There was nothing left of Golath. Even his bones were gone.
Soman
Soman wrapped his hand around the hilt of the longknife at his hip. He glanced quickly to his left and right, sniffing the air.
“Golath was poisoned,” Archigadh thundered. “Someone among us is a murderer!”
Keeper Fregman ran in one direction, then turned about and ran directly in the other. The Terrene workers huddled together against one of the walls. Molly, Numa and Gemynd stood like statues, staring at the pile of ash that had been Golath’s body.
“Could this be an act of ghoulcraft?” Soman asked over his shoulder to Keeper Sam. He began walking slowly backwards, now unsure if the enemy was a living person or an unseen force. “I have heard tales of wicked phantasms that have the power to overtake a person’s body and kill them from the inside out. Could that have happened to Golath?”
Keeper Sam did not reply and Soman’s mind began spinning, trying to make sense of what he had seen. Right before his eyes, Golath had aged a hundred years in the span of a single moment. How could that happen? Surely there was no natural explanation for such an abomination.
Suddenly a loud, anguished wailing began from the crowd in the city square below. Soman looked over the wall and saw an Iturtian woman on her knees. She looked up at the wallwalk, her fists tearing at her own hair, her mouth open in a scream. “Golath!” she wailed. “My Director!”
Soman looked away and sought Keeper Sam. He would know what to do. He had the wisdom of both a Keeper and an Iturtian. Surely he would have the answers. But Soman did not see him on the wallwalk.
“Where is Keeper Sam?” he asked his father.
Archigadh scanned the wallwalk, then looked down into the crowd. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. “He is not here,” he said and pressed his lips into a hard line. “He must be found.”
Soman looked all around again in case his father had missed something. Hadn’t Keeper Sam been there just moments before? Hadn’t he been enjoying the breakfast along with everyone else?
Soman closed his eyes, trying to recall exactly what had happened just before Golath fell. Numa had gone around the table, pouring drinks for everyone. He clearly remembered watching her as the simple act of her serving that way had flooded Soman’s heart with a longing for home. But she had not served Keeper Sam. Soman remembered that now. He had not been at the table then.
A movement caught Soman’s eye and he looked back to the table that held Golath’s ashes. Gemynd was crouched over it, his hands hovering over the ashes and a look of absolute confusion distorting his face.
“Gemynd,” Soman said and walked to him. He did not know what to say to his friend. It was no secret that Golath had meant the world to Gemynd. It was entirely possible that he had loved him even more than he loved Numa. And he had just seen his beloved father rendered to ashes before his eyes. “I am sorry this happened, brother. Let me help you in any way I can.”
Gemynd did not reply, nor did he move his gaze from the ashes on the table. Numa, too, stood perfectly still beside him. Their faces no longer trembled with sorrow, but had become stone-like masks covering an emptiness that was impossible to hide.
“Let us put the ashes into an urn,” Soman offered. “Let me help you.”
Soman found an empty wine vessel not far from the table. Just as he returned to the table with it, a strange breeze began to stir on the dais and it swiftly turned into a gale, blowing Golath’s ashes into the farthest reaches of Todor. Then, just as quickly as it came, the wind was gone. There would be no recovering Golath now.
Soman looked at Gemynd and saw his shoulders sag. “I am so sorry, brother,” he said again. “Your father is with the Viyii now. We could not have stopped the wind.”
Gemynd clenched his teeth together. “There is one among us who can control the wind,” he hissed.
Soman looked at Numa who closed her eyes and winced as though she had just been struck. “Gemynd, please, I did not do this,” she begged, tears flooding her cheeks.
Gemynd narrowed his eyes as he looked around the dais. “I am done with the lot of you,” he said and walked to the stairway.
Archigadh stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “I cannot let you leave here, lad,” he said in a calm tone. “I fear you are in no state to think clearly and may undo the good work we’ve done here. Soman will stay here with you and the rest of us will find who did this. This murder will not go unpunished, I assure you.”
