Tokus Numas

by D. W. Rigsby

  “We are blessed for your service and sacrifice,” he acknowledged.

  “He never gets ill. Did you know that? All these seasons, and not once did he catch a cold, a lingering cough, or a fever. Nothing. And he still questions the Numas’ ways—I’ve tried to teach him, but he has such an inquisitive mind. He is his own person, which I love about him. I wish to know more about him, where he came from, and…why he is so important, and what it means for all of us. There is more—I know it. I know it as though God Himself wrote it in my heart,” she said. When she looked up, Vetus Sepher could see the tears in her eyes.

  “I tell you,” she said, rubbing her fingers, “Petro is no normal child. I remember something that happened not long after you brought him to us. He was crying in his crib one night, and I went to care for him. When I opened the door, there was a dark figure, a man, but much taller than any man I’ve ever seen in these parts. He was standing directly in front of Petro’s crib. I felt as though I were having a nightmare, and I still sometimes wonder if that was it, but then he looked at me. I felt naked in front of him, as if he could see everything about me. I didn’t scream. I didn’t do anything. My legs were fixed, rooted into the ground; I was transfixed. He came close to me and reached out to touch my belly. Then without any indication, he turned and leaped out the open window. The fall should have killed him, but when I went to look, there was nothing. It was as though he’d vanished into the night,” she said.

  Vetus Sepher put his hand on his chin, listening to her and pondering the possible ramifications.

  A lady servant came bustling down the garden aisle, and behind her was a young man. Vetus Sepher’s eyes widened slightly.

  “My queen,” the servant stated, “the king has entered the grounds, and I’ve brought Master Petro as requested.”

  Petro stood behind the servant. His dark hair and olive complexion contrasted with Queen Lilith’s appearance. His green eyes stood out like emeralds picked from a flowing brook. On his cheek there was a cut; there was dried blood and what looked to be dirt.

  Queen Lilith reached out and touched Petro’s hand. “Thank you,” she said and dismissed the servant.

  “What happened?” She gently touched his cheek and examined the wound.

  Petro glanced at them both and said, “I was playing and tripped. I hit a rock that was on the path in the garden.”

  She softly touched his chin and directed his face from one side to the other. “Looks like it’s healing, but you should have it cleaned properly; all that dirt might cause an infection.”

  Petro looked up at Vetus Sepher and then to Queen Lilith. “Should I go now?”

  “No, it can wait. Vetus Sepher is from Tokus Numas and has come a long way to prepare you for your journey,” she said in a calm voice.

  “How do you do, sir?” Petro gave a slight bow. It was a standard greeting to give another without knowing his or her full position, yet still adhering to protocol.

  “I am well. The travel was long, as Queen Lilith stated. I came from the northwest region, toward the end of the lands where the High Mountains turn into sheer cliffs that drop off into the White Sea,” he said.

  Petro spoke up. “I know it, sir. Is it true that those who lose sight of land lose themselves? That we cannot venture out across the White Sea?”

  “It is true. Many have tried but have never returned. Not one. So no one ventures out into the White Sea anymore. They hover close to the shoreline, catching fish, crab, and shrimp and diving for oysters in hopes of finding pearls.” Vetus Sepher returned his hand to his chin. “I’m sure you’re wondering what is the farthest anyone has gone. Well, there was a man named Leo who went out to a set of islands that are three to four kilometers offshore. He spent the night and returned home that next evening with a huge bounty of cod. Many tried to go back to the islands, but the islands were never seen again.”

  “It sounds like fairy tales to me, sir. There is no reason we cannot know what lies behind the horizon of the White Sea. We have the Free City—we could create a way to find out what is there and put an end to the nonsense people speak of,” Petro said.

  “You are very direct, aren’t you? That’s good. But I will tell you, nothing so far that has been built or attempted has worked to see past the horizon of the White Sea. Perhaps you may be the first to cross it one day. Maybe when you finish your training with us, you’ll find a way to convince the kingdoms to invest in the technology, so we can see what is on the other side.”

