Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) Read online

  Call of the Colossus

  Book two of The Mindstream Chronicles

  by K.C. May

  Call of the Colossus

  Copyright 2014 by K.C. May

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  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents depicted herein are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Book 2 of The Mindstream Chronicles

  Condemned murderer—and now Gatekeeper—Jora Lanseri is offered a chance at redemption in exchange for her silence. Driven to protect her only remaining brother, she must covertly investigate the dark and hidden forces smuggling the life-giving godfruit to Serocia’s enemies and perpetuating the long and bloody war.

  Aided by the dolphin Sundancer, Jora discovers more long-forgotten secrets of the Spirit Stones—including the ability to call the Colossus, the ancient warrior statues positioned around the Legion headquarters. But the Colossus warriors had fought against the previous Gatekeeper in the war known as The Great Reckoning. Can Jora convince them to join her struggle for peace and justice, or will they side with her nemesis and use her brother against her?

  The Mindstream Chronicles consist of

  Song of the Sea Spirit

  Call of the Colossus

  Verse of the Vanquisher (coming 2015)

  Cover art by Damon Za (www.damonza.com).

  Map of Aerta: The Inner Sea Corridor by Jared Blando (www.theredepic.com)

  “Men occasionally stumble over the truth, but most of them pick themselves up and hurry off as if nothing ever happened.”

  ~ Winston Churchill

  Chapter 1

  “Guilty of treason,” said Justice Captain Milad, leader of the enforcers.

  Guilty.

  Guilty.

  The words echoed through Jora Lanseri’s mind with every scuffling step she took down the dank corridor toward her doom. The shackles and fetters clanked, echoing against the cold, gray walls of the jail like a death knell.

  “He was sentenced to death by hanging,” Milad said, his tone seasoned by the smirk on his face.

  Her knees weakened, and she stumbled. The enforcers’ hands clamped harder around her upper arms and kept her from falling. No. It isn’t fair.

  With a whistle, Jora could have summoned an ally to free her, to turn her guards to stone or put them to sleep, but the gag in her mouth and the ancient, metal device they’d put on her head made calling for Po Teng impossible. Bound as she was, she couldn’t help herself, let alone help Korlan, her only remaining friend.

  “Your own sentence will no doubt be worse,” Milad said. He led the way to the door at the end of the corridor, his shiny black boots clacking rhythmically on the gray stone floor like a metronome counting the seconds until the pronouncement. “Death by beheading is my guess.”

  Jora wondered if that would be best. If she were beheaded, she would no longer be tortured by memories of what had happened in Kaild. The bloody murders of her family and friends and the smell of their burning corpses would no longer haunt her dreams. She’d thought many times in recent days that death would be a kindness.

  “I’ll give my enforcers leave to fimble and behand you first. Might get me a reprimand, but for what you did to my men, it’ll be worth it.”

  Since turning herself in, she’d been subject to rough handling by her jailers, but it was nothing compared to the agony of witnessing what those soldiers had done to the people of Kaild. Still, Jora’s insides shriveled at the thought of having her fingers broken and her hands cut off. They’d better cut her tongue out first, because without a hand, she would slip the shackle cuff and rip the device from her head. There would be no saving them then.

  With the enforcers at her back, she shuffled up the uneven stone stairs of the jailhouse where she’d spent the last ten days. Or was it eleven? In the underground cell, she’d lost track. Sleep brought nightmares, and wakefulness was no better. She’d not eaten well in jail, not because the flavorless slop they fed her was insufficient. Thoughts of her family and her impending trial had chased hunger away.

  At the top of the stairs, Milad opened the door to the jailhouse. Jora squeezed her eyes shut against the brilliant sunlight and bowed her head. Her sense of time had been so fouled that she’d expected to see a night sky. The smell of horses and the jingle of tack greeted her outside the prison. A couple of men in mail lifted her under the armpits into the waiting wagon. She stumbled to a bench and sat, and they affixed her fetters to an iron tab bolted to the floor. Milad sat across from her with a loaded crossbow on his lap, pointed at her, his steady brown eyes ever watchful. Apart from a scar on his chin, he had an unblemished face with a narrow jaw and untamed black eyebrows. His head was cleanly shaven like those of the enforcers under his command. Unlike the others, he wore no armor over the gray enforcers’ uniform.

  Though she hadn’t been afforded the luxury of a mirror during her imprisonment, she had a little over two weeks’ growth of hair and could imagine the shadow atop her head. The benefit to having been kicked out of the Justice Bureau was not having to shave her head anymore, though if what the justice captain had said was true, soon she wouldn’t have a head left to shave anyway.

  They started off, Jora and Milad both flanked by two enforcers in the wagon. Judging from their wary looks, they must have been terrified of her, and the thought made her sad. No one had been afraid of her before she’d joined the Justice Bureau. She didn’t want people to fear her. She just wanted to do what she’d sworn to do, what they’d made her swear to do—uphold the law, honor the truth, and see justice done.

