by May, K. C.
He led her through the Justice Bureau hall and out the front door to the finger-like statue at the top of the wide steps. No, not a finger, she realized. It had smooth protrusions like fins on three sides, leaving one side smooth and flat. Its tip narrowed like the beak of a dolphin. It was a dolphin, she realized, but worn down by weathering.
He indicated the statue with a sweep of his arm. “What do you make of this, Novice?”
It called to her, and she glided toward it, as if in a dream. She laid one palm on its smooth surface. A vibration shot through her entire body at once, and she yanked her hand away, crying out in surprise. “Goodness.”
Adept Sonnis was looking at her with arched eyebrows and wide eyes, clearly surprised. “You heard it?”
“I—I’m not sure.” It was a sensation as much as it was a sound. Jora touched it again, tentatively, and when she did, she felt a hum, one long note that resonated through her bones as if she were the tuning fork for the stone’s song. “It’s a single note, resonating through me. What is this statue?” she asked.
“Remarkable,” Adept Sonnis said. “Did Elder Gastone not point it out earlier?”
She shook her head. Neither Gilon nor Adriel had paid it much attention, either.
He pursed his lips as he studied her. “This is one of the seven Spirit Stones,” he said finally. “They’re spread across Aerta, and cities formed around them.”
The Spirit Stones. She’d learned of them in school when she was a child. It was speculated that they were the source of the Truth Sayers’ abilities. Serocia had two such statues, the other one being in Halder. “I learned about them when I was a child, but I’d never seen one before. They’re the source of our talent?”
“So it’s said.” Adept Sonnis laid his palm against it as well. “The tone changes every day at dawn. Some of the adepts and elders gather here to experience the moment it changes, when the first ray of sunlight peeks over the horizon.”
Jora looked at Adept Sonnis to judge whether the man was jesting, but he looked perfectly serious, even reverent, as he gazed across the tops of the buildings below. From here, Jora could see the glistening blue water of the Inner Sea. With one hand on the singing dolphin-like structure, she couldn’t help but think of Sundancer, and her eyes welled with tears. She’d only said goodbye to the dolphin that morning, but already it felt like weeks had passed since she’d last seen her friend.
“You should join us sometime. We’ve never had a novice who hears the tones.”
“Never?” she asked. “Why not?”
He smiled. “It’s a fascinating question which no one has yet answered. One generally doesn’t begin to hear them until one has been a Truth Sayer for fifteen or twenty years. In fact, one cannot be promoted to Elder until he—or she—has heard them. Now I understand why Elder Gastone took a liking to you.”
The loose-fitting novices’ garments were actually quite comfortable. The trousers had a simple drawstring waist, which she tied tight enough to stay on. The left edge of the robe tied to a string stitched into the right side seam, and the right edge tied to a string sewn into the left side seam. Both front edges had pockets sewn into them, though they were too small to carry more than a few bills or a key ring or the like. The V neckline in front was high enough for modesty, and if she wanted to tuck something larger into her robe, such as her journal, the violet fabric belt tied snugly around her waist would keep it from falling through to the floor.
Adriel and Gilon stopped by Jora’s room to welcome her again to the Order. Adriel had been a Novice for two years, and Gilon said her guidance had been wonderful during his first few confusing days.
“So tell me, how do you know me?” he asked, sitting on her reclining chair. “Who’s our mutual friend?”
Jora didn’t want to admit to having been the reason he was dragged off to join the Order, but he would keep asking questions until she told him anyway. “We have mutual friends who are in the same unit. I was checking on my friend for his papa, and your name came up. Your cousin, I think he said.”
“Yah, the loudmouth who turned me in,” he said with a scowl.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was my fault, actually. There were two Sayers in the room, and one of them saw me somehow. He asked the group who among them knew of a Mindstreamer, and your cousin volunteered your name while my friend stayed silent. You were discovered because of my actions. I’m really sorry. I worried about what might happen to you.”
