“Set me down,” Numa said, wiggling some in his arms. “Hurry.”
Soman looked all around, but fire filled the ground below them. “There is no safe place to put you down here,” he said. “I will take you back to Zoban.”
“No,” she said, pushing against his arm. “Just set me down here. I will be safe.”
Soman narrowed his eyes, but the urgency in Numa’s voice told him not to argue. He lowered himself—with Numa in his arms—down into the flames. He immediately felt his skin sear and smelled the burning of his own hair. He felt blisters form on the bottom of his feet as he set them down upon scorching embers.
“Let me go,” Numa insisted and pushed free from his grasp, walking into the flames before them.
Swallowing back the pain of his burns, Soman reached out, suddenly terrified of losing her. “Numa, you are not Zobanite,” he said, his voice breaking in desperation and choking on the thick smoke. “You cannot heal from this.”
But Numa ignored him and stood still in the flames, her clothes turning to ash. As Soman watched, Numa seemed to fade away, becoming a translucent outline of herself. Soman rubbed his eyes, certain that they were failing him. How was it possible to see through a body?
Numa’s outline lifted her arms to the side and the fire moved towards her. Then it fell into the space where her body should be. More and more flames from further away on the mountain continued to fall this way, cascading into her like water flowing over the edge of a rockwall.
And then the fire was gone. Only the smoke remained.
Soman ran to Numa, indescribable pain tearing at his legs. He reached out, wondering if his hand would pass through her just as the flames had done, but the moment he made contact with her, she was solid again and donning a new set of Iturtian clothes.
“You are whole,” he said, not trying to hide the astonishment in his voice as he unceremoniously groped at her. “I thought you’d become a phantasm.”
“I am still me,” she said and took a step back as she smiled.
“You put out the fire,” Soman said, his mind furiously trying to understand what he had just seen. “How did you do that?”
“Just some Empyrean glinting,” she said modestly, then giggled. “But I didn’t save everything from the fire. You have no hair.”
Soman’s hand flew to his head. Where long, golden tresses had been only moments before, was now a barren carpet of stubble. Soman grimaced at the strangeness of the way his bald scalp felt on his palm. “It will grow back, I’m sure,” he said to reassure himself. Then he looked at the perfect arrangement of red hair atop Numa’s head. Not a single hair had been singed, and Soman was once again bewildered by her abilities.
“The sun is nearly down,” Numa said, turning in a slow circle. “We may have to wait until morning to see just how much damage the fire caused.”
Soman sighed and looked at the ground before him. He did not need wait until morning to see that the fire had caused the worst damage of all. He knelt down and dug his fingers into the hot dirt. Not a single Uruz sapling remained and only a charred stump was left of the full grown tree. “The Uruz were here,” he said and clamped his jaws together. “Without them, we have no way to ensure a Zobanite victory in battle. Only half of our soldiers are protected.”
Numa stood silently beside him for several moments. “I’m sorry I did not stop the fire sooner,” she said.
Soman stood and took her hand. “There is nothing to be sorry for,” he said. “Without you, the fire would still be burning. You did all you could.”
Numa looked away quickly as though she was uncomfortable meeting his gaze. “Your hair may grow back,” she said, “but it does not seem that your clothing is going to. Perhaps it is time we return to your chambers.”
Soman glanced down at his body, only then realizing he was naked. “You’ve seen it before,” he said, pushing her shoulder playfully.
“Not since we were children,” she replied and Soman thought he saw a blush color her cheeks.
“Very well,” he said. “Let us return.”
Soman took hold of Numa and prepared to run into flight, but the pain in his legs was too severe. He looked down and noticed that there was very little skin left, particularly on his right leg. “I will need to heal before I can fly,” Soman said.
“Sit,” Numa said and urged Soman onto the ground, which was now mysteriously cool. “I can heal you.”
Numa ran her hands over the length of Soman’s leg and, when she was done, not a trace of burn was left on them, only perfectly healthy skin.
“Better than a Zobanite,” he mused aloud then looked at his arms, which were not burned but were covered with ash and soot. “What would you say to a warm bath?”
“That sounds lovely. May I have your permission to take you back to Zoban?” Numa asked, extending her hand.
Soman nodded and was instantly in his bedchamber in the palace, another marvel of Empyrean glinting. “The bath is this way,” he said, leading Numa down a small hallway that opened into a stately cavern of a room. The vaulted ceiling was so high that Soman often jested he could practice his flying in that room. And it was covered with glass so that sunshine poured into the room during the day and at night he could sit in the bath and count the stars. Magnificent flowers of every color hung in golden baskets along the walls, filling the room with their blissful scents and beauty. In the center of the room was a circular pool large enough that four Zobanites the size of Chief Archigadh could lounge comfortably within it, and it was constantly filled with fresh, warm water.
“I won’t stay but a moment,” a familiar voice came from behind him. Soman turned to see Maireen smiling at him. “I just needed to thank you in person for putting out the fire and scold you for not getting to safety as I instructed.”
“It was all Numa’s doing,” Soman explained. “Putting out the fire, I mean.”
“I know. Thank you, Numa,” Maireen said and squeezed Numa’s arm.
