Authors: D.W. Rigsby
Tokus Numas (27 page)
One will come on a day when all is bright, and the light that shines is not from our sun nor from the sky. This light comes from He who will cleanse Spearca and make her anew.
—From
The Book of Prophets
, by the Numas
A
lone with his thoughts, Petro felt the heavy hand of sorrow and saw the grief-stricken faces of his brothers, Kad, Jon, Sha, Bran, and Vetus Sepher. He felt the heartache of Dia, Silda, and Queen Lilith. Melancholy covered both King Amerstall and Sid—their downcast faces turned black and desolate. He wanted it to be over soon, for it all to end, and for those he cared for to move on as quickly as they could, not forgetting him but living for themselves with the memory of his presence in their lives. Did he matter? He thought he did, and it was good—the feeling was enough for him. He wanted to let go, but he wasn’t ready, not yet. His last request had to be fulfilled, for those at home awaited him, and he would not disappoint. Not even death would rob him of this final act.
Tears rolled down his cheeks.
I’m sorry
, he mustered, and more tears followed.
I’m sorry for not being strong enough; I’m sorry for not being what others thought I was; I’m sorry for leaving this way.
The tide of emotions swept him like a tsunami over an unexpected fishing village on the shores of the sea. It wasn’t fair, not to them—but for Kad, he was glad. The boar would have killed Kad if he had not been there, if he had not shot the beast in its gut, making the thing decide he was the more menacing threat. It was an intelligent creature, and it had chosen correctly. Petro had been the real threat at the time, and it had turned on him in an instant, making adjustments for its own survival. Petro could not blame the grand old boar. It had lived many years past its prime but had still managed to outsmart and outmaneuver those who had hunted for it. Such a boar it was—large as a bear, as dangerous as a lion, and as brawny as a bull.
His leg ached; his muscles contracted throughout his body and then released, twitching randomly in different spots. His body poured out sweat; his lungs were heavy with each breath. He could feel a line in his arm and the cool saline solution that entered his blood. The red of life coursed through his veins still; it had not gone from him yet, and he would hold on until he completed what he needed to do. Inside he felt something pulling him toward the window, sometimes toward the door, and other times toward the side of the bed where he’d gotten a glimpse of a pitcher of water, a plant, and other items there. The pull was subtle, and an image accompanied it—the one when he was out in the forest pulling the dirt up from the ground and packing it into his leg. He had to stop the bleeding, had to slow his life from draining out completely. Doubt had entered his mind.
What if the bleeding started again from his leg? Would he have time to finish what he needed? To let those he loved say their farewell? He reached over and grasped at the table, knocking the pitcher of water off along with the cup. There was a thud and a splash. He felt the plant; his finger poked over the edge of the pot and into the dirt. He must time it right and use his strength to move it without it dropping, too. He rested a moment, took in as much of a breath as he could, and then squeezed the edge of the pot with his forefinger and thumb, lifting it up. There was a slip, and he stopped breathing, but he quickly moved the pot over his lap, where it fell from his grasp onto the bed between his legs. He let out his breath. His senses were off—not fully aware—like he’d been sitting in the hot sun too long without drinking, and he was having difficulty keeping himself awake.
Petro struggled to sit up, gathering his strength for the journey, and he propped himself with one arm, with all his weight resting on it. Using his free hand, he took the pot, losing his grip at first and then trying again, turning over the pot onto his wounded leg. The dirt spilled out into a heap, and the plant lay next to his leg, uprooted. He took his fingernail and pried up a stitch, and then he did it again and again. The pain was unbearable and nearly knocked him flat on his back. He pressed on, opening up his leg, exposing it to the air. Blood ran out, but it was nothing like it did when he was in the forest. His arm shook under his weight, and he thought it might give. His energy was nearly depleted at this point. Taking the dirt, he cupped it in his hand and rubbed it over the wound. It stung, just like it had the first time. He took his finger and pressed the soil into his wound, making sure to pack it in as far as he could. He was biting his lips and shaking all over while he forced the dirt into the lacerated flesh.
