Gemynd felt a tiny flicker of hope ignite in his heart. Could Numa really have a solution? One that he’d overlooked? One that Golath might agree to? “What is it?” he asked.
“The Deis showed me,” Numa said, a slow grin spreading across her face. “I saw them with my own eyes and they showed me a perfect Todor.”
Gemynd gasped as a sense of wonder flooded his mind, followed by a million questions. “You saw the Deis?” he asked and glanced down at the pit watchtower, hoping for just a moment that the Baldaquin might return and, with it, Keeper Stout. How Keeper Stout would love to hear about Numa meeting the Deis!
“When I left here, I went back to Turiya and learned a great many things,” Numa answered. “I learned about creating Todor as I want it. And when I was unsure of what I wanted, the Deis came to me and showed me the Todor of my heart. I saw Joy all over the land, just as Aerie had been only better. There were no secrets, no lies, only true Joy for all of Todor. Gemynd, I saw you and Soman and myself all standing at the top of Castle Tolnick, waving at the people below. And the people looked up at us and cheered.”
Gemynd pushed his eyebrows together, wondering what this could mean. “The Deis gave you a vision of me, you and Soman all ruling Todor together?” he asked.
“It must be! Why else would we have been on the Castle, looking down on the people that way?” Numa replied.
“It would be impossible,” Gemynd said. “It is my father who will rule, not I. And I don’t understand how Soman would fit into it at all, much less agree to it.”
“Do you remember Keeper Sam from the night we saw Soman?” Numa asked.
“Of course,” Gemynd replied, narrowing his eyes.
“He came up with a possible solution. He said that we could form a Peace Council of equals,” Numa explained. “The Council would consist of him as the Terrene representative, Archigadh as the Zobanite representative, me as the Empyrean representative and your father as the Iturtian representative.”
Gemynd nearly laughed aloud. “It will never work,” he said, shaking his head. “And it’s not the same as your vision anyway.”
“Maybe not, but I wish to give it a try,” Numa replied.
“My father has not worked his whole life to share the throne,” Gemynd said, trying to make her see reason. “He will never agree to it.”
“Perhaps we could convince him together,” she urged. “Assuming, of course, that you are behind the idea.”
Gemynd held his breath once again. He had not yet considered his own feelings about the idea, because he knew the council would never come to be. Still, he had to admit that if it were up to him, he would at least consider it. He would be willing to consider any sensible option that kept Todor out of war. “It is not up to me and I know that Golath will reject the idea immediately,” he said. “But if none of that were true, I would be willing to give it a try, as you say.”
“Empyrean Numa, you honor us with your presence,” a voice from below suddenly called, interrupting their discussion. It was Tatparo, and, as Gemynd peered over the rail, he could see that the young warrior had gone down on his knee. “I am your humble servant. Anything you might wish for, it is yours.”
“Numa!” another voice from the pit floor shrieked with glee.
“Tatparo,” Numa said and lifted her hand in a friendly wave. “Toa!”
Then, as Gemynd watched, one-by-one every Iturtian that Numa had rescued from Tolnick went down on one knee, bowing their heads before her.
Numa looked at Gemynd with an expression of confusion, but then her face slowly spread into a smile. She turned back to the railing and pressed herself right up against it, looking out over the crowd of Iturtians with her neck straight, her shoulders square. There was a new radiance about her, a golden shine as though the beauty of the recent sunset had clung to her.
“Iturtians,” she said in a voice that was not the voice Gemynd had always known. This voice was big and full and regal. “It is I who am honored by your presence. Never before have I encountered a people with such strength. Strength of mind, yes, but also strength of character and strength of will. It was but a few weeks ago that many of you were in the depths of suffering, beaten and nearly starved to death. Now look at you! All of you! Robust warriors, ready to face down your enemy, ready to claim the power of Todor for Iturtia.
“I know your history and I have seen your suffering. I believe in your demand for equality. Iturtians have been repressed for far too long. I stand with you and offer my help in getting you the fair and equal treatment you deserve.”