  Petro straightened his tunic. “I am not inclined to join the Numas.”

  Queen Lilith gasped.

  Petro lowered his head. “My apologies, Your Majesty, but I don’t see value in going.” He looked back up.

  Queen Lilith restrained her tongue and ran her hand across Petro’s back. “Petro, go with Vetus Sepher. You two have a lot to talk about.” She turned and walked away as they watched her go.

  When she had gone, Vetus Sepher leaned forward. “It can be a challenge to leave one’s home not knowing what is out there or what to expect, but try to open yourself to other possibilities in life. When we struggle and overcome, we often enjoy what is best in life. Let’s walk.”

  The two of them left the garden and were soon walking the great hall lit by gas torches and lined with portraits of King Amerstall’s forefathers, conquerors of their time, dressed in their armor, wearing red cloaks and holding golden swords, axes, spears, and shields.

  Portraits changed from conquerors to benefactors—kings wearing jeweled crowns, bracelets, and rings and holding gem-encrusted scepters in their hands. These men lived in the time of solace; some called it the time of peace, and others called it a deafening silence. Times had changed; battles and skirmishes had sparked over the past forty seasons, and precautions had been put in place to keep them to a minimum.

  Vetus Sepher came to a stop. “This here,” he said, putting his finger on a single-page document encased in glass, “is called the Treaty of Eximius, which is also known as Treaty Eight-Oh-Nine. Are you familiar with it?” He studied Petro.

  “I am, sir. It is the treaty formed to protect the kingdoms of Spearca, and it was considered to have ushered in a golden era. I know my history, Numa.”

  “That is correct.” Vetus Sepher turned and put his hands behind the small of his back. He clasped them together while continuing to walk down the corridor. “It’s been nearly two hundred seasons since it was adopted, though many of our advances in technology did not exist when it was formed. Some say it needs to change. Others say—”

  “I think it benefits as is,” said Petro.

  “Why?” Vetus Sepher peered through eyes that were slits.

  “Because it takes away the advantages of wealthier kingdoms and levels the battlefield for all kingdoms, so their men, horses, swords, and shields are equal.” Petro reached up to touch his cheek.

  Vetus Sepher held up his finger. “True and not true. It does help to level the field of battle, but small arms can still be used, and they can be made to be more accurate, more lethal.”

  Petro was noticeably irritated; by what, Vetus Sepher did not know. “They can, but it does not take a massive treasury of funds to produce a better rifle or pistol—most are fairly equal now. Just as the steel in our armor and weapons are nearly the same.” Petro kept pace with Vetus Sepher. Their boot heels clicked lightly against the hard surface.

  Vetus Sepher nodded. “And what about men?”

  Petro held his passive look. “You think men are different? Some are, but most are just like one another. There is not much difference, only in the training, and if trained better than the other men, they can overcome and win. But as I’ve learned, sir, it’s not the strength of one man that wins, but the collaboration of many that becomes the strength to overcome.” His brow stretched, and he wore a cocked grin.

  “Men are weapons, are they not?” Vetus Sepher glanced over at Petro.

  Petro was exasperated. “I’ve learned this all before, sir. No disresp
ect intended. There’s nothing more for me to learn on the topic of Treaty Eight-Oh-Nine.” He appeared smug. “I thought you were to prepare me for tomorrow’s ceremony,” Petro said.

  Vetus Sepher ran his fingers over his stubble, keeping his focus forward as they continued their walk. “Where is your tablet?”

  Petro looked away, admiring the paintings on the wall. “I lost it.”

  Vetus Sepher grunted. He could see Petro was hiding his true emotions. “Men are weapons.”

  Petro rubbed the sore spot on his cheek and pressed harder; he winced. “While it’s true a weapon is only as good as the man wielding it, a great fighter is still limited to what he can do when faced with a marabomb.” Petro rubbed his temple.

  “Yes, that is true enough, though a man himself is a weapon. He can take life with his bare hands; he can use his mind to create a weapon to kill hundreds in a single moment; and he can do things that none of our handheld weapons can do—that is, he can think,” Vetus Sepher said.

