Tokus Numas (2 page)

The Father wore a grim smile but was pleased with King Offing’s outburst.

“Anger is good; it’s something given to us all. It’s a power many of royal blood are unwilling to use or to show, even in times when they need it most. Your queen is gone, and so your anger is valid, but you need to think about your son and yourself now,” the Father said. He waited for a response, but now all life seemed to have gone out of King Offing.
Pity.
The Father grew tired of this game. The red of life within King Offing did not stir as much as he had hoped. “Share with my son, Fin, where this thing of value you hold is located, and he’ll retrieve it; and then I’ll make my decision on its worth and your lives.”

Fin was dressed in a long red robe, his face half-covered by his hood, his blond hair protruding as he walked up to King Offing. They exchanged words, and then Fin left the throne room.

For without our friends, who do we become? Are we like the stilted beams of a decayed building, waiting to crumble and fall? Without friends, who are we at all?

—From
The Universal Teachings
, by Dr. Setner

P
etro, a young man of fifteen, awakened early from his slumber. He groaned aloud, not wanting to get up. He swung his feet over the edge of his bed, stretched, yawned, and tried to scratch the itch on his back that he just couldn’t quite get.

This was a different day for him—his last day at Dugual. He’d learned a few weeks earlier that the Numas had elected him into their order. It was a great honor, but Petro was not certain he wanted to go. He’d anticipated the day, but it never bothered him more than now.

He felt heavy, not wanting to do anything, as though life had lost some of its spark. The Numas were coming earlier this year. Normally they came at the end of the fall and conducted their ceremony on the first solstice of winter. When he had asked why they were coming sooner this year, he was told they had expected a heavy winter and wanted to make sure all were brought to Tokus Numas safely before the snow fell.

Petro dropped down to the floor, walked over to a wash pan, and splashed water onto his face. He groped around for a towel, dried his face, and ran his hands through his dark hair. He forced himself to look into the mirror and saw that his eyes drooped, that his mouth slightly turned down. He thought he looked a little sad. He shook his head, splashed more water onto his face, and then looked back into the mirror and tried to muster a smile—it was a smile, sort of, if you thought smiles were pursed lips trying to curl up on the sides. He took the towel again, wiped his face dry, and took a white tunic out of his dresser and pulled it over his body. It felt soft against his skin, and his body shivered. He realized it had been cold standing there without a tunic, but now he was able to warm up. He took out his pants and socks, put those on, and pulled on his calf-high boots. He was to meet Dia and Silda out in the gardens for breakfast, but his stomach was in knots, and eating didn’t appeal to him. However, even though his stomach was a little ill, he wasn’t about to disappoint his friends on his last day in Dugual.

Normally his day was fairly ordinary. He’d get up about this time of day, dress, and head out for a nice, brisk run. Dia and Silda would join him on the occasion, which he liked, but he also liked to run on his own to clear his mind. After his run, he’d bathe and eat with the servants—he didn’t mind being with them. He would, however, join the royal family for breakfast on the first and last day of the week—Princess Dia; her brother, Prince Sid; King Amerstall; Queen Lilith; and, of course, Silda, who was Princess Dia’s companion. After breakfast was his time for learning—he’d study art, language, mathematics, cuisine, and fighting. He enjoyed the fighting and food the most.

Today, however, was no ordinary day; things would change, and he knew little of what to expect when he got to Tokus Numas. He’d be gone tomorrow, off to the northwestern most part of Spearca, into the mountains to begin his training. The Numas did send a tablet for him to read about them, but he’d never taken any interest in it. He understood that Vetus Sepher, a Numa himself, was to come and see Petro this day and escort him to Tokus Numas and that he would be expecting Petro to have this tablet. Ordinarily that would be fine, but Petro had misplaced it.

He rummaged through the room, tossing clothes out of the dresser onto the floor and then pulling the drawers out for good measure. He reached back into the dark spaces but did not find it there.
The bedding
, he thought.
Maybe it’s in there.
Petro grabbed the comforter and threw it up and over his head, covering his face and then pushing the comforter the rest of the way over until it fell onto the floor. He stripped off the sheets, and still nothing. He put his hands under the bed, lifted it, and still nothing. Then he decided to pull the mattress off and onto the floor. The room was starting to form a large pile in the center, blocking his way to the door, but Petro kept on looking for his tablet
. This is really getting annoying,
he thought. His first day—well, technically it wasn’t his first day as a Numa, but still he didn’t want to look foolish in front of Vetus Sepher. The man was revered by Queen Lilith, though Petro didn’t know why, and he wasn’t especially curious about it, either. He only wanted to find his tablet, as it was all that mattered for the moment.

He went to the windowsill and ran his hands over it. Nothing. He looked under the bed, and nothing; and then he crawled under the bed. It was cramped and hard to breath and hard to see as he felt around with his arms stretched out, feeling around on top of the throw rug. Still nothing.
Oh
, he thought,
maybe it’s under the rug
. He squeezed out from under the bed, grunting as he made his way to his feet, and began to pull the bed frame off the rug and onto the wood floor. It made an eerie sound with each pull. It was not going well for him; he still could not find the tablet, and he was cursing himself for losing it in the first place—and waiting until now to look for it. What would King Amerstall think of him? Not being prepared, not taking it seriously enough? The king might laugh it off, in his good-humored way, but it meant something to Petro. When he finally got the frame all the way over to the center of the room as much as he could, having to stop and push the other debris he’d created out of the way, there was a knock on the door. He ignored it and started to pull the rug up. There was another knock, and he still ignored it. His head was under the rug when the door creaked open.

“Why, you! Don’t you have any respect for this house? You are a ward of King Amerstall of Dugual, and you treat your gracious host as if you come from a den of filthy, ragged bums!” Henry said.

Henry was a groundskeeper, sent to fetch Petro from his room to meet with Princess Dia and her companion, Silda. The years had taken hold of him, leaving their ancient, noticeable lines across his face and hands.

Petro came out from under the rug and popped his head up over the debris to see the old man. “I was just trying to find my tablet. The one the Numas sent. I can’t find it,” Petro said, and then he began to look again, disappearing behind the debris.

“You lost something the Numas sent you? Oh, you are hopeless. Finish getting dressed and come out. Princess Dia is waiting for you,” Henry said and walked away.

Petro poked his head up once more to ask if they were still in the garden, but Henry had left. So much for making a good impression with Henry before he left Dugual. The two of them didn’t quite get along; Henry apparently saw Petro as getting a free ride whereas he himself had had to work all day, every day, since he was the age of ten. Petro’s shoulders slumped. There was no more time now to keep looking. Princess Dia and Silda waited, and there was little time left for visiting before he finally set forth and put Dugual behind him.

The red of life gives meaning to everything. There is a pathway, passed down through generation to generation; the Mother’s life beats in my heart as it beats in yours. Do you give the red of life so willingly? Will you not attempt to pass on your red of life to the next generation, or will it be spilled?

—From
The Journal of the Father, Father to All Orphans, King of Tallud
, by the Father

T
he Father slumped forward, the spear resting across his lap. He was ever aware of the orbs above, making sure he had not given away too much of the real reason he had come here. There was hidden truth, a technology withheld from humanity, but for reasons unknown to him. The Numas never benefited from it, and neither did anyone else.
Numas are fools to trust men like King Offing with their treasures of information
, the Father thought. He’d find the Keepers—it was only a matter of time—but the Numas would find out what he intended soon enough, with their agents woven into every community across Spearca.

The horse shuffled. “There, there,” he told it. “We will go soon enough. I know you are weary from battle; we’ll feed you the fine straw of this land, give you drink, and maybe find you a mare to breed with; and then we’ll call you ‘sire.’”

Chuckles and snickers rippled through the men as they stood and watched.

The stallion jostled under the Father. “He is a feisty one; I think he’s ready to get on with his siring.” His voice boomed for all to hear.

The men’s laughter grew even louder, yet behind their outwardly carefree appearance was tension as they waited to see what would happen next.

“I see your men here enjoying themselves.” The Father’s eyes swept over King Offing’s men, looking for their reactions. Some looked away, and others grinned, but he knew there was uncertainty underneath their masks.

