Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two

by Jenna Newell Hiott

  Molly swallowed and set her jaw. She looked deep into Gemynd’s eyes and said, “I had nothing left. I had finally lost everything: first my husband, then my children, and then my friends and my home. Everything I knew was gone, except Marta. When the workers here spoke to me of reclaiming youth and beauty, I thought at last there was something I could hold on to. So I did it. And I’m glad I did.”

  Gemynd knelt down in front of his mother so that his eyes were level with hers. “I am truly sorry that my actions caused you harm, that my choices made you feel that you had lost everything,” he said. “I knew that I put you at great risk when I destroyed Aerie and I cannot pretend otherwise. I love you, Mother, and it was no small thing for me to put you in harm’s way, but I believe in the choice I made. Still, it would do my heart good to have your forgiveness.”

  Molly gave Gemynd a sad smile and pressed her palm against his cheek. “You could not help it, you are your father’s son,” she said. “My heart will heal, especially now that I see you are well. You do not need to ask for my forgiveness, you have it already. What you need, above all else, is to forgive yourself. Do not loathe yourself for what happened. Your father was responsible for all of it. I know you both very well. I know what lies within your hearts.”

  “Is that why your forgiveness comes so easily?” Gemynd asked, standing up. “Because you think Golath destroyed Aerie? Mother, you were there. You saw with your own eyes that it was me.”

  “I saw my husband working through my son,” she said and turned to face the polished silver once more. “The destruction of Aerie was his work and not even you will convince me otherwise. Do not waste our time together on useless arguments.”

  “But this means your forgiveness of me is based on false beliefs,” Gemynd said. “Mother, I cannot bear any relationship not based on truth. Not anymore.”

  “You see truth differently than I, that’s all,” Molly said, brushing the ends of her hair.

  Gemynd shook his head. “You only see what you want to see,” he argued.

  “In any case, it would be difficult for me to complain about my new surroundings,” Molly said, changing the subject and gesturing to the room around them. “Zoban is simply breathtaking.”

  “It is a very lovely room,” Numa agreed, looking around. “Is the rest of Zoban this grand?”

  “Oh, even more so,” Molly said with a gasp and spun around on her stool. “It is even more beautiful than Aerie was on its best day. The whole city is made of polished white stone and gold, and no one wants for anything here. It is a place fit for the Deis themselves. Come, let me show you around.”

  Gemynd exchanged a quick look with Numa.

  “You are not safe here,” Molly said as though the idea had just come to her. “You are the enemy of these people. If they find you here, they will kill you without hesitation.”

  “Perhaps there will come a day when you can give me the grand tour of Zoban, Mother, but not today,” Gemynd said, then looked at each of the four walls around him. “Have you been to Soman’s quarters? Does his sleeping chamber resemble this one?”

  Suddenly Numa was by Gemynd’s side. “Do not let your thoughts go to Soman,” she said. “You will only want to see him and it is far too dangerous. I won’t take you to him.”

  Gemynd slowly looked at his wife, knowing she was right, but he could not shake the urge to see Soman, if even for a second. He had to know if he’d lost his brother forever. “He’s so close, I can feel him,” Gemynd implored. “Let me look upon him for one moment. That’s all I ask. A single moment and then you’ll take us back to Iturtia.”

  Numa adamantly shook her head. “You’re a fool to even ask,” she said. “You killed the Zobanite ancestor. I am certain they have every plan in place for any eventuality that would lead to your extermination. If you are seen here by anyone but your mother, you will be killed.”

  “Listen to Numa, son.” Molly urged. “I tried to speak with Soman on your behalf already. He is angry and bitter. I have no doubt he will try to kill you if you suddenly appear before him. Besides, I am certain he is surrounded by guards right now since he is so unwell.”

  “Unwell?” Gemynd and Numa asked in unison. “What do you mean ‘unwell’?”

  “It is a fever,” Molly said.

  Gemynd looked again at Numa and pleaded with his eyes. “He has never been sick a day in his life,” he said and Numa reluctantly nodded in agreement.

  “Then I will go to him and report back to you,” Numa said. “You will stay here.”

