escape. If he could make it to Jolver and send a message by bird to warn them, they might stand a chance, depending on where the assassins were traveling from and whether on land or by boat.

The five assassins he’d seen leaving the camp the day before Turounce declared him a traitor—they were going to Kaild. He felt the blood drain from his face. He’d seen the very men who were going to murder his people and assumed they were going after the smugglers.

He looked around him in the darkness, spotted the glow of candles and lamps from inside the tents and buildings and a cookfire going cold. To his right, several horses stood about in a corral, munching on hay from a trough.

Boden tugged on one of the ropes keeping him in the wagon. They’d been tied tightly around the tops of the wagon’s wheels, but the left one felt like it had a little more play in it than the right did. Once the camp quieted for the night, he tugged on it rhythmically—tug, release, tug, release—for what seemed hours. Gradually, the rope loosened and the knot fell out. Now fastened only to the right wheel, Boden crawled on his knees to the side of the wagon and untied the other rope. He paused to listen.

Satisfied that no one had heard him, he climbed down and crept to the corral. Though his wrists were shackled, he could still ride. Hunting for a key to free his hands wasn’t worth the risk of discovery.

He opened the corral gate and slowly approached the group of horses. “Here, boy,” he called in his softest voice. Three of them shuffled nervously, but the tall one stood its ground. “Good boy. I won’t hurt you.” He let the horse get a sniff of him, stroked its smooth neck, and then took a handful of its mane in one hand. “Hold still, boy.”

From the horse’s left side, he swung his right leg in an arc and hooked his foot over the horse’s back, then shimmied up onto it. No one appeared to have been alerted by the horses’ nickers or the crunch of shuffling hooves in the grass. He guided the horse through the open gate and headed north as quickly as he could ride on the horse’s bare back.