by May, K. C.
At the back of the room sat a desk with a large, sweating woman in blue disciples’ robes, writing on a sheet of paper while a slim boy of about fifteen waited. The boy wore regular clothes and had all his hair. The disciple handed the paper to the boy, who hung the paper onto the board on an empty nail. Company fifty reports sighting of ground forces approaching from the south through northern Barad.
The disciple looked up and greeted Disciple Bastin. With prompting from Gilon, Bastin introduced the other disciple as Gafna, one of Adept Sonnis’s star students. The two chatted for a few minutes while Jora strolled around the room, looking at the military orders and reports posted on the boards.
“This is how we coordinate movement of our Legion soldiers,” Bastin said, joining her. “Gilon, tell Jora why everything is coordinated here.”
“One central location makes it easy for the commanders to know what’s happening across Serocia.”
“I don’t understand,” Jora said.
“Every March Commander has one or two Truth Sayers with his company,” Gilon explained.
“The Truth Sayers observe the poster in this room,” Bastin continued, “and watch for new messages to be posted on his company’s board.”
“Why doesn’t the disciple hang it up herself?” Jora asked.
Bastin sighed. “Because Sayers can’t observe each other. We need an uninitiated citizen to post the messages so they can be observed.”
Jora shrugged, unconvinced. “As long as someone observable is in the room, the commanders’ Sayers should be able to read it. You only need someone to sit here.”
“This is the way it’s done,” Bastin snapped. “You don’t have to like it, just understand it and remember.”
“Sorry,” Jora said. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
Bastin pointed to some of the other messages. “The disciple on duty observes the poster for each company, reads the message he posts, and writes it down. It’s exhausting work, sitting there observing poster after poster, checking for new messages. If you miss one, entire companies can be decimated by an attack they don’t anticipate.”
“How do the Sayers working with the companies know which message to pay attention to?” Jora asked.
Gilon pointed to the company number at the top of the board. “They only look at their board. Saves them time so they can observe the soldiers in their company who are out scouting, in the event one spots an enemy approaching.”
“Sounds complicated,” Jora said.
“Only adepts and elders are assigned to companies,” Bastin said. “Disciples and adepts work the command room, and some of the elders, too, if they’re well enough. You’ve got years to learn the system before you’ll be expected to perform those duties yourself. I’m assigned command room duty tomorrow afternoon for three hours. You should come watch. I’ll introduce you to the posters for each company.”
“How do you do that?” Gilon asked. “They’re scattered all around Serocia.”
“You can piggyback on my observation,” Bastin said.
“Ride your stream?” Jora mused. “I didn’t realize we could do that.”
“Is that what I did that day in the hearing room?” Gilon asked.
Bastin looked pleased. “Yes, exactly. I’ll teach you how. It’s strange at first, but once you learn how to do it, you can observe anyone that another Sayer is observing. It’s handy when there’s a battle, for instance, or that time some buildings collapsed in Halder during an earthquake. Once one Sayer gets a thread on someone, other Sayers can ‘ride the stream,’ as you say, and help locate the dead and wounded.”
Jora had observed her share of gruesome events. It didn’t occur to her that she might need to do it on purpose to help people. The fact that the Justice Bureau utilized its army of Truth Sayers to help people and not only judge them for crimes gave her hope that she would someday come to appreciate being part of the Order.
Jora tucked her flute into her robe and tied her belt more tightly to hold it in place, hoping to find a place on some long pier where she could call to Sundancer. It had been weeks since she’d seen her friend, and she was afraid the dolphin had either given up on her or, Challenger forbid it, got caught in a fishing net and drowned. Though she was eager to sit in her room and look over her notes, to see whether she could identify a pattern or message in the daily tones emitted by the dolphin statue, she didn’t dare defy Bastin’s order to walk to the docks and back. The sooner she returned, the more time she could spend studying. She’d begun writing down the tones she’d heard so far and couldn’t help but wonder if they were random or if there was a message embedded in them.
Jora and Gilon met at the Spirit Stone to begin their long walk to the docks that evening. It was a good day for it, as the air was relatively cool because the year had begun its long, slow descent into winter. For the first part of the walk, they talked about the changing weather, the coming autumn, the case they heard earlier in the day, and Disciple Bastin’s odd lack of humor.
“Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“You just did, and it didn’t kill you. Go ahead. Ask me something else.”
She smiled at him. “Do you trust Adept Sonnis?”
Gilon laughed. “Sonnis? Of course. He’s the nicest, friendliest adept in the entire Order. Why do you ask?”
Jora shrugged. “He makes me almost as nervous as the creatures in the Mindstream do. I have to work up the nerve to talk to him.”
“Creatures? What creatures?”
She looked at Gilon to judge his reaction. Was he teasing her? “You know, the weird, shadowy creatures we encounter when we use the Mindstream.”
He tucked his chin into his neck and eyed her with wariness. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There aren’t any creatures—weird, shadowy, or otherwise—outside the realm of perception.”
Pursing her lips, she considered his words. Could the creatures have been a figment of her imagination all her life? She dismissed the idea immediately, knowing without a doubt they were as real as she was. The fact that he’d never noticed them bothered her. “Maybe Adriel sees them. I’ll ask her when we get back.”
“Or they aren’t there,” he said, “and you’re imagining things. Honestly, how could there be creatures in a place that exists beyond the limits of sight, sound, touch, and so on?”
“It’s a good question. As I leave this so-called realm of perception to observe someone, I see and hear other beings. They see me too, but they’ve never hurt me. I thought maybe I make them as nervous as they make me. Maybe I pass through another realm.”
“Well, I’ve never seen them. Do they look like the Sack Man, by any chance, threatening to carry you off for misbehaving?”
