Tokus Numas (28 page)

Dia followed his gaze to the paper and saw Petro’s name. She stilled her breath.

King Amerstall stood and then came around the desk close to Dia. He was tall next to her, his chest wide, his beard thick. He reached out and took her hand.

She blinked several times, and the edges of her eyelids began to wet. It came back to her; in that instant she knew what it was. She could see Petro lying on the ground, the red of life pouring from his leg. He was dying.

“Petro is dying. I’m so sorry, dear. I feel cursed sometimes, how direct I am, even with my own. I’ve sent an air transport to the Numas to bring him home to finish out what remaining time he has,” he said. King Amerstall pulled her against his chest, squeezing her tight.

Her body tensed, and she shook all over. It was too much. The tears fell, streaming down her cheeks.

“I’m so sorry. I only wanted Petro to find himself, to explore the world outside Dugual, and to be his own man,” he said as he held her. His voice was flat and calm. King Amerstall exhaled.

Dia pushed away slightly and looked up into her father’s eyes. “What happened?” She’d seen only a glimpse of it, but she needed to know more.

King Amerstall took in a deep breath, stepped back, and let it out. “Boar. He was attacked while hunting. The boar’s tusk cut right into his calf. They were unable to get medical aid right away. His leg became infected, and the infection spread. Petro will be arriving at any moment,” King Amerstall said.

“Where will he stay?” Dia blurted out. She regained her composure, using as much as her royal training as she could in the situation.

“Close to the Dr. Brattic’s quarters. I thought it would…” Before he could finish, Dia had turned and hurriedly left the room.

As she hurried down the hall, she ran into Sid. She went to him, threw her arms about his neck, and buried her face into his chest.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She raised her head, looked into his eyes. “Petro, he’s…he’s…coming home to die.” Dia choked out the words.

Sid’s body went rigid, and she felt him take her arms from his neck and move away from her. He had a cold stare. “This isn’t his home.”

Dia’s mouth opened, and she had not one word with which to express her utter revulsion to what her brother had just said.

Life is eternal; there is no end, only a beginning. Why fear tomorrow when you know this to be true? Why worry about what you will have or how you will live? Does He not know your needs? Will He not provide for you? Be still and listen, for life is eternal.

—From
The Book of Prophets
, by the Numas

P
etro lay on the bed, his face pale as a full moon during the night. The purple veins were less prominent now, but the infection still remained. It was the middle of the night; his dreams came, but not like other dreams. These dreams seemed to go on for an age and seemingly spanned lifetimes. These were the kinds of dreams where one felt there was something unsound with the world. Everything in the world was not of this world, and what was of this world seemed to fade away. There were drifts like sand sweeping across the surface, dusting all the buildings, people, clothes, and faces and turning them a desert brown. And in this dust, all was still; no one moved, not a thing, no bird, no cat, no person. Even still the dream stretched on into a place that seemed void of life itself, and only the slow rhythm of his heartbeat signified his existence.

Perspiration rolled down the sides of his forehead, and he jerked side to side, trying to come up out of the dream. His throat felt raw, sore, and cut off. Petro opened his mouth and tried to pull in the dust-filled air, but it was no use. The thin film only coated his tongue, giving him a bitter taste of ash and soot. No air could come, and the lungs expanded, working to fill themselves. In a coughing fit, he woke, stared at the ceiling for an hour or more, and then finally went back to sleep, letting the pain go—either from exhaustion or a blessing—so he could finally rest.

Morning had come, and he opened his eyes to see blues, reds, golds, and violets—such vibrant colors enveloped him. The ceiling above was high, and elongated windows let sunlight through. Where was he? He searched the room, looking at the large bed he rested in, noticing that it was large enough to fit three people in it. Across the way, he saw the deeply recessed windows, taking notice of yellow flowers in vases lined up in a row. He recognized the yellow hibiscus from the subtropical region on the southernmost point of Spearca, something he’d seen and found familiar as it was grown in the internal gardens of Dugual. Why would he be in the south? He sensed the dry air—an indication he was not in the south at all.

