Ignoring the command, Soman followed Gemynd inside the gate. They were surrounded on all sides by dark, reddish-brown stones that formed an arched tunnel leading from the gate into pitch blackness. Soman could see sconces on the walls, but they had likely not been lit in years. The further they got from the open gate, the darker it became. “I need to find Keeper Sam for my own benefit,” Soman said, hoping the sound of his voice would frighten away anything that might lurk in the darkness.
“Then you must go find him,” Gemynd replied, his voice bouncing off the stones around them.
“We could bring oil lamps back with us,” Soman urged.
“I am fine without the light.” Gemynd said. “Go find your Keeper.”
Soman smelled a dampness in the stale air as they proceeded and he sensed a closeness that had not been there before. Unable to see anything, he put his arms out in front of him. Seconds later, his palms came to rest on something flat and wooden. “A door,” he said aloud just as a sudden thud indicated that Gemynd had found it as well.
There was a sharp, scratching sound followed by a pop then Soman’s eyes were pierced by daylight as the door fell to the ground before them. Soman’s eyes adjusted quickly to the light and he looked down to see that the door was four hands thick and made of solid wood and iron bands. There was no telling how much it weighed and seeing it on the ground that way, Soman was reminded of the awesome power of Gemynd’s mind.
“A courtyard,” Gemynd said aloud as he looked around.
Soman inspected the area too, temporarily forgetting his discomfort and the fact that he was committing treason. He had never seen such a place. It was a circular area paved with the same reddish-brown stones and open to the sky above. There were stands and tables all along its perimeter that still contained the goods they had bore the day the castle was sealed; goods that the hungry people of Tolnick could have used these last three years. Bins of grains looked dusty, but otherwise stable. Next to them were baskets of bread so moldy it was impossible to distinguish where one green loaf ended and another began. There were skeletons of what must have been chickens and goats scattered about.
“They even left their foodstock behind,” Soman mused.
“No rats, though,” Gemynd added. “It must have been well-sealed.”
Soman followed Gemynd across the courtyard and through a second equally-formidable door that Gemynd moved with ease. They entered into a large room with benches along the walls and two long tables in the center. The room had small windows up high to allow for enough light to enter for Soman to see.
“A dining hall?” he asked.
“Possibly,” Gemynd answered and they went further into the room.
There were bowls and eating knives along the tables. In one wall was a grand hearth and fireplace, so big that Soman was certain his entire bed in Zoban would fit inside it. On the opposite wall hung a vast tapestry, showing Queen Helen as a young girl, kneeling before a Keeper who placed a crown upon her head. The weaving was perfectly done by a true artist’s hand and seemed to glow with interspersed threads of gold.
“I cannot believe this was left here,” Soman said, admiring it.
“They must have told the people to leave, then sealed it just as it was,” Gemynd replied.
“It feels strange being in here,” Soman said. “It’s as though the past is watching us.”
“This way,” Gemynd said, moving down a hallway as though he suddenly knew the layout of the castle.
“What is your plan?” Soman asked as he braced himself against a table while a wave of sickness gripped his stomach.
“Come, brother, is it not obvious?” Gemynd said and Soman looked up at him, thinking that the only thing that was obvious was that he needed some fairy-tooth tea.
“You plan to destroy the keep too?” he asked.
“Perhaps,” Gemynd replied and continued down the hallway, which quickly became as dark as the tunnel had been. “Pity neither of us can create fire.”
“I know someone who can. You could easily summon her,” Soman said.
“I prefer the darkness,” Gemynd replied.
Soman followed the sound of Gemynd’s footsteps. Every now and again, he would press his cheek against the stone wall, its coolness like a balm on his fiery head.
“This should be it,” Gemynd said and Soman heard him turn left through a doorway.
Soman followed and immediately his toes hit the edge of a step. He lifted one foot then the other, then again and again as they ascended a tightly-spiraled staircase. Soman was glad for the narrowness of the stairwell as it allowed him to lean on one side then the other as they went up.
“In this much darkness, it is easy to imagine that there are any number of things in here with us,” Gemynd said from above him. “There could be wolves or human skeletons or phantasms of every sort. If that were the case, brother, would you rather know of their presence or move through them blindly?”
Soman tried to think about the question, but it was difficult now that he was worried about being in the stairwell with phantasms. For some reason, as he thought about it, the fifth Truth popped into his mind: Suffering is not necessary and is a result of choice. Soman wondered which choice in this case would cause more suffering. “I suppose fear is a form of suffering,” he thought aloud.
“Fear is the greatest form of suffering,” Gemynd replied as though he’d known that his whole life.
“Then in this case, I would prefer ignorance,” Soman said. “If I could continue to move through them blindly, that would be better than seeing them and fearing them.”
“The mind is tricky, brother,” Gemynd said. “For do you not already fear them just by thinking of them? It is the possibility of their existence that is frightening. If you could see them, the fear of possibility would be eliminated. You would know your adversary and you could act accordingly.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Soman said then thought about it some more. “But I had not feared the possibility of phantasms nor skeletons nor wolves until you mentioned them. Perhaps it is you who is my adversary.”
“Well said, brother,” Gemynd replied.
They ascended many, many more steps in perfect blackness. Soman’s fears of the phantasms dissipated as his need for water increased. His mouth so dry, his throat so parched it was all he could do to not tear it right out of his body.
“The stairs end here,” Gemynd said at last.
Soman felt a moment of relief as though they had finally reached some sought-after destination, but then he remembered that he had no idea where they were going and he doubted Gemynd did either. And the chance that there would be drinkable water anywhere in the castle seemed slim at best.
Soman heard a slow creaking, and a narrow beam of light poured into the stairwell. The door before Gemynd was opened just a crack and he was peeking through it.
“We have arrived,” he said, turning to smile at Soman while simultaneously opening the door all the way.
Soman followed him inside the room. It was a circular room with arrow slits all around, which allowed for plenty of sunlight to pour in. There was a small, elevated platform near the wall opposite the door, and all throughout the room dusty white cloths covered what must be furnishings.
“What is this place?” Soman asked.
Gemynd raised his eyebrows in response and suddenly all the white cloths floated into the air, flinging themselves into a pile by the wall. Soman looked around, noting the rows of benches in the center of the room. On the platform stood an ornately-carved, oversized chair flanked by two smaller chairs. Resting on the seat of the largest chair was a golden crown.
“The throne room,” Soman said as the pieces began falling into place.
Gemynd walked around the room slowly, admiring it from every angle. “How many backsides have sat on these benches awaiting their audience with the queen?” he asked. “And how many of them knew it was actually my father who ruled them? That the queen was nothing more than a pupp
et? How many now grieve for the death of their king?”
The floor tilted beneath Soman’s feet and he fell heavily onto the nearest bench. “I need water,” he croaked.
Gemynd looked at him as though just seeing him for the first time. “You do not look well, my brother,” he said and set about examining the contents of the tables scattered around the room. “I only find wine here. It will have to do.”
Soman took the cup of wine from Gemynd’s hand and smelled it. It smelled sweet and somehow fresh so Soman drank the entire cup. “I need Keeper Sam,” he said, looking into Gemynd’s eyes. “Please summon him.”
“What can he do for you?” Gemynd asked.
“Fairytooth tea,” Soman replied, feeling his eyes slide closed.
“And if I summon him here and he has none?” Gemynd asked and Soman let himself rest for several moments before replying.
“Numa then,” he said. “She can create some.”
Gemynd chuckled. “Has this been your plan all along?” he asked. “Did you think I would summon her here, take one look into her eyes and forgive all her transgressions?”
Soman shook his head. “Brother, I would never try to outsmart you,” he said. “You know I need the tea every hour.”
“Very well, I will summon her,” he said, but his tone made Soman fear what he would say to her. It was too late to protest, however, for Numa was suddenly standing before him.
“Soman is sick,” Gemynd said, hatred dripping from his words. “Make him his tea.”
“Gemynd, please listen to me for just one moment,” Numa pleaded. “I did not kill him. I love him. I love you. You are my husband. Golath was my father.”
Gemynd raised his hand in the air as if to strike her, but stopped himself and bit down on his bottom lip. “Do not say his name,” he growled. “His name shall never again come from your lips.”
Numa squared her shoulders. “What reason in your twisted mind would I have for killing him? It makes no sense,” she said.
“In all of Todor, you had the greatest motive, my dear,” Gemynd said. “You knew that he was against the peace council, that, above all, he wanted me to rule as king. He stood in the way of you creating your precious vision of Todor.”
Numa was silent for several moments and then, to Soman’s surprise, she began to laugh. “Oh, wise Director of Iturtia,” she said sardonically. “You are a blind fool. I did not know Golath was against the peace council. But if that was true, then he was certainly not standing in my way. The council will fail and I am the one who will see to that. I will not allow the peace council to succeed. We have not yet had a moment to talk where I could tell you about the visit I had from my mothers and Radine this morning, but I swear to you Golath did not stand in my way.”
“Do not say his name!” Gemynd shouted and drew the back of his hand hard across Numa’s face.
Fueled by something beyond his understanding, Soman jumped to his feet and stood between Numa and Gemynd, looking fiercely into Gemynd’s eyes. “You will never touch her again,” he warned. Soman turned to see if Numa was hurt, but found that she was already gone.
“Such loyalty,” Gemynd said, walking to the platform as he poured himself another glass of wine, using only his mind. “And to think I believed you were truly on my side.”
“I am on your side!” Soman shouted, his patience dangerously thin as weakness consumed him once more. “I know that you will soon regret hurting her. I know that you will soon regret blaming her. And I definitely know that you will regret having to live the rest of your life without her. My attempts to prevent all of that are precisely because I am on your side. Believe me, if my loyalty was not to you, I would have her for myself.”
Gemynd turned slowly and looked at Soman, his eyes smoldering. “Would you?” he asked, and the set of his jaw left no question that he wanted to kill Soman where he stood.
“You love her or you would not care,” Soman replied.
“Love?” Gemynd asked and snorted. “Yes, I love her, but love is irrelevant. She is far too powerful and cannot be trusted.”