  People on the street stopped what they were doing to watch the prisoner being taken off to the Justice Bureau to face her crimes. Jora was sure they didn’t normally pay much attention to the prisoners on their way to judgment, but she was different, as evidenced by the surprised looks, the whispers, the pointing fingers, the fear in the eyes of the enforcers sitting opposite her. Did the citizens know what she’d done? Or did they only know that she was the Gatekeeper, the first in some five hundred years? Perhaps they didn’t even know that.

  They’d taken away her robe, street clothes, and boots and given her primitive, wood-and-rope sandals and prisoners’ blacks to wear. Sewn to fit a man, the tunic was loose, the sleeves reaching to her knuckles, and the trousers, belted with a thin rope, had to be cuf
fed and belted about her ankles to keep from tripping her. Without the red robe, how would anyone guess she was the Gatekeeper? She was just a former member of the Order of Justice Officials, accused of some crime or perhaps gone mad and gagged to keep from shouting her delusions for all to hear.

  Jora angled her face up into the sun, which felt warm and comforting on her skin. She hoped not to die on a day like this. If she had her choice, she would choose a dreary, rainy day so her executioners would share in her misery.

  In front of the stately Justice Bureau, the team of horses halted. Two enforcers climbed down, ready to receive her from two others. Their hands were rough but respectful. No one tried to touch her where his hands would be unwelcome. Perhaps they didn’t want to incur her wrath should she somehow manage to free herself of the gag and kendern. With their hands clasping her upper arms, she ascended the many steps to the grand double entry doors, but it wasn’t the carved wood that drew her eye or the faint stain from Elder Sonnis’s blood that still marred the white steps.

  It was the Spirit Stone.

  How she longed to touch it once more, to feel its tone hum through her body and resonate with her soul.

  She craned her neck to see it as as they passed it, and she was half-dragged, half-marched into the building. Inside, she closed her eyes, unable to stop the flow of tears down her cheeks. Without being able to feel the tones or speak to Sundancer, what was the point in living? Her friends were dead, about to be executed, or standing on the side of what they called justice within the Order. She had no family left but for one brother serving his time in the Legion.

  With the kendern on her head, she couldn’t Observe him through the Mindstream to assure herself he was safe. Finn was probably going about his usual routine, oblivious to what had happened. He undoubtedly thought his wife and daughter were still alive in Kaild, awaiting his return. How could he know that his younger sister—his only sister now—was going to be tried for murder and sentenced to death?

  Perhaps the kendern was a blessing. She didn’t want to witness the look on his face when he learned what had happened. She didn’t want to see the disgust and horror in his eyes when his commander spewed the lies the Legion would undoubtedly agree on to lay the blame across Jora’s shoulders.

  The enforcers escorted her through the high-ceilinged corridors, their steps echoing on the polished wood floor. Ahead, justice officials in colorful robes filed into a courtroom, each one casting a wary glance in her direction as they entered. Some of them she recognized. Some looked familiar, but their names didn’t immediately come to her. Still others were strangers. The enforcers took her inside.

  The room was filled to capacity, the seats in the gallery taken by disciples in blue robes, adepts in green, and elders in yellow. Jora hoped to see at least one violet robe worn by Adriel, perhaps her only remaining friend within the Order, but no novices were present. The onlookers sat quietly but for the rustle of nervous fidgeting as she walked past.

  A trio of elders, Elder Gastone and two whose names she didn’t know, seated themselves at the judge’s bench. From their position atop an elevated platform in the front of the room, they could look down upon the accused and the adepts judging her. One elder had white eyebrows and a spotted head. The other was a woman who looked much younger, perhaps newly promoted. She had blue eyes, thin red eyebrows, and a freckled face. A disciple and three adepts huddled around the prosecutor’s table. Across the room, a single chair sat empty, facing them all. The accused’s chair.

  The enforcers all but dragged her to it and sat her down. Two stood guard behind her, and Justice Captain Milad poised beside the prosecutor’s table, his crossbow cocked. One of the enforcers untied the gag and pulled it out of her mouth. It felt good to be free of it. She licked and stretched her lips and opened and closed her jaw to work out the stiffness. Justice Captain Milad flexed his hands on the crossbow.

  “I am Elder Tornal,” said the white-browed elder in the center. “To my right is Elder Gastone, and to my left Elder Devarla. We will serve as Sentencing Judges for this proceeding. Let the record reflect that Disciple Jeneve is serving as Primary Witness, and Adepts Fer, Uster, and Gerios are serving as Primary Judges. Unless there are any objections, let us begin.”

  He waited a moment for objections, but the room was silent.

  “Will the accused please state her name for the court,” Elder Tornal said.

  “Jora Lanseri.”

