Tokus Numas

by D. W. Rigsby

  “When will we get to Tokus Numas?” Petro licked his dry lips.

  Vetus Sepher pointed, and Petro gazed upon the mountains. The mountains sloped high on all sides except for the road they were on. There were several short brown buildings clustered together with lookout towers around the perimeter. In the center was a tall, cylindrical building pointed toward the sky like an arrow. The grounds were brown, not green like he was used to seeing. Men walked about freely, for there were no walls around Tokus Numas; and he wondered why they left themselves so open. An enemy could attack at any moment, and the Numas would have no way to defend themselves. Petro had learned that a high wall was a means for self-defense and could even be the reason for winning a war. This was odd indeed.

  His eyes wandered, looking at some of the men walking about. They were dressed in brown robes, and their heads were shaved. Others were in gray robes with hair that appeared longer. Some were in brown robes, and their hair was down past the midpoint of their backs. A few had shaved their heads except for one spot where the hair was braided, which hung down close to the back of the knee. This place and these men seemed strange to him, and as he looked on, none were armed with anything more than a sword and pistol.

  Maybe what the Numas had to offer was not the art of war, defenses, or tactics as he had learned from his masters, but something else. That one thought led to another, but the pains in his stomach took him to a different place—right now he was hungry, in need of a bath, thirsty, and tired.

  The wagon drew up to a building where a line of young men had formed. Vetus Sepher pulled the wagon to a halt and pointed to the line; Petro and Adar filed out and joined the line. Sha went to the front of the line and cut in. Behind them the Honor Guard trotted along down the center road, headed toward the back of the village. The road went past a center steeple, a place of worship, and disappeared on the other end of the square. They must keep the horses in the rear, Petro surmised.

  He looked back to the line, and it had not moved. Petro rocked back and forth; feeling the urge to pee, he searched for a toilet. All the buildings looked identical. They were made of the same wood and stone with nothing to indicate what was what. He tapped Adar on the shoulder. “So, you think this is the toilet we’re standing in line for?”

  Adar gave him a noncommittal shoulder shrug. “If it is, it’s going to be a while. Just go around the corner.”

  “Why do you think we are standing here?” Petro asked.

  “Not sure,” Adar said and looked forward.

  Petro stepped out of the line for a few moments and took a look around. He walked over to the next building, but before he could pee, two Numas walked up to him. They were older. “Oh, hi. I was looking for the toilet. You have one around here?” The two Numas nodded to him to go back over to the line he had come from. Petro turned his head about. “Oh, yeah, the line. Got it,” he said and plodded back over. There he was standing again, twiddling his thumbs now, but growing frustrated.

  Adar spoke over his shoulder. “Did you go?”

  “No, they don’t seem to have one, unless we are standing in the line for the toilet,” he said.

  “I can’t pee. I haven’t had anything to drink for…” Adar thought about it. “I think nearly thirty-six hours. It’s a test—it’s mentioned in the tablet that things will be different, done differently, and so to prepare your mind.”

  “Sounds sort of vague,” Petro said under his breath. He waited a few minutes and then stepped away from the line again, and went to a different building back down the road where he had come from. He had made it a few steps before Vetus Sepher came out of nowhere.

  “You leaving so soon?” Vetus Sepher said.

  Petro cleared his throat as he attempted to lubricate his dried vocal cords. “No, I was looking around.” There was no going back, Petro thought. He needed to be here.

  “There’s nothing to look at. You should be in line like the others,” Vetus Sepher said.

  Petro looked back over his shoulder, saw the line, and then looked back to Vetus Sepher. “It’s not going anywhere.”

  Vetus Sepher smiled. “You don’t want to lose your place,” he said.

  Petro glanced back at “his end of the line, nodded, and said. “So, what’s the line for?” Vetus Sepher didn’t even flinch at his question; he wasn’t going to give away anything, and Petro knew.

  “You’ll find out what you need in time. Just stand in line and wait.”