  Gemynd blinked at his wife’s command. “I will go to Soman,” he said in a firm tone. “If he is ill, something is very wrong. He could be dying. I cannot let that happen before I see him one more time. I can go to him by making my own way through this city until I find him, or you can take me there.”

  Numa narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips tightly together. “You will stay by my side and leave your mind open to me so we can leave in an instant,” she said.

  “Wait,” Molly said and opened a large wardrobe on the wall near the vanity. “If you must go, at least cover yourselves in these Zoban cloaks. You will be recognized, my son, but this may at least give you the advantage of a moment or two.”

  Gemynd took the cloaks and handed one to Numa. They were ordinary cloaks—hooded with a single fastening brooch at the throat—but they were pure white. Gemynd hesitated for a moment before putting his on, wondering if the rockdust on his Iturtian clothing would soil the pristine garment. Finally he pinned it around his neck and nodded his consent at Numa.

  Suddenly he and Numa stood in a different, larger room. It was decorated the same as Molly’s room, with plants and fountains and golden accents, but everything was at least twice the size. And it was much darker. Only one of the oil lamps was lit, providing just enough light to illuminate the foot of the enormous bedsack. Gemynd sighed inwardly to see that he and Numa stood in the shadows. Like Molly’s room, the air in here was also per fumed with flower oils, but it could not disguise the stale, confining stink of sickness.

  Gemynd saw Soman’s formidable form lying motionless on the bedsack. So still, he looked like a stone carving. A sheet covered his body just to his abdomen and his arms lay like driftwood by his sides. His eyes were closed and Gemynd focused hard to see if there was a rise and fall of his chest to indicate breathing. Were they too late? Gemynd pressed his lips together and held tight to Numa’s hand. He felt his heart twist in pain, but he clamped down against it, fighting back the tears that threatened.

  A movement by the side of the bed caught his eye and Gemynd realized there was someone else in the room. A young child wearing a grey robe kneeled at the bedside, his arms barely long enough to reach the top of the bedsack. His hands were folded, his head bowed, as though he were deep in prayer.

  Gemynd glanced at Numa who also studied the child. Who was he? And would he call for help the instant he realized Gemynd was in the room? Gemynd quickly looked all around, peering through the darkness until he was certain that only he, Numa, Soman and the child were in the room. If there were any guards, they must be stationed outside the door.

  The child finished his prayer and stood, reaching into a basin on a wooden stand next to the bedsack. He pulled out a wet cloth, squeezed the excess water from it and placed it gently on Soman’s forehead. Gemynd felt a moment of relief. If Soman still required tending, then he must be alive.

  Deciding to take a chance with the child, Gemynd took a small step forward, letting his foot land audibly on the white stone floor. The child spun around, his mouth open and his eyes bulging from his head.

  “Do not be afraid,” Numa said in a soothing whisper, walking forward into the small circle of light. “We will not harm you. You are safe.”

  The child’s large brown eyes moved slowly over every inch of Numa, and Gemynd took the opportunity to step into the light behind her. “We mean no harm to anyone,” Gemynd reiterated.

  Suddenly the child’s eyes grew wide again a
nd he jumped back, his arms coming up in front of his face as though shielding a blow. “I know who you are,” he said and Gemynd was shocked to hear the voice of grown man come from his tiny mouth. “Why have you come? There is an army of Zobanite guards just beyond that wall. If you come any closer, I will call for them.”

  “I will not hurt you,” Gemynd offered again, his voice as quiet as possible, though he now felt confident that, despite his threat, the child would not call for the guards. If he had intended to, he would have done so the moment he first saw Gemynd.

  “Why are you here?” the child asked again, shrinking further back from Gemynd’s stare.

  “I only wish to speak to Soman,” Gemynd replied, trying his best to look away but unable to. By the light of the lamp, he could see now that the child had the dark hair of a man on his forearms, but every other visible part of him was that of a young boy.

  “Please do not bother him,” the child said and lowered his arms. He forced a look of belligerence onto his face, but Gemynd saw the raw fear that remained in his eyes. “Let him die in peace. You have done enough to him already.”