Gilon laughed. “Don’t be. Living here beats getting driven through on a Barader’s blade. If I’d known how much better life was as a Novice, I’d have spoken up myself the day before I turned eighteen.”
“Chicken,” Adriel said.
“I’m more of a bunny—cute and cuddly.” He winked at Adriel.
“Mindstreamer, you said?” Adriel asked.
Jora nodded. “That’s what I call the Talent for Witnessing: Mindstreaming.”
“Mindstreaming,” Gilon said, nodding. “I like it.”
“Where are you from?” Adriel asked.
“Kaild,” Jora said.
“Kaild?” Gilon said, scrunching his face with what looked like contempt. Or perhaps he’d simply never heard of it, which was entirely possible, given how small a town it was.
“It’s a small town on the coast a few days’ ride to the north. You?”
“Halder,” Adriel said, pointing at herself, “and Renn,” she said, pointing at Gilon.
“Have they told you who your disciple is?” Gilon asked.
“Um, someone named Bastin. Do you know him?” Jora asked.
Adriel snickered and Gilon groaned. “She’s mine too,” he said. “A nipper.”
Jora chuckled. “What’s a nipper?”
Adriel replied, “Children who were given up by their parents because their ability to Mindstream was too bizarre. Made them nervous or what have you. They come here young, usually around ten but sometimes as young as five or six. There’s an adept who’s only fifteen years old, but he’s unique.”
“It sounds like there are lots of Sayers here,” Jora said.
“There are a couple hundred here in Jolver,” Adriel said, “almost that number in Halder and the other big cities, and then each Legion unit has one or two.”
“What’s their role in the Legion?” she asked.
“Mostly to relay messages,” Gilon said. “There’s a board on the first floor of the bureau that messengers post communications to. They use messengers who aren’t Sayers because observing a Sayer is against the rules.” He wiggled his fingers ominously. “Each unit has a soldier who’s designated as the messenger for the Sayers assigned to his unit, and he posts messages on a board in the command building. This enables the Sayers to get and send messages to the Order to coordinate the movement of units, arrival of supplies, and enemy sightings or raids.”
“I see,” Jora said. “No wonder they got Sayers to Kaild so quickly.”
“Yah,” Adriel said. “One of the things we learn as Novices is how to observe the messenger and access the command board, and when to alert the elders if something needs their attention. Disciples and Adepts monitor the board too, of course, but it’s more of a chore and less interesting than witnessing crimes.”
“When do we get to do that?”
“Oh, you’ll get to sit in on hearings from time to time,” Adriel said. “Gilon had his first yesterday. Disciples hear the accusation and witness the event to verify a crime was committed. The adepts make judgments and pass along sentencing recommendations to the elders. The elders impose a sentence, and then the enforcers carry it out.”
These were things Jora had learned in school, but it had been almost thirteen years since she finished, and the details of how the Justice Bureau operated wasn’t among the subjects she found interesting enough to remember. “What was it like, the hearing?” she asked Gilon. “Interesting?”
He nodded. “Oh yeah. It was a robbery. You’d think that people might think twice
before committing crimes when Truth Sayers can witness the whole thing. They try to cover their faces or stick to shadows, but we can always go backward and view them in the past. It’s like they don’t think of that.”
“Assuming,” Adriel said, “there’s someone in the area to observe. You can’t observe a dead man.”
“You can in some cases,” Gilon said. A faraway look came into his eyes.
“What do you mean?” Adriel asked. “What cases?”
Quietly, he said, “I witnessed a fellow in my unit die. He was on guard duty, and I heard him shout for help.”
“Sure, we can witness someone die as it happens,” Adriel said. “But you can’t, for example, observe him on the pyre afterward.”
Gilon looked like he wanted to say more, but he closed his mouth.
Jora thought about her brother’s grisly death. She’d witnessed it after the fact, after she was unable to find him in the present and had to stream her own past and jump to him in order to find out what happened to him. “You can,” she said quietly.
“What do you mean? Observe someone’s corpse on the pyre?” Adriel asked.