“Out of my way, gluttonous pile of scitte,” Gemynd growled, clearly unmoved by the vast size difference between Archigadh and himself.
Archigadh held his ground for the span of a single breath, then suddenly moved out of Gemynd’s way. Soman knew instantly that it was a result of Gemynd’s mind tricks.
Archigadh shook his head to clear it then immediately turned to go after Gemynd.
“Let me, Chief,” Soman said, rushing to the stairway. “You find who killed Golath.”
“Aye,” Archigadh ceded.
Before Soman turned to follow Gemynd, he locked eyes with Numa. He ran quickly back to her and grabbed her hand. “He is grieving. He does not know what he is saying,” he said. “I will talk some sense into him.”
Numa nodded, her white skin even paler than before and streaked with tears. “It wasn’t me,” she insisted.
“I know that,” Soman said. “And so does Gemynd. He’ll come around.”
Soman ran back to the stairway, but knew that Gemynd already had a sizeable head start, so he changed course and jumped over the wall instead. He bent his knees for landing and aimed his body at a spot below that was vacant of people. He had done thousands of landings and hardly gave any thought to the procedure, but this time, when he hit the ground he heard a loud snap, and a piercing pain tore through his leg. The pain was crippling, and Soman curled into a ball on his side, swallowing his cries of agony. He knew the pain would subside momentarily when he healed, but for now he could not move.
Soman reached down to help rub the pain out of his leg. As his hand moved just below his left knee, he felt the unmistakable jaggedness of broken bone protruding from his skin. He pulled his hand away and his fingers were with slick with blood.
Soman looked up just in time to see Gemynd step over him, determination burning in his eyes. “Brother!” he called, but Gemynd did not look back.
Bracing against the excruciating pain, Soman pulled himself to standing, bearing all his weight on his right leg. “Heal!” he shouted at his left leg, wondering why it was taking so long.
Soman made a quick decision and hopped as fast as he could on one leg and was relieved to discover that he could take flight from doing so. The crowd below gasped and murmured when they saw him the air. Soman felt the warm trickle of blood dripping down his leg as he flew, but he put it from his mind and searched for Gemynd.
“Gemynd!” he shouted when he spotted him marching north, but again Gemynd ignored him.
Soman flew directly over Gemynd’s head and hovered above him, trying to decide what to say next.
Suddenly, Gemynd looked up and wiped a drop of blood from his forehead. “You are bleeding on me,” he said without a hint of emotion.
“Brother will you please stop walking for just a moment so that we may sit and talk?” Soman asked.
“I have no use for words,” Gemynd said in the same emotionless tone.
“Then let me talk to you,” Soman said. “Your father has just died. I do not know where it is you’re going, but let me go with you. I cannot leave you to be alone during your time of grief.”
Gemynd did not respond, but stood frozen like a sculpture made of stone. Soman moved ever closer to him, wondering if he might at least be able to put a comforting hand on Gemynd’s shoulder. As Soman moved, however, a familiar chill ran down his back.
The fever, he realized as a wave of dread prickled his skin.
Reflexively he began looking around for Keeper Sam to get his dose of fairytooth tea. H
ow long had it been? Much longer than an hour, he was sure.
“Director,” Tatparo, the new Pit Warden, said as he walked swiftly from the city square towards Gemynd. “I am sorry for your loss. Iturtians grieve with you today. I do not wish to burden you with anything further, but I believe it is best if you know what is happening.”
“What is it, Warden?” Gemynd asked, looking annoyed.
“Hildegaard,” Tatparo answered. “She is inconsolable and is inciting rebellion.”
“Rebellion against the peace council?” Gemynd asked.
Tatparo glanced at Soman before answering. “Against Zobanites. She wants Iturtians to make war.”
Soman tensed up, looking at the large crowd in the city square. The vast majority was Zobanites. If war was being threatened against them, he should be there, leading them.
“Peace, brother,” Gemynd said to Soman. “It is not my intent to make war. Hildegaard is a fool. I will deal with this.”