  “If you are so certain that I have caused him harm, why haven’t you summoned the guards? Why do you let me stay?” Gemynd asked.

  The child sighed heavily. “I will call for them the moment you give me cause,” he said. “But I am holding out hope that you might be able to help him. You are Iturtian and may have learned something in your studies about healing that the healers here have overlooked. And you know him well. I figure if you had come here to kill him, you wouldn’t have wasted time in chatting with me.”

  “You think I can help him?” Gemynd asked, surprised by his reasoning.

  The child shrugged. “The healers here have given him every remedy they know of and nothing has worked. Of course, he has not been given any fairy-tooth,” he said, glancing sideways at Gemynd.

  Although it had not been spoken, Gemynd fully understood his meaning: Soman wasn’t given fairy-tooth because it was no more. It ceased to exist when Gemynd destroyed Aerie.

  “How do you know of the flowers of Aerie?” Gemynd asked. “Who are you?”

  “I am Keeper Samyga,” the child said with a bow. “Most people call me Keeper Sam. I am the last remaining Keeper of Aerie and the last living student of Elder Keeper Clary.”

  “You are no Keeper of Aerie,” Gemynd said, his tone dangerously close to a growl.

  “I assure you I am,” Keeper Sam replied, his gaze flitting around the room. “I have had this same conversation many times, but it is the truth. Because I went unnoticed does not mean I was not there. Now, will you interrogate me on my credentials or can we move ahead to helping Soman?”

  Gemynd narrowed his eyes. The runt of a man was not only untrustworthy, he was also impudent. But he was right. There would be time for answers about his identity later. Right now Gemynd needed to focus on Soman.

  Gemynd looked again at Soman. He was but an arm’s length away and Gemynd could now see that his skin was the color of ash. “Do you know what ails him?” he asked.

  “We do not know,” the child said and moved towards the foot of the bed, allowing Gemynd and Numa to step to Soman’s side. “He collapsed at the top of Zoban Mountain a day ago, but the illness was likely upon him before that.”

  “I thought Zobanites were impervious to illness. Is it possible for them to fall ill?” Numa asked and tenderly turned over the cloth on Soman’s forehead. Gemynd winced to see the cloth had already dried. Only something very hot could dry it that fast.

  “From what I know of Zobanites, no,” the child answered. “I am dumbfounded by this. No one I’ve spoken with has ever heard of a Zobanite falling ill.”

  Suddenly Soman’s abdomen appeared to cave in and he jerked his knees up to his chest, groaning loudly.

  “Soman,” Numa said, grabbing hold of Soman’s hand and pressing it against her cheek.

  Soman’s legs kicked back out again and his back arched violently in the opposite direction.

  “I will hold his head,” Keeper Sam said, running to the top of the bedsack. “Last time he did this, he nearly slammed his head into the corner of the bedstead.”

  For several moments, Soman’s entire body convulsed so violently that Gemynd was certain he had heard bones breaking in the process. There was nothing he could do for Soman and so he simply stood and helplessly watched. After an agonizing length of time, Soman’s body finally stilled and he slowly opened his eyes.

  “Numa?” Soman asked in a hoarse whisper and blinked his eyes several times. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, Soman, I’m here,” Numa answered and, again, pressed her cheek against his hand.

  “Still so beautiful. Not even a hair out of place,” he said with a slight smile. “After all that has happened, how is that possible?”

  “Glinting,” Numa replied simply and smiled back at him.

  “I feared I would never see you again,” Soman said, his face growing serious again. “I am dying.”

  “We won’t let that happen. We will figure this out,” she said, shaking her head. “Gemynd is here to help too.”

  Soman lowered his eyebrows and Gemynd saw the muscles in his jaw working. Then Soman looked around until his eyes met Gemynd’s. “You’re here,” was all he said.

  Gemynd leaned in closer. “I am here, brother,” he said and held his breath. Would Soman welcome him with his steadfast love and devotion? Would he call for the guards? Would he reach out and kill Gemynd with his own two hands? All of those options were possible. Soman was now the decider of Gemynd’s fate.

  “You used me,” Soman said, and Gemynd was unable to read his emotions. “You made me your weapon.”