  “We all can think,” Petro said. “Are we done yet?” A scowl ran over his face.

  “Hold your tongue. I’m not finished.” Vetus Sepher’s face tightened.

  Petro’s cheeks flushed red.

  “The treaty does not restrain the use of biological technologies, does it?” Vetus Sepher said.

  “Yes, it would not preclude biotech, but it would be unethical to use biological weapons to win a war,” Petro said.

  “The Free City is being used; the minds of those who reside there are bought for such work,” Vetus Sepher said, looking at one of the king’s portraits.

  “The use of science or engineering from the Free City is contracted through Dugual. I’m aware that there are underground dealings and black markets, though I don’t know the extent of them…” Petro’s voice trailed off.

  “Coin moves behind royal eyes, and technology that you and I know nothing about is being created just for this very purpose,” Vetus Sepher said. “One of our roles as Numas is to find out what is being created, inform disadvantaged kingdoms, and hope for the best.”

  Petro halted. “Hope for the best? Is that what you do?”

  Vetus Sepher gave a half-conceited smile and shook his head. “No, it is not. We try to help make the playing field equal and use our intelligence for the good of many, not the individual.”

  “Who watches you to ensure you’re not corrupting the playing field?” Petro shot back.

  “No one. We have a code of honor. There have been times when we’ve had to enforce our code, but it doesn’t happen often; the consequences are…unpleasant,” Vetus Sepher said.

  “What about Dugual? King Amerstall’s kingdom is not one of disadvantage. Does that mean you will not inform Dugual if there are any biotechnical products created for the sole purpose of war?” Petro said and waited. “Is there a danger to Dugual? A new weapon out there that King Amerstall doesn’t know about?”

  “Petro, we inform kingdoms we believe will become the target of such a weapon, which in our eyes makes them disadvantaged. If Dugual were to receive a biological attack, and we knew about, we would inform King Amerstall’s security.”

  They stopped at the end of the corridor, where a portrait of King Amerstall of Dugual hung. He wore armor and held no weapon, not even a scepter. He was dressed in a khalat, a long coat with the neckline covered by a collar, and on his head was mounted a golden crown infused with gems, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls. His portrait was pure light, an intricate design so precise that if one were passing by in the middle of the night, one just might mistake this image for the real king himself.

  Vetus Sepher stopped and faced Petro. “We should talk about tomorrow. It’s an important day—for you and for Dugual. You are a ward in his castle, and many of King Amerstall’s allies have come to pay respect. I hope you understand.”

  Petro exhaled.

  Vetus Sepher could tell it was a sigh of relief that Petro was finally going to hear about what to expect in the ceremony.

  “Tomorrow you’ll wear a blue robe. There are four others being inducted along with you. Sha from Dugual, Christon from Derrak, and also Adar also from Nelot. They’ll proceed before you, leaving you last. When your time comes, you will repeat the words spoken to you before you are cleansed by water,” Vetus Sepher said. “You’ll be submerged in water for only a few moments. It’s a way for us to wash away the past and begin a new way of life.”

  “What would happen if I don’t repeat the words?” Petro said. The challenge was clear. He waited to see what Vetus Sepher would say.

  Vetus Sepher began walking again, forcing Petro to follow him.

  They entered into the great hall, where large columns supported the massive ceiling above that was painted with a fresco. Vetus Sepher looked up at the fresco, admiring its beauty. There was a period of silence before he spoke again.

  “I wanted to be a painter when I was young. Before I went to Tokus Numas,” Vetus Sepher said.

  Petro listened more intently. “Truly, you paint? Like those pictures on the ceiling?” Petro pointed up.

  “Not exactly. I dabble in paints, but these painters are masters. There is a special technique they use,” he said.

  “How so?” Petro said.

  “When painters begin, they apply a fresh coat of plaster on the ceiling and lay the pigment into the damp material before it dries; this is how they paint. Binding agents that they use on canvas paintings, such as eggs, are not needed, since the pigment adheres to the plaster through a chemical reaction as it cures. The plaster only accepts pigmentation for up to twelve hours, so the painter needs to remain focused during that entire time.”