King Offing’s eyes scanned the room, looking at his soldiers. “They are not my men,” he growled. One of the men in the crowd behind several others looked uncomfortable.

“No, they are not,” the Father said.
These men wanted life and they took it
, he thought.

King Offing looked into the eyes of the Father. “These men do not see as I see.”

The Father’s eyes narrowed; he sat up and took the spear into his left hand.

There was a sudden movement from the corner of his eye, and a commotion. Prince Danard had taken a guard’s spear and drawn it back, aimed, and let it go. The spear flew past the Father’s head. An ordinary man would have flinched, would have even tried to evade the projectile, but the Father did not. He had calculated its trajectory and knew it would be close, but it would not hit its intended mark. His biceps contracted as he hefted his spear up high and hurled it.

The mighty spear was set upon a path and sought its target. The javelin cut across the short distance. The Father held his breath and watched as if the spear were in slow motion, taking its time, following its course. Everyone watched as it sliced through air, displacing tiny particles. The spear’s tip pierced flesh, and a low thump spread through the hall, quickly followed by a forceful gasp. Prince Danard’s eyes charged with tears. He gripped at the spear’s shaft, falling to his side, squirming and writhing in pain. He clutched at the javelin, and his hands slipped down its shaft, wet with the red of life. He coughed, and red liquid sprayed up into the air and then fell back as dreadful drops on his face.

King Offing howled in agony. He attempted to pry away from the guards’ restraint. It was no use; he could not free himself. Helpless, he looked on while his son Danard futilely tried to pull the spear out of his body.

The Father was neither amused nor displeased with the outcome, but his thoughts were still callous toward King Offing.
You thought it wise to mock me, but now you see your misfortune
.

“I shall kill you with my bare hands! Release me, you coward!” King Offing’s stout frame was like that of the Great Oak he bore. He fought to free himself, dragging the guards with him. Two more guards hurried over and grabbed hold of his arms, which were like thick limbs of a tree, and his legs, which were like tree trunks, and restrained him. King Offing settled and ceased to struggle.
A Great Oak
, the Father mused,
a formidable foe indeed
.

King Offing turned his gaze to the Great Eyes. “Do you see this? Is this what you want? Do you call this civilized? How can you stand by and watch! The treaty is unjust! It protects nothing!” He turned from the Great Eyes and scrutinized the Father. “How is it you claim the title ‘Father’? Is it because you’ve engendered many sons from many women? Does that qualify you as Father? I’ve heard the name was given to you by orphans, whom you exploited to take your father’s lands. After you succeeded in this great triumph, you showed a father’s endearment toward your brothers and sisters by having them killed. I say to you, you are no father—a father loves his children, protects and defends the weak, and never takes the life of one so young as you have done. My son was a young man, learning to be what a man ought to be, and for his mistake you caused him to pay for it with his life!” His eyes searched the many faces in the room. “All of you standing here who watched will pay for his crimes. You turned against me for a few coins? I hope you get all you bargained to gain. Your new father is sure to see to it.”

King Offing turned back to the Father. “You’ll never get away with it! You broke the treaty; you used illegal tactics against me, against my men, and against my kingdom. We never attacked your border. Never!” Tears ran down his face. He slid to his knees, but his head remained titled upward, a natural behavior of his nobility.

Finally it shows—his red of life surges now. Maybe there is hope after all.
He looked at Prince Danard.
Not for the son. His life will soon run out, but King Offing can sire more sons—his life can go on.
The Father’s eyes were expansive.

“You were ill prepared, King Offing. Even your son was not outfitted for battle. I overwhelmed your premise, and now you are without land, without castle, without your wife, and without your son. Let’s reiterate, you are without title—Sir Offing,” the Father said. His chin pointed upward as though he was above King Offing, and he thought more of him now as a creature in front of him who spouted empty words. He cocked his head and studied the former king, scanning his wretched face, analyzing his reaction.

King Offing’s bloodshot eyes peered up. “I have sent word to the other kingdoms; they will soon put a stop to your gluttony—you who are of nothing, you of countless treachery. You believe you have wisdom, but what you follow is folly.” He raised himself up, stretched his chin out, and moved his head to one side. He cracked his neck and then bent his head to other side, where he cracked his neck again. The guards kept a firm grasp on his arms.

The Father noticed how King Offing was now stoic. There was something in his tone of voice near the end, when he spoke about how he was now following his own folly. He contemplated the king’s physical mood and his words, and he recalled the thing of value he had promised earlier. He’d nearly forgotten it—caught up in the dance with King Offing, performing for the Great Eyes. There was something here he missed. “Release him.”

The guards released King Offing. He got to his feet and stumbled toward his son while waves of rage passed through him. He knelt on the stone floor and caressed his son’s face, wiping the blood from his cheek with his sleeve. He held his hand and then kissed his son lightly on the forehead. “Forgive me,” he said.

Danard tried to speak but couldn’t; he coughed up the red of life, and it ran out of the corners of his mouth.

King Offing ran his hand through his son’s hair. Many of his former guards looked away. The king’s mouth contorted, his eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed tightly together. He stood up, took hold of the spear with two hands, put his foot to his son’s chest, and yanked the shaft free. The red of life poured out, freeing his son from this world, from his pain, from the agony of life. In moments, the young son’s body went limp, and his eyes fluttered and stopped in a wide stare.

The Father spoke in a tone of disregard for King Offing’s loss. “Now tell me, what do you know?” The Father leaned forward, observing King Offing’s every move.

Ignoring the Father, King Offing dropped the spear, and it clattered against the stone floor. Then he knelt back down next to his son, took him into his arms, and buried his face in Danard’s hair.

“Come now. Do not grieve so. You can have another wife, another son—many, if you want. The seasons have not yet passed you. Tell me. What do you know?” The Father’s voice changed; a hint of agitation slipped passed his lips.
He knows the hidden truth, given charge by the Numas to protect it
.
If he speaks of the hidden technology, all will see, and then I can form allegiances with other kingdoms, march on the Numas, and take what they’ve kept from all us for so long.

King Offing scowled and then buried his face back into the hair of his son, holding his poor son’s lifeless body tight.

The Father knew King Offing had shown some zeal for life but that he was not going to offer another word about what Fin had gone to inquire on, and torturing this former king would bring sanctions from every kingdom. He needed to end this with honor—not for himself, but for those who would see this day through video captured and disseminated by the Unified Kingship. His actions would be examined by other kingdoms to view and to pass judgment on regarding whether he had broken or upheld the treaty.

“I propose a thing. A duel to satisfy your honor,” the Father said. “Choose either the spear there on the ground or a sword.” The Father’s crimson eyes burned.
Will this be King Offing’s wishes? To relinquish his red of life, or will he prefer to prevail and live?
He lifted his leg up and over his steed and glided down to the floor.

King Offing got to his feet; he examined his enemy and held out his hand. One of his former guards placed a sword into his palm. His fingers tightened around the grip, and he held it to his forehead, closed his eyes, and muttered indistinct words.

The Father studied the old oak and pulled his sword from a leather sheath strapped to the side of the horse. He was shaking slightly and thought perhaps this was not a good idea. He faced King Offing, lancing the air with his steel and placing one foot in front of the other, preparing himself. He summoned all his strength; but he’d need to make this quick.

King Offing lowered his weapon so the point rested on the stone floor. He made an arch with the blade, and it squealed against the rough surface. He lifted it high and came overhead with a swing.

The Father parried to his left and saw the king’s side was wide open for attack, but he decided against it.

The Great Oak’s shoulders tightened as he came about, signaling he had noticed his failure to protect his side.

The Father waited for his opponent, ready to counter his next move. “Tell me what you know.”
The Old Oak is stubborn, but I’ll find what I need, even if he doesn’t give it willingly.

Rage vented from King Offing’s mouth. “You’ll soon as kill me once you have what you want. I was a fool, but a fool no more.” He struck out in wild, thrusting motions, nearly hitting his mark.

Steel on steel rang out, reverberating off the thick walls like clanking bells caught in a strong wind. On and on it went: parry, feint, parry. The Father enjoyed the excitement of it all, and it gave rise within him. His fatigue faded, and now new energy engulfed him—how it surged through his body, pulsed through his veins, and pumped his heart. It was life! It was his red of life!