There were footsteps coming in the distance. There was a sudden rise of fear within him, as though the man from the forest would descend upon him once more. They entered the room, and he felt their presence, but there was a veil between them. He could not fully form their faces in his mind, but he knew who it was—Kad, his friend; Vetus Sepher, his mentor; and Master Lim, his last hope.
Petro collapsed, lying flat on his back. He squirmed, kicked, and hit the bed. The pain surged deep into his leg like a torch cutting into his flesh and finding the bone. He screamed in agony, his voice a high pitch and then going low before drifting off into a whimper.
It must be done
, he thought.
There’s no other way—the red of life must remain until I’m ready.
He gasped and sat straight up, focusing on the window across the room. Out there he saw Spearca, her mountains, her sky, her trees, and her shrubs. It was all out there—and the day suddenly became night, and the night became day. The oscillation continued in a blinding speed—light, day, light, day—and he could no longer tell if he was of this world or had passed on. Then everything stopped—and it was neither dark nor light; it was gray. The wall in front of him opened up, and what emerged was the shore of the White Sea. Strings of dancing light fell from the sky down onto the water; the water swirled, giant whirlpools formed, and the rain fell from above. And a voice sounded, a voice that said to him, “Come find me.”
***
Vetus Sepher was right behind Kad, who burst into the room, stopped, and stared at Petro. His eyes widened, seeing Petro sitting up with his eyes rolled back into his head.
Vetus Sepher came into the room, followed by Master Lim.
“I heard him outside. He’s hallucinating. His perception of our world has been impaired by the absence of external stimuli, making him create his own perception,” Master Lim said.
“Is it like dreaming?” Kad said.
“No, it’s no dream. He’s fully awake. He may even be able to talk now and able to see, yet what is real is being merged with what is not real in his mind. It’s no illusion for him; he believes what he sees and is acting on it,” Master Lim said.
Vetus Sepher noticed the pitcher on the floor and a pool of water next to it. The plant was gone, and he saw the dirt on the table and on the side of the bed and followed it. There was dirt on Petro’s sheet. Then he approached the bed, keeping one eye on Petro. “Master Lim, I think you should see this,” he said as he lifted the sheet. There underneath it was the clay pot and the greenish-gray plant. Petro’s leg was packed with soil, and the edges were flared out, red with infection, much worse than before.
Master Lim picked up the plant and pot and handed them to Kad. He inspected the leg. “Oh, my. Why did he do that again?” He looked at Vetus Sepher, who shrugged, and then looked at Kad, who just stared with his jaw dropped.
Vetus Sepher lowered the sheet and covered up the leg. He went to Petro and touched him on the shoulder. Petro turned and looked directly at him. It caught Vetus Sepher off guard. He cleared his throat. “Petro, why don’t you rest awhile? Just lay back.” He helped Petro lie down and said, “Try and relax.” The young man had endured much this past year, more than some men did in a lifetime. Petro may never know all the trials of what a man might face, but he had proven himself to be a man.
Petro stirred, and faint sounds came from his mouth that was hard to understand. Vetus Sepher moved closer, putting his ear near Petro’s mouth. “I am, I am, the fire, it burns, it purifies, the bod…” Petro trailed off, and the rest was incomprehensible.
Vetus Sepher stood up. He sighed, and his face was downcast. The last moments of Spearca spent in delirium—it was an unmerciful existence. Why hang on? Petro was in between worlds like a mirror crossing, the image half, and half that was real; which was the reflection? Death was near and playing games—this was no way to die. They must be quick before all was lost, before Petro’s last wish of going home was diminished.
A group of Numas came into the room with a gurney. “Master Lim, we’ve come to transport Petro to the ship,” said one of the men.
Master Lim nodded. The men worked to gather up Petro, putting him on the wheeled contraption and knocking a pillow off onto the floor. “Be sure to clean his leg while in flight, and sew it back up.”
Vetus Sepher was glad for Master Lim’s instructions; he understood just as he did: the time was near.
