Tokus Numas

by D. W. Rigsby

“You missed it, Petro. We were attacked this morning! The army outside our walls unleashed a volley of arrows, which were burned to a cinder before they even made contact. Our new defenses—top secret, keep it to yourself—proved to be effective. When the army saw Silda and me, they turned tail and ran! We chased them, but we were unsuccessful in our pursuit.” She cocked her head to one side, brought up one eyebrow, and gave a little shake of her body.

  Petro’s eyes were like slits, looking around but in no general direction. “I see. You’ve done well to keep me and the rest of us lazy heads safe. I’m glad we have such brilliant soldiers as yourselves—for terrible things would have happened, but we’ll never know, for your bravery is truly astounding.” He glanced over to Silda, who dropped a piece of food in her rush to wave at him. He gave a short wave back.

  Dia slapped Petro in the shoulder and then gave him a good push. Petro fell to his side, keeping the bow up so as not to damage it. “Well, well. Our princess has the manners of a beardwhick, and how do you supposed that happened?”

  Dia snatched the bow from Petro’s hand, notched an arrow, pulled back, aimed down the field, and let loose. The arrow soared into the air, traveling at a great speed, and hit the center of the triangle target.

  There was a bright flash of light, and Petro found himself back in his bedroom. He started to hyperventilate, so he sat down and leaned forward, putting his head between his knees to catch his breath. It had happened again—he’d seen the future. It felt so real, he thought. What was he supposed to do? Tell Dia? Tell Silda? No, he’d thought about it before, even tried once when he was younger. There was one time when they were playing outside, near the old oak in the center of the garden. A branch fell and hit Dia in the head. Blood had gushed from her wound and seeped into the ground while she convulsed all over. It happened to him then, the bright flash of light, and he had told Dia about it. She laughed at him, and so he grabbed her and pulled her away from the tree, while she kicked and clawed at him. She swiped at him, even tried to scratch him across the face, and then the branch did fall exactly where he had predicted. Dia had paid no mind to the fallen branch; she was more upset with Petro as she stomped on his toe, and then she promptly left. They never spoke of it.

  The flash of light was a good indicator that he was transitioning from his normal state to a vision. Sometimes the vision seemed to last longer; sometimes there was no bright flash of light at all, maybe only a headache, and he didn’t even realize he was seeing the future because it was like a vivid dream. He didn’t go about analyzing every moment of his day if this was real or not, because it was pointless. He figured it out after the vision had happened.

  He strolled out of the castle and onto the field again, repeating his movements to near perfection. Petro wondered if there was any purpose to why he saw the future. He couldn’t think of any. It just seemed to happen on a whim.

  Clouds hovered overhead, and moisture covered the grass, reminding everyone it had just recently rained. The air was cool, and a brisk breeze passed over the field.

  Dia and Silda were eating their breakfast under a tent; servants stood about, waiting on them. There were boiled eggs, fresh fruit, sliced cheeses, and meats. Dia wore a white, long-sleeved blouse, leather riding pants, calf-high boots, and a leather guard on the inside of her left forearm. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail that kept it out of her face. She strolled out onto the field to greet Petro.

  “Good morning,” Dia said.

  Petro returned her greeting. “Good morning, Princess Dia. I see you are dressed for war.”

  She had the bluest of blue eyes, powdery skin, and pouty lips. Petro thought she’d make a beautiful queen one day. There, the same words, the same thoughts, so similar, so close, nearly exactly as before. Petro decided to change the course of events, to change the future.

  “Oh, you didn’t hear? We were attacked this morning! Oh, dear Lord, you’ve slept through it. Upon approach the army outside our walls unleashed a volley of arrows, which were burned to a cinder before they even made contact. Then the entire army turned tail and ran! Silda and I chased them, but we were unsuccessful in capturing anyone or in finding out who was behind it.” She cocked her head to one side, brought up one eyebrow, and gave a little shake of her body.