“You must be Soman’s mother,” Numa said with a smile. “He looks just like you.”
“I am,” Maireen said. “And very proud to bear the title. My son has proven to be an exceptional Zobanite and worthy leader of the forces. He will make an amazing Chief one day.”
Numa’s smile faded then. “I am certain he will,” she said, though her voice sounded hollow.
“Despite his grumblings, your father is being confined for his safety until the cause of the fire is determined,” Maireen said to Soman, then turned again to Numa. “He sends his gratitude as well. I will leave you to your bath now.”
As Maireen turned to leave, Soman noticed a worker on his hands and knees following behind her. The man was cleaning the black soot footprints she left with every step.
“Why are you doing that?” Soman asked the worker.
The man looked up at Soman. “Are you addressing me, sir?”
“Yes, please stand,” Soman said and pulled on the man’s arm, forcing him to stand up. He wanted to look this man in the eye and find out why he lived as he did. “Why do you bruise your knees and soil your own garments this way?”
The man squeezed his eyebrows together in confusion. “To keep the stone clean,” he answered.
“You do not have to do that,” Soman said. “We can clean our own footprints. You are no longer bound by the Compact. You do not have to live this way. You do not have to stay in Zoban. You are free to live your life as you choose.”
The man studied Soman silently for several moments before saying, “And I do.” Then he got back down on the floor and resumed his cleaning.
“My beautiful Soman,” Maireen said and smiled at him. “I have just finished saying how proud I am of the Zobanite you’ve become, but you are still so young. You do not yet see clearly. You have seen Zoban and have decided that the Terrenes are mistreated. You think they have sold their freedom in exchange for protection and must now live a life of service to Zobanites. Open your eyes, son. All of this is their design. Thi
s is their choice. They know that we would protect them regardless of what they do for us. They do all that they do for us in gratitude for our service to them.”
“But how? How do they know that we would protect them regardless of what they do for us?”
Maireen smiled. “Because they know something that, apparently, you do not know,” she said. “Do you really not know your true purpose, son? It is quite simple. A Zobanite’s purpose is to serve.”
“That is not true,” Soman argued reflexively.
“One day you will see,” Maireen said as she walked from the room. “Enjoy your evening.”
Soman stepped into the warm water and felt his muscles begin to melt into relaxation. He sighed and leaned his head back against the edge of the pool, watching Numa linger awkwardly in the corner of the room.
“I am growing more concerned about you by the second,” he said. “Are you sure you’re well?”
“I am fine,” she said, remaining where she was in the corner. “I am just preoccupied with Keeper Sam’s plan for a council.”
Soman cupped his hands to pour water over his head and face. He, too, had been thinking about Keeper Sam’s plan. Now that they’d lost the Uruz trees, he was beginning to wonder if it was such a terrible idea after all. Was war still worth the risk of losing half of his Zobanite kin? Maybe a Zobanite sitting on a council was as close to the throne as a Zobanite could get. But Soman still couldn’t shake the idea that an Iturtian could not be trusted on a council that way.
“Tell me what you truly think of the idea,” Soman said as he wiped water droplets from his eyes.
“It may be the best option for now,” Numa answered hesitantly. “It is not exactly what I saw in my vision, but it is close. I know you are reluctant to trust Golath, and I am not certain that I trust Keeper Sam, but I’m willing to take the chance if it keeps us from war.”
Soman sighed. “I was hoping you’d be the one voice of reason,” he said then looked across the room at her again. “Are you going to stand in the corner all night? Or will you be joining me in the bath?”
“I will join you,” she said and lifted her hands to remove her tunic.
Soman knew he should look away. It would be the polite thing to do, but his neck seemed frozen in place, his eyes unable to move or close. He was helpless against his desire to watch.
Numa pulled the tunic over her head then bent over and peeled the breeches from her legs. She was more beautiful than Soman had imagined and his fingertips immediately began to tingle with the need to touch every inch of her.
“Why do you torture yourself so?” Numa asked as she met his gaze. “Just earlier today you told me how you wanted only to be my friend.”
“You misunderstood,” he replied with a smile. “I want to always be your friend, first and foremost. But I assure you, friendship is not the only thing I want. And right now, I want to watch.”
“Very well,” she said and turned to face him. “Look all you want.”
Soman’s breath caught in his throat and he realized he had foolishly underestimated his desire.
Numa stepped into the water and moved across the pool, coming to sit right next to Soman.
“Now you are playing wicked games with me,” he said, sitting rigid like a statue, afraid if he moved a single muscle he’d lose what little remained of his composure.
“Just as you played with me earlier,” Numa replied with a mischievous grin.
“I did not mean to play a game,” Soman said in a low voice, nearly a growl. “But I could not take you to bed once I realized that your heart still belongs to Gemynd.”
Numa looked down at the water then and made her way back to the opposite side of the pool. “There was another vision I have not yet told you,” she said so quietly that Soman had to lean forward to hear. “I will not tell you all that I saw, but I will tell you that I saw a battle between the Iturtians and Zobanites. It is possible that it was a glimpse of the future and it is possible that it was merely a reflection of my desire. In either case, I am willing to take the chance with Keeper Sam’s peace council to prevent that vision from becoming reality. I ask you to trust me that it is also the best thing for you.”
“I do not know what you saw, but I truly do believe that Zobanites would be victorious if it came to war,” Soman said. “I saw what you did with the fire, Numa. If you could help us—even a little—we would create a new Todor with my father as king.”
“But I won’t help you,” Numa said and Soman felt a crack form in his heart. “I know that now. I helped with the fire, because I cannot seem to abide suffering. The Terrenes here have already lost so much. But I could have done much more and I chose not to. I could create as many Uruz trees as you could ever need. But I did not. Can you see now where my loyalties lie?”
Soman felt a sickness in his stomach and wondered if he needed more fairytooth. “It should not surprise me, but it does,” he said and swallowed. “I am most surprised that you would support people who do not hesitate to use wickedness to have their way.”
“I know that Gemynd betrayed you,” she said. “I know that he used you to kill your own ancestor, a man you once thought of as your father. I can see the scars inside of you from that and it is not my intention to belittle your pain. But I have seen far greater suffering in Iturtia than I had imagined was possible. Unnecessary suffering. Suffering inflicted upon them simply because their glinting abilities are different from yours and mine. All of you here in your city of opulent comfort have never tasted suffering such as theirs. I believe the Iturtians are right to demand change in Todor.
“For all of Todor’s history, you and the Terrenes have seen the Iturtians as villains. But it is a lie. You do not understand them. You cannot control them. You fear their power. And so you have made them your enemy and banished them to the farthest reaches of the land. But it is all so unnecessary. Todor needs them. Todor cannot exist without them. Can’t you see that? There is no Todor without Iturtians. Maybe that is not one of the ten Truths, but it should be, for I promise you, it is Truth. You have a choice in this. You’ve always had the choice, but it is apparent now more than ever. You can decide to work with them, with me, to help create my vision of a new Todor. You can make peace with Iturtian power and utilize it. You can choose to not be afraid of them.”
Soman looked at his hands as they floated just under the surface of the water. Numa was right. He had not taken the time to consider the Iturtian point of view. He had only seen them as wicked abusers of power. And he was afraid of them. He was afraid of the power they could so easily have over Zobanites. “But you fear them too,” he said to Numa defensively. “You fear Gemynd. That is why you are here with me now instead of in Iturtia with him. You left him because you were afraid of him.”
“I am not afraid of him,” Numa said, and then again, “I am not afraid of him,” repeating herself as though she had just come to realize the truth of her own words. “I am here with you now not because I fear Gemynd, but because I fear his rejection.”
Soman bit the inside of his lip. He hated everything she just said. He wanted Numa to stay with him, to love him instead of Gemynd. He wanted her to fight against the council idea and help the Zobanites claim the throne. Most of all, he wanted her to want him. But he swallowed back all of those thoughts and forced a smile. “You need not fear his rejection,” he said, being the friend he promised her he’d always be. “You said that you saw the three of us on the castle wall and that Gemynd kissed you there.”
Numa nodded. “That’s right, that is what I saw.”
“Then as long as you create your vision, he will be with you,” Soman said.
“I do love you, Soman,” Numa said from across the pool. “My dearest friend.”
Gemynd
Gemynd moved slowly across the walkway that overlooked the pit and addressed his army. “Soon these drills will no longer be done in training, but will be done on a real battlefield while facing a real enemy. An enemy with far supe
rior physical strength and one that greatly outnumbers us. An enemy who massacred our ancestors in battle after battle throughout history. And why would we ever choose to face such a formidable foe? Because it is this same enemy who, from the dawn of time, has not only kept us from the throne of Todor, but has also banished us to the desert where we must live our lives underground like moles hiding from the sun. It is this enemy who has turned us into wicked villains in the eyes of Todor’s children so that they grow up to despise us. It is this enemy who has kept our power oppressed under the weight of their giant thumbs. But they have kept us down for far too long and now we will rise against them! Now we will end the suffering of their domination! Now we claim the power that was always rightfully ours! No matter what part of Todor you came from, you are here and, together, through the gifts of our minds, we are a hundred times more powerful than our enemy. We are more than an army of warriors, we are of one blood, one race, one family. We are Iturtians! And we will be victorious!”
Below him, the Iturtian army cheered and Gemynd smiled. It was a good speech and for a moment Gemynd felt the bravado he projected. There was no reason they could not defeat the Zobanites in battle. His people deserved to taste that victory, to know they would never be oppressed again. But his confidence was short-lived as the questions began to race through his mind once again: How many would die? Was war truly the best course of action?
“They would love a demonstration,” Tatparo said as he approached Gemynd at the railing and mimicked his stance, clasping his hands behind his back. The young warrior from Tolnick had become Gemynd’s second-in-command, moving up through the ranks with a speed Gemynd did not know was possible. He was a handsome youth, not much more than a boy, really. His skin was dark. Not the peat-bog color of Numa’s mother, Gracewyn, but more of a warm, reddish-brown, like a cinnamon stick. His eyes and hair were black like Gemynd’s, but instead of wavy locks, his hair was stick-straight and hung down to his waist.
Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two Page 15