Song of the Sea Spirit: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles) (12 page)

The fourth man asked, “What’s Kaild?”

Hadar snorted. “Some little shit village of grass huts, where they wear loincloths and hunt with sharpened spears.”

The other men laughed and threw out other insults, each one painting the residents of Kaild as ignorant, fearful monkeys who ate their own feces.

“I heard one of the new cusses is from Kaild,” Hadar said.

“I’ll challenge any of you to a match,” Boden said, his voice quiet but serious.

The four stilled their tongues. Hadar sauntered over to Boden. “You’re from Kaild, then?”

Boden squared his shoulders and looked the man, shorter by at least four inches, directly in the eye. Hadar might be older and more experienced in battle, but there was only one way to quell the stream of insults and answer the question they were probably all asking: would the new Kaild recruit be a hindrance or a help in the heat of battle? “I am. And my father, Gunnar Sayeg, is the drill master there. If you question my prowess as a fighter, you question his as an instructor as well.”

“Gunnar Sayeg’s your pa?” the lanky one asked, his voice reverent. He approached Boden and Hadar.

“He is,” Boden said, feeling a twinge of pride he hadn’t felt since he was nine years old, seeing his father ride into town for the first time in Boden’s young life.

The lanky man held out his hand. “I’m Voster.”

He shook it. “Boden.”

“That’s Hadar and Eron,” he said, pointing at each man in turn. “And you met Rojyr already. My brother was in Gunnar’s platoon, said your papa’s a hero.”

“Nobody’s a hero, Voster,” Hadar said with a snort. He went back to his bed without answering Boden’s challenge. “Don’t you remember Turounce’s welcome speech?”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Voster said, returning to his own bed. “I didn’t hear you accept Boden’s challenge. You should. The rest of us would like to see Gunnar Sayeg’s son stomp your big mouth into the dirt.”

The other men laughed, and good-spirited banter continued, though this time it was directed at each other rather than at Boden.

He went back to unrolling his bedroll, a dim smile on his face.

The next morning, Boden and Rasmus sat together to break their fast, joined by Joh, one of Rasmus’s tentmates. The meal consisted of eggs, fish, cut fruit, and sausage, all piled into a single bowl. Though it was a hearty meal, it was fairly bland. Boden wished for a shaker of pepper at least, but he supposed spices were a luxury he could learn to live without.

Another soldier, one he hadn’t seen before, set his bowl and piece of godfruit on the table beside Joh and sat down. “Korlan,” he said, offering his hand. Rasmus and Boden both shook it and introduced themselves, and Joh greeted him as a friend. “Welcome to the forty-fourth. Whose squad are you in?”

“Algot’s,” Rasmus said.

“Pharson’s,” Boden said. “You?”

“Hodsnick’s,” Joh said.

“I’m in Pharson’s too,” Korlan said. “You’ll like him. He’s a bit brash, but he’ll give it to you straight. Good fighter, too.” He pointed with his spoon at the bowl in front of Rasmus, beside which was no godfruit. “Didn’t Turounce give you the speech about the godfruit yet?”

Rasmus snorted. “I don’t believe any of it. A fruit that can erase a death? It’s just a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”

Boden raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think a tree that grows in earth soaked with the blood of a god could be...” He searched for the word he wanted.

“Magical?” Rasmus asked. “No. Maybe the earth there is redder than in other areas. That doesn’t mean the fruit’s magical.”

“How do you explain all the soldiers who’ve died and lived to tell about it?” Joh asked.

“The earth beneath the Tree is blood-red, not merely tinged with red or orange,” Korlan said.

“They didn’t truly die,” Rasmus said with a shrug. “And Retar slew Hibsar over a hundred years ago. I doubt blood stains the earth for that long. I’ve no plans to eat anything I can’t identify. That goes for fruit, too.”

“No fault in that logic,” Boden said. He still wasn’t convinced either way, but the dilemma bothered him all the same. “My father warned me not to eat it.”

“What?” Korlan asked, his eyes round.

“Why?” Joh asked.

“God’s Challenger! You don’t say,” Rasmus said. “Didn’t he eat it?”

Boden shrugged. “He didn’t say, but I think he did. He almost never takes off his shirt in public. He has an ugly scar on his chest and a matching one on his back. He also walks with a limp.”

“He definitely ate it,” Korlan said. “How else would a man survive being run through like that?”

“Maybe he had good medics,” Rasmus said. “Was he an officer? I’ll bet officers get the best treatment.”

“Yah,” Boden said. “He served fifteen years, came home a sergeant.”

Korlan reached across the table and clapped Boden’s shoulder. “You must be proud. Was he your drill master?”

Pride in his father was a new feeling for him, one that would take some getting used to, once his guilt subsided and the truth behind Gunnar’s reenlistment settled in his mind. “He was. Better than the old fellow he replaced.”

“Bet he worked your hands bloody with drills, too, didn’t he?” Korlan asked around a mouth full of food.

Rasmus laughed. “In Tourd, the drill master’s sons were the best fighters among us. I’m sticking with this cuss,” he said, pointing at Boden with his thumb.

Boden smiled. He had been the best fighter in Kaild, but he couldn’t properly judge his skills against those of his new friends—or the other warriors in his unit—until after they’d been tried in battle. Confidence was one thing; arrogance something else.

“I for one don’t want to die yet,” Korlan said. “I have a sweet wife and baby to go home to. Are you going to eat it?” The question was directed at Boden.

“I haven’t decided. Probably. I don’t know. You’ve got to give Commander Turounce credit for being persuasive, though.”

“Your own papa said not to eat it,” Rasmus said. “He loves you, right? He wouldn’t’ve said that if he didn’t have a good reason.”

