Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two

by Jenna Newell Hiott

  “What was your vision?” Soman asked.

  “It was a perfect Todor,” she answered. “It was all of Todor in the beauty and splendor that Aerie once had. All the people were Joyful and there was happiness throughout the land.”

  “That is a wonderful thing to desire,” Soman said. “See? You do know who you are.”

  “There is more,” Numa added. “I saw you and me and Gemynd standing at the top of Tolnick castle looking down on a crowd of people. We waved at the people and they cheered. Then Gemynd kissed me.”

  Soman scratched the back of his head. “What do you think it means?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, except that the three of us will be together,” she said.

  “There would be too many factors for anyone but you to make that happen,” Soman said. “Why not use your glinting powers to create Todor as you saw it? Can’t you just wiggle your fingers and make it so?”

  Numa giggled. “It’s not that simple,” she said. “At least I don’t think it is. I know that I cannot force the will of others. I cannot force the people to forgive Gemynd or cheer for us as though we were their leaders. I cannot force your father or Gemynd’s father to agree to peace, as much as I’d like to. So I do not know how to create my vision.”

  “You will,” Soman said, wanting to reassure her. As he stood there thinking of something else to say, Numa reached up and unclasped the brooch at the neck of the Zobanite cloak she wore.

  “It’s warm in here,” she said as she tossed the cloak on the bedsack.

  “It certainly is,” Soman agreed, feeling his own temperature rise as he looked at Numa in tight, Iturtian breeches and a tiny blouse.

  Numa looked over her shoulder and gave Soman a little smile, which he took as an invitation. He walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. “If you saw yourself at the Tolnick Keep, perhaps you were queen,” he said. “And Gemynd and I stood by as your servants.”

  “Surely your fever has returned,” she laughed. “You and Gemynd would never be my servants.”

  “If you were queen, I would serve you,” Soman said deep in his throat, squeezing Numa a little more tightly.

  “I believe you need more fairytooth,” she said, looking again over her shoulder at him.

  Soman leaned his head down, inhaling the warmth and delightful smell of her neck. “Let me serve you,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

  To Soman’s surprise, Numa did not pull away. Nor did she jest and laugh off his advances. Instead, she turned around, her arms coming up around his neck. “It would be so easy,” she said, pressing her body against him, her eyes smoldering like molten emerald. “So safe. No darkness. Nothing but delight.”

  Numa was smaller than Zobanite women, yet taller than most Terrenes. In his arms, Soman could feel that her curves were supple, yielding to his touch, rather than rigid like the muscled Zobanite women he’d grown accustomed to. He wanted to hold her tighter, squeeze her buttocks with his hands and feel her body mold itself to his contours.

  Soman lowered his head slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers until they were too close to see. He lightly brushed his lips across hers, savoring the anticipation, feeling his desire build until it threatened to break through the faulty dam that was his resolve. “If I take you to that bed, I may never let you leave,” he said, his voice deep and raspy.

  Numa said nothing. Her only response was the pounding of her heart, so loud it seemed to fill Soman’s bedchamber. And Soman realized with a twisting feeling in his gut that Numa’s heart thundered not for him. But for Gemynd. It was not desire that caused her to tremble, but fear of losing her true love forever.

  “You don’t want this,” Soman said, taking a step back, releasing his hold of her.

  Numa’s breaths were fast and shallow, her chest rising and falling like waves on a stormy sea. “I do want it,” she said, reaching out for him.

  “Not with me,” Soman replied. “Your heart is his. If we gave into this now, you would only end up resenting me. I couldn’t live with that. You mean too much to me.”

  Numa looked away then, her cheeks blushing. “Oh, Soman. If I could only love you as I love him it would be so much easier to know myself, to accept the Oneness. It always felt right being in your arms. All my life, I’ve felt safe there.”

  “Love is anything but safe,” Soman said, drinking down a large goblet of water from the side table. “In my arms, you would only be hiding. And you can’t hide from him. You know that. And you certainly can’t hide from your love for him. Sooner or later, you will have to face it and whatever fears you have that come with it. I want to be here as your friend when that happens.”

  “Pardon me, but The Chief is here to see you,” Keeper Sam said, startling Soman as he entered the room.

  “You must be the legendary Numa I’ve heard so much about,” Archigadh’s voice thundered through the room as he approached. When he got near Numa, he stopped and bowed. Soman felt his eyes grow wide and he had to stifle a gasp. He’d never seen his father bow before anyone before.

  “Joyous day,” Numa said, returning the bow. “You must be the great Chief Archigadh, ruler of the magnificent Zobanite people.”

  “Come, sit. We must speak for a time. The wee Keeper has been telling me of your vision for Todor and we have a marvelous idea we’d like to discuss with you,” Archigadh said, ushering Numa towards the sitting room.

  “My vision?” Numa asked.

  Soman felt a rush of annoyance and he turned to glare at Keeper Sam, but before he could utter a word, Sam was already speaking. “Please forgive me,” he said. “I happened to overhear your conversation and I was only trying to follow proper protocol. Had it been a discussion of war strategy, I certainly would have come to you with my idea first. But this is a strategy for peace and I knew it to be in everyone’s best interest that I take it straight to the Chief.”

  “Explain why you were listening to our private conversation,” Soman demanded, feeling his anger grow. “Must I now guard myself from you as well?”

  “I wasn’t certain I could trust her. Not fully,” Sam said, glancing at Numa. “She is the enemy’s wife after all.”

  Soman pinched his eyes closed and forced himself to breathe slowly. “Do not invade my privacy again,” he warned.

  “Sit, son, this concerns you too,” Archigadh said as Soman continued to linger in the bedchamber.

  “Yes, Chief,” Soman grunted and grabbed a roasted bird leg from a nearby tray as he joined the others in the sitting room.

  “Wee man, tell them of your plan,” Archigadh said and took the bird leg from Soman’s hand, offering a wink in exchange.

  “Numa, I thought about your vision over and over again and I wondered if, perhaps, you might have glimpsed the future, or some version of it. And I wondered what would need to take place in order for a Zobanite, an Empyrean and an Iturtian to stand together at the Tolnick Keep,” Keeper Sam said, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Then it came to me in a flash: wars have always been fought in Todor over who rules the land, and Keeper Clary always insisted that a Terrene be on the throne to maintain a balance of power. But Keeper Clary has gone to the Viyii and there is no better time than now to change history.”

  “This is what I’ve been saying all along,” Soman interrupted, eyeing the bony remains of the bird leg dangling from his father’s hand. “Let us put a Zobanite on the throne and then we’ll annihilate Iturtia when they try to take it from us.”

  Numa looked up at him, shock in her eyes, and Soman immediately regretted his choice of words. “I beg your pardon, Chief,” she said. “But I don’t think I should be here for this discussion. It is not fair to anyone that I know your plans for war against Iturtians. My husband is, after all, the Pit Warden of Iturtia, which makes Iturtia my family. It is not my desire nor my intention to ever betray anyone in this room, least of all you, Soman, but I fear if I were to return to Gemynd, I would have to share with him all that I know.”

&nb
sp; The Chief arched one eyebrow skyward. “Aye, and your honesty is appreciated,” he said. “However, we are not here to discuss war at all, as we all might find out if my son could stay quiet.”

  Soman looked at Numa and felt a sting in his heart. Only moments before she had been unsure of her feelings, so unsure that she had been willing to go to bed with Soman. But now she spoke with the certainty of someone whose mind was clear. She was confused no longer.

  “What I was getting at, is that I believe your vision was one of leadership by council,” Keeper Sam continued, seemingly oblivious that there had been an interruption at all. “One representative from each of the four races to rule Todor together.”

  Soman stood up and took a step back. A thousand epithets came to his mind and nearly flew out of his mouth, but he swallowed each one, trying to maintain his composure.

  “A council?” Numa asked. “Made up of equals?”

  Soman looked at Archigadh who nodded his head vigorously. “Aye,” he said. “It is a fine idea.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Soman asked, unable to help himself. He winced as soon as the words left his mouth and braced for impact.

  Just as expected, Archigadh stood and, with the back of his hand, knocked Soman clear across the room. “Mind your tongue, lad,” he boomed. “Zoban is not a council and there are no equals in this room. I am the Chief and you will address me rightly.”

  “Yes, sir,” Soman squeaked as he tried to pull air back into his lungs.

  Numa glanced angrily at Archigadh and rushed to Soman’s side. “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Soman shook his head and got to his feet. “I am fine,” he said and smiled. “Believe me, I deserved that, and I fear I will deserve a few more of those before I’m done.”

  Archigadh rolled his eyes and sat back down. “Very well,” he said, begrudgingly. “I wanted you here for your opinion on the matter, so let’s have it.”

  Soman took a moment and chose his words carefully this time, not wanting to offend his father nor upset Numa. “How will we know that the Iturtians can be trusted on a council?” he asked. “What would stop their representative from controlling the minds of the Zobanite and Terrene representatives?”

  “One word,” Archigadh answered, holding up his index finger. “Pride.”

  “Pride?” Soman asked.

  “Aye,” Archigadh replied. “We must assume Golath would be the representative, right? At any time he wanted, Golath could have controlled Queen Helen when she was on the throne. He could have ruled Todor all along. Scitte, maybe he did for all we know. But the point is, it wasn’t enough for him. He doesn’t want to rule behind stone walls. He wants the throne for Iturtia, but more importantly, he wants all of Todor to know that Iturtia is in charge.”

  Soman nodded. “I suppose you may be right about that,” he said. “But he could still trick the council into giving him the crown.”

  “At which point we would have no choice but to go to war,” Archigadh said, and Soman felt a moment of relief. He finally heard something that made sense.

  “I think the real challenge will be in getting Director Golath to agree to it in the first place,” Keeper Sam said.

  “Yes,” Numa agreed. “He is set on ruling. And it will be even more difficult to convince the Empyreans. They prefer to stay out of Todor’s affairs altogether.”

  “Not all of them,” Archigadh said, looking at Numa.

  “This is your vision of Todor, Numa,” Keeper Sam said. “You have to be on the council.”

  “Aye and it will likely be best if you sit between me and Golath when we meet,” Archigadh said mirthfully.

  “I have just sent messengers out to all Terrene villages informing them that I am happy to stand as their representative on the council, unless they prefer someone else,” Keeper Sam said and Soman once again felt a stab of annoyance.

  “You’ve already sent the message?” he asked. “How was this decided so quickly? I only heard of Numa’s vision a few moments ago and now the people have already been informed of your intent to form a peace council?!”

  “Unless Golath agrees to the council as well, nothing has been decided,” Keeper Sam replied.

  “Aye,” Archigadh agreed and rubbed his forehead.

  Soman turned his full attention to Archigadh. “Father, Chief, I know this is your decision to make and not mine, but I urge you to reconsider this council idea. We have an opportunity now to put a Zobanite on the throne of Todor. You should be king. It is time for Zobanites to rule. If war is the cost of that, so be it.”

  Archigadh let out a long, slow sigh and shifted in his chair, making it creak loudly. He looked at Soman, the usual mirth and mischief gone from his eyes. Instead, Soman saw an earnestness there that tugged at his heart. “Son, how can we win a war when the leader of the forces requires an hourly dose of fairytooth tea? How could you withstand even a single battle?”

  “Then I step down as leader,” Soman replied without hesitation.

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Archigadh replied, slamming his fist on the table beside him. “Lad, you know all too well the torment of being used as another man’s weapon. I know you believe that is why we should go to war: to make sure it doesn’t happen again. But we cannot kill them all. No matter what, there will always be Iturtians in Todor. And what more dangerous weapon could they ever have than a Zobanite on the throne? For us to rule would mean to jeopardize the safety of everyone in Todor. I know this council idea is a risk, and we may end up at war anyway, but I aim to give it a try. There will be an Empyrean there to help watch over things and it could mean peace for Todor. Aye, it is a chance worth taking. Think of it this way: your brothers and sisters are depending on you.”

  “For what?” Soman asked incredulously. “If I cannot lead them into battle then what is it they depend on me for? This is absurd!”

  Archigadh stood up, looming menacingly over Soman. “As your Chief, I order you to shut your noise maker and not say another word!”

  Before Soman could decide if he would respond, a Zobanite guard and three Terrene workers came running into the room. “Chief, we must get you to safety!” the guard shouted. “Zoban is on fire!”

  Soman’s body moved into action of its own accord, motivated purely by instinct rather than thought. He ran to the window and saw that flames engulfed the entire western side of the compound. “Take the Chief to the cellar below,” he instructed the guard. “He will be safe there.”

  Soman ran from the palace, trying to formulate a plan. He had practiced many battle drills with his army, but fighting fires had not been one of them. When he got outside, he was hit with a thick wall of heat and a roar so loud it was as though he stood in the midst of a thousand winds. He could see now that flames encircled the entire city; monstrous flames as high as the mountain itself. The flames looked like a single entity, dancing to unheard music as it fed itself on Zoban. Soman could see that the wooden buildings of the Terrene sector had already been destroyed. What else would the fire claim?

  “You should be in the cellar with The Chief,” Maireen said as she ran up behind him. “You have no children yet, no heirs. Your safety is just as important as his.”

  Soman tore his gaze from the flames to look at her. She had never before shown concern for Soman’s safety. “I would heal from burns,” he said.

  “It’s not the burns that concern me,” she answered. “For all we know, this fire could be an act of war. We don’t know yet how it began.”

  “There was a storm at the top of the mountain,” Soman said, not wanting to think that war might have come to Zoban. He had always imagined fighting in the vast sands of the Iturtian desert. “Perhaps it was started by lightning.”

  “Perhaps,” Maireen said. “Still, you are not needed to fight the fire, but you are needed to carry on the Ancestor Clan. If it is determined to be an act of war, we will find you to lead us against the enemy. For now, take cover.”

  “I will see that he gets to
safety,” Numa said.

  Maireen nodded and took two running steps before flying into the sky. Soman looked up and saw a line of flying Zobanites. Each one carried an enormous urn of water, dumped it on the fire, and then returned to the river to refill it. It was almost soothing to watch their rhythmic fluidity, performing this function like an efficient machine just as they did in battlefield training. Even though he was completely surrounded by flames, Soman did feel safe. He knew the Zobanites would not stop until the fire was gone.

  “Let us go to the cellar with Chief Archigadh,” Numa said, tugging on Soman’s hand.

  “Our system is flawed,” Soman said, not moving. “The Ancestor Clan depends on my ability to stay alive and procreate and yet I am the leader of the forces. I will lead my soldiers into battle where there is no greater risk to my survival.”

  “Let us go underground and discuss it there,” Numa insisted, still pulling on his hand.

  Soman nodded but a wave of apprehension washed over him. “The Uruz,” he whispered as he inhaled and glanced at Numa. “Half of us will die without its protection.”

  Soman looked up the mountain and saw nothing but flames. “We must save those trees,” he said.

  “I can help,” Numa said and met his gaze, her eyes so full of certainty that Soman felt a swell of confidence.

  “Fly with me,” he said and wrapped his arm around her waist as he took some running steps before bounding unrestrained into the air.

  Soman held Numa against his body as they flew, her hair tickling his cheek as it blew in the wind. He continued up the side of the mountain praying to the Deis that the fire had not reached the Uruz copse, but the heat from the flames below only seemed to intensify the closer he got.

  Even through the dense screen of flames and smoke, Soman recognized the little hollow where the Uruz copse should be. It was gone. All of it. The two massive trees and all the saplings burned into nothingness. Soman felt the blood drain from his face and a hollowness fill his chest. There would be no more Uruz neckpieces to ensure the survival of Zobanites in battle. Not ever.