  “Oh, well, I’m glad my slumber was not interrupted. Good job to the both of you. I will certainly rest tonight as well as I did last night, knowing you two are guarding the castle.” He gave her a mischievous grin and glanced over to Silda, who dropped a piece of food in her rush to wave at him. He waved back. There—he’d made some slight changes. He smiled to himself.

  Dia slapped Petro in the shoulder and then gave him a good push. Petro fell to his side, keeping the bow up so as not to damage it. “Well, well. Our princess has the manners of a beardwhick, and how do you supposed that happened?” That was nearly, maybe exactly what he had said earlier, but he knew what was coming next.

  Dia snatched at the bow in Petro’s hand, but he pulled it away just in time, making her miss. There, he’d done it.

  “You gonna shoot or stand there admiring that target?” Dia asked, her arms crossed.

  “You are demanding, aren’t you?”

  She shot him a look. “You would do well to hold your tongue, or I’ll have it out.”

  Silda, the princess’s devoted companion, snickered and covered her mouth, which was filled with fresh slices of fruit.

  Petro chuckled, looking at Silda. “Did you hear that? The princess has threatened to cut out my tongue! Well, here it is.” Petro stuck out his tongue.

  Silda spit out her food and laughed. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

  Dia shrugged and turned her hands up and out.

  Petro suppressed a chortle, notched an arrow, pulled back, aimed down the field, and let loose. The arrow soared into the air, traveling at a great speed, and then hit the center of the triangle target. He notched another arrow, drew the bowstring back, aimed for the triangle, and then Dia tugged on his sleeve just when he had let loose the arrow. It flew high and missed the target entirely.

  “You’re a needy little thing this morning. Did you see what you did?” He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to make her laugh.

  She smiled a little, and it was enough for the moment.

  Silda ran up beside them. “Oh, let me try.” She grabbed the bow from Petro and pushed him out of the way.

  “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll just get out of your way.” Petro gave Silda a cocky wink.

  She ignored him.

  Petro determined to see if he could get a rise out of her. “You should behave more appropriately when in the presence of a gentleman.”

  Silda’s head cocked high. “You are no gentleman,” she said.

  Petro looked down at the ground and then slowly up at both of them. “I would be quite the gentlemen if I were in the company of a lady.” He stood behind Silda, who elbowed him in the ribs.

  “All right, I’m sorry.” He hunched over. “Let me help you.” He moved closer to her and took her arm, straightening it out to extend the bow from her body. He took her other hand and guided the arrow to where she notched it. “Good. Now, I know you’ve done this before, but first make sure you have a firm grasp on the bow; then, when you are ready, take the string and…” Silda jerked away and held the bow up high over her head.

  “What are you doing?” Petro backed away.

  “I am performing in tomorrow’s ceremony.” Silda fluttered her eyes at him.

  “Stop that; you know I don’t like that.” Petro meant it, too. He shifted his eyes away and then looked back.

  Silda twirled her body, taking smaller and smaller steps, kicking out her leg as she spun around to where she was tiptoeing in a circle with her arms stretched up high, the bow in her hands, the arrow straight up. She danced back over to him, twirled around, pulled the string back, brought her thumb to the corner of her mouth, stopped abruptly, and opened her fingers. The arrow whipped through the
air and hit the target on the bottom left. Silda jumped up and down. “I hit it. Did you see that?”

  “I suppose if you wanted to take a soldier’s foot out, that shot would do it.” Petro tilted to one side, his arms out, and he slowly nodded.

  Silda’s smile dangled at the corner of her lips while she shoved the bow into Petro’s hands.

  Dia sallied up next to them.

  Silda bowed to her future queen, twirled away, and froze in a dancer’s pose.

  Dia took the bow from Petro, notched an arrow, drew the string back, and fired. The arrow soared through the air and hit its target in the center. “Petro, I heard this morning—overheard, actually, that the Father attacked King Offing’s palace. It’s a good thing you have been selected to become a Numa. We need good men who will serve both God and men, not just themselves.”