Kad’s face screwed up. “He’s leaving?”
“Home, he’s going home,” Master Lim said. “King Amerstall has sent air transport.”
Vetus Sepher thought to say something, but there was nothing to say. Kad would come to his own understanding. He’d need to come to terms with Petro’s passing and make peace with himself and with knowing that his friend, his brother, died for him.
The men pushed the gurney out the door with Vetus Sepher behind them.
Kad stopped them. “Good-bye, Petro; may we see each other soon,” he said.
Vetus Sepher was to accompany Petro home. It was not easy to see one so young pass on into the next life. Petro’s birth had brought forth questions and possibilities, but that was over. His body would die, his soul would move on, and those he loved would remain for a little while longer.
May God have mercy on Petro, and may death delay its claim just enough for Petro to compete his final act.
—From
The Journal of the Father, King of Tallud
, by the Father
D
ia ran through a door; though it seemed to her not to be real, it felt real. The door led into one of the many rooms in the castle occupied only when there were guests, but there were no guests. Scurrying around, she hid behind a large, high-backed chair.
Oh, what fun
, she thought.
What is this place?
The fabric under her fingertips was smooth and comforting as she stood there, fidgeting; it turned rough and coarse, and she jerked her hand away and looked at the chair, wondering why it changed suddenly.
The sound of pattering feet came in her direction from out in the hall. Dia ducked down and made herself small, crouching low and stilling her breath. The pattering feet went past the door, slowed, and then halted. She waited, biting her lip and squeezing the soft material with her hands as the footsteps came closer.
A hand opened the door, and Dia could see her friend Silda enter. She slinked around the room, going toward the right side, away from Dia. Silda seemed to oscillate, in and out of focus, a blur one moment, the next gone, and then she reappeared. For Dia, it was nothing to alarm her; she felt quite comfortable, quite aware of the fact she was in a dream state of sorts and was having fun with Silda.
There were only a few places to hide—under the bed, in the dressing room, or in the bathing room. The dressing room door creaked as Silda pulled it open with care. She was trying not to give herself away, Dia thought. Silda squeezed in through the opening and disappeared.
Dia could hear her rummaging around, looking for her, but there was nowhere to hide in there. It was an empty space, only filled with clothes when one of their many important guests was here. She peered around the chair, her hands gripping it tightly, to see the door ajar. Silda quickly came into view, and Dia stood still, not wanting to attract attention. She saw Silda tiptoe toward the bathing room, and in she went. Dia thought it was safe to come out, and she put her foot out, only to have Silda exit the bathing room. She thought she’d been discovered but then realized that Silda was looking under the bed now. Dia moved out from behind the chair and crossed the floor to the door.
“I see you.” Silda popped up.
Dia hopped in the air and then took off, giggling as she ran down the hall. She could hear the air passing her ears like a breeze on a warm summer day and the steady pattering of feet hitting the ground behind her. Silda was gaining. Dia was not going to give up so easily. She picked up her pace so quickly that she felt as if she might be able to put her arms out and fly. Dia lifted her arms outward; they were in no danger of touching either of the walls in the wide hallway, and she dreamed she was a beautiful bird. She swayed back and forth, dipping low and then up as she raced toward the back door.
One of the guards was there. He noticed that Princess Dia was not about to slow down. He smiled, opened the door, and held it.
Dia jetted out into the garden, the same one she and Petro had spent their last morning in together before he left. Silda was still behind her, but Dia kept on running and soaring like the bird she imagined being; and then she soared into the air. Her feet dangled beneath her, and across the green field she went, coming to a cluster of oaks, their leaves bright and full of life. Under one large oak, a swing suspended from its large branch rocked slightly back and forth. Dia floated down to it, grabbed hold of the ropes, and sat. Silda came up behind her.
“You want me to give you a push?”
“Yes, if you would.” Dia lifted her feet up. She was so enjoying this dream; what a wonderful time.