She pinched his arm, and he let out a squeal. “No.”
“Talasan, perhaps?” he asked with a grin, making horns on his forehead with hooked index fingers.
“I’m not talking about fairy tale villains or mythical creatures. These are real.”
“I see.”
She turned her head so he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. Everyone experienced things differently. What she wanted to know was how common hers were versus his. Were those creatures truly there? Something tickled the back of her neck and sent a shiver down her back. She flinched, raising a hand to knock it away, and when she did, her hand struck Gilon’s arm.
He burst into gleeful laughter. “Got you.”
“You’re mean.” Jora tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t.
“All right, so Adept Sonnis makes you nervous like the shadowy creatures. What do you need to talk to him about?”
“Adept Lazar said I should ask him if I could read Elder Kassyl’s notes about the tones. He was under the impression Elder Kassyl, and maybe some others, had been writing down the daily tones in the hopes of discerning some pattern in them.”
“Aren’t they just random notes?”
She grinned at him. “I don’t know, but I can’t help but think th
ere might be a message in them.”
He gaped at her. “What kind of message?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I want the books. I’ve been writing down the tones since I got here, but there are hundreds of years’ worth that have probably been lost. What if the Spirit Stone is telling us how to live more peaceably? What if its message can stop the war, stop the brutality that people inflict upon each other? Teach us how to be... better?”
Gilon regarded her doubtfully. “I’d love to hear a message that could do all that.”
“Until someone figures out what those tones mean, we’ll never know.”
“So go ask Sonnis. Tell him what you told me.”
“Yeah,” she said doubtfully. “I’d really rather talk to Elder Kassyl directly.”
“No one’s allowed to see him except the healers and medics. You could try asking Adept Fer, if Sonnis makes you nervous. Fer also reports to Elder Kassyl.”
“Hmmm,” she said, nodding. “Perhaps I will.” She spotted the docks ahead. “Look. We’re almost there.”
“We can turn around and go back, if you want.”
“My feet could use a rest. I think I’m getting a blister or two. Besides, I want to see if she’s here.”
“See if who’s here?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.”
Once they reached the end of the road, they climbed down a few steps from the street to the series of piers that stretched across the shallow waters closest to shore. Dozens of boats of various sizes were moored there, their hulls bumping against the docks with the water’s motion. Jora led the way to the farthest pier, where three men were tying up a boat and unloading barrels of smelly fish. She stared at them curiously. Men in Kaild never fished. After they returned from their service to the Legion, they only guarded and pitched in during the spring planting and fall harvest or to build a home for another man returning from the war to share with his wife and child.
At the end of the pier, she hiked up the bottom of her robe and knelt down, then withdrew the flute from its hiding place inside.
“What’s that?” Gilon asked, settling onto his knees beside her.
“It’s a flute. My friend Boden gave it to me before he left for the war.”
“Ah. A promissory,” Gilon said with a knowing grin.
Jora rolled her eyes but let the matter drop. “I used to meet her at dawn, but maybe she’s nearby.”
“A mermaid?” Gilon asked, his face brightening in boyish enthusiasm.
“Not quite. Watch and hope she’s nearby.”
Gilon tucked both thumbs under his index fingers, the gesture for good luck.
She lifted the flute to her lips and played the greeting that used to call Sundancer to her. That the dolphin was near enough to respond after one greeting was too much to hope for, and so she played it twice, paused a moment, and played it twice more. It was probably too late in the day. They’d become accustomed to meeting at dawn, and it was nearly dusk.
“What’re you doing there?” one of the fishermen asked, standing behind her.
“Nothing worth your valuable time,” Gilon said.
She played twice more, and to her surprise and delight, a dorsal fin broke the water a dozen yards away. Jora pointed at it. “There she is!” She leaped to her feet, unable to contain her excitement.
Sundancer stopped at the edge of the pier and poked her head out of the water, twittering and spinning in a joyful circle.
“A dolphin?” Gilon said. “You called a dolphin?”
“Not just any dolphin,” Jora said. “Watch.”
“Not see you long time,” Sundancer said.
“I am happy see you, Sun Dancer. I missed you,” she played back.
“I missed you.”
“It’s singing to your music,” Gilon said, clearly enthralled.
“She’s a she, not an it, and her name is Sundancer.” Jora lifted the flute again. “This man is my friend. I not know song name.”
“I name man Free Heart. Free Heart is Autumn Rain friend and Sun Dancer friend.”
“You know her language?” he asked, gaping at Sundancer. “You actually talk to her?”
“Free Heart,” Jora repeated. “I do. She named you Freeheart,” she told Gilon.
“That’s amazing,” Gilon said. “Freeheart, huh? I like it. Would she let me touch her?”
“Try it and see.” To Sundancer, she said, “Free Heart wants touch you.”
He leaned forward, still kneeling, and reached out to offer a hand to Sundancer. She moved in and let him stroke her beak and head. “She’s so soft.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said the curious fisher. “That’s the dolphin that’s been hanging around here the last few weeks.”
Jora’s eyes teared up. Sundancer had been here looking for her. And she hadn’t come. “I am sorry I not come.”
“You come now,” Sundancer said. “I am happy see you.”
“Let’s see if it wants a fish,” the fisher said, opening the lid of a barrel on the pier.
“Leave it be,” said another. “We didn’t spend all day fishing to feed a damned fish.”
“I’ll buy a fish from you,” Gilon said. He pulled a small pouch from the front pocket in his robe and withdrew a coin, offering it to the grumpy fisher. The man shrugged, pocketed the coin, and opened the barrel, letting Gilon pluck out a fish by pinching the tail fin between two fingers. He held it away from his body and turned back to the water.
“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.”