Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two

by Jenna Newell Hiott

  Numa

  Numa stood on the flower-covered hillock in Turiya. “Mothers,” she whispered and in an instant both of her mothers appeared before her. Numa fell into their arms, sobbing.

  “I have left him,” she gasped. “My love, my everything. I left him.”

  Felyse and Gracewyn wrapped their arms around her, lightly stroking her hair. “If leaving him causes you suffering, daughter, then perhaps you might make a different choice,” Gracewyn said.

  Numa shook her head. “I don’t know that I want to,” she said and squeezed her eyes closed against the images she’d seen in the pit. “And even if I did want to, I’m certain he would not have me back. He didn’t want to show me the pit. I talked him into it and then I left him. I know him well enough to know that he will not forgive me for that. It is done.”

  “It is not done,” Felyse said, nodding at the thread of Lifeforce that connected Numa’s heart to Gemynd. “There is no end to it.”

  Numa shook her head again. “It is not that simple,” she muttered.

  “My daughter,” Gracewyn said, stepping back to look into Numa’s eyes. “You drew the line. If it does not bring you Joy, draw a new one.”

  Numa rubbed her forehead. “I do not know what that means,” she said. “Are you saying I should just ignore what I saw in the pit? That I should turn a blind eye to the cruelty I saw there? Should I just smile joyfully and stand by Gemynd’s side pretending to be unaware of the torture happening right beneath my nose?”

  Felyse smiled, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Of course not, dear,” she said. “Once you see something, you cannot un-see it. Ignoring something does not make it disappear. I suppose you could try to uncreate it.”

  Numa sighed loudly. She had not come for Empyrean riddles and irrelevant wisdom. She had come to be held and told that all would fine. “Very well,” she said in as facetious a tone as she could manage. “I will simply uncreate the pit. But why stop there? Perhaps I will uncreate Iturtia altogether.”

  “That option will not bring you Joy,” Gracewyn said dismissively. “And you are refusing to see your troubles for what they truly are.”

  “Mothers, please,” Numa said, exasperated. “I came here to find comfort in your arms. To heal my broken heart. I do not wish to deal with riddles and cryptic guidance.”

  “We are trying to help you find your Joy, child,” Felyse said. “But you must be willing to listen.”

  “You must determine for yourself why you left Gemynd. Why now?” Gracewyn asked.

  “Because I could not abide what I saw in the pit, as I have already explained to you,” Numa snapped.

  “But why not?” Gracewyn asked. “You know Gemynd well. You know who he is completely. He killed the men in the tavern at Carenvale right before your eyes. And yet, you stayed with him then.”

  “He did that to save me!” Numa exclaimed. “It is hardly the same thing at all.”

  “Regardless of his motivation, he caused great harm to others—even resulting in death—and you saw him do it. But you did not leave him. And you watched him lay waste to Aerie. He killed people you love and utterly destroyed the way of life you’d always known. Still, you stood by his side. So why now? What is different this time?”

  “In the pit, the victims are innocent children,” Numa said quietly, knowing as soon as she’d uttered the words that they were not the reason.

  “Children were hurt and killed in Aerie too,” Felyse said, voicing what Numa already knew. “That is not your reason.”

  Numa closed her eyes and allowed herself to relive those moments in the pit. The heat, the smell, the screams. Blood everywhere and so thick she could taste it in the air. Gemynd had tried so hard to keep her from going down there. She knew she would see something horrible there and had already pieced together that the pit was where Iturtians got their scars. She had tried to prepare herself with images of mutilation, but still, the reality of the pit had shocked her to her core.

  But the worst part by far was seeing Gemynd as he looked upon the horrors there. He was neither disturbed nor ashamed. He was enchanted. His shoulders square, his hands clasped behind his back, he was every bit a king looking down upon his dutiful subjects. And his Lifeforce shone brighter than Numa had ever seen it.

  “It was Gemynd,” she said, and blinked a fresh tear onto her cheek. “I had feared his Lifeforce was growing dark like his father’s, but in the pit it shone like a thousand stars. The sight of the torture and blood made him come alive.”

