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

by May, K. C.

  “The city is so colorful, but why are there no red buildings?” she asked.

  “Red is only for Houses of Prayer,” Elder Gastone said. “There are four such Houses here in Jolver. Has your hometown no House of Prayer?”

  Jora shook her head. “We used to, but our last monk died when I was a child. We didn’t have a god vessel anyway.”

  “You should make a point to visit the temple, then. The First Godly Redeemer is the closest, and they’ve several god vessels that Retar favors.”

  She looked at him with wide eyes. “Me? What would Retar have to say to me?”

  “He answers questions, Novice. Have you never encountered a god vessel?”

  Again, she shook her head. Jora was about to ask what kinds of questions people asked when the carriage stopped in front of a stately white building with wide stone steps leading to a grand double-door entrance. The carriage creaked again, and the driver opened the door. Jora climbed out first and gaped at the building. It looked so majestic, like how she envisioned the king’s palace. Deeply etched into the building’s stone fascia were the words Honora veritatem. The driver retrieved her bag from the trunk while Adept Uster jogged up the stairs and went into the building.

  When the driver turned to Elder Gastone with his hand open, the elder said, “Adept Uster will return momentarily with your payment.”

  The door opened, and two Truth Sayers in violet robes rushed down the wide steps. “Welcome home, Elder Gastone,” the shorter one said, a woman. She handed him a pair of bills, which he gave to the driver.

  Jora had seen plenty of men with bald heads, as every boy was shaven when he left to serve in the Legion and every man when he returned. She’d never seen a bald woman before and couldn’t help staring. It hadn’t occurred to Jora until then that she would be forced to shave her head as well, and she felt the pang of the impending loss.

  “Thank you, Novices.”

  The other purple-robed one smiled at her. He was tall and broad, roughly her age, with pretty hazel eyes. “Welcome,” he said.

  “Novice Gilon, Novice Adriel,” said Elder Gastone, climbing the steps, “kindly show Novice Jora around, starting with the registrar.”

  Gilon! She snapped her eyes back up into his. He was alive and well, and none the worse for wear. “Gilon, I’m so pleased to finally meet you.”

  “Finally? Do we have a mutual friend?” he asked, offering his hand.

  She shook it. “Sort of. I’ll tell you about it another time.”

  “Friends call me Gil,” he said. “I invite you to do the same.”

  The other novice offered her hand. Jora felt the flush of embarrassment enter her cheeks as she shook it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Adriel,” she said with a grin. “Gil has that effect on women.”

  The heat in her face deepened. She hadn’t meant to act like a love-struck girl. “Oh, no, I-I didn’t mean... I’m Jora.”

  Adriel laughed. “Come on, Jora.” She started up the steps, and Jora and Gil followed. “Let’s get you started.”

  The building before her was as big as a mountain. She’d only seen the Legion Headquarters while observing soldiers arriving in Jolver, and it hadn’t been as impressive as this building was, looming above the city like a giant fist. At the top of the steps stood a large stone like a finger, and two benches sat on either side.

  “First,” Gil said, “you need to see the registrar. We’ll show you around once you’ve found your room and had a chance to freshen up.” He reached for her hair and felt it between his fingers. “Mmm. What a shame.”

  Inside, the building was open and large, with high ceilings and smooth wood floors. Where the walls were windowless, lamps in wall sconces and candles burning in chandeliers above kept the interior rooms bright. Adriel led her down one corridor and then another, her slippered feet barely a whisper while Jora clomped in her boots, echoing with every step. At last, they entered a small office, richly furnished and decorated with paintings. It was so much more extravagant than anything Jora had seen before. The richness and beauty of everything was exhausting to look at, so much of it was there to see and admire.

  The registrar was a slender woman with a sharp nose that looked sharper in contrast to the roundness of her shaved head. She wore the green robe of an adept. “You must be Jora Lanseri. I’ve got your paperwork right here.”