Silda gave her a gentle push, and away she went. Dia closed her eyes, imagining she was flying in the air and seeing all below her: the majestic mountains, the lush valleys, the sparkling streams and rivers. She was able to see it all and soar as high as she wanted to go—and go wherever she wanted. “Silda, do you miss Petro?”
“Of course,” Silda said. “I think of us playing together. He was lots of fun chasing us around. Now look. I’m the one chasing you.” Silda grinned.
Dia beamed at the thought of seeing Petro again and thought about how much fun it would be to run around again when her royal duties would allow it. If she had to, she’d sneak away. They were always exploring the castle together and keeping each other company.
It’s too bad Sid never got along with Petro
, she thought. If they were friends, it would be even better. She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Silda said, pushing her higher.
“Nothing…” Dia said. Her voice pitched high from the unexpected shove. She slowed herself down using the ropes, pushing them wide apart. “I was just thinking of the idea Sid and Petro being friends.”
Silda shook her head and smirked. “That is funny. Those two get along like cats and dogs, and you know how cats and dogs are. One moment they are strutting around, minding their own business; then one jumps the other, and there’s clawing and barking.” Silda made clawing motions with her hands. Dia held a twinkle in her eye. “It’s how they are, and you know how they are, Dia. They…”
“Silda, I get it,” Dia said in a friendly manner. Silda did that sometimes, just kept going even after she’d made her point the first several times.
Dia awoke—she was there on the ground, Silda beside her. “Dia, are you all right? I had nearly left you, when I turned around and saw you fall. Are you ill?”
A terrible feeling came over Dia; she’d seen something else in her dream just before she was in the castle, playing hide-and-seek. “I’m all right.” She stood and fixed her clothing.
“Should we call upon Dr. Brattic?”
“No, I’m fine. I just fainted. It’s nothing. I’m better now. I probably didn’t get enough to eat.” She smiled at Silda.
They both turned to see, in the distance, a silver orb hovering across the garden grounds toward Dia and Silda. They caught its presence when the sun above glinted off its shiny metal.
“What do you think it might be?” Silda asked. It was a game they’d play together when a messenger was sent to find them. What was the message about? Who sent it? And did they have to really do what the messenger said? The castle had four: one for Dia, one for Sid, one for Dia’s parents, and one for Leader Gull and his men. It was an intriguing device that could be used as an intercom between other messengers or to carry a message to the BLUE and send it to another kingdom instantly. The mechanical orb had microrobotic arms that could also be used to carry a handwritten message to be delivered. It was an invention from the Free City, backed by the many kingdoms on Spearca to produce it. Dia remembered when it first came to Castle Dugual when she was only six years of age. So much had changed since then; the first ones could only hover for a few minutes before dying in midair and crashing to the ground. Many did not even survive the fall, but now this one soared like the bird she dreamed of being. Dia played along, not wanting Silda to be concerned for her—but what was really on her mind was that terrible thought, the one just before her dream—what was it?
“I think it’s from my mother,” Dia said and closed her eyes a moment. “She wants me to contact someone, a prince.” She held her eyes shut keeping her appearance. “And I don’t think I have to do what the orb says, not now.” Dia looked to her friend and nodded quickly.
Silda giggled. “I think it is from your mother, too. I also think it’s about Petro.” Her eyes brightened. “And I think we have to do what the messenger says.”
The two waited, looking back and forth at each other, wondering if either of them was right. Dia’s mind was still on her terrible thought, trying to capture what it was, though it was slowly slipping. The orb decelerated on approach and then came to a stop in front of the girls and waited. They all did that—waited to be spoken to first, as it was polite and the proper form of etiquette.
“Messenger,” Dia said. “What news do you bring?”
The electronic voice spoke, but not smoothly like a person’s voice. There was a little static. “Your Highness. I have a message from King Amerstall. He wishes you to come to his study, but first you must meet with Leader Gull, who waits for you at the back entrance.”
Dia cocked her head. “Well, we both were wrong on that one.” Facing the orb, she said, “Messenger, tell me.” Her eyes darted around as she thought of what to say. “Is it urgent?” Maybe if it weren’t urgent, which it usually was not, Dia could go and rest and try to reconstruct the thought she had, this terrible thought. It meant something, but what?
“That’s not fair,” Silda said. Her mouth dropped open.
“Shh…” Dia said, holding her finger up to her lips. She was playing now and grew tired of this game while this gnawing feeling still lingered about Petro—if she could only remember what it was.
The electronic voice spoke once more. “I cannot say.”
Dia looked at Silda confused. “Well, that’s a strange response. Let’s go see what my father wants.”
They followed the orb through the garden, across the open area, and then into a maze of honeysuckle vines, ferns, and blooming flowers of red, gold, and white. Neither one of them spoke. Dia’s mind was on what her father wanted and why the messenger had said that it could not tell her if it was urgent or not urgent.
Maybe it’s nothing
, she thought. Just her imagination getting the better of her, but why was Leader Gull waiting for her? That made no real sense—she could find her way to her father easily enough. There must be something else, had to be. An unpleasant sensation filled her stomach, and she rested her hands there for comfort.
No, it’s nothing, just my father taking precautions
, she thought. But for what? There she was again, conflicted as to what was going on. She glanced back at Silda, whose head was down, staring at the path.
When they got to the back entrance, the door opened, and a guard held it in place. The orb hovered just outside. When Dia and Silda entered, it followed them. Leader Gull was standing in the hall. He had dark hair, brown skin, and a fighter’s build. He wore a blue uniform. The epaulets and front button were silver, and Dugual’s sigil was pinned on his right breast. “Your Highness.” He bowed with such grace that it would almost seem he was more of a dancer than a fighter. “Lady Silda.” He called her that, but Silda was not from nobility.
“Is there cause for concern?” Dia asked. She held her tone in check, not wanting to bring attention to her own suspicious thoughts.
“Your Highness. Your father requests your presence. He’s in his study. Please come with me,” he said.
Dia would not budge. Was there a connection between the terrible feeling she’d had outside in the gardens? “I think you should tell me what is going on. Silda and I were outside, relaxing in the garden.” She held her composure.
Leader Gull let out his breath, his eyes softened, and he offered his arm to her. “Please, Princess Dia. He is waiting, and my instructions were to bring you to him.”
Dia, with some hesitation, took his arm. “Silda, we shall meet later. Dinner, if not sooner. I’ll send for you.”
Silda nodded.
The two strolled down the hall. Dia’s hands ran cold, and fright gripped her like an electric charge. She could not hide the look upon her face—her dreadful stare. There was something wrong—very wrong—and her stomach turned. The walk was longer than she thought it should be, which gave her much time to ponder. She knew asking Leader Gull would not provide any more information than it already had.
He is a good man
, she thought,
loyal to my father
. What would require his presence? Her father could have sent any other servant, but he had sent his finest warrior and the leader of his house guards. Just that small piece of information made her realize even more the importance of this meeting with her father.
The two of them stopped in front of a large oak door with two guards posted outside. One of the guards opened the solid wood door, and Princess Dia and Leader Gull both entered. Flavored tobacco smoke permeated the air; it was coming from King Amerstall, who sat behind a large cherry-colored desk, smoking a pipe. He had never seemed older to her than at this moment. Smoke rose up around his head, twirled into tight swirls, and then dissipated. The chamber was lined with books from top to bottom and end to end. There was a large fireplace centered on the far wall, next to her father’s favorite sitting chair and ottoman.
Leader Gull and King Amerstall exchanged glances. King Amerstall gave a nod of his head, and Leader Gull quietly left.
Dia’s lower lip trembled as she stood there, watching her father. He seemed too far away from her, yet he was right in front of her, only a few paces away. It was as though she were dreaming and what was happening wasn’t real, but it was. Dia searched herself for any more answers to the question of why she had been called here in this manner. And there were no more answers.
“Father. You sent for me,” she said.
He looked directly at her, and then his gaze drifted to the side and stared at a piece of paper on his desk. He took a few puffs of his pipe, blew out the smoke, and then set the pipe down.