  “So it was Gemynd’s reaction to the pit that you could not bear?” Felyse asked.

  Numa nodded. “He told me before we went there that he believed in it. He made a point to tell me that,” she said.

  “And so he does believe in it,” Gracewyn said. “The pit is part of the system that works to make Iturtians the best they can be. He went through it himself and came to be the Pit Warden. Why shouldn’t he delight in that?”

  Numa looked at her mother as if she was mad. “Are you setting me up for another riddle?” she asked. “When did you become such a defender of Iturtian ways?”

  “I am a defender of your Joy, daughter,” Gracewyn explained. “Being with Gemynd brings you Joy. It always has. As your mother, it is my job to help you make choices that lead to Joy and not to regret. Besides, Iturtian ways are wonderful.”

  “It is true,” Felyse added. “Empyreans are like flowers that blossom when kissed by sunlight and sprinkled with warm rain. They grow strongest and best in Joyful conditions. Iturtians, however, are like the jewels of Aerie: formed into brilliance and beauty after years of pressure, heat and pain. But that does not make the flower good and the jewel wicked, does it?”

  “And if you were to look within your own heart, you would see that you are the one who is a defender of Iturtian ways,” Gracewyn said, a hint of challenge in her voice.

  “Now I think it is you who is not listening,” Numa said, narrowing her eyes. “I just told you that I left Gemynd because I could not abide Iturtian ways. How can that lead you to think I am a defender of Iturtian ways?”

  “You may choose to remain blind to your own truth, my dear, but you cannot hide it from us,” Gracewyn said, sounding eerily like Radine. “We saw you save the Iturtians from their suffering in Tolnick. You would not have saved a people you deemed unworthy. And another of your choices has made it clear that you favor Iturtians over the other peoples of Todor.”

  “That is simply not true,” Numa said, lifting her chin.

  “Then why did you not heal Soman when he lay dying before you?” Gracewyn asked.

  “I made fairytooth for him!” Numa said, clenching her fists defensively. “I love Soman. Do not accuse me of choosing to let him die!”

  “You did make the fairytooth for him,” Felyse said and gently patted Numa’s arm.

  “My darling, if you look deep inside your heart, you will see the truth there. You know you could have done more for Soman. You could have healed him entirely just as you did Toa’s ear,” Gracewyn said. “As you said, you gave him the fairytooth because you love him. But I believe you did not take the sickness from him because you want the Iturtians to have the advantage if it comes to war.”

  Numa gasped and glared at her dark-skinned mother. “I simply did not know I had the ability to remove sickness from a Zobanite,” she protested, but a nagging feeling of doubt pressed against her like a bony finger prodding at her insides. Was it possible she had been willing to forsake Soman’s health? Was her loyalty now only for Iturtia? Numa sighed and rubbed her forehead, not wanting to admit these things about herself.

  “You did know,” Gracewyn said and pressed her lips together. “You simply chose to forget.”

  Numa closed her eyes and felt the Lifeforce within her own heart. An abundance of it was connected to Gemynd. “I would have chosen Gemynd,” she admitted. “If it had come to a choice between Soman’s life and Gemynd’s, I would have chosen Gemynd. But that was before I saw the pit. That was before
I saw Gemynd for who he really is.”

  “It is time for you to stop this nonsense of being angry with Gemynd for who he is, wondering if you can abide his behavior and then ultimately running back to him,” Gracewyn said, and Numa winced at the harshness of her words. “Those are childish games. It is time for you to be the woman you appear to be. Either love him completely as he is or don’t, but you must stop this wavering. You see, you are looking to blame Gemynd, when your leaving really has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you,” Gracewyn said.

  “How is that possible?” Numa asked, wondering now if she had made a mistake in coming here. She had yet to find the comfort she so badly needed.

  “If you were to know everything about him—every dark secret—and yet chose to stay by his side, what would that say about you?”

  Numa thought about it for several moments. She knew the answer, but had a very difficult time forcing herself to say the words. “That I am wicked,” she said at last.

  “Do you believe that to be true?” Gracewyn asked.