  “You’ll need to take your oath as a member of the Order,” the registrar said. Pledging to an order Jora didn’t want to be a member of in the first place. “Can you read?”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  The woman pointed to a wooden plaque mounted on the wall behind her desk. “State your name and then read it aloud.”

  “Jora Lanseri. I hereby promise to hold truth in the highest regard, to dedicate my life to the pursuit of justice, and to truthfully convey events that I witness in the name of the king from this point forward. This I swear upon the honor of my family name, Serocia, and the god Retar.”

  “I witnessed Jora Lanseri’s oath,” the registrar said. She looked pointedly at Gilon and Adriel in turn, and each repeated her words, giving witness.

  As oaths went, it was fairly unobtrusive except for the insinuation that there was no way out of the service once she took the oath. She hadn’t petitioned the king for a release yet. “Um, if the king grants my request to abstain from this service, I can retract my oath?”

  The registrar gaped at her. “You planned to petition the king for a release? Why didn’t you say so? No, there’s no retraction. One doesn’t un-promise something like this. You should’ve told me before you took the oath. You’re now a member of the Order of Justice Officials. On what grounds would the king grant you a release?”

  Now Jora felt silly. She didn’t think she could actually persuade the king to let her out of the service, but she didn’t think it would hurt to ask. “It’s... personal. I doubt he’ll grant it anyway. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. If he grants my petition, we can address my oath later.”

  The woman glared at her for a long moment.

  “Well,” Gilon said. “Adriel and I’ll just...” He skittered from the room without finishing the sentence, and Adriel followed on his heel. Jora could hear the two of them snickering down the hallway.

  “Let’s get you shaved, shall we?”

  “Must we?” Jora asked.

  The registrar pulled a stool out from under a table and patted its seat. “Yes, dear. All members of the Order shave their heads, and that includes Novices.”

  Jora sat obediently, and the registrar began cutting her hair the way the barber had done to Boden, tossing her long locks aside like garbage. Then came the soap and razor, sliding across her head with a heartbreaking scraping sound. She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears dribbled down her face anyway. When it was over, she ran her hands over her smooth, bald scalp. Her head and her hands had never met this way, and the sensation was both novel and regrettable.

  Next, the registrar handed her a short stack of violet cotton cloth, neatly folded—the robes she would wear as a novice.

  Violet for the novices, she mused, green for adepts, yellow for elders. Like the buildings around Jolver, the colors of their robes reflected all the colors of the rainbow except for red.

  Finally, the registrar showed Jora to her room. The dormitory was located behind the Justice Bureau, a short stroll under a covered walkway lined with flowers and shrubs and stone benches to sit upon. There was a grassy courtyard between the two buildings that the registrar said was often used for exercise or a game of catch. A brick fence enclosed the area, its height great enough that she couldn’t see the roofs or walls of nearby buildings from the walkway, making the enclosure seem like its own private world apart from the rest of Jolver.

  The dormitory building wasn’t as decadent as the Justice Bureau building was, but it was very pleasant, with polished wood floors and plaster walls painted white. They climbed three flights of stairs and
continued down a corridor lined with dark wooden doors on either side, each one with a plaque numbered in the four hundreds. Jora’s room was number 434, presuming the thirty-fourth room on the fourth story.

  The room was roughly a dozen feet square, larger than her room in Kaild. Inside the spacious room was a wood-framed bed with a thick mattress, a stool, and a dressing table with a mirror and wash basin, an armoire, and a long, plush chair on which she could recline or sit upright. This was a much nicer room than she’d had in the cramped dormitory in Kaild, but those rooms had been built as temporary housing for women who would be joining a family someday and moving into a home with her new husband. This one looked like it was designed for permanency, a notion that made her heart sink.

  Across from the door was a glazed window that latched in the center, opening to a view of the courtyard below and the rear of the Justice Bureau. She could also see some of the buildings beyond the fencing, but the bureau blocked her view of the sea. It was just as well. She didn’t particularly want to spend her days sitting at the window and staring out at the water, wondering how Sundancer was faring.