A moment later, the Iturtian woman Soman had seen pulling at her hair and crying out in pain, approached, clearly summoned by Gemynd’s mind. Her hair stuck out wildly from her head in every direction. Her mouth was pinched so tightly that a ring of white had formed outside her lips. Her eyes were filled with burning hatred and bored right into Soman.
“You dare to stand next to the enemy?” she asked Gemynd, though her eyes never left Soman. “You have chosen to befriend the murderer of your father. You are a traitor to your people, Gemynd.”
Gemynd stepped forward and forcefully struck Hildegaard across her face with the back of his hand. She fell to the ground with a loud grunt. Instinctively, Soman landed on his good leg and leaned forward to help her, but stopped himself. This was no time to interfere with Iturtian ways.
“I am your Director!” Gemynd shouted in a voice that sounded identical to Golath’s.
Hildegaard stood, blood dripping from her mouth. She looked at Gemynd and spit a mouthful of blood at his feet. “My Director is dead,” she hissed.
Tatparo lunged forward, wrapping his hands around Hildegaard’s throat. There was not a doubt in Soman’s mind that he was about to witness a murder. “Please,” he said, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Don’t kill her.”
Gemynd gave Tatparo a tiny nod and the Warden released his grip on Hildegaard. “Are you challenging me?” Gemynd asked her.
Hildegaard silently regarded Gemynd for several moments. Then she blinked and tears fell down her scarred cheeks. “No, Director, forgive me,” she said reluctantly.
“You are grieving,” Gemynd said. “And so I shall forgive your treachery. Although I showed you leniency once before. Perhaps it is not the best of course of action.”
“Yes,” Hildegaard replied. “Golath would have punished my actions with death. I welcome it. Perhaps I will find solace there.”
“Hildegaard, my troubled sister,” Gemynd said, lifting her chin with his fingers. “There is no solace from grief. You would be a fool to think that it would not follow you into death. And can you not see that your actions today dishonor my father?”
Soman watched Hildegaard’s chin tremble in Gemynd’s grasp. “I could not bear to dishonor him,” she whispered.
“Golath appointed me to Director while he still lived,” Gemynd continued. “To challenge me, or any of my directives, is to say that you do not trust his judgment. To try to incite war when my aim is peace, is to question his very wisdom. To give yourself up for death when every Iturtian life is necessary at this time, is to spit on his memory.”
Hildegaard let out a violent sob and fell to her knees. “He was my everything!” she wailed. “I would sooner peel the skin from own face than dishonor him in the way you’ve described.”
“Then stand and do as I say,” Gemynd replied. “Offer comfort to my people, but silence your call for war. I promise you, as your Director, that my father will be avenged. But it will happen exactly as I direct. Do you understand?”
Hildegaard stood up and nodded slowly. “Yes, Director,” she answered.
“Now go,” Gemynd said. “And do not let your grief be the end of you.”
Gemynd locked eyes with Tatparo for a moment, then both men nodded, before Tatparo escorted Hildegaard back to the city square.
“You spoke to Hildegaard aloud for my benefit,” Soman said when he was once again alone with Gemynd.
“I need you to know that war is not my intention, brother,” Gemynd answered.
Soman sighed, both from relief and from the pain that still throbbed in his leg. “You do not need to show such strength with me,” Soman said, noticing that his throat was beginning to burn. But he had to ignore it. This was not the time to worry about his fever. Gemynd needed him now. “I know your heart is broken. Let the feelings out. You will not endure it alone.”
Surprisingly, Gemynd laughed. “Feelings are a distraction, brother,” he said and began walking once again. “I have work to do now and will not allow anything to stand in my way. Not you, and certainly not feelings.”
Soman swallowed against the heat in his throat, and breathed deeply to bear the throbbing pain in his leg. He was strangely unafraid of Gemynd’s threatening manner. He would prefer to see Gemynd rage than seal up his heart and live in isolated pain. “Are you going to honor us with another spectacular display of destruction?” he taunted as he hopped on one leg, following his friend. “Are you going to do to Tolnick what you did to Aerie? Will you punish everyone in hopes of harming the one who harmed you?”
“You are a bally fool, my friend,” Gemynd replied, sounding more like himself. “I do not need to root out the one who harmed me. I already know who killed my father.”
“You can’t truly mean Numa,” Soman said, pleased that Gemynd was talking, but deeply concerned that he blamed Numa for his pain. “If you do, then I believe you are the bally fool. She had no reason to do such a thing and she would never cause you such harm. She loves you. You must know that.”
Gemynd marched up the stairs on the hillside leading to the keep. “The doors to the keep have been barred since Queen Helen’s death several years ago,” Soman said, though he knew Gemynd was already aware of this fact.
“It does not matter,” Gemynd said, his long legs taking strides so wide it was becoming difficult for Soman to keep up as he hopped.
A new wave of pain suddenly ripped through Soman’s leg and he groaned loudly as he fell to the ground, landing on his right side and keeping his left leg in the air. “Gemynd, wait with me, please,” he moaned as he watched Gemynd continue up the stairs without him.
Gemynd stopped and turned around, sighing loudly. “What ails you, brother?” he asked as he crouched down by Soman.
“My leg mostly,” Soman said, feeling his breaths becoming shallow and wet.
“Why has it not healed yet?” Gemynd asked and made a face of utter disgust when he examined the wound.
“I believe it is beginning to heal,” Soman said as beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes. He tried to blink them out, feeling too depleted to lift his arm to wipe at them. “I can feel the bones moving now.”
Soman saw Gemynd’s eyes widen at the same moment he felt his shin bone slide slowly down then back into its original position. It locked itself into place with a loud grinding, crunching sound. He reached out for Gemynd’s hand, needed to cling to something as the pain threatened to drain his very life away. Never before had Soman’s body healed so slowly that he felt every bit of it. The agony of it was enough to make Soman wish he had not healed at all.
“Hold on, brother,” Gemynd said quietly, soothingly as he held Soman’s hand. “It looks as though it is finished.”
At that moment, Soman at last felt the pain in his leg begin to subside. “Thank you,” he said and released Gemynd’s hand, now feeling sheepish for letting the pain get the better of him.
Gemynd patted him on the shoulder. “Rest here a while,” he said. “I must go.”
Soman did not have a c
hance to reply as Gemynd started quickly up the stairs, so he pulled himself to his feet and went after him. There was still a dull ache in his leg, but it could bear his weight now. As he climbed, however, he became keenly aware that the pain of his leg had not vanished, but had merely moved into his head, which pounded with his every step.
Gemynd looked back over his shoulder as Soman caught up to him. “You are persistent,” he said. “There is no need for you to follow me.”
“I cannot leave you alone now,” Soman replied. “Whether you know it or not, you need me.”
Gemynd did not reply, but only continued his climbing until at last they came to the enormous gate to the keep. It was a solid wooden door measuring at least thirty hands high and was veiled by a thick, iron grate with ten enormous locks upon it. “I will go the rest of the way alone,” Gemynd said. “It is a violation of the peace council Agreement to enter the keep. If you go in there with me, you will be as guilty of treason as I, and I cannot allow that.”
Soman sighed once again and rested his forehead on his fingertips. His mouth was suddenly dry and his tongue felt swollen inside of it. “You promised me that there would be no more death,” Soman said. “Only moments ago you said that war is not your intention. Yet here you are, intent on violating the peace council Agreement. Surely you know that will lead to war. And death.”
“Yes, the Agreement will be violated,” Gemynd said. “But you must trust me that peace will be maintained. Now, please brother, leave me to it.”
“Will you at least help me find Keeper Sam first?” Soman asked quietly. “And then I will leave you to your treason.”
“I care nothing for Keeper Sam,” Gemynd replied then took a small step backwards as the enormous iron bars of the keep gate ripped from the surrounding stone walls and flew through the air as though no heavier than a sheet of parchment. Gemynd looked at Soman and placed a firm hand on his shoulder as he uttered the command, “Stay here.”
Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two Page 27