  “His power stirs me, Mother. When I think about all of which he is capable, I feel a thrill way down in the depths of me. His power is immense and, coupled with his strength, it awes me. I saw him in battle, murdering hundreds, and I felt proud. He can do whatever he believes needs to be done in spite of his own fear or heartbreak. It causes a primitive, raw part of me to explode into being so that all I can think of is throwing him to the ground and ravishing him. But I was raised on the Truths as we were taught in Aerie. Those words are engrained into my being. To make a choice that disrupts the Oneness of Life causes suffering. Isn’t the torture of children a disruption of Oneness? How can it be that even a tiny part of me would delight in it? If that is true, then I must be wicked.”

  “Of course you are attracted to his power, it is intoxicating,” Felyse said. “And that is what you delight in. Not the killing of others. Not the torture of children.”

  Gracewyn grabbed Numa’s hand and looked deep into her eyes. “There is a darkness inside you,” she said. “It is part of you. Tell me, what do you think the Deis meant when they wrote of the Oneness of Life?”

  Numa was afraid of where the question might lead. “I think they meant peace, and people working and living together the way we all did in Aerie,” she said.

  “No, child,” Gracewyn replied. “Remember, you cannot look outside yourself if you hope to find the Truths. They are within you. The Oneness of Life is about your own Oneness. It is about embracing and loving all that you are. Now, tell me, does denying a part of yourself sustain or disrupt the Oneness that is you?”

  “I don’t understand,” Numa said. “Are you saying that you believe I am wicked?”

  Gracewyn shook her head and laughed. “No, my sweet daughter. I do not believe you are wicked. But what I believe is irrelevant. My point is that, in order to sustain Oneness, you must accept all that you are. Stop fighting against the part of you that fancies darkness. Stop judging your desires as wicked. Allow yourself to thrill in Gemynd’s power. For, as the tenth Truth tells us: making any choice to sustain Oneness brings Joy.”

  Numa sighed heavily and sat down on the hillside. She looked down at the Iturtian pants that covered her legs and noticed that, in the sunlight, they were actually a deep red. She reached out and rubbed her fingers against the rough fabric, remembering how it had felt to touch similar leggings on Gemynd’s body. Would she ever touch him again? Had she truly chosen to leave him forever?

  Suddenly a young man about Numa’s age appeared before them, walking up the hill. He was tall with long, silvery hair and piercing eyes the color of the sky just before dawn. He smiled when he met Numa’s gaze and two dimples appeared on his cheeks. Instantly, Numa recognized him.

  “Brighton!” she exclaimed and ran to meet him. “We thought you’d vanished!”

  Numa embraced him, then pulled back and studied his face. She hadn’t seen him in over six years. He’d left Aerie for his training when he was discovered to be a glinter, and was not allowed to return when the time of isolation began. “You’re Empyrean,” she said as the pieces began to fall into place.

  “As are you,” Brighton replied, making a study of her as well. “You’ve grown up well.”

  “Have you been in Turiya all this time?” Numa asked.

  Brighton nodded. “Of course,” he answered. “Turiya is my home. As it is yours.”

  Numa vividly remembered the day in Aerie when the Keepers had decided that Brighton could not return to Aerie. Her heart ached when she saw the sorrow in his father’s eyes. Although Ruddy Tom had said he agreed with the Keepers’ decision, Numa knew his heart had been broken. And he was never the same after that day.

  “Your father missed you dreadfully,” she said.

  “That is only how you perceived it,” he replied.

  “Spoken like a true Empyrean,” Numa said and rolled her eyes. “Perhaps you’ve been here too long.”

  Brighton chuckled and held out his hand to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Come with me,” he said. “Let me show you my perception.”

  Numa tentatively placed her hand in his, unsure if she was up for more Empyrean game play. As their palms touched, the flower-covered hill vanished beneath Numa’s feet and in its place was a very familiar lakeshore.

  “Aerie,” she said and gasped. It was just as she’d remembered it. The waterfall cascading over the rock wall. The lake. The bathhouses. The Baldaquin tree.

  Numa squealed as she saw it and ran to the giant tree, wrapping her arms as far around its massive trunk as she could manage. She rested her cheek against its rough bark and closed her eyes, feeling the Lifeforce within the tree pulse and vibrate. “I’ve missed you, old friend,” she whispered. In the back of her mind, Numa knew this was merely an illusion of Turiya, for she had seen the real Baldaquin tree fall with Aerie. But she pushed the thought away and welcomed the reunion with her whole heart.

  “Joyous day, Keeper!” a group of children called in unison and Numa opened her eyes. It was discipleship time and the children were gathering beneath the Baldaquin for their day’s lessons.

  “Joyous day!” an all-too-familiar voice replied with a boisterous laugh.

  “Keeper Stout,” Numa whispered, her throat too choked with emotion to speak. He stood not twenty hands from her, his great belly bouncing with merriment just the way it always had. She walked towards him and reached out to touch his round, Joyful face. Was it possible this was real? Could he truly be alive?

  “Joyous day, Numa,” he said quietly, a look of concern now coming over his face as she continued to touch his cheek. “Are you well?”

  “I had not realized until now how much I missed your smile,” she gushed and felt tears fall down her face. “You were always a constant source of Joy in my life.”

  Keeper Stout wrinkled his brows. “You honor me with your words of praise,” he said then smiled again. “And I hope to always be a source of Joy in your life.”

  Numa bit the inside of her lips in an attempt to still their quivering.

  “Come, let the good Keeper get on with discipleship,” Brighton said and took Numa by the hand. “You may stay here as long as you wish. There will always be another occasion to visit with Keeper Stout.”

  Despite Brighton’s words, Numa found it nearly impossible to tear her gaze from Keeper Stout’s face. It could very well be the last time she’d ever see him.

  As Numa was led by Brighton out from under the Baldaquin tree, she allowed herself to look around. It was all there. The Eating House, the foodstock yard, the Sleeping Houses and even the Wishing Hut. It was Aerie down to the tiniest detail. Numa closed her eyes and heard the stones of the oil press as they ground together in the distance. She took a deep breath and her nose was filled with the scent of fairytooth, the scent of home.

  “What’s this, then?” Numa heard another familiar voice ask. She opened her eyes and saw Ruddy Tom, Brighton’s father, standing before them,
looking down at their entwined hands. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were so familiar.”

  Brighton chuckled sheepishly and a blush colored his cheeks. “We’re friends, Father,” he said.

  Tom playfully nudged Brighton with his shoulder. “Well, when you’re finished with your friend, get to the press. There’s work to be done, my boy.”

  “I’ll be there soon,” Brighton replied and smiled as he watched his father walk towards the oil press. Then he turned to Numa and said, “You see? In my perception, he has not missed me at all. I’ve been with him all along.”

  “But this is not real,” Numa said. “Your real father has suffered heartbreak while you’ve been at play here. In fact, Brighton, your father may very well be dead.”

  Brighton looked bewildered. “Your idea of what is real and what is not real confuses me,” he said. “Do you mean to tell me that what you perceive to be real is somehow more real than my perception?”

  “This is not real, Brighton,” Numa said, gesturing all around her with her arms. “All of this version of Aerie is just a result of your glinting powers here in Turiya. But out there, outside of this forest, there is—or was—the real Aerie. That’s not my perception, it’s simply reality.”

  “Ah,” Brighton said, nodding, a patient smile spreading his lips. “You have not yet learned about perception. You see, as an Empyrean you create your perception of reality. It has nothing to do with being in Turiya or outside of it.”

  Numa held back a sigh. “I always leave Turiya more confused than when I arrived,” she said.

  “It is not confusing,” Brighton said, chuckling again. “The visions tell you what you want and then you create your perception to match. It is very simple.”

  “What visions?” Numa asked, wondering why she had never been taught any of this.

  Now Brighton looked confused. “You are Empyrean, Numa, surely you have had visions,” he said. When Numa shook her head, he added, “Even one?”

  Suddenly Numa remembered her experience of seeing the battle between the Iturtians and the Zobanites. “I may have had one,” she said tentatively.