The crowd below stood and cheered at her words. Gemynd watched Numa and beamed. The magnificent woman before him who so easily mesmerized an entire army of Iturtians was his wife. He was filled with a sense of pride that nearly overwhelmed him.
“What’s more, Iturtia, I believe we can reach this goal without war, without a single one of you being injured or killed!” Numa continued, receiving yet more cheers. When the crowd quieted, she went on. “As an Empyrean, I am sometimes blessed by a visit from the Deis and I recently experienced this. The Deis showed me my own heart’s true desire for the future of Todor. I saw a Todor of peace, Joy and abundance. As Aerie had once been, all of Todor had become. Every man, woman and child was fed and whole and happy. It was a land without fear for there were no secrets, no lies. It was a land of Truth, a land of equality. I know how to make this vision a reality.
“It is called a Peace Council. Instead of any one person sitting on the throne of Todor, the land would be ruled by a council of representatives: one Terrene, one Zobanite, one Empyrean and one Iturtian. For the first time in history, we would be united as the people of Todor and you would have the equality you so richly deserve.”
Gemynd was stunned by her brilliance. If she gained the support of the people, Golath would have to consider the Peace Council as an option. Could she really do it? Was peace now a possibility? Was the Peace Council the point of balance Keeper Stout had talked of only moments before?
“With the Peace Council, you need never face hunger or suffering again,” Numa said and now Gemynd could feel the excitement—the pulse—of the crowd quicken and grow. “You will never know another moment of fear. Your children’s futures will be secure. I believe in this vision with my very Lifeforce. What say you, Iturtians? Are you for the Peace Council?”
The entire Iturtian army cheered at once and many began jumping up and down, pumping their fists in the air. Then the chanting began and the entire pit echoed with the chorus of: Peace Council! Peace Council!
Gemynd was astonished. They all agreed so readily. Although they had given him their best in training, it was now clear to see that none of them had truly wanted war at all. Like him, had they all been secretly hoping for a peaceful resolution?
But then Gemynd realized it was not the entire Iturtian army that chanted after all. There was one among them who was unhappy with the turn of events and she did not keep her opinion to herself. “Stop this! All of you! Stop this at once!” Hildegaard screeched at the crowd as she climbed the stairs from the pit floor. She marched right up to Gemynd and glared at him. “I have summoned your father since you seem unable to stop this treason yourself.”
Knowing that every Iturtian in Todor looked on, Gemynd could not allow such disrespect to go unpunished. He grabbed Hildegaard roughly by the arm and threw her up against the wall, pinning her there with his other hand around her throat. “Mind your tongue and your rank,” he bellowed. “Your insubordination is closer to treason than anything else happening here. Shall I handle it accordingly?”
“Forgive me, Warden,” Hildegaard squeaked, but as she looked over Gemynd’s shoulder, a twinkle of delight flashed in her eyes.
“What madness is this?” Golath asked from behind Gemynd, barely audible over the still-chanting crowd.
“A brief review of rank and authority, Director,” Gemynd answered, keeping his hold tight on Hildegaard.
“Crush her windpipe and be done with
it,” Golath said, loud enough for Hildegaard to hear. “There is no place in my army for dissent.”
Gemynd watched Hildegaard’s eyes grow wide then fill with tears. He felt a pang of pity for her. He had long suspected that her feelings for the Director ran deeper than Iturtian devotion and he was certain it wounded her deeply to think that Golath had such little regard for her life. “Any worthy Director requires obedience. Surely you know that,” Gemynd said to Hildegaard in psychspeak, hoping she would not take Golath’s command personally. “I’ve come to think of you as a sister and I do not wish to kill you. Still, I will obey my Director.”
A look of serenity passed over Hildegaard’s face and she blinked slowly. “It brings me Joy that my final act will be proving my own obedience to the Director,” she said to Gemynd’s mind. “I shall not fight you. Kill me as you’ve been directed.”
