“Then proceed, dear Numa,” the three flames said as one.
“It is not enough to simply know what you want. Now you must live your Joy,” the green flame said.
Numa was too astonished by what she’d witnessed to think of a reply. She watched as the three flames began to mingle with one another, working their way back into the pure, white light.
“Wait!” she said, realizing they were about to vanish within her. “I don’t know how to accomplish this. How do I create my vision?”
“Begin by removing your greatest obstacle,” the flames said together, now only traces of color remaining in the white light.
“What is my greatest obstacle?” Numa asked, feeling panicked. What if the Deis disappeared before she knew what to do?
“Look,” they answered together just as the pure, white light turned into the golden light of Lifeforce once again.
Numa watched the Lifeforce and saw it twist and writhe, becoming a serpent before her eyes. Then the serpent’s skin split open and peeled away, revealing a brilliant, multi-colored skin beneath. The colors and patterns of the snake’s skin looked strangely familiar and Numa realized they looked just like the jewels on the handle of Gemynd’s dagger.
“This is my greatest obstacle?” she wondered aloud, trying to make sense of what she saw.
Then it became crystal clear. “My greatest obstacle is the wealth of Aerie,” she said. “I must destroy the jewels so that there will never again be a day when someone has more wealth than another. I will go there at once.”
Numa willed herself to Aerie, but recognized nothing where she arrived. “Where am I?” she wondered aloud and then noticed the waterfall flowing over the rock wall. She was in the right place—her lifelong home—but there was nothing familiar there.
It was much worse now than the night Gemynd had destroyed her beloved home. There was not a single trace of Aerie left. Even the fallen Baldaquin was gone. All there was now was a wide, shallow pit of mud. And in the pit were dozens of filth-covered people squatting in strange positions.
“What has happened here?” Numa asked to no one in particular. “Who are you?”
When nobody answered, Numa walked closer to the edge of the pit and peered down inside. She could see now that the people were moving. Some appeared to be crawling or possibly swimming through the mud, but most of them were rhythmically shoving their hands into the mud and pulling them back out again.
Numa took a step back when she realized what they were doing. They were digging. They were searching for Aerie’s jewels.
She looked around and saw that people were walking towards the mud pit in droves, coming from every direction. They were old and young, male and female, every size and shape imaginable. But they all had one thing in common: there was a hunger within their eyes. They were ravenous for the wealth of Aerie.
“Well you can’t have it!” Numa shouted, and several of the people turned to look at her. Their eyes were red and their skin so pale they reminded Numa of the revenants from the ancient myths: human bodies without Lifeforce, animated only by an insatiable hunger for living flesh. She shuddered, wondering for a moment if the myths could be true. Had these people given up their Lifeforce to chase a hunger? Numa could not abide it a moment longer.
“Go home!” she shouted at them. “Grow your crops! Feed your children! Work your trades! There is nothing here for you!”
“There is nothing for us out there,” one of the men in the pit said to her. “Bandits have stolen our seeds. Tolnick guards have seized our tools. Our children have already starved to death. Finding Aerie’s jewels is our only hope.”
“Why would bandits steal your seeds?” Numa asked, not believing the man. Bandits took jewelry and weapons; things they could sell later. “And what use would the Tolnick guards have for your tools?”
The man looked at Numa as though she was inflicted. “When Aerie fell four weeks ago, everyone in Todor began speculating what the next source of wealth would be. Anything that could be seen as valuable has been stolen from the villagers,” he said. “We have nothing left. We have no food. We have no homes.”
Numa wrinkled her brow. This man’s plight reminded her of what the Iturtians had endured in Tolnick. “Who is running Tolnick?” she asked.
The man shrugged. “It is said that when Queen Helen died, the Queen’s guards kept control of the city,” he said. “I assume they are still in charge, but I could not say for sure.”
Numa looked at the man then looked around the pit at the others. “Are you all Terrenes?” she asked.
“Of course,” the man answered.
“I had heard it said that Terrenes and Zobanites have a sort of agreement, that the Zobanites look after you,” she said.