  Petro surveyed the line again; he took notice that the snowflakes had stopped falling. It made him wonder if there was a heavy snow coming after all, and were the Numas covering up something else. When he looked back to Vetus Sepher, he had walked away. “This is no way to go about having new recruits join and then to tell them to just stand in line,” he muttered. Petro got out of line and walked down the road until he was behind the structures where a small dirt road wound through. He heard a whistle blow, and he turned around to see if it was from behind; it was not. Then he turned around again to see if it was in front of him. The whistle kept blowing, on and off. He glanced up at one of the guard towers, and the whistle stopped. Petro turned about and headed back around to the front of the buildings. When he turned the corner, he heard a different whistle blow; a long, drawn out sound that came from a man who stood out in the center of the courtyard. He pointed in different directions, and the Numas, were moving about, aligning themselves into a formation around the steeple. The new recruits stayed in line, eyeing what was happening around them. Suddenly there was a chime of a bell, which came from the top of the building. The sound reverberated off the surrounding mountains and faded into the distance before the next chime. The Numas pulled their hoods up and bowed their heads and held their palms out, facing upward. All of them stood still, listening to the bell, which rang again and again, seven times in total. After the final chime, the Numas pulled their hoods down and went about their business.

  Petro scratched his head, wondering what it was all about. When he turned around, there was a new batch of recruits who marched in from the west of the village, and crammed into the line behind Adar. Petro went back to the line and squeezed in behind him. Another new recruit caught Petro by his collar and yanked him out of line. “The back of the line is there,” he said and pointed. Petro looked him up and down. He was a large guy, taller than him, thicker, and he seemed like he meant business. Petro decided it wasn’t worth the scuffle and headed to the rear of the line.

  “This is great,” he said to himself. “Just like that to happen to me. I turn my back, and everyone else shows up.” This time he wasn’t going to move from his spot. The clouds had cleared, and the sun now sat in the west, behind a mountain. No other recruits had arrived, and it didn’t seem the line had moved much since he’d been there. They should have brought them something to drink and eat if they were going to make them stand like cattle this long, he thought. There was a shuffling of feet, and the line moved a little, not forward but backward. He nearly stumbled over his own feet trying to back up quickly enough to keep from being trampled over.

  Petro danced slightly in place, looking about to see if he might be able to quickly find a spot and relieve himself. He stepped away and hurriedly went around a small building where two large bushes were planted. He peered about to see if anyone was looking. No one was and the men in the tower couldn’t spot him here. He undid his pants and felt relief as he peed on the wall. It took a while to empty his bladder, but there was no rush. That line wasn’t going anywhere.

  He returned to his spot, but the line was gone, and the door was shut. He grabbed a hold of the door handle and turned it. The door opened, and the hinges groaned. He let out a deep breath. Inside, he was surprised not to see anyone, and he wondered where they all went. He went down the dimly lit hall and came to several Numas dressed in white smocks. There were seven chairs; three had other recruits in them, and the floor was covered with bunches of cut hair. A Numa with wrinkled, manila-colored skin and gray hair motioned h
im to the chair. Petro sat facing a mirror. The Numa revealed a set of clippers and switched them on. The buzz filled the room, and Petro felt the vibration on his scalp when the clippers moved across his head. His locks fell to the floor, collecting there with the other piles of hair. He watched in the mirror, noticing that one side of his head was bald, and the other side was still his normal length. Petro thought he looked strange, and the guy he saw in the mirror just didn’t seem like the one who had come here. Things were different now for him in ways that didn’t make a lot of sense. It was a feeling of crossing over some barrier, a hidden line, and there was no way of going back, no way to return to how things use to be. The Numa finished taking the rest of his hair off. Even the old Petro in the mirror was gone as he reached up and ran his fingertips over the prickly stubs, thinking his head looked a little off, misshapen, more oval than round.

  The other recruits were done as well and were moving out of the room, through a door, and into a hall.