  “Every morning and night,” the registrar said, “a pitcher of hot water and clean towels are delivered to each door. The laundry maids will knock when they reach your door to let you know it’s there. The water will cool quickly, and it’s best to shave when the water is hot, so I suggest not dallying when they come knocking.”

  “I have to shave my own head every day?”

  “Of course, Novice. There should be a blade and bar of soap in the drawer. Go slowly and you’ll be fine.” The woman smiled a sort of wicked smile, making Jora wonder what percentage of Novices reported in the morning with cuts on their scalps. “When the blade dulls, you can exchange it for one that’s been freshly sharpened. All novices are assigned a disciple to guide and teach you. Adept Sonnis will assign you someone shortly. Take some time to wash, dress, and relax from your journey. He’ll undoubtedly come by to introduce himself before the evening meal.”

  Jora thanked her and shut the door behind her, noting there was no bolt on the door, no way to keep anyone out. Hopefully there were no thieves among them. Honor the truth. Wasn’t that what was inscribed on the Justice Bureau’s face? Surely everyone here could be trusted.

  She poured water from the pitcher on the dressing table into the ceramic bowl, then unfolded the top bundle and found that it contained knee-length small pants; a sleeveless cotton blouse, loose-fitting black trousers that were a few inches too long, and the long, hooded outer robe by which she’d come to identify the Truth Sayers. Sitting at the dressing table, she stared her reflection. She barely recognized herself. It was as if her very identity had been taken from her.

  She dipped the wash cloth into the water and wrung it out but couldn’t stop staring at how bizarre she looked. Without hair, her head looked alien and bulbous and her face tiny, as if it had been shrunken. Her already huge eyes, set too close together, made her look like an owl. An owl with the beak of an eagle and ears that stuck out like wings that might flap in a stiff wind. She truly was a freak now. A freak among freaks.

  Tears ran down her solemn face, and she made no move to wipe them away.

  Jora dragged her stool to the window and looked out, pondering her new life and how much different it would be from her life in Kaild. Outside her window was a tall oak tree whose leaves and twigs tapped the glass. A squirrel hopped along its branches, its cheeks bulging with treasure. She unlatched the window and opened it. A gentle breeze flowed in, tickling her shaved scalp. It felt so odd not having hair, but since everyone here was bald, she didn’t feel as self-conscious as she thought she would.

  Down below, under the covered walkway that led from the bureau to the dormitory, she saw the dark green robe of an adept and the golden yellow robes of an elder as they walked toward each other, though she couldn’t see their faces.

  “Elder Gastone,” said one, presumably the adept in the green robe. “You’re back already. Any trouble getting our newest recruit?”

  Jora’s ears perked up. She felt slightly guilty that she was eavesdropping on a conversation, but since they were talking about her, she didn’t feel bad enough to stop.

  “No, none at all,” the elder replied. “She was understandably disappointed to leave her home, but she came along with minimal fuss. How is Elder Kassyl?”

  “He’s as well as can be expected. He wanted me to be sure to thank you again for going in his stead, but I think we all know his traveling days are behind him.”

  “It’s unfortunate,” Elder Gastone said. “I’d like to see him. Do you think he’s up for a visitor?”

  “He’s caught a terrible cough,” the adept said. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” the elder said with a wave. “I’d simply like to ask if he would consider transferring the new novice to my hierarchy. It can wait until he’s feeling better.”

  “Your hierarchy? Why?”

  “Well, I did go and get her.”

  “At Elder Kassyl’s request. She was his discovery, after all. Well, Adept Farcia’s, which is practically the same thing.”

  “I realize that,” Elder Gastone said. “I’ve taken a liking to her is all, and I’d like to oversee her instruction myself.”

  Jora snorted softly. A liking for my friendship with Sundancer, he means.

  “I see,” the adept said. “I’ll broach the subject with Elder Kassyl when the physician says it’s safe to visit. In the meantime, I need to assign her a disciple and make sure she’s settling well. Now you’ve piqued my curiosity.”

  She hoped Elder Gastone wasn’t about to divulge what he knew. The last thing she wanted was more of the Truth Sayers pressuring her to explain what she knew of Azarian.

  “She’s from a small seaside town. I’m sure you’ll find her... pliable,” Elder Gastone said.

  Pliable? Jora thought with a snarl lifting her lips. Did they think her a ninnyhammer?

  “Adept Sonnis, I caution you not to attempt to woo her with your pretty words.”

  “Now, now, Elder. You know me better than that. I’m perfectly capable of romancing a woman without bedding her.”

  With that, the two went in opposite directions, Adept Sonnis to the dormitory and Elder Gastone to the Justice Bureau.

  Pliable. The word annoyed her, partly because she knew it was accurate. She never wanted to make others uncomfortable or say the wrong thing. Did the people of Kaild think of her this way? Someone they could easily manipulate?

  Someone knocked loudly on her door, startling her. “One moment,” she called out, pulling the windows closed. The last thing she wanted was for someone to think she’d been snooping. Which she had. She answered the door and met an adept’s intense green eyes, perhaps made more striking by the green of his robe. He was a handsome man in his mid to late thirties with an angular face and blond eyebrows. “Adept,” she said. Her pulse was racing, and she found herself looking at his mouth. His top lip wasn’t as wide as the bottom, and so the corners didn’t meet. It was the most bizarre pair of lips she’d ever seen, and the most appealing.

  “You must be Novice Jora,” he said, offering a hand. She shook it, and he placed his other atop hers, cupping it warmly. “I’m Adept Sonnis. Elder Kassyl would have come to welcome you himself, but he’s fallen ill. I’m attending to matters in his stead.”

  She lifted her chin, trying not to seem so pliable. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She pulled her hand a little to signal she would like it back, but he held onto it.

  “I trust the journey from Kale wasn’t too unpleasant?”

  “It’s Kaild,” she said. “And no, it wasn’t. Thank you for asking.” Why was he still holding her hand? Because she was pliable. She pulled it more firmly now, and he released it.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I was so mesmerized by your lovely eyes that I’d forgotten I still had your hand.”

  She forced a smile. I’m no
t that pliable.

  His gaze traveled down her body and returned to her eyes. “Did the registrar not give you the proper garments?”

  “Oh, she did. I... should I change now?”

  “No need to strip down in front of me,” he said, his lips curved into a crooked smile. His eyes twinkled. “As long as you’re properly dressed by the time the supper bell is rung, I won’t...” He licked his lips. “...punish you for violating article one five one, section b: failing to attire yourself in a manner befitting a member of the Order.”

  Jora felt the heat of a blush seep into her face. She didn’t like him, she decided, despite his handsome face and captivating mouth. She didn’t like him at all.

  “Has Elder Gastone given you a tour of the bureau yet?”

  “No,” she said. “He asked Novices Adriel and Gilon to do that. They’ll be around shortly.”

  “Good, good. There’s one thing they can’t show you, however.” He smiled, showing straight white teeth. A truly handsome man, he was probably used to getting what he wanted with his charm.

  “What’s that?” she asked warily, remembering Elder Gastone’s admonishment against wooing her.

  “Come with me.” He gestured for her to step past him into the hallway.

  She shut the door behind her and started downstairs. When they reached the second floor landing, he said, “My apartment is on this floor, number two twenty-two. If you need to speak with me, you will find me there or in my office in the bureau.”

  She nodded and continued to the ground floor. They walked across the covered walkway, his long strides whispering while her boots clomped.

  “You’ll be receiving your instruction from Disciple Bastin. She’s occupied currently, but I’ll see to it she finds you this evening. I’m guessing you’d be more comfortable with a woman as your teacher. And you’ve already met Novice Gil. She instructs him as well, and he’s only arrived within the last couple of weeks, so he’s not too far ahead of you in his learning.”