The man gestured at the mud around him. “There are no Zobanites here,” he said. “They have not come to help us.”
Numa looked at the ground and thought of Soman. Since time worked differently in Turiya, she had not known that another three weeks had passed since she’d seen him. Could Soman have healed completely in that time? Or had he possibly taken a turn for the worse? Numa chewed the inside of her lip. Before she went back to face Gemynd, she needed to see how Soman fared.
“I am Empyrean. I can take you to Zoban if you wish,” she offered the man. “You can take up your cause with the Chief. Perhaps you will find help, or at least food, there.”
The man bowed his head. “I have nothing to offer you in return,” he said.
Numa felt a pang of guilt. She knew she could help these people more than simply taking them to Zoban. She could manifest food and seeds and tools for them. But she would no longer be so careless with her aid. She would have to think carefully about what was truly best. From now on she would only choose to help if it was a step towards making her vision of Todor a reality. “I ask for nothing in return,” she said. “I only need your permission and I will have you in Zoban in an instant.”
The man turned and excitedly told the others in the pit of Numa’s offer. Every one proclaimed their permission aloud and held hands in an enormous circle. Numa closed her eyes, remembering that she first needed to remove her greatest obstacle. She found the Lifeforce of every jewel of Aerie, buried deep, deep in the ground; further down than any Terrene would have been able to dig. Using her glinting powers, Numa combined the jewels and condensed them down into one, single white jewel that appeared in the palm of her hand. The power within that one jewel was so strong that Numa could feel its heat and vibrations with her hand. Before the others saw it, Numa quickly tucked it into her boot, then willed them all to Zoban.
Soman
Soman walked solemnly through the doorway to the armory. There was something special about this place, something sacred. It was as though all the warriors who had departed for the Viyii before him had left a bit of themselves in this room. Soman felt honored to be in their presence. They were his kin and they were meant to be immortal, but had given the ultimate sacrifice in the name of protecting Todor. If only their wills had been as strong as their bodies, they would still be in Zoban with Soman today.
The armory was a single, circular room made of the same white stone as everything else in Zoban. Enormous, golden oil lamps hung from the ceiling and illuminated the room so that it appeared to be daylight inside. On the walls hung countless suits of armor that gleamed against the firelight. Tables and racks were spread throughout the room holding every imaginable sort of weapon, all of them polished and sharpened to perfection. Despite all the stone and metal of the room, there was a warmth within it that made Soman feel at home.
“It’s time,” Keeper Sam said from behind Soman as he entered the armory carrying a tray with a single, golden goblet atop it. “Actually, it is past time. You should have had your fairytooth six minutes ago.”
“I’m fine,” Soman said, growing weary of uttering the phrase. It seemed he was called upon to say it at least twenty-four times a day. He grabbed the goblet from the tray and gulped down
its contents. “I shall live another hour.”
“Jest all you want,” Keeper Sam said as he took the emptied goblet from Soman. “That fairytooth is the only thing keeping you alive.”
“I know,” Soman agreed and ruffled Keeper Sam’s hair. Despite knowing that Keeper Sam was, in fact, older than Soman himself, from time to time he couldn’t help but treat him like the child he appeared to be.
“Did you notice signs of the fever returning this time?” Keeper Sam asked as he stepped away from Soman, smoothing his hair.
Soman sighed and nodded. Over the last few weeks, as long as he drank a cup of fairytooth tea every hour, he felt perfectly healthy and strong. But if an hour passed without a dose, the aches and chills would return, reminding him that he was still unwell. His life depended on fairytooth and he was at the mercy of an illness that no one understood. “Only slightly this time,” he said. “I believe it is getting better.”
“You say that each time,” Keeper Sam said as he set his tray down and grew wide-eyed looking around the room as though he had not noticed where he was until now.
“This is our armory,” Soman offered as an explanation.