  Petro followed them. They came to a stairwell and went down; the air was cooler and moist. He took in a deep breath, taking the spiral all the way down to the base, where it opened up into a large hall, much larger than the building above. Is this where they all went? Several other recruits were standing at a double-door entryway, yet they still had all their hair. Petro wondered if that was a test, too. Maybe that was what everything here was about, a series of tests. He hated tests and preferred to eat, drink, and sleep. He grumbled internally over the idea that they had them standing outside nearly the entire day to get a haircut, at least some of them—and you’d think they could have made that more efficient.

  On the far side of the room was a stage. A man stood in the center, talking. He wore a dark robe, and his hair was long and braided with the end brought back up and clipped to itself. His eyes were slanted some, and his skin had a yellowish tint. Petro figured he must come from the far east of Spearca, maybe one of the fishing villages or the woodlands where soft pines are grown, cut, and sent to all the kingdoms of Spearca for building. Petro cocked his head to one side to hear him better and counted at least fifty other recruits in the room.

  “I am Vetus Mont, and I’ve seen many recruits come through Tokus Numas. You are not the first, as you know, and you will not be the last; but you are here now. I want you to think of this as a place to learn, a place to grow, and a place you can call home. You’ve departed from your prior life, and have stepped into your new life—this life is what you make of it. You can pout, whine, shout…or you can be excited, eager, and ready to make something of your time here at Tokus Numas. It’s up to you. Some of you are thinking, ‘This doesn’t apply to me. I’m going to do my time and leave.’ Some of you are thinking, ‘I want to be here’; but I challenge you to show it, not only think it. Some of you are probably too tired, too hungry, and too thirsty to even think at all.”

  Laughter erupted and filled the air.

  Vetus Mont held up his hands, and the room quieted.

  “Make no mistake: not all will go on to complete their training. It’s unfortunate, but it happens. We will challenge you, so be prepared. All right. You are here—and at the moment you are not a Numa. Not yet. After your first year, you will be considered a Numa.” His gestures were large and exacting. “You will refer to your instructors as Agogos. Here, you will be trained to prosper within the world; for the world only prepares you for survival. The world is cruel—some of you know this, some of you do not, and some of you think you know what cruelty is. Well, you are sure to find out what you’re capable of on a measured and limited scale—enough for a taste, not enough to dispel you from all that is in life. Life is wonderful, but life is not merciful. Life means to struggle, and for good reason—without the struggle to live, one cannot have life.” He paused, staring out at each of the new recruits.

  Petro chuckled to himself, thinking this must be a joke of some kind. Vetus Mont was making it sound as if Tokus Numas had everything figured out, and the rest of the world didn’t know anything. Truly, if that were the case, then everyone would be here, wouldn’t they?

  Vetus Mont turned around, faced away from the crowd, and spoke. His voice carried easily to everyone. “You will be challenged in three ways.” He turned about, his arms stretched out wide. “One challenge is of your mind.” He paused, letting it sink into the thoughts of the recruits. He took in a deep breath. “Another challenge is of your spirit.” He waited again, letting the effects of his words take hold. “And the last is your heart.” His eyes scanned from the left to the right, all the way to the back, and then to the front. “We will observe you along the way, assessing your will, your hope, your faith, your self-awareness. You will be challenged several times over a period of years in order for us to measure your abilities and track the results.”

  Petro could see how focused everyone was on as Vetus Mont while the older man explored the many faces in the room.

  “You will be put into a program that matches your abilities—those who have a love for the arts will learn music and composition; those who fancy themselves to have a great understanding of the written word and enjoy formal documents will study law and publication; others will know the land and help to cultivate; and some will take on the disciplines of technical engineering. We have others areas to choose from, and in time you will find your way. If you fail at any time, you will be placed on another path. Every discipline has barriers to cross, so those who truly want or desire a specific field will take on the arduous task of dedication and perseverance. Keep that in mind.”