That was exactly the point and the root of his dilemma. He couldn’t ignore what Gunnar had said. The man had his faults, but failing to love his children wasn’t one of them. Boden saw that now. “He said the godfruit infects the soul with a foul sickness.”

“What does that mean?” Korlan asked. He shoveled another spoonful of food into his mouth. “I’ve eaten it every day for almost fourteen months. Don’t feel any different.”

“I don’t know.” Maybe he’d ask around. If others in his unit were Relived, maybe they could explain what Gunnar had meant. “I take it you’re not Relived?”

“Not yet,” Korlan said, “but better Relived than dead forever. That’s what I say.” He pushed his empty bowl a couple of inches away and picked up his godfruit.

“No fault in that logic, either,” Boden said. He picked up the godfruit beside his own bowl, weighing it in his hand against his father’s warning. It looked like a large plum with dark-purple flesh. Though he trusted Gunnar as a drill master and trusted his own ability as a fighter, a little insurance wasn’t a bad thing. Two of his companions bit into theirs at the same time.

“Tastes like ass,” Joh said, scrunching his face.

Korlan laughed. “How do you know what ass tastes like?”

“My wife’s apparently not as sweet as yours,” Joh said with a wink. “Go ahead, Boden.”

Boden took a bite and squeezed his eyes shut against the bitter taste, chewing quickly and swallowing it down. The taste reminded him of wet leather and horse farts. It was possibly the most foul-tasting fruit in the world. “Damn, that’s bad.”

“You’ve got to choke the whole thing down,” Korlan said. “A bite or two won’t do it.”

Together, the three of them took several more large bites, chewing and swallowing as fast as they could, and soon the fruit was gone. “No seeds or pit,” he noted.

“Further proof of its divine origin,” Joh said.

“Huh,” Rasmus said. “Guess that’s why Mangend wants to control the Isle so badly. They can’t simply steal a crate of fruit and grow their own Tree of the Fallen God.”

“Mangend doesn’t want the godfruit any more than Arynd-ban does,” Korlan said. “They just don’t want us to have it.”

“Even if they found a seed,” Joh said, “who’s to say its fruit would have the same effect. It’s Hibsar’s blood that makes the godfruit magical.”

“Or cursed,” Rasmus said. He wiggled his fingers and made his eyes round. “Ooooh!”

“Go ahead and laugh while you can, Bokk,” Joh said. “If we both die today, I’ll get up and laugh over your corpse.”

Chapter 8

Before the sun had peeked over the waters of the Inner Sea, Jora awoke and dressed, then braided her hair quickly. She’d been meeting Sundancer every morning for nearly three weeks, deepening both her understanding of Azarian and her friendship with the dolphin. Having to stop to go work in the leather shop dashed her spirits, and she spent all day looking forward to the next morning.

She ran out to the shoal with her flute and notebook. Sundancer was already there when she settled onto the last rock.

“Ahoy, Sun Dancer.”

“Ahoy, Autumn Rain,”
Sundancer replied.
“You rested well?”

“Yes, and you?”

The question note had been a bit of a challenge for Jora to figure out, but when she realized the simplicity of adding a single note to the end of a statement to make it a question, it made more sense than adding on useless words, such as
do
or
have
. The past tense was formed similarly, although it took two notes to signify, and Azarian didn’t have articles. She had to infer words like
the
by the context to make sense of it.

“I rested well. Your speaking is much improved.”

“You taught me well.”
Jora lowered the flute to smile, and Sundancer replied with a twitter.

“I not teach...”
The pattern of notes she whistled next was unfamiliar to Jora.
“You can learn more. I teach you.”

“I’m sorry,” Jora said aloud. “I don’t know what you said. I still have a lot to learn.”

“I go now hunt. Goodbye, Autumn Rain.”

“Goodbye, Sun Dancer. Good hunt.”

Before Sundancer swam away, she whistled the new series of notes again, something for Jora to look up and add to her growing vocabulary. She played the notes on her flute to be sure she had them right, and then waved so long to her friend. Back in her room, she deciphered the notes, but she wasn’t sure she understood what Sundancer meant.

Spirit flow power.

She spent the day mulling over those three words while she worked, wondering if perhaps she’d misinterpreted the notes. After a long day in the leather shop, she worked the radicals again, looking up possible combinations in the book and coming up only with
knife capable
,
hungry snow beach
, or
spirit flow power
.

Knife capable
. It could have been a reference to her leatherworking skill, but it wasn’t likely that Sundancer knew Jora was a leatherworker.

Hungry snow beach
. That one was even odder. Snow beach could have meant white sands. She tried to think of a beach nearby that had white sands, but all the beaches she’d seen were more or less the same beige color.
Hungry snow
made less sense.

That left only
spirit flow power
. She wondered whether spirit flow was Sundancer’s way of saying Mindstream. Flow, stream. Spirit instead of mind. It wasn’t too far-fetched. Certainly made better sense than
knife capable
or
hungry snow beach
. Power could be... magic.

The book Nuri had mentioned came to mind. The people in the story had powerful magic, and they spoke with dolphins. Could the magic be somehow related to the dolphin’s language? How did it relate to the Mindstream? Unless the Mindstream was the magic.

The Mindstream was the magic.

That had to be it. Sundancer was simply picking up on Jora’s Mindstreaming ability and considered it a power or magic of some kind. She pulled out the journal she’d obtained from the stationer and jotted a note, then thoughtfully stroked her cheek with the end of the lead pen. What would she say to Sundancer the following morning to let her know she’d figured it out?
I know,
she thought with a smile.