“I can see that,” Keeper Sam replied. “To you I’m sure it all seems very normal, but to a Keeper from Aerie such as myself, it is nearly overwhelming. The enormity of the suits of armor is awe-inspiring. They look like giant lions. No, I’m mistaken. They are felitaurs. And the weapons! I have never seen a long-knife of that size before, nor even conceived of such a thing.”
“We are a sizeable people,” Soman said. “We require weapons and armor befitting our stature.”
“Of course,” Keeper Sam replied and began walking towards the center of the room where a gloriously ornamented suit of armor posed on a pedestal as though it held court over the rest of the room. The metal was polished so brightly it nearly sparkled. The helmet looked like a full-maned lion, its lips pulled back to reveal a set of fearsome teeth. Affixed to the body of the armor was a set of gold-plated wings spread out as though ready to take flight. “Is this one yours?”
Soman nodded, feeling proud. “It is,” he said and smiled as he approached it. Reverently, he reached up and pressed his hand against the metal, feeling it warm beneath his touch. He knew he was leaving fingerprints on it that would need to be cleaned, but he could not help himself. The armor, the weapons, beckoned him with their silent power.
Before he had even removed his hand, a Terrene worker appeared out of nowhere with a polishing cloth. The moment Soman stepped back from the armor, the worker set to polishing the handprint away.
“I can remove my own fingerprints,” Soman said, pulling the cloth from the worker’s hands. “The Compact is over. Go on, live your life. If you really want to help us, then find a way to ensure our victory against the Iturtians.”
The worker hung his head like a scolded child and skittered from the room without a word.
“You have made your decision, then?” Keeper Sam asked. “You will go to war?”
Soman shrugged. “It is not my decision to make,” he answered. “The Chief will decide. But I can tell you that if he does decide on war, we will be ready.”
“And if it was your decision?” Keeper Sam pressed.
“If it was my decision, we would already be celebrating our victory over the Iturtians. We would have defeated them so completely that there would be nothing left for them to rebuild,” Soman said as he rubbed the cloth in a circular motion over his armor.
“You are angry.”
Soman puckered his lips, wishing he had done a better job at hiding his feelings. “I am.”
“Perhaps you would do better to find an alternative way of dealing with Gemynd’s betrayal than to thrust two armies into war,” Keeper Sam said, not looking directly at Soman while he spoke.
“I am not angry at Gemynd,” Soman said, tucking the polishing cloth into his garment. “Not anymore. He saved my life and so our past was wiped clean. Truthfully, I had probably forgiven him even before that. When I thought I would die from the fever, I wanted to look upon him without anger or resentment. Though it hurt me to my core, I understood why he did what he did. I know him better than anyone and he did what he thought he had to do. Things will never be quite the same between us. I may never fully trust him again, but I have let go of my anger towards him. I assure you I would not launch a war out of personal revenge.”
“Then why are you angry, Soman the great leader of the Zobanite forces?” Keeper Sam asked in his customary way of making a formal title sound like an endearment.
“I am angry at myself,” Soman answered. “Maybe with all Zobanites or even the Deis. I am angry that it is only because of my weak will that Iturtians are a threat. If Zobanites had strong wills, we would be more powerful than anything in Todor. We would rule the land.”
“Ah, well, you cannot change that and so you must turn your anger into something constructive,” Keeper Sam said. “I have read that anger is only a weakness on the battlefield. It limits your ability to see clearly. You will miss opportunities and could put your forces in harm’s way. I am certain you do not wish to jeopardize the lives of your fellow Zobanites in order to hold on to your anger.”
“Of course not,” Soman said, thinking about the loyalty of his soldiers, his Zobanite kin. Many of them were older and better trained than Soman, but not one showed a speck of resentment nor questioned the custom of the chief’s eldest son becoming the leader of the forces. They accepted him; they trusted him. He owed it to them to do whatever it took to keep them alive. “How do I release my anger?”