  He pulled from his side a nickel-plated .44 that shone in the light. He held it facing out, so everyone could see its engraved side. “This is for an elite group, with a special function within the ranks of the Numas. Only those who participate in the challenges that press a man to his limits will receive this.”

  Vetus Mont put away his gun, adjusted his belt, and then stood still and closed his eyes. Suddenly, without any warning, the lights went out. Then they came back on, and only the new recruits stood about. They all looked at each other and back toward the stage, wondering what was next. Petro scanned the entire room, searching for Adar and Sha. He spotted Adar and made his way over to him, but he didn’t see where Sha was yet. The young men began to speak in low voices at first, and then it grew louder and louder.

  Petro tapped Adar on the shoulder. “Any idea what’s happening?”

  Adar chewed on a twig held between his teeth. “There you are. I don’t have any idea. I figure someone will tell us sooner or later,” he said and then turned back around and mingled in with a few other recruits.

  The noise was getting to Petro, so he covered his ears for a moment to muffle the sound. Then he took his hands off, and the sound rushed up against his eardrums. It was nearly deafening to him, so much so that he started walking to find a place to escape—a doorway, anything—it just was overwhelming to him. His head hurt. Just as he came to a door and reached for it, the door was gone. He was standing in the crowd; Adar, chewing on a twig, had just turned around. The sight, the precognitive episodes were becoming more random and sudden, he thought. He was about to open a door, and then he was back here—why? This ability seemed to be worthless.

  He pushed through the crowd and went back to the same door as before. He held his hand near it, waiting to see if he might have a sudden headache and find himself still standing in the midst of all those recruits. He tried to remember what he did to cause it, to deduce the steps of what might have led up to it; there must be a way to use this. Petro focused his mind and then grabbed hold of the doorknob; he tried it, but it wouldn’t open. He opened his eyes. He was still at the door, so this was real, and it was pointless. He came to another door not far away and waited a moment, seeing if anything might change, and he grabbed the doorknob. Same thing; it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, Petro went back to the door they had come through and tried it; it too was locked. There was nowhere to go, and this sound was really getting to him.

  May
be it is a trigger for my visions? No, that doesn’t make any sense, but is there a trigger? Until he figured out what to do next, Petro decided to stroll over to a corner. He slid down and sat with his back against the wall, looking at all the recruits.

  All he wanted right now was something to eat and some rest. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the voices and the sounds all around him—the laughing, the snickering, the yelling, the joking, and on and on it went. After a long time had passed, it started to quiet down. He opened his eyes from time to time to see the energy had slowed, and the other guys were sitting down, too. More time passed, and he figured it must be at least midnight, yet no one had come for them or told them what was next. It was just like standing in line outside to get his hair cut off, except that he hadn’t known what he was standing in line for—just like now, he didn’t know why he was just sitting here with everyone else. He felt he should be doing something, anything, and so he got up. Gently, he stepped over recruits lying in the walkways and all over the floor, and he made his way to the stage. He started to search the stage with his eyes, looking for something, anything, and then he saw a slight outline in the floor, a hatch of sorts. He wondered if this was a way out. Maybe it was where Vetus Mont went when the lights went out. Down here is where he must have gone. Petro knelt down, opened the hatch, and then he felt someone touch his shoulder. He looked up to see a short, stout boy, near his age, maybe a year older.

  “What do you suppose is down there?” he said.

  There was a sort of blur, and a young man peered down into the hatch. “What do you suppose is down there?”

  Petro’s eyes followed. “Didn’t you just say that?” He did that sometimes, just to check to see if it was happening to him again.

  The young man looked at Petro. “Say what?”

  “Nothing.” Petro stooped down, ran his fingers around the edges, and tried to get a grip on it; it came open. There in front of them was this hole and a ladder that led down into a dark pit. “I don’t know, but I’m curious to see where it goes,” Petro said. He turned to face the recruit and held out his hand. “I’m Petro.”