  Petro felt his blood run hot, and his jaw clenched hard where his muscles rippled visibly. He felt something on the side of his face and jerked suddenly. Silda had come up next to him and kissed him on the cheek. He felt a bit like a dummy, but on the other hand, he didn’t understand why Silda played that way with him. Would she have kissed him if he had not altered the future? He’d never know. Alter the future. He brought his hand up to his chin. Was it possible that this one little change—not allowing Dia to snatch the bow—led to Silda giving him a kiss? He doubted it.

  Dia notched another arrow quickly and fired; it hit its target next to another arrow. She abruptly handed the bow over to a servant. “It’s not right, you know.” Her body was rigid.

  “Dia, there’s nothing your father could have done. He offered King Offing aid—you know that—but the Old Oak turned it down. Your father has soldiers now at the ready, south of here on the border, just waiting for him to give word,” Petro said.

  “I know.” She stood erect. “King Offing is foolish; his pride has gotten the best of him.”

  “Well, maybe his pride will give way, and he’ll signal for help. If he does, your father’s army will march,” he said.

  “And it will be too late. My father should stand down,” she said.

  Silda minced her way over toward Petro.

  Petro expelled his breath fully.

  “You disapprove? His army cannot make it in time. It will take three days to march, and by that time King Offing’s castle will be overran,” Dia said.

  Petro’s muscles tightened in his face.

  “All right, I think that’s enough talk about war for today.” Silda spread her arms wide. “Petro, is it true what they say about the Numas—such as, if someone were to curse another, he has to wash his mouth out seven times, spit seven times, and apologize seven times?”

  “Seems like an odd way to merely apologize.” Dia kicked at the ground.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve heard of it, yes, and I’d agree it does sound silly,” Petro said. Everything came rushing back to him, how he was being made to leave and how it was so soon. No time for long good-byes. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to go, but it seemed that both Queen Lilith and King Amerstall thought it best for him. His final moments at Dugual were coming to an end like grains of sand falling to the bottom of an hourglass.

  “What’s wrong?” Dia said, coming up to Petro.

  Petro jumped at the sound of her voice.

  Silda immediately came up on the other side.

  Petro shifted his gaze away from both of them, looking out into the field. “I was just wondering what it might be like at Tokus Numas,” he said.

  “We’ll miss you,” Silda said. She took his arm and held it. “It’s all right. I know it’s hard to leave. And Petro, so you understand, we don’t want you to go.”

  Petro gave a half smile and then looked back out into the open field. He felt alone.

  Dia poked Petro in the side. He winced and managed a smile.

  Silda squeezed his hand and looked up into his eyes. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Once you’re there, you won’t think about this place much, and we aren’t going anywhere. We’ll still be here when you are free to come and visit.”

  Petro could muster only one thought—that maybe they wouldn’t be here, and what if the Father attacked Dugual? He mentally shook his head at himself. He did look at the worst case.

  “What?” Dia took his other hand.

  “Nothing.”

  Silda squealed, causing both Dia and Petro to jump. “I’ve got dance rehearsal. I almost forgot,” she said, letting go of Petro and swaying back and forth, her arms outstretched as she went into another spin. “Wish me luck.” She came out of her spin, blew kisses at them both, and waved good-bye as she gracefully sprinted off, taking long leaps in the air toward the castle’s back entrance.

  Dia let go of Petro’s hand and put some space between them. Her head was down.

  Petro shifted toward her. “I’m going to miss you.” He pushed his hands into his pockets and twisted at the torso, back and forth. “Sid won’t miss me.”

  “Oh, no, he won’t. Father has him training every day; one day he’ll take over the entire guard of Dugual. He’ll be the chief of security, overseeing both our cyberforces and armed forces, although I don’t think he wants the title,” she said.

  Petro held his tongue; he had a hard time seeing Sid in that role. Petro’s goal was to be chief of security, and he’d mentioned it to Sid. Since then Sid had openly aspired to serve as chief of security, but they both knew what Sid wanted, which was to be king of Dugual. But that was not going to happen with Dia first in line for the throne. She was the eldest and was heir to Dugual, even if they were fraternal twins. Sid’s declaration of being chief of security was more to annoy Petro, knowing preference would likely be given to Sid over him. Now things had changed—and Petro was leaving, and maybe it was for the better.