“Start by forgiving yourself. Isn’t it your own lack of will that makes you most angry?” Keeper Sam asked. “Forgive yourself for what you believe is this shortcoming. After all, your will is not of your own creating. The ninth Truth tells us that to interfere with another’s purpose is to make a choice that disrupts the Oneness of Life. I would say that it is just as much a disruption to interfere with one’s own purpose. You do not know why the Deis created Zobanites with wills weaker than those of Iturtians, but can you trust that it is part of your purpose?”
“I don’t know,” Soman said, frowning. “It is difficult for me to believe that a weak will is part of my purpose.”
“Perhaps that is because you do not know your purpose. And if that is true, then it is time for you to discover it,” Keeper Sam said. “Let’s begin by discussing what you desire most.”
Soman glanced sideways at Keeper Sam. He was not interested in a lesson from a Keeper. He had never paid much attention to the lessons when he was in discipleship, he saw no reason to begin now. Still, he felt he owed Sam something for taking such care of his ailing body. “My desire is to never again be used as an Iturtian weapon,” Soman said.
“That is not your greatest desire,” Sam said, waving his hands in the air. “Think about it: the only way to ensure that your mind will never again be infiltrated by an Iturtian is to kill every single one of them. You would have to eradicate them all. Some of them are your friends. Marta? Will you kill her? And what about Gemynd? If you have forgiven him, are you certain that you can kill him?”
Soman recoiled at the thought of harming Marta. She was his first mother and he loved her. “No, I could never kill Marta,” he said. “As for Gemynd, however, if I face him on the battlefield, I do believe I can do what must be done. Not out of anger or vengeance, but because I believe in my duty.”
“Then perhaps your greatest desire is to do your duty,” Keeper Sam said, raising a finger in the air.
“Perhaps,” Soman said, more to put an end to the lesson than because he actually agreed.
Keeper Sam took the hint and walked up to Soman’s suit of armor. He lifted his arm as though he wanted to touch it, but it was far too high for him to reach. “With armor like this, the Zobanites will undoubtedly be the victors,” he said. “It is surely impenetrable.”
“Let us test it,” Soman said, glad for the opportunity. “Follow me.”
>
Soman walked across the room to where a less-ornamented, but otherwise perfect, suit of armor rested on a dummy. “We’ll test this one,” he said. “You can reach it, right?”
Soman thought he saw the Keeper roll his eyes, but Sam continued to prove a good sport and he approached the armor to check his height against it. “I can reach as high as the abdomen,” he said, stretching his arm above his head.
“That’s fine,” Soman said and took a longknife from a nearby table, holding it out for Keeper Sam. “Take this sword and try your hardest to pierce the armor with it. Given your height, you might do best to aim for the leg.”
Keeper Sam’s eyes widened and at the same time he drew his brows low. “Soman, I am a Keeper. I have never so much as held a longknife in my hands, much less driven it into anything. I have no skill for such things,” he said.
Soman chuckled. “There is little skill involved in attacking a stationary suit of armor,” he jested. “I simply need to have you do this for comparison’s sake.”
Keeper Sam hesitated for a moment, but then took a deep breath and said, “Very well. For comparison’s sake.”
He took hold of the longknife with both hands, but when Soman let go of it, the tiny Keeper fell to the ground under its weight. “It seems I also lack adequate strength for the task,” he said as he stood, brushing at his grey robe despite there not being a single dust mote in the room.
“I am sorry, Keeper,” Soman said. “I had not considered the weight of the sword. Let us try it with a shortknife instead. You choose whichever one you’d like.”
Keeper Sam looked at Soman and a twinkle of delight filled his eyes. “I would like that,” he said with a smile and set about inspecting the shortknives around the room. After several moments, he chose one and brought it to Soman for inspection. “I wanted to choose one that was big and heavy in order to do as much damage as possible to the armor, while still being light enough for me to wield. This one seemed perfect.”
“So it is,” Soman said and smiled. “Now, for one moment, suspend your belief that you lack skill or strength. Summon the power of the earth beneath your feet, the wind that moves the skies, and even the light of the sun and focus all of that might into the tip of your knife and drive it deeply, fiercely into that armor.”
Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two Page 12
