Siege and Sacrifice (Numina)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Sandis smiled. “Would you tell me how the occult came to be?” Reaching back, she touched the skin just above her highest brand, where Ireth’s name was inked into her skin. “I want to understand.” If she knew more, maybe, maybe, it would help her bring Rone back.

  Jachim pushed out his chair and stretched his spine. “I could talk about it all day—”

  “The basics will be fine, to start.” Bastien was waiting for her.

  Jachim rubbed his chin, smearing a little more ink across it. “Well, it started with the discovery of the Yokhosho Temple. The original discovery, not the scholarly one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean a group of Kolin settlers, fairly early in your history on this continent, found it and kept it secret for a couple decades. They don’t teach you this in school?”

  Sandis flushed. She’d never gone to a formal school. She shook her head.

  Jachim shrugged. “Celesian superstition, I suppose. But yes, some second-generation Kolins found the ruins of the Yokhosho Temple, a place where the Noscons used to worship. I wonder now if any of the carvings there spoke of the amarinth, but there’s no way of knowing. The temple was destroyed long before Kolosos ever became a problem. That’s why these tablets are such a remarkable discovery.” He ran his hand over them reverently. “But they did manage to translate some of what they found. There may have been illustrations in the stone; we can’t be sure now. That’s where they first learned about Noscon magic. And that’s where the experiments began.”

  Sandis leaned back, a shiver coursing through her. “Experiments?”

  “They formed a bizarre cult. If only we knew precisely what they’d read! What artifacts they’d discovered. Perhaps they translated something wrong.” Sandis grew sick, but Jachim only became more animated. “Thinking of it now, perhaps there was a connection between their cult and the creation of the amarinth. We have records of their work with twins. They performed ritual sacrifices with magic now lost to us. I now believe those rituals were to shoot a spirit into the ethereal plane. Not too dissimilar from what happened with Rone, though his body went in as well. At the time, I thought the stories mythical, but . . .”

  Sandis knitted her hands together. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked, but Jachim didn’t notice her discomfort, and she couldn’t bring herself to stop him.

  Jachim shrugged. “I’m not sure where it went from there. Their dark practices were only stopped when one of their own reported them to the authorities. The Celesians lost their minds and ‘cleansed’ all of it, destroying millennia of history in their ‘quest for righteousness.’” He scoffed. “If they had stayed their hands, if that place had been preserved . . . we might not be in the predicament we’re in today. But it is what it is.” He glanced at her. “But it started there, at the temple. Most of the cult was executed, but not all of them. They continued to practice their magic in hiding, turning it into what it is today. I’m sorry I don’t know more.”

  Sandis swallowed against a tight throat. Then it is evil. She tried to imagine ritual sacrifices involving siblings, but her mind shied away from the thought. It could only handle so much brutality in so short a time.

  “Thank you,” she muttered, pushing back from the table and finding her feet. Her stomach felt like a raisin. “I’ll . . . leave you to your work.”

  Jachim nodded, happily returning to his notes.

  On her way to the library, Sandis bit the side of her cheek. Ireth, you’re good, aren’t you?

  The fire horse didn’t respond.

  Rone studied the enormous horse’s face. The fire whisked off its charcoal skin as if in a breeze, yet the air was still. Everything about this dark, geometric place was inert, except for the monsters.

  The numina.

  So many questions blurred together in his head. He stood there like a puppet with a cut string, trying to process everything. Trying to orient himself.

  The first question left his mouth with little thought. “You can speak to me?”

  Ireth nodded his head, an oddly human gesture. In this place only, I can. Apparently. Forgive me for the delay. I was called.

  Called? Summoned. By Sandis. His gut sank. “She’s alive?”

  The horse nodded, and relief nearly made Rone lose his footing. He gave himself a second to breathe, to right himself, before turning around and taking in the expanse of nothingness around them. “Apparently? You haven’t spoken before?”

  You are the first with mortal flesh to come here. I did not know it was possible.

  “Here. The ethereal plane.”

  Another nod.

  Rone whistled; the sound was loud in the silence. “And that was a numen chasing me.”

  Ireth stepped back, short flames stemming up from his large cloven hooves. He looked upward, toward the blocky cliff Rone had fallen from. It was the silhouette of a perfect rectangle. Only then did Rone realize his sight had improved. The deep blue of the strange sky overhead was lifting. Dawn?

  Where was Sandis?

  Most have lost their minds. Ireth’s voice brushed over Rone’s like a wet feather, strange and foreign. It didn’t touch his ears, yet he could hear it. It was a man’s voice, old and slightly weathered, with a hint of an accent he couldn’t place. But the words were entirely Kolin. Some still remember.

  “Where is Sandis?”

  Ireth hoofed the ground, and the fading stars beneath them split to reveal Dresberg. Rone gasped, stepping back as though he might fall through the vision that crept outward like spilled oil, but the ground remained solid. The city rose up toward them so quickly Rone stumbled, nausea threatening to empty his stomach.

  She is here. She is safe. There was a touch of familiarity, close to adoration, to the words.

  Once Rone got control of his body, he looked. Their perspective hovered right over her. She sat in the triumvir’s library beside Bastien, scrawling out the alphabet on a piece of paper illuminated by a candle.

  Reaching forward, Rone tried to touch her, but the strange glass encasing this place blocked him.

  “Sandis?” he asked. She didn’t react.

  He is a good seed, Ireth said, referring to Bastien. But unable to listen.

  “You talk to her sometimes.” He focused on one of the horse’s pitch-colored eyes. “Sandis. She feels you. Can you do that now? Can you tell her where I am?”