  “Well, I need to go. My mother assigned me to prepare the staff for the ceremony. She believes in having me manage smaller tasks as a way to train me for larger tasks in the future,” she said.

  “I’ve got to go, too. We can talk later tonight or early in the morning,” he said. “I’m to meet with Vetus Sepher, though I’m not sure how to feel about it. I mean, one side of me is excited to go, but there is another side of me that isn’t so excited.”

  Dia reached out to him, but he pulled away.

  “Well, you best be going.” Petro bowed to her. She did a curtsy, looked away, paused, looked back, and then turned and went off toward the tent where the servants waited.

  Petro slammed his eyes shut and turned away so no one could see. His chest felt tight, his face was flushed, and he felt as though his life had just ended.

  Those who lust are lost, and those who find themselves will be born again. For God is a merciful God, and none can claim to know His complete thoughts or the depth of His love.

  —From The Journal of Wise Sult, Leader of the Numas, by the Wise Sult

  The men looked on as the Father and King Offing crossed their steel blades, which sent metallic clinks reverberating off the walls. The two kings carried on, exchanging blow after blow. The throne room reeked of death, though it was filled with the sweet taste of life.

  King Offing had broken into a melee, striking the Father’s sword in quick secessions of powerful hits. King Offing cut the Father’s hand; the blade just above the hilt had slid off, leaving a trail of blood in its wake.

  The cut was painful, yet the Father kept his grasp on his sword. He twirled, knocking King Offing off balance with a counterblow to the back.

  The Father’s hands shook; his old enemy from within, the disease, was taking hold of him. He felt it creeping into his arm, causing the blade to feel heavier, and his legs were slowing. He almost turned directly into a sword thrusting toward his side; the blade slid off the right side of his armor, which was a good thing, because if it had been on target, it might have stabbed up into his armpit.

  He kicked King Offing away and stumbled backward, his balance compromised yet again and his opponent on him once more with a hack of the bl
ade. He brought his sword up in time to meet steel on steel, and a loud metallic clang rang out.

  “I will end you,” King Offing said.

  The Father dared not say a word, for he was running out of breath, and he did not want King Offing to pick up on it. If he did, the Old Oak might try to outlast him, and he might even prevail. He was astonished how much life King Offing did have; he was fighting hard, and it was invigorating. The time for games was at its end, and so he spun off to the right, slipping past King Offing, who had stumbled forward, allowing the Father to position himself eight or more meters away. He waited, ready for his countermove, one he’d mastered—a killing blow. The Father brought his sword up in front of his face and lowered it, letting the tip touch the ground. He was feigning, setting his trap for the Old Oak.

  King Offing regained his balance and turned about.

  The Father could see the former king was weighing his options. The Great Oak breathed heavily, and his knuckles were nearly white from the vise grip he had on his sword’s hilt. One more deep breath, and he gave his battle cry and rushed the Father.

  King Offing jabbed wildly with his sword, moving with great speed for a man of his size. The Father timed it perfectly, stepped to the side, brought his sword up, and moved in a half circle, catching King Offing off balance, sending his sword up in the air, rotating hilt over tip before it clattered against the stone floor. The Father slid his sword along King Offing’s arm to his exposed neck. He paused.

  The Great Oak breathed hard; he knelt on one knee, eyeballing his lost blade.

  The Father bent forward and whispered into King Offing’s ear. “I offer you two choices. The first is telling me what you know of the Numas, and I’ll give you an honorable death.” Sweat rolled down the sides of King Offing’s face. “Or, I could let you live in my dungeon, feeding you scraps from my table.”

  No one stirred. All eyes were on the Father and King Offing. The orbs floated high above, recording the two old kings’ actions, but they were too far away to capture what the Father had said.