Petro focused on what he remembered. He knew he was injured; he brought his hands up to see the toll the infection had taken: the veins, capillaries were dark purple. He knew he was ill, and he knew that he was in the care of Master Lim, but this was not Tokus Numas. A word came forth—“Spearca”—and he felt stupid for saying it. Of course he was on Spearca.

He concentrated on the room, trying to ascertain his whereabouts. He thought to call out to see who would come, but something inside him prohibited it. The word “Spearca” came again as a thought in his mind. He felt a sudden urge to rise up out of his bed and go to the window. He tried to lift his arm, and pain shot over his shoulders and into his neck, followed by a burning sensation. He moved his legs, and both felt like there were weights attached to his hips. Flashes of the wild boar shot through his mind about its huge, furry-ridged back and the ground, which had trembled as it had charged headlong at him. Petro shook off the image and focused back on his right leg. He reached forward, ignoring the screaming aches that threatened to render him motionless. Groping at his leg, he managed to grab hold and dragged it over to the side, where he tossed it over. His arms burned, and he unwillingly gave into their demand to stop. There was no time to stop; he had to get out of bed and do it now. Out there she called to him; he could feel her presence and sense her touch.
Spearca
rang out in his head. Petro forced his leg up and under to hook the bottom of the frame, and then he pulled himself over the edge. He tumbled onto the floor and landed with a thud.

Agonizing cramps took hold of his legs. The muscles twisted unnaturally under the skin, sending waves of stabbing pain up the back of his legs and into his lower back. His jaw clenched tight, bearing down so as not to let out a cry. When the episode passed, he rotated to his side and tried to push himself up. His arms collapsed, their strength nearly gone. He turned onto his back, wiggling his way, using his hips and legs together. Petro then took his legs, pulled them up, and pushed himself across the floor like an inchworm. All the way across he went until he found his head pressed against the wall. He looked up to see the windowsill, reached up, took hold, and worked his legs one by one under his body. When he finally had his feet in place, he pushed up, grunting, his legs wobbling and his hands aching.

His breath was hot and short when he finally stood upright. The room looked different to him now, like he’d been here or seen it before, but he was having trouble remembering. His eyes shifted to the floor and then fluttered, and he nearly lost consciousness when he shook himself out of it. He heard it again:
Spearca
. He faced the window and looked down upon the garden.

He now knew he was in Dugual, and he was glad for it. They’d brought him home. Below the window was a freshly tilled spot, ready for new life to take hold, for the green sprouts to come up and reach for the sun above and dig down into Spearca with their roots. He tried to smell the scent of soil, but all he smelled was rot. Out there in the garden was where he needed to be, like he’d been many times before. Out there was where he felt at peace and could think on a subject and gain clarity—or think of nothing at all. Spearca was calling him.

Slowly he slid himself onto the windowsill, pushed the window open fully, and felt the cool air on his skin. He looked up to see the sun begin to turn; a shadow cast over the edge of it. Petro inched his body out and took hold of a grounding wire that went from a lightning rod high up down into the ground. Pulling himself out, he hung on to the wire with most of his upper body hanging over the ledge; then he let go. Up and over he went, legs in the air, head down; he hit the soft tilled soil below with his chest. The fall knocked the wind out of him; he sucked the air back in, and dirt went into his mouth. He coughed and spat; his mouth was already dry and cracked from dehydration. Petro fought to sit upright and looked at his wounded leg. Then he cupped the dirt around it and began to pile it high around the appendage until it was completely covered. He fell back into the dirt and looked up into the subdued sky; the sun had been replaced by a fiery ring—an annular eclipse.

The ring of light reached down and enveloped Petro; it touched his very being and soothed his soul. He felt at peace, as if he belonged. Tears formed in his eyes, not ones of weeping but ones of gratitude. “You are My Will,” he heard a voice—not the one before, this one was not even a voice really—but it was there inside him.