Gemynd tried not to smile. He knew that Golath was merely proving a point to Hildegaard and did not truly want her killed. Iturtia could not afford to lose any warriors on the eve of war any more than it could afford discord. “You are a brave and devoted warrior, Hildegaard,” Gemynd said, aloud so that onlookers could hear. “Because you have shown loyalty to the Director, I shall spare your life this time, but do not think to call me to task again. I will not be inclined to show leniency a second time.”
Hildegaard nodded and Gemynd released her. Numa fidgeted nearby, still unaccustomed to Iturtian ways. “She is fine, my love,” he said to her mind. “It is essential to our success as an army that rank and obedience is never questioned.”
“Warden,” Golath summoned as he stood at the rail looking out across the Iturtian army as it chanted ‘Peace Council! Peace Council!’
Gemynd moved to stand by his father. Whatever happened in this moment would determine the fate of Iturtia—and Todor—forever. Would Golath accept the Peace Council? Would he even consider it? Or would he reject it despite the obvious opinion of his people?
“Numa told the people of an idea she has for a Peace Council,” Gemynd began.
“I am aware of that,” Golath said coolly.
“Hildegaard explained it all to me.”
Gemynd made no response. He knew he could not push his father. Whatever choice was made, it would be Golath’s alone.
“This is the second time I’ve been surprised by your wife’s cleverness,” Golath said, continuing to look out at the people. “She must have surmised that if she had the support of my people, I could not refuse her Peace Council plan.”
“She never ceases to surprise me either,” Gemynd replied, glancing at Numa who stood with Hildegaard at the opposite end of the landing.
After several moments of silent watching, Golath tapped his hands once on the railing, then turned towards the stairs leading out of the pit. “Let them chant for five more minutes,” he said. “Then return them to their training. We march tonight as planned.”
A crushing sensation seemed to squeeze the very air from Gemynd’s lungs, but he did not let his father see his disappointment. “Yes, sir,” he replied with a nod.
Gemynd caught Numa’s eye and she looked at him questioningly as Golath walked away. Gemynd shook his head, letting her know that there would be no Peace Council. Numa’s shoulders sagged and she gave him a sad smile, then began walking towards him.
Suddenly the ground beneath Gemynd’s feet began to sway. Again, he felt that the walls were moving and a rumbling echoed through the pit. Gemynd kept his gaze locked on the watchtower, certain that it would become the Baldaquin as it had before.
But this time, everyone else in the pit noticed it too. The chanting stopped and every man, woman and child froze in place with wide-eyed wonder. There was perfect silence as not a single person spoke. No one even breathed. The only sound was the muffled pounding of five thousand frightened hearts.
Then, a single, tiny fragment of rock—no bigger than a pebble—broke off of the ceiling and everyone watched its long fall to the ground as though it held the answers to every question in every Iturtian mind.
As the rock fragment hit the pit floor, a second rumbling sounded and more fragments fell from the ceiling and the walls.
“An earthquake,” Golath said to Gemynd’s mind as he walked back towards the railing. “We must get everyone out of here. Have them begin the ascent to the surface.”
Gemynd opened his mouth to address the people when a sharp, cracking sound caught his attention. He looked up and before he could react, an enormous piece of rock—the size of Aerie’s oil press—landed on the pit floor, undoubtedly crushing Iturtians beneath it. That’s when the screams began.
Gemynd looked across the pit, certain now that the walls were, indeed, moving. Solid sheets of thick rock swayed like grass in the wind, filling the pit with dust and making it nearly impossible to see the people below. But he could hear their screams and he could feel the chaos. It was just like the night he destroyed Aerie.
Only this time, he would save his people. This time he was not the destroyer.
Gemynd looked up and saw that rocks of every size and shape rained down on the people. Using his glinting powers, he took control of them, guiding them into a pile where he hoped no one remained. “Get the people out of here!” he shouted, hoping his father could hear him. “Get them out! I’ll hold back the rocks!”
Gemynd moved rock after rock with his mind, the pile on the ground quickly overtaking the pit floor. He glanced over his shoulder to find Numa and saw her standing with Golath, their hands entwined, their gazes locked. “Save the people!” he shouted again, then ran to the stairs leading down to the pit floor. With his mind, he controlled the downpour of rocks and with his hands he helped pull people up the stairs.