  Ireth snorted. Not yet. It is difficult.

  “Difficult how?”

  Ireth looked at him with an almost human expression. One that reminded Rone it might be a bad idea to piss off his only ally in this place. Especially since that ally could incinerate him in seconds.

  I can push the boundaries of this plane. Only with Sandis, he explained, ever patient. But not often, and not for long. It drains me, spiritually. And when I am drained, the boundaries resist. I have not yet recovered enough to try again. But I cannot speak to her. I can only send her impressions, and hope she understands. As far as I know, there is only one other who can do the same.

  Rone stood, studying the numen’s long face. “Who?”

  Hepingya.

  Rone hadn’t heard that name from either Sandis or Bastien. “And where is he?” She? It?

  Hepingya is reclusive.

  Rone breathed slowly, deeply. “Can I do it?”

  Perhaps. Ireth back-stepped, and the vision of Sandis vanished into the brightening sky.

  “Wait! I have to try—”

  Rone.

  He paused, waiting.

  You must try, yes. But not with her. You are mortal and, as such, have a natural connection to the mortal realm. You must try to bend that boundary and reach down to your world, but not for her.

  Ireth took a few long strides to the left and hoofed the ground once more, revealing a small lake down below. Rone could have sworn he had passed something that looked just like it on the way to the Fortitude Mountains with his mother.

  You must reach that.

  “A lake? Why?”

&nbs
p; Because if you are unable to reach it, you will die.

  Despite the heat emanating from the fire horse, a chill coursed up Rone’s body. “What?”

  You are mortal.

  “Yes, I got that part.”

  There is no sustenance in the ethereal plane.

  The chill looped around when it reached his skull and tingled down to his feet. “No food. No water.”

  Another nod.

  His heart beat too quickly. He swallowed against a dry throat, suddenly thirsty now that he knew there was nothing to drink. Clearing his throat, he said, “Tell me how to do it.”

  You must look down. Keep the destination in your mind.

  Rone knelt and stared at the lake so far below him. “How am I supposed to reach it?”

  The distance you see is not true. The ethereal plane is not stationary; it is everywhere. It is where you need it to be.

  Which explained how he could see all of Dresberg in one moment and then Sandis in the library at another. He . . . sort of understood, but it made his mind hurt. The ground was solid beneath him, wasn’t it? So how could it be everywhere, untouchable by those in the mortal plane?

  Ireth didn’t give him time to think it through. Push out with your spirit.

  Spirit. Right. He’d listened to his father’s sermons. He’d watched Sandis meditate. Even Kurtz had drilled spiritual nonsense into him. He got the gist of it. Closing his eyes, he pictured the distance between himself and the lake vanishing. Pictured his spirit.

  Desire it. Strongly. Reach for it.

  Rone did. Eyes still closed, he reached down and pressed his hands into the cold glass. It didn’t warm beneath his touch, like real glass would. But he tried not to dwell on that. Water. Water. Water.

  The glass bent, almost like he’d pushed his hands into putty. The movement startled him, but he kept his mind focused, his eyes closed. Water. Water. Water.

  He reached deeper, deeper, until he felt wetness around his fingers. This time, he could not ignore his shock. His eyes shot open. He was at the lake, and water seeped up through the bowl he’d formed in the glass. Filling it up to his knuckles, his wrists, his—

  It stopped, and the glass surface snapped back into place, leaving a puddle against its smooth surface.

  He thought he heard Ireth sigh. I am glad. You have a physical body and are able to touch the other world, influence it. Drink.

  He bent down to drink, only then noticing the numbness in his fingers, toes, and nose. His thoughts and senses were so sluggish—

  Drink, Rone. The spiritual fatigue will fade in time. But for now, you must drink.

  Clinging to that one simple direction, Rone bent down and drank, not entirely understanding why.

  Chapter 13

  Oh yes, there was fire in the boy’s eyes. Even in the dark of night, Kazen could see it. So familiar. Sandis had once looked at him like that, long ago. Before he’d trained her to do better.

  It was no matter now. If the lad wouldn’t spin the amarinth, Kazen would do it for him. He forced Anon’s fingers around the amarinth and spun it, savoring the soft, crooning whirl of its golden loops. Almost like a lullaby.

  “Vre en nestu a carnath. Ii mem entre I amar. Vre en nestu a carnath. Kolosos epsi gradenid.”

  His monster grew inside the mortal body, Kazen taking hold of its fiery horn as the beast’s great body unfurled, shooting up, up, up in the city, pressed against the north end of the wall.

  Forward, Kazen beckoned.

  The numen resisted.

  “Forward, damn you.” Kazen pressed a finger into the bruise inside his elbow, where Anon Gwenwig’s fresh blood flowed through his veins.

  A deep growl sounded within Kolosos’s red throat. Its body trembled.

  Kazen scowled. “You cannot fight me, Kolosos. Our work is not yet finished. Move.”

  Kolosos took one step, then stopped, resisting.

  Chapter 14

  Kazen’s monster was punctual.

  Sandis stepped close to Bastien, their sides touching, when red light highlighted smoky clouds far to the north. She couldn’t see the monster, thanks to the numerous buildings separating it from the rubble of the cathedral it had destroyed, but Kolosos’s light was unmistakable—just like the shudder that ran through the earth and the inhuman roar carried on the wind.

  General Istrude had chosen to take their stand in the ashes of the cathedral. Chief Esgar had suggested hiding within Gerech Prison’s fortified walls, but Istrude’s plan had won out. Triumvir Var didn’t want to draw Kazen’s attention to what he considered one of Kolingrad’s greatest resources, so their battalion had instead congