Disintegration: The Todor Trilogy, Book Two Page 2

  “You are not alone,” Marta said quietly after several moments. “Not all is lost.”

  Soman took a deep breath, keeping his face pressed to Marta’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. “I know. It’s just that I feel as though my insides have been ripped apart,” he said. “I feel torn in so many ways. I have lost so much that I loved. My strength was not only useless, but harmful. I have been betrayed and abandoned by my dearest friend. And yet, I’ve always understood Gemynd’s madness. There’s a part of me that does not blame him for this, and another part of me that wants to rip him in two.”

  “You will sort it all out with time,” Marta said and brushed Soman’s hair back from his forehead.

  “Aye,” Archigadh said, still standing nearby. “You won’t heal from this all at once. None of us will. Todor will never be the same. But we’ll just go on, one moment at a time.”

  Soman squeezed his eyelids as hard as he could and felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. His entire body felt wretched, everything seemed to ache and throb. “Grief does not agree with me,” he said, but knew it was now time for strength. He was not a child and he’d wallowed long enough. It was time for him to behave as the leader of the Zobanite forces.

  Soman looked up as he heard footsteps approach them. It was Maireen, his real mother, though he still had trouble thinking of her that way. She looked to be Soman’s same age and he tended to think of her more like a sister. They had become good friends, but Soman knew it would always be Marta he’d turn to if he needed a mother.

  “Pardon me, Chief,” Maireen said solemnly. “We are ready to begin the lamentation. Let us not make the people wait any longer.”

  “Come, son,” Archigadh said and pulled Soman to his feet. “Find your comfort in work. For there is always work to be done.”

  Soman followed Archigadh and Maireen back down to the edge of the mantle grove where the Zobanite women had constructed an enormous pyre. The dead were already stacked upon it. A crowd of bloody and bandaged Aerite survivors had gathered beside it, holding each other, leaning upon one another, all seemingly unable to stand on their own.

  As Soman looked at the survivors, he noticed for the first time that the sky was completely grey and a mist of raindrops was beginning to fall. A breeze lifted Soman’s hair from his shoulders and he shivered. Had he ever experienced cold like this before?

  Keeper Sam approached Archigadh. “Chief,” he said quietly so that the crowd could not hear. “I instructed the Zobanites not to put Keeper Clary on the pyre with the others. I was unsure what you wanted to do with him.”

  Archigadh furrowed his brow. He was truly in charge of the Zobanites now and Soman could see his uncertainty. “Tis been many, many years since we’ve had to deal with the death of a Zobanite,” he said and looked out across the valley. “If memory serves, the custom is to build a pyre in the grand square at Zoban. Aye, The Ancestor would like that. We will take him home.”

  Keeper Sam nodded. “As you wish,” he said. “We will make a litter to transport him to Zoban. Now, I am uncertain of the protocol in this situation, but I am prepared to address the people with your consent.”

  Archigadh scratched the back of his head and Soman wondered if he had seen impatience flash in the Chief’s eyes. “I am unsure of the protocol as well, wee man. But I am bound by The Compact to protect these people. They look to me now and I will address them, if you please.”

  “Of course,” Keeper Sam said with slight bow.

  “You have all lost a great deal today: your homes, your belongings, and your loved ones. Find strength and take comfort in knowing that your people are now on their way to the Viyii, to join their Lifeforce again to the Deis. As we light this pyre, we release them from their ties to Todor and find Joy in their freedom, knowing we will one day join our Lifeforce to theirs as well,” Archigadh said, his voice thundering through the entire valley. With a movement of his head, he directed a nearby Zobanite to light the pyre.

  As the flames took hold and began to spread, the people chanted the traditional Aerie farewell, “Go swiftly to the Deis! Go safely to the Deis! You are at peace!”

  The crowd watched the pyre burn in silence for several moments before Archigadh addressed them once again. “I do not know the proper actions for dealing with a tragedy such as this. With The Ancestor’s death and no ruler on the throne, there is no one to advise us,” Archigadh said to the crowd. “And so we will return to Zoban until we have come to a decision. You are, of course, free to go as you please, but each of you is also welcome to join us in Zoban.”

  A collective groan seemed to usher forth from the crowd and Soman moved to stand protectively near his father. There was a sudden tension in the air that Soman didn’t like.

  “Your plan is to hide out in your palace then, Chief?” a man shouted as he stepped forward from the crowd. It was Ruddy Tom. He was badly injured and Soman shuddered as he looked at the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around the shredded remains of Tom’s right arm. He was pale and swayed as he tried to stand upright. “Of course, I am no Keeper, but as I understand, it is your job to protect us. That is your one job, isn’t it?”

  Soman was tired. So very tired. Suddenly the thing he wanted most was to lie down and sleep, but he knew he could not ignore the fact that his father had been challenged. After all, it was his duty to protect the Chief. “I am sorry to see you in such a condition, Tom,” he began. “You have clearly been terribly hurt in this ordeal. But I cannot allow you to speak to the Chief that way. You will address him with respect.”

  Although the words had come from Soman’s mouth, they had so little force behind them, it seemed they had been carried away on the wind before anyone had heard them.

  Tom studied Soman for a moment, a look of concern on his face. “Are you unwell?” he asked.

  Soman shrugged. “Grief has drained me of Lifeforce,” he explained. “But it will return shortly. I am Zobanite after all. Perhaps you should be more concerned with your own health and seek out a healer. You may do so as soon as you’ve offered your apology to The Chief.”

  Tom chuckled softly. “I will not apologize for asking a simple question,” he said, then faced Archigadh. “A question you have not yet answered. Isn’t it your job to protect us?”

  “Aye,” Archigadh nodded once and narrowed his eyes.

  “Then I say do your job and waste no more time before making war against the Iturtians. To truly protect Terrenes, they must be destroyed.”

  Archigadh kept his eyes on Tom, but made no move to reply.

  “Tom is right!” came another voice from the crowd. “We cannot give them another opportunity to do to the rest of Todor what they did to Aerie.”

  “Not all Iturtians are the same,” this time the voice was Marta’s and she walked to the front of the crowd, turning to face them. “Most of you already know this: I am Iturtian. But that never mattered to me because being an Aerite always came first. I would certainly not cause harm to any part of Todor and there are many more Iturtians like me. We cannot make war on all Iturtians simply to retaliate against the actions of one.”

  “If what you say is right and it truly was just one Iturtian who destroyed Aerie, then there is a simple solution,” Tom said, then again turned to Archigadh. “Chief, you must go to Iturtia and demand that Gemynd be turned over to you. With Gemynd’s death, we shall all be safe once again. Unless, of course, Iturtians would stand behind their beloved Pit Warden. Then there is no choice but to make war.”

  “You have it wrong!” a woman shouted from the crowd. This time it was Molly, Gemynd’s mother. Her clothes were torn and dirty, hanging much too loosely on her body. Somewhere inside, Soman realized she must have already been too thin when he’d returned to Aerie. How had he not noticed? “Golath is the enemy, not Gemynd!”

  “We cannot take your words into account, Molly,” Tom said with forced patience. “You are the boy’s mother. You would say anything to save his life.”

  “Y
ou do not know me as well as you’d like to think, Ruddy Tom,” she growled. “Believe me or not, you would be making a grave mistake to leave Golath alive. If there is punishment to be meted out, it should be done unto him. After all, is he not The Director? Is he not the one in charge of all Iturtians?”

  “Aye, Golath is the one in charge,” Archigadh rumbled.

  “Then you will protect us by taking down Golath?” Tom asked him.

  Again, Archigadh regarded him silently, and unrest simmered through the crowd.

  “If I may?” Keeper Sam said, tugging at the hem of Archigadh’s garment.

  Archigadh looked down at Sam and nodded. “You may speak,” he said.

  Soman had a feeling in his gut that everyone should hear what the little man had to say. “Silence!” he shouted as he picked Sam up and placed him on a nearby tree stump.

  “Your concerns are all well-founded,” Sam spoke in a loud voice, trying to calm the crowd. “However, the old ways are no more. As Chief Archigadh already stated, Todor has no ruler and The Zobanite Ancestor is dead. There is no reason to think that The Compact between Zobanites and Terrenes still stands. You may make a new agreement if you wish, but the Zobanites are not obligated to protect Terrenes. Not anymore. Chief Archigadh has generously offered refuge for all of you in Zoban. I, for one, accept this offer with gratitude. We have lost our home today and Zoban will not replace that. But it will give us a quiet, safe place to heal before making our next move. Is that agreeable to everyone?”

  Mutters of grudging consent flowed through the crowd and the survivors began collecting the meager remnants of their belongings to make the journey to Zoban. Soman helped them as best he could, but he knew only time would heal their broken hearts. Just as they were about to set off for Zoban, Soman turned back to look at the ruins of Aerie one more time. When he did, he saw that Ruddy Tom lay dead in the mud where he had been standing only moments before.

  Soman walked over to his body and gently picked him up. “Find peace with the Deis at last, my friend,” he said and dropped Ruddy Tom into the flames of the burning pyre.

  With every step, Soman became more and more certain his legs weighed at least a thousand pounds each. He had chosen to walk to Zoban with the Aerie survivors rather than fly with the Zobanites and was now questioning if that had been a mistake. After leaving the heat from the pyre, the chill from the mistfilled sky seemed to cut right through him. And he was wracked by a fatigue he’d never known before. He was even painfully aware of the effort it took just to breathe.

  “Do you know that I have never been on this road before?” a woman asked beside him. It was Molly. “The first time I ever left Aerie was when I escorted Gemynd to the border of Iturtia for his training. I’ve never seen this part of Todor before.”

  Soman lifted his head and looked around, noting his location for the first time since they’d begun. He could tell by the houses that they were just west of Carenvale, but the landscape was vastly different than he remembered. When he’d walked this road three years ago, fields of green stretched in every direction, lined with dense trees. Bountiful vegetable gardens grew in front of every house. But now the vegetables were all gone. The fields had withered to a lifeless yellow and the trees were nothing but bare, grey trunks. What had happened here? Had Gemynd already destroyed all of Todor?

  “It was quite lovely once,” he said and noticed that the fiery feeling in his throat had returned.

  Molly reached up and took hold of Soman’s hand. Her hand felt tiny in his. The bones felt so brittle, he feared they would crumble if he applied any pressure at all. “You’re not eating,” he said and looked at her. The grey in her copper hair and the lines on her face made her seem older than she was.

  “I always thought of the three of you as my children,” she said, ignoring Soman’s comment. “I wasn’t just Gemynd’s mother, but Numa’s and yours as well. I watched you grow, inseparable from each other since the day you were born.”

  Soman looked out again across the fields. “It seems so much has gone to decay like this valley,” he said and gently tried to pull his hand free, but Molly held tight.

  “Could you love him again?” she asked, her voice strained. “He is your brother.”

  Soman felt a band of sweat break out across his forehead and his heart thundered in his ears. He bent over, resting his free hand on his knee. He wanted to make Gemynd pay for all that he’d done. He wanted to be sure that Gemynd would never again have the power to control another’s mind. Above all else, he wanted to hate Gemynd.

  Soman stood slowly and beat his forehead against the palm of his hand. In spite of what he wanted, he knew he did not hate Gemynd. He longed for the time when Gemynd was his brother. Soman was afraid, down to his very bones, that if Gemynd appeared before him now and asked for forgiveness, Soman would grant it. He wondered, yet again, if he truly possessed any strength at all. Only a weak man would allow such destruction to go unpunished. Only a weak man would welcome a betrayer back with open arms.

  “I cannot love him,” he said more to himself than to Molly. Then he went deep down inside of himself and gathered his fury and pain into a tight knot in his stomach. Here he would hold onto his vengeance, and from here he could look upon Gemynd’s face and see a savage beast. From this place, Soman could crush his love for Gemynd until it was no more.

  “If you could find a way, Soman, you could help him,” Molly said. “Gemynd needs our help. He has been hurt by all of this. Perhaps more so than the rest of us.”

  “Be gone from me,” Soman growled menacingly and yanked his hand free.

  “Soman, you are unwell,” she said and her hand felt like ice as she pressed it to his cheek. “But you must know the truth. Gemynd loves you and would not have hurt you. Not ever. All of this was Golath’s doing. I am certain of that.”

  “Be gone,” he said again and darkness crowded the edges of his sight.

  “Let us take you home,” a soothing voice now came from his other side. It was Maireen. And, before all went dark, Soman could see that Archigadh was with her.

  Without opening his eyes, Soman knew that he was in his luxurious bed in Zoban. He must have slept, for the fatigue from before was nearly gone, but now a sharp pain stabbed through his lower back. Slowly, he rotated his hips and drew his left knee up to his chest, noticing that the normally slick sheets now clung to his sweaty body.

  “Is it hot in here?” he asked aloud as he sat up and peeled the sheet from his skin. To his surprise, a Terrene worker stood at the foot of the bed with a look of worry on his face.

  “It is the same temperature as always,” the worker said, “but I shall fetch a fanner immediately. There is a cup of balancing tea on the table there when you are ready.”

  Soman looked at the stone table and saw a golden cup filled with dark liquid resting upon it. He drank it in a single swallow and noticed that the fire in his throat was still there. Surely the grief would pass soon, wouldn’t it? He had never known healing to take so long.

  The worker returned, followed by another man carrying a long pole topped with numerous pollifrond leaves. The man stood a fair distance away and began waving the pole up and down, creating a breeze meant to make Soman more comfortable, but all it did was create a new chill in the room.

  “Your father, the Chief, has requested your presence in the arena,” the first worker said and held up a length of white cloth as a subtle hint that it was time for Soman to get dressed.

  Soman rubbed his hand over his face as he nodded. His body was begging him to go back to sleep, but he knew he could not ignore a request from the Chief.

  “I will go there now,” he said as he stood, lifting his arms out to his sides. The worker quickly and efficiently draped the cloth around Soman’s body, finishing by tying the ends into a lovely plaited knot at Soman’s left shoulder.

  As he walked through the city to the arena, Soman focused on taking deep breaths of fresh air to fortify himself for whatever task lay ahead
. If the Chief wanted him in the arena, there would certainly be something very physical required of him.

  Soman walked through the arena gate and felt a refreshing wave of strength surge through his body as he did every time he entered the proud structure. Even if it had been the only building in all of Zoban, visitors would know by the sight of it that the Zobanites were a magnificent people. The arena was an enormous, open-roofed, oblong masterpiece made entirely from polished white stone. The gleaming, white floor was ringed with row after row of white stone benches, each row wider than the one below it. Every bench was ornately carved with images of Zobanites in battle, vanquishing their enemies and protecting the Terrenes. Despite the fact that it was all made of stone, there was a softness—a roundness—to the arena and Soman often imagined it was like being inside of a cloud.

  “Soman!” Archigadh called and motioned for Soman to join him on the opposite side where he stood with a small group of armor-clad Zobanites.

  “Chief,” Soman replied with a nod as he approached and silently hoped he would not have to put on his own suit of armor. He did not know if he could muster the strength to move around in that much metal.

  “Feeling better?” Archigadh asked. “You look refreshed. Sleep is the third greatest delight known to man, I always say.”

  Soman forced a smile. “I will be back in top form in no time,” he said, then eyed the soldiers. “Are we beginning our march to Iturtia?”

  Archigadh laughed loudly. “You don’t rush in to battle if you hope to win,” he said, then shook his head. “No, I have not yet decided our course of action, but I thought I ought to know where the forces stood. If I do decide on war, I need to know that we’re ready.”