“I am Your Will,” he muttered to himself. Then an explosion erupted from outside of the castle’s walls; horns blared, and the sounds of gunfire ensued. Dugual was under attack! Petro searched the area and looked back up to his room. Above him was a silhouette of a man in the window; it was Vetus Sepher looking down at him. There was a bright flash of white light, and Petro was lifted up, up, and into a place he’d never been—a space but not space, a place but not a place. He tried to open his eyes but could not. He could feel the world around him, which felt different now, the way one might feel suspended in midair, and all was dark. Now he descended down and felt the ground beneath his feet. His eyes opened, and he found himself in the forest, and in front of him was Kad.

When the prophecy of the Coming occurs, remember what has been said. The ground will shake, the trees will fall, the mountains will rumble, the sky will turn to black, and then a blue light will cascade over Spearca. All will be still, and in this time nothing will be what it seems—all will seem as if from another world, another place.

—From
The Book of Prophets
, by the Numas

T
he forest began to open back up, and they came to a clearing. Petro moved to the left to get a better view. Not far from them, large clumps of dirt and mud were torn up. Small scrubs had been rooted out, and the bottoms had been eaten. The damage was all over the forest floor.
This can’t be right, can it?
Petro felt dizzy and nearly lost his footing but regained it quickly. He scoured his surroundings and saw bushes, trees, the sun peeking down through the leaves, and his friend Kad holding a bow in his hand.
Wasn’t I just in the outer gardens of Dugual? Was Dugual being attacked?
He felt fatigued. The air was stifling. He jerked the collar of his tunic down to release the constriction around his neck and took in a deep breath.

“Did a boar do all this?” Petro said.
Wait. I said this before
.
I was wondering if there was one boar or many.
The ground had been dug up everywhere he could see.

“Yes, I think so, but I can’t see just one boar doing this much damage. They call it…”

“Rooting,” Petro found himself saying.

Kad tilted his head and raised one eyebrow. “Right. Boars have only one stomach like us. Grass and other types of plants are too tough for them to digest. The roots are easier on their stomachs,” Kad said. “Look here.”

Petro remembered what Kad had said about the boar. His mind raced, and he drowned out Kad, who continued to explain how the boar had planted its snout and where its tusks imprinted. He nodded a few times toward Kad, but all the while he was thinking about the garden, lying in the dirt. His leg was wounded. He reached down a brief moment while Kad’s back was turned and touched his calf.

He sought his mind, finding pieces of a memory that he wasn’t even sure existed. Kad walked ahead, and Petro recalled what had happened before, that they were tracking a large boar, and then it hit him. The boar attacked; no, Kad had attacked first, and the arrow missed its mark, and then the boar had turned in Petro’s direction. His heart raced, and his palms were so wet with sweat that he took turns holding the shotgun with one hand while wiping the other dry on his tunic.
This can’t be real. If it’s real, the biggest boar on Spearca will come out of those bushes across that opening
.

At that moment, the bushes on the far end of the opening shook, and Petro swallowed hard. He steadied himself and then remembered to check his shotgun. There was something wrong with it—he fired, but the shot hit the boar’s stomach, not its head. He opened the gun, exposing the unused shots. He took one out and could see it was a different color around at the base—not green for the slug round they used but yellow. He examined it and could see clearly now. It was a yellow round coated with green, but it was the wrong round. The yellow round was meant for small game, and when fired, the metal balls spread out so it had a better chance of hitting its target. This would only serve to anger the beast that would soon emerge.

He saw Kad glance back, giving him a strange look. Petro was not sure what to say. He stuffed the round into his pocket, took the second round out of the other barrel, and shoved that into his pocket. He pulled out two more rounds from his pouch and examined them quickly to be sure they were all green with no yellow showing, but all he found were the same ones, as though they’d been painted over. His hand was full of shells as he checked his pouch, digging deeper. Then, across the way, he heard the snorts and thrashing, and his eyes saw the same large beast as before come into the clearing. Petro dropped the shells, and the boar turned toward him. He backed away slowly, his hand still digging for more shells. He peeked over to Kad, who had his string drawn back and the arrow pointed at the beast’s broad side; then he fired. He’d seen this before; it was coming back to him. The arrow bolted through the air and sunk into the boar’s chest. The creature let out a howling cry and charged toward Petro. Its head was down, and its tusks were low and ready to slice him into pieces. Petro shook all over, dropping shells out of his hand. After quickly searching them, he found one—it was all green. He fumbled with the shell, trying to put it into the barrel, but it slipped and fell into the dirt below. He dropped the shotgun, pulled out his ironshot, and then the boar turned. It was headed toward Kad now, ripping up the ground with its tusks, spraying dirt all over the leaves, shoving everything around it. Kad pulled out his ironshot and fired. The round hit the skull and ricocheted. He fired again. Petro fired, too, but his weapon misfired. He pulled the trigger again, nothing. He tossed the ironshot, grabbed his shotgun, picked up the shell again, hoped it was the right one, slammed it into the gun, snapped the weapon shut, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The blast sent him backward, and as he fell to the ground, he saw the side wall of the great beast’s chest, just behind the leg, explode.

The beast careened into the ground. Its face hit hard and fast, pushing dirt up into a mound as it slid to a halt just before it reached Kad. The young man examined the creature, never moving from his spot and keeping an arrow drawn on it. The creature’s eyes were wide open, and the life it once possessed was gone. Satisfied, Kad lowered his weapon, placed it on the ground, and took out his knife. “That was close,” he said with his head down and his eyes looking up at Petro. Taking the beast’s leg, he pulled it up, and he sank the hooked part of the blade into its lower neck, slicing the beast open from neck to groin. Its guts spilled out onto the ground with a thick, sweet smell. He reached in and pulled the guts out, raking the cavity clean.

“We’ll need to quarter this one; it’s too big for the both of us to carry back. I’ll cut off the choice parts and leave the rest for the wolves.” Kad took his blade, and went to work on the beast, cutting off large chunks.

A large part of the animal was slung next to Petro; he stirred from his thoughts.

“You want to help? I can’t carry all of it. Wrap it good with the burlap sack, tie it off, and make a sling to go over the shoulder and around your chest,” said Kad.

Petro nodded and went to work, taking the leg and hind quarter. He pulled out the burlap bag from his pack and wrapped it tight. After he fixed the sling, another piece of meat came flopping next to him. He looked up briefly and over to the woods, wondering if the man was still there, waiting to kill them. Was the man an assassin? What should he say to Kad? Petro nodded and went to work, but he kept looking over into the woods. After several pieces of meat were prepped, they readied themselves for the walk back to camp.

“What’s going on in the woods over there?” Kad said.

Petro thought to tell him, wanted to tell him, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to say it. What if he was wrong? Would Kad just think he was strange?

“Nothing. Let’s just hurry up.” Petro looked out into the forest, and Kad followed his gaze.

“Why did you drop them?”

Petro looked to where Kad was looking—it was the shells on the ground.

“Someone gave me the wrong shells,” Petro said.

“Who do you suppose did that?” He glanced over at Petro.

Petro could only give a shrug. Someone had tampered with them, but who? It was hard to say. And why was even harder to answer.

“Well, let’s keep it to ourselves. No need to give away something useful just yet.” Kad lifted up his slab of meat. “Pick those up, and let’s get going.”

Petro anxiously picked up the shells, pocketed them, and then lifted the sling up and over his shoulder all the while watching the forest.

“All right, let’s get moving then,” Kad said, and they walked back toward the camp.

***

The two of them stumbled into camp, carrying the heavy load, and placed it over a wooden peg on the side of the wagon. Vetus Sepher was there to meet them. “So, we’ll feast tonight. Good job, both of you,” he said, patting down the burlap sacks around the chunks of meat. “You two should get cleaned up. Wash your hands and get something to eat. It’s nearly midday, and the rest of them probably won’t be back anytime soon.” Vetus Sepher nodded to them. Kad and Petro began to leave. “Petro, a moment please.” Petro looked over at Kad and then back to Vetus Sepher.

“Yes, Vetus?” Petro said. Kad left the area.

Vetus Sepher came over next to Petro and placed his hand on his shoulder. “I wanted to ask you about that object again. Did anything come to mind?” They walked away from the wagon toward the far side of the camp, away from Kad.

“No, nothing came to mind,” Petro said, though he was wondering about saying something to Vetus Sepher about what had happened to him.

“I can see something has changed in you Petro,” Vetus Sepher said, taking a seat on a log. He tapped the log. Petro sat next to him. “I remember when I was young and had finished my first year. I had killed a boar, large, not like the one you two found. What you found was a monster of a beast. I’ve never seen one this large. You should be proud.” He looked over toward the wagon. Petro followed his gaze. “It must have been one massive beast from the looks of the legs you’ve brought back.”

Petro was dealing with something else. He’d seen into the future, saw what would come, and he looked farther into the future than ever before. Why? So much had passed through his mind while he was out there in the forest, but how? What did he do to trigger it? It didn’t feel random, like other times—this had meaning, a purpose. Had he seen the future in order to change it? Was he meant to stop an attack against Dugual? Was there no other explanation for it?

Vetus Sepher pulled a piece of grass from the ground, ran it between his lips, and then chewed on it. “Tell me, what are you doing with the dirt? Packing it into your wound? Does it help?”

Petro was startled, and he looked at Vetus Sepher with wide eyes. Before he could say that he didn’t know what he meant, Vetus Sepher took the blade of grass, grabbed Petro’s hand, and ran the thin edge across his finger. It sliced easily but not too deeply, but it did draw the red of life. Petro tried to jerk his hand away, but Vetus Sepher held it tight, dropping the grass and then taking a piece of dirt from the ground and rubbing it into Petro’s hand. It burned. Petro winced, and Vetus Sepher let go.

“Why’d you do that?” Petro looked at him with accusation.

Vetus Sepher looked at the hand, watching it intently. He picked a new piece of grass and chewed on the blade. The cut on Petro’s finger began to crust over, and the bleeding stopped. “Hmm…” He looked at Petro.

There was nothing to say. He knew Vetus Sepher knew, but how? He let out a sigh and rubbed his finger on the side of his leg, knocking off the excess dirt. “How’d you know? It’s not possible for you to know.”

Vetus Sepher gave a smirk. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

Petro was bewildered. His head spun, and it wasn’t making sense. If Vetus Sepher knew what had happened, then it must be real, and it wasn’t him seeing the future; he had lived it. If he lived it, then what just happened? He watched Vetus Sepher get up.

Vetus Sepher looked down. “Ever predict anything just before it happened?”

Petro nodded, his mouth open.

“Ever hear someone say something twice, but they didn’t know it?”

Again Petro nodded. He seemed almost out of it; his eyes were blank, his breathing slowed.

“Do you remember the man out in the woods, the one who tried to kill you?”

Petro’s heart sped up—none of this made any sense. How did Vetus Sepher know all these things?

“You have a lot to learn, Petro. Things are not what they seem.” Vetus Sepher stood. “Oh, the question about the object. It’s nothing; just a ruse we use to get you thinking of one thing while we see what else is going on. I didn’t expect this.”

Petro sat there, looking at his hand, which looked as though it had nearly healed. There was a connection between him and Spearca. The ring of fire in the sky, how the light touched him. The voice that told him to “come and find me.” It all meant something, but it still did not explain how Vetus Sepher was there, and if he was there, how they had both experienced it together. Slowly it started to come to him—the reasoning behind it, but how? Did they have a shared precognition?

He turned to Vetus Sepher. “Have you ever seen the future? Is that how we were able to see the same thing? We shared sight of the future together?” Petro felt truly dumb for even suggesting it.

“Petro, it’s good to ask questions. There is much to learn here. I was there, and I did see you in the dirt. You were there, too. Was it the two of us sharing a view of what might happen in the future? It’s a fair conclusion, but I’ve never seen the future.” Vetus Sepher moved over to a log and sat down.

“Then what is it? How is it possible for the two of us to have experienced the same thing? I mean, I should be writhing in pain right now, lying out there on the forest floor, waiting for my brothers to come help me. Waiting for that man to show up. But I’m not; I’m here. I’m here, and you’re here. And it’s because I changed the future. I did it. I’ve done it before, but not like this—this is different. This was not like the other times—nothing makes sense anymore. Was I meant to stop the attack on Dugual?” Petro clenched his fists tight.