“No, witness his death. If it’s someone you know, you can observe your own past, and then jump to the other person. That’s how I found out how my brother died.”
“Oh,” Adriel said. “I didn’t know we could do that. Did you?”
Gilon shook his head. “Sorry about your brother. Sorry you had to see it.”
She nodded an acknowledgment of his sympathy and took a deep breath, hoping to lighten the conversation again. “So aside from the hearings and command board, what are our duties?”
“The Observation Request Room,” Adriel said, her voice like a groan. “It’s where we sit and observe soldiers for paying customers, to tell them whether their loved one is still alive.”
“We get paid for that?” Jora asked. It sounded like what she used to do for the people back home in Kaild.
“We don’t. The bureau does,” Gilon said.
Jora scrunched her brow. “If the adepts serving with the Legion know the bureau uses justice officials to observe soldiers from the Request Room, how did they know Gilon and I weren’t one of them?”
He looked at her with raised brows. “How indeed?”
Adriel said, “Everyone learns a new skill when they advance in rank. Disciples are taught how to prevent others from observing them. Adepts are taught to recognize members of the Order who are using the Talent—the Mindstream.”
“What do elders learn?” Jora asked.
“I’m not sure. Next time we see one, let’s ask.”
“What about the daily routine?” Jora asked. “Chores and whatnot?”
Adriel and Gilon told Jora about the daily routine, the meals, and rules for social interaction. They cautioned her about which adepts to avoid and which were willing to stop and answer questions.
“Adriel’s in Elder Gastone’s hierarchy. You and I are in Elder Kassyl’s,” he told her. “He’s pretty old, though, so we never see him.”
“How old?” Jora asked.
“Mid-fifties, I guess.”
She laughed. “My father’s fifty-four. Mid-fifties isn’t old. Elder Gastone must be at least seventy.”
“He just celebrated his fiftieth birthday,” Adriel said. “That’s old for a Sayer. One thing we get to look forward to is a short lifespan. The Mindstream taxes the soul, and the soul feeds off the body. It’s rare for a Sayer to live past fifty-five, and some die in their mid-forties, especially the nippers.”
Jora groaned. She had no idea Mindstreaming was killing her. “Are there any adepts or elders we can trust?” she asked.
“Trust... how?” Adriel asked. “We can trust them all. They’re Truth Sayers.”
“I mean, for instance, if we have a personal problem or concern. Is there someone you trust more than the others to handle matters discreetly?”
Adriel rolled her eyes up and tapped her chin with a forefinger. “I’d probably go to Adept Lazar or Fer. They report to your elder, so they should be the ones to go to first.”
“Or Adept Sonnis,” Gilon said. “He’s nice, easy to talk to, and is always willing to listen. He’s Bastin’s supervisor, so we should go to him before anyone else.”
“Right,” Adriel said. “Adept Sonnis will probably replace Elder Kassyl when he dies.”
Jora rolled her eyes. Great.
The door swung open. Conversation stopped, and all three heads turned. A person of perhaps fifteen stood in the doorway wearing a long blue robe. Jora thought it might be a girl, but she wasn’t certain, as there were no breasts tenting the robe in front, though the visitor would’ve been small for a boy.
“You’re Jora?” Definitely a girl’s voice.
Jora stood. “Yes. Are you Bastin?”
The disciple nodded curtly and looked around the room. “What are you two doing here?”
“Giving her an introduction to life in the Order,” Gilon said. “You know, which adepts to bootlick to, that sort of thing.”
Jora and Adriel chuckled.
Bastin stood there for a moment, looking at him as if she expected him to say something else. “I don’t advise bootlicking to any of them. They would see through maneuvers like that.”
Gilon turned to Jora and put one hand to the side of his mouth as if to tell her a secret. “She doesn’t understand the concept of jesting.”
Jora smiled gently. She didn’t want to offend her new mentor.
“She’s never had a proper childhood,” Adriel said. “Gil’s been teaching her a thing or two about the finer points of humor and playfulness.”
“She’s a tough student, but I’m determined to get through.”
“Not today you won’t,” Bastin said. “I’ve got one more case left to hear this evening after supper. I was told I had a new novice, so I wanted to meet you while I had the time. Do you have your textbook yet?”
Jora shook her head.
“You can read, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can read.”
“Gilon, show her where to get it. Read the first two chapters on Rules of the Order tonight. We’ll meet after breakfast in the morning and go over them.”
“And over them and over them and over them.” Gilon gasped dramatically for a breath. “And over them and over them...”
Adriel chuckled. Jora couldn’t help but smile.
Bastin looked at him, her face expressionless. “Was that a jest?”
“Yes, yes it was. Very good, Bastin.”
Bastin’s expressionless face told Jora she was neither amused nor offended. “It’s my duty to repeat the lessons however many times it takes for you to understand and remember.”
“Yah,” Gilon said. “As you’ve so aptly demonstrated.”
“Thank you,” Bastin said, inclining her head.
Adriel snickered.
“Do you have any immediate questions or concerns, Novice Jora?” Bastin asked.
“I was wondering about the colors of the robes.”
“Violet for novices, blue for adepts—”
“Yes,” Jora said, “I’ve noticed that we use the colors of the rainbow to differentiate the ranks of the Order. Why don’t the elders wear red or orange?”
“Orange is for the dominee of the temple,” Bastin explained. “Red isn’t worn.”
“Why not?” Gilon asked.
“In ancient times, only the most powerful witness, who surmounted both the Order and the temple through his command of the Talent, wore red. Those were the Gatekeepers. We haven’t had a Gatekeeper in over five hundred years.”
“Five hundred years are ancient times?” Gilon asked, smiling.
“More ancient than modern,” Bastin said.
“So each time we advance, we get to wear a different robe color and have a new title,” Jora said. “Is that all that distinguishes a Novice from an Elder?”
“No,” Bastin said. “There are skill differences, too. When you become a dis
ciple, you’ll learn the barring hood. That’s what prevents others with the Talent, such as our enemies, from observing us. Adepts learn to recognize other members of the Order while using the Talent. That way, they can tell whether someone being observed is friend or foe.”
“What do elders learn?” she asked.
“You’ll find out when you become an adept. Supper will be served in a few minutes,” Bastin said. “One bell is for elders and adepts, two bells is for disciples and novices. Don’t enter the dining hall until you’ve heard the two bells.”
“We filthy peasants aren’t allowed to dine with royalty,” Gilon said.
Adriel and Jora smiled, but Bastin scowled. “The elders and adepts sometimes join us at the second bell,” she said. “They’re not royalty any more than we’re peasants. They’ve earned the privilege of eating first. Someday, you will, too.”
“See what I mean?” he asked Jora.
Bastin didn’t appear to be insulted by his question. “Was that a jest, too?”
“It was, dear Bastin. Too bad you missed it. I thought it was funny.”
She waved him off with a flick of her hand. “Meet me in the library after breakfast tomorrow.” Without another word, the disciple left.
“Nice meeting you,” Jora called after her.
“I don’t think she understands basic human social interaction, either,” Adriel said. “Poor thing.”
“What’s her story? Why didn’t she have a proper childhood?” Jora asked.
“Her parents realized when she was five or six that she was different,” Gilon said, “so they sent her to the Justice Bureau to be tested for the Talent.”
“Mindstreaming?”
“Yah, Mindstreaming. Children can’t start training as a novice until they’re ten years old, so she had to complete her basic education first, but she lived here and was taught by one of the monks.”
“Monks of the temple?”
“Those are the ones. Spend enough time at the temple and you’ll understand.”
Chapter 12
One evening, while Boden was eating supper with his pals, Corporal Pharson made his way past carrying a bowl of steaming food. “Sayeg,” he said, pausing as he went by, “I’ve got an assignment for you. Come see me after the meal.”