Although Gemynd said the words, the force was gone from them. Soman knew Gemynd well enough to know that he was beginning to question Numa’s role in Golath’s death. “She would never betray you,” Soman said.
Gemynd looked down into his cup. “There was a time when that was true,” he said. “A time when I would not have questioned that. But she did betray me, brother. She proved she is capable of that.”
Soman recalled what Numa had said about leaving Gemynd at the pit. It seemed like such a small thing compared to murder. “She did not kill him,” he said firmly. The surge of strength he’d gotten when Gemynd struck Numa was gone and Soman sat down on the bench once more.
Gemynd took another sip of his wine. “I know that now,” he said and looked into Soman’s eyes. “But I had to make her hate me. She apparently has her own plan and that is a danger to me. I had to get her out of my way.”
Soman felt as though he had been struck. “You hit her not out of anger, but as part of your plan?,” he asked, his muscles weakening to the point where he had to lie down. When he did, he saw a familiar vessel on the floor not far from the bench. It was the cup that Keeper Sam always brought to him. And it was filled with fairytooth tea. Numa must have left it before she vanished. Soman smiled and forced himself to sit upright. He would have to walk several steps to get to the tea and it would require all of his remaining strength.
“All that matters is this,” Gemynd said, and Soman looked up to see him place the golden crown upon his own head. “I am now King of Todor.”
“No, the peace council rules,” Soman said, shaking his head.
Soman got to his feet and staggered over to the nearest arrow slit. “Zobanites!” he called through the window. “Archigadh!”
He turned to get the fairytooth tea only to find that Gemynd stood directly behind him. “Kneel before your king,” he said.
Soman shook his head and looked across the room at the cup of tea that was now even further away than it had been before. He fell against the wall behind him and could feel his very Lifeforce slipping away. He needed that tea and he needed it now. He doubted very much that Gemynd would revive him a second time. And even if he did, he would still need the fairy-tooth to stay alive.
“Kneel before your king,” Gemynd repeated, the veins in his forehead beginning to show.
“I will not,” Soman argued, keeping his eyes on the cup of tea.
Gemynd lunged forward and wrapped his fingers around Soman’s throat. “You will honor my father! You will serve me as he wanted!” he shouted. “All of Todor will serve me.”
Soman pushed Gemynd back hard, drawing strength from that mystery reserve that had fueled him before. “You are not king!” he yelled and threw himself at Gemynd, taking him to the ground. The crown clattered off of Gemynd’s head and rolled across the floor. Just before it came to rest, it knocked over the cup of fairytooth tea.
Soman gasped then felt a shrinking within him as his heart was filled with despair. The fever would win. He would soon fall victim to its peril. His body could no longer fight it. He would join his forefathers and the Viyii.
Soman was glad for the life he had lived and he believed he had done it well. As he lay there atop Gemynd, he was surprised to realize that his one regret was that he had not fought harder for Numa. Still, it was only a small regret for he knew that she had loved him in her own way.
Soman looked down at Gemynd who struggled to get free, but was no match for Soman’s strength. My strength? Soman wondered, knowing that only moments before he had had none.
He looked into Gemynd’s black eyes and saw his friend looking back at him. “You were always my brother,” he said to him. “Remember me that way.”
Then another thought struck Soman, one that filled him with yet another wave of strength: if I am going to die, I could save Todor from tyranny by taking Gemynd with me.
Soman again looked i
nto his friend’s eyes and knew what he must do. He was bound by something ancient, something in the Lifeforce that had been passed on to him through generations of Zobanites: his purpose was to serve. He served the people of Todor.
“Farewell, brother,” he said and, just as Gemynd had done a moment before, he wrapped the fingers of his right hand around Gemynd’s throat and squeezed.
“Release me, I am your king,” Gemynd said, but Soman noticed that his lips did not move. Gemynd had said it inside Soman’s mind.
“I am your king,” Gemynd repeated. “Release me.”
Soman felt a familiar and unwanted pull within him to do as he was commanded. He felt his fingers loosen their grip on Gemynd’s throat and, although he fought with all his might to hold on, he watched his own, treacherous hand, release Gemynd.
Gemynd rolled to the side and stood up, crossing the room to retrieve the crown. Soman also stood, feeling even stronger than he had before. It was almost as though the fever was gone. Feeling renewed, he went after Gemynd.
He reached Gemynd just as he was turning around and shoved him up against the wall, this time wrapping both of his hands around Gemynd’s throat.
“Kneel before your king,” Gemynd commanded inside Soman’s mind and Soman felt his knees begin to bend.
“No!” he shouted and fought against his own muscles. He pulled his knees upright so hard that a fresh sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. But it felt good. It was the sweat of exertion, not the sweat of fever.
“Kneel before your king!” Gemynd insisted even louder in Soman’s mind.
“Never!” Soman shouted and forced every last bit of strength he had into keeping his knees straight. Suddenly something snapped and for a moment, Soman felt that he was in free fall, going down while the world went up. Then everything bounced back together and it was all as it had been. With one notable difference.
Soman had stopped Gemynd from controlling his mind.
Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two Page 28