  Gemynd swallowed hard and looked Soman in the eyes. “I did,” he said.

  “Why?” Soman asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

  “It was the only way to kill Keeper Clary,” Gemynd answered. “Only a Zobanite can kill a Zobanite.”

  “He was your teacher, why did you need to kill him?”

  Gemynd sighed, weary of having to tell the tale again. “I had to end the madness of deceit,” he said. “Keeper Clary kept Todor locked into ancient traditions of secrecy and lies; traditions that kept him, alone, in power. There may have been a king or queen on the throne, but it was always Keeper Clary who ruled. I don’t want future generations to go through what we went through: the secrets, the separation. And I cannot abide the mistreatment of Iturtians anymore.”

  Soman nodded slowly, his chest bouncing up and down with what Gemynd realized was silent laughter. “You betrayed me in order to put an end to betrayal? You thickheaded imbecile. Do you ever grow weary of doubting those who love you? Tell me, when was it that you first saw me as your tool?” he asked, his eyes slipping closed.

  “Not until the moment I needed you to kill Keeper Clary,” Gemynd said and grabbed Soman’s hand from Numa. “I swear to you, my brother, that I did not think of you as any part of a plan to take down Aerie. I reacted in the moment, as I needed to. The love I have for you as my friend, my brother, is real.”

  Soman’s eyes opened slowly and he silently regarded Gemynd for several moments. “I may have but a few breaths left in me,” he said, his voice becoming weak. “Let me look upon your face as my brother once again before I die. Even in the midst of it all, I never doubted that, beneath your madness, your love for me was true.”

  Gemynd was speechless and felt a tear fall down his cheek as Soman at last squeezed Gemynd’s hand in return. “You are not going to die,” he said, his voice a mere squeak.

  Soman smiled. “Make no mistake,” he said as his eyes slipped closed again. “If you betray me again, I will kill you.”

  Soman’s body shuddered once then went completely still again. “Soman?” Gemynd asked, gently shaking him. “Brother?”

  Soman was motionless, but still breathing. He had once again slipped into unconsciousness.

  “We can not let him die,” Numa said with desperat
ion. “There is so much more I must tell him.”

  “We won’t, my love,” Gemynd said, releasing Soman’s hand and pulling Numa tight against him, for his own comfort as much as hers. “We will find a way to heal him.”

  Numa pulled back and put her hands out. A large, earthen jar suddenly appeared within them. “Dried fairytooth,” she said, handing the jar to Keeper Sam. “I can give you an endless supply. What else can I manifest that might help him?”

  Sam took the jar in his small hands and walked to the fireplace. “Fairytooth tea is the best thing for fever that I know of,” he said, taking a kettle from the chimney crane.

  As Gemynd watched Soman sleep, it appeared as though his face grew paler with every ragged breath. His lips were now a sickly shade of grey and shriveled with dryness. Gemynd reached for a cup on the bedstead to force some water down his throat when suddenly Soman’s jaw went lax. His mouth fell open and a hot, dry breath flowed out of it. There was a stillness so absolute it left little doubt that death was among them.

  “Soman!” Numa cried, rushing to the bedsack.

  In an instant, Gemynd dove onto Soman’s chest, pressing his ear against it, listening for a heartbeat. But there was only silence.

  “No!” Gemynd shouted, no longer caring if the guards outside heard him. He stood, his legs weak and quaking as though they were made of water. He shook his head back and forth, denying the truth that lay before him: his brother was dead.

  All time and movement stopped.

  Gemynd could not breathe nor blink. Soman was gone.

  Then, like a torrent of water rushing through a dry canyon, a lifetime of memories flooded Gemynd as he stared at the empty body of his dearest friend. He saw Soman as a child, lying beneath the Baldaquin tree, running his hands over the top of the soft snake grass rather than engage in the discipleship lesson. He saw Soman running the perimeter of Aerie with the speed of the wind. He saw his smile and heard him laugh; watched his eyes twinkle with mischief around every pretty girl. He saw Soman in the Wishing Hut, jumping up and down with Joy at the news that Gemynd and Numa were to be married. How many moments had they spent together?