Every ounce of Gemynd’s focus was on the tasks before him and so he did not notice the mountain-sized slab of rock that fell from the ceiling directly above him.
“Warden!” the woman he was helping shrieked and jumped back.
Gemynd looked up just in time to see the edge of the rock crush down on him with the impact of a thousand running horses. He forced the pain from his mind, glad for his Iturtian training. He could barely breathe, but he was still alive. He could still think.
“Save the people!” he shouted again after he was able to pull air into his lungs. He tried to stand only to realize that his right hand was caught beneath the rock. He looked down to see how many people remained on the pit floor and only then noticed that he was blind in his right eye.
Instinctively, Gemynd reached up to touch his blind eye with his left hand and felt only warmth and wetness. There was no familiar structure there. Nothing that felt like skin. Nothing that felt like the shape of cheekbone or forehead.
Another woman screamed as she came up the stairs and saw him.
“Get out of here!” he shouted at her and turned his attention back to the falling rocks once again. But he could no longer see them. The chaos had completely taken over. The destruction had won.
Gemynd blinked with his remaining eye then turned his attention to saving himself. He would only need to move the rock a few inches in order to free his hand. With his mind, he lifted the rock then yanked his hand free.
“Father!” he shouted, trying to stand. Gemynd could no longer see anything. The dust in the pit was now so thick it even made breathing impossible. For the first time since he could remember, Gemynd felt panic well up inside him. He knew that Numa could not be killed, but the same was not true for Golath. He did not know where he was, he only hoped that he could hear him. “Stay alive, Father!”
Then, suddenly, Gemynd was outside in the cool, evening air.
The sun was well below the horizon, but its rays still cast enough light for Gemynd to see that Numa had moved every surviving Iturtian to the southeastern out-lands of the Iturtian desert. He could see Zoban mountain in the distance, but it was now merely a tiny speck.
Gemynd looked across the sand and wondered what remained of Iturtia. Was there anything left of their under
ground home? Was it just a cavern now, a giant hole in the earth? Had any of the tunnels to Zoban remained intact? Or had all of it already been filled in and swallowed up by the never-ending sand?
And what of his people? How did they fare? How many had died? Gemynd craned his neck, looking out over the crowd of people. Who was in need of help? And where was his father?
“Warden, you are hurt,” Tatparo said, walking to Gemynd’s side. “Let me tend your wounds.”
“Help the others first,” Gemynd insisted.
“I have already. The survivors have only minor injuries,” Tatparo answered at the same time that Hildegaard approached.
“Eighteen killed, no one badly injured except for the Warden, sir,” she reported.
Gemynd turned to see Golath standing behind him, Numa still clinging to his arm. Gemynd watched as, at the same instant, they both registered what Hildegaard had said and immediately looked his way.
Numa’s eyes went wide, her face turned so white it looked blue. Golath reached his hands out and rushed to Gemynd’s side.
“The injuries must look worse than they are,” Gemynd ascertained aloud.
“Be still, son,” Golath commanded. “We must stop the bleeding.”
“I can help,” Numa said, crouching down as Gemynd lowered himself fully to the ground. Suddenly the ground beneath them was no longer red sand, but a hard-packed earthen floor and rather than being out in open, they were now surrounded by the walls of a domed sleeping house.
“The sleeping houses of Aerie,” Gemynd marveled as he felt his back land on a familiar-feeling bedsack.
“You will heal best in your home,” Numa replied.
“Are we still in the Iturtian desert?”
“Yes, we have not moved,” she replied. “I have merely made sleeping houses for everyone to rest in.”
“You have the power of the Deis,” Gemynd said and reached up to touch her face. But it was not a hand that moved towards Numa’s cheek. Instead, Gemynd saw a mangle of blood and flesh somewhat attached to his wrist. It was strange and unfamiliar. It seemed as though he must surely be looking at someone else’s arm, yet this one moved exactly as he willed it.
Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two Page 18