  “Jora Lanseri,” Elder Tornal said, “you are here to face justice for the murders of five Legion soldiers, four enforcers, March Commander Turounce, and Elder Sonnis. How do you plead?”

  “Not guilty,” she said.

  “On what basis do you make this claim?”

  Though the courtroom was quiet, a hush seemed to settle over it. No rustle of cloth, no clearing of throats. All eyes were on Jora.

  She looked around the courtroom at all the faces staring at her, judging her. She was undoubtedly the first justice official ever to have been accused of murdering another, but then, they probably didn’t know that Elder Sonnis had murdered Elder Kassyl. Even if they did, it was too late anyway. “On the basis that I was acting in the capacity of a member of this order, meting out justice as my duty required.”

  Gasps rippled across the room. People turned to their neighbor and whispered.

  “Quiet!” Elder Tornal demanded. He banged a gavel on the bench. “Quiet.” He glared at the audience until they settled back down. “I’ll clear this room if you can’t maintain your composure in the manner befitting justice officials.”

  The elders, adepts, and disciples, duly chastened, answered with silence.

  Tornal lowered his gaze to the papers before him and began to read aloud. “Disciple Jeneve will Witness the events beginning on Veneris Day, the 8th day of Septebar, the day the accused renounced the Justice Bureau, and the four days that followed.”

  “If I may address the court,” Jora said.

  Milad flexed his finger on the crossbow trigger. If he squeezed it, even accidentally, Jora would be dead. Even without the kendern on her head, she couldn’t possibly have summoned an ally to protect her in the time it would take the bolt to travel across the room.

  A bead of sweat dribbled down her sides. She swallowed and waited for Tornal to nod, then cleared her throat before continuing. “The events that led up to my decision to leave began with the death of Elder Kassyl.”

  “I don’t see how Elder Kassyl’s passing is relevant to your departure,” Elder Gastone said.

  “I’ll show you,” Jora said. “Permit me to give you a tour of my timeline and the things I learned. You’ll understand better why I did what I did.”

  The three sentencing elders whispered amongst themselves for a moment, too quietly for Jora to hear. The three judging adepts took the time to discuss the matter as well. “We shall leave it to the discretion of the adepts sitting in judgment,” Tornal said.

  Jora glanced at Adept Fer who had once been well-disposed toward her. Did he just wink? Did she still have a champion within the Justice Bureau?

  Adept Fer nodded and then whispered something to the disciple sitting beside him. “We have no objections,” he lisped with his baritone voice.

  “Very well,” Elder Tornal said. “Jora, if you agree to take no aggressive action against any member of this tribunal, members of the audience, or the enforcers who brought you, we will remove the kendern device.”

  “You have my word.”

  “Justice officer,” Adept Fer said, “kindly remove the kendern from Novice Jora’s head.”

  The corners of Elder Tornal’s mouth twitched. “Refer to her as simply Jora or Jora Lanseri, if you please. She has been expelled from the Order.”

  Expelled. Jora cast her gaze downward. She didn’t know why that saddened her, but it did, perhaps because the Order was the closest thing she had to family, despite the fact that they were unfairly judging her for heinous crimes.

  “Yes, Elder,” Adept Fe
r said.

  The enforcer on Jora’s right fussed with the tightening screws on the device. Faint squeaks accompanied a gradual loosening of the band around her head, and then he pulled it free.

  The sensation was like removing a murderous hand gripping her throat. Tears of relief and gratitude spilled down her face. She would guess that none of the elders had tried the thing on themselves to experience the oppressive silence. They couldn’t know how terrible it was.

  For a moment, everyone fell quiet as if waiting to see whether Jora would keep her word.

  Elder Tornal cleared his throat. “Jora, kindly lower the barring hood so that Disciple Jeneve can proceed.”

  The barring hood was typically awarded to justice officials upon their promotion to the rank of disciple, but Elder Kassyl himself had taught it to her the day before he was murdered. “I must open the Mindstream to lower it,” she said. “I don’t know any other way.”

  A few people in the audience chuckled. Even Tornal and Gastone smiled at her comment. “Yes, of course,” Tornal said. “That is the only way to remove it. You may guide Disciple Jeneve by Mindstreaming, as you call it, to the earliest relevant event. She will then share her Observation with the adepts, my fellow sentencing elders, and me. Proceed when ready, Jora.”

  There were events over the previous two weeks that she desperately wanted them to see, but there were also events she wanted to hide. Her notes and Elder Kassyl’s books—the keys to summoning the allies—she kept hidden where only she could reach them. The incidents leading to Boden’s arrest were also relevant, but that knowledge had gotten Boden killed. It had gotten everyone in Kaild killed. Until she knew whose secret it was, she needed to guard it as if it were her own, if only to protect the innocent.

  “I might need to show you something that is highly secret,” she said. “The reason two-thousand people of Kaild were slain. I respectfully request that only the seven of you participate in riding my ’stream. The more people who know, the more people I put in danger.”