  “Hmmm.” Petro looked up at the ceiling.

  “Most of the detailed work is done within what they call the golden hour, where the plaster is at its most accepting of the pigmentation. It occurs near the end of the day, after much of the painting is done. This is the time to focus on intricate details and vibrant colors. Once the details are complete and before the golden hour has lapsed, the paint begins to change to an opaque tone. The section is finished, and the next day, a new layer of lime plaster is applied and left to cure for two days, and the work begins again.” Vetus Sepher put his hand on Petro’s shoulder.

  Petro gazed up at the patterns, the display of colors, and the uniqueness of it all. “These were the old kings.”

  Vetus Sepher removed his hand, giving Petro his space. They looked up together, seeing paintings depicting kings of generations past holding festivities, games of jousting, and archery. Other scenes depicted people eating at long tables covered with silver cups filled with wine and silver plates holding delicacies of hog’s head and boiled deerling. Each ruler of his time was depicted with his wife, children, and extended family members.

  “There is the first king, Glamstone,” Petro said. “That one over there is King Kane, who was called the rogue king. They say he painted over blood left on the ceiling after a massive battle in this very hall. But no one knows how so much blood got up there.”

  King Kane’s paintings were unusual compared to the others—his had scenes of young, half-dressed ladies and dueling battles—three of them, and in each scene he had beheaded a man.

  “He’s taken up a lot of space,” Petro said, chuckling to himself.

  They looked around the great hall where lava-red and ash-white drapes hung from the ceiling and rested near the great columns. The throne chair itself was free to rotate 360 degrees. Mounted on each of the walls were large, flat viewers, each crafted from glass as thin as a newly formed sheet of ice with a surface as hard as cut diamonds. Inside were tiny follicles of rolled glass the width of a hair that carried the light signals to the viewer’s panel.

  “Time to be going. I’m to speak with the other recruits and then with King Amerstall,” Vetus Sepher said. He put his hand on Petro’s shoulder once more. “This is your golden hour, Petro.”

  Petro stared off to nowhere for a moment. He broke out of thought and faced
Vetus Sepher. “Even if I go, when I’m of age, I’ll return to Dugual.” Petro shifted his stance. “I mean it, too. I want to ensure the people I care about are protected.”

  Vetus Sepher patted Petro’s shoulder. “We all think we’ll return home. It’s admirable. You are about to embark on a journey, one that is of your choosing. When you are of age or finish your five years, it will be your time to decide,” Vetus Sepher said. “You may return, or you may not.” He removed his hand, put his arms next to his sides, and gave a slight bow. “Until the morn,” he said.

  “Good day, sir,” Petro said. He bowed and left the hall. Vetus Sepher could hear his footsteps grow faint, and he wondered if Petro would come back, or if he would soon understand his place in the world and take a different path.

  Wine is a flavorful drink that many a savor, but is it the wine or the contents within the wine that aid the palate to either reject or deny its flavor? Is it the native yeast, which feeds on the sugars in the wine? Is it the time the wine spends in an oak barrel, drawing its flavor from a tree? How should wine taste? Like a tree or like a grape? Wine should taste of the grapes from which it is made, not the tree wherein it was settled to age. Agree or not—this is the Chef’s Opinion.

  —From The Chef’s Opinion, by the Fragrant

  King Amerstall waded into the spring-fed pool, taking in its warmth. The turquoise water reflected light that radiated outward onto the stone walls and arched ceiling. The cavern was a natural formation fortified with beams; it was dug out in some areas, but others were left as they were before. Ripples moved across the pool with each step taken, causing the reflected light to dance on the walls and ceiling. His reddish hair and beard were prominent, and his body was strong for one in his forties.

  “Come join me,” King Amerstall said. His voice boomed across the cavern. “It’s time to relax, do away with formalities, and talk as men, not to mention hide away from all the activity in the castle. I can’t go two meters without someone saying, ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Your Majesty.’ I know who I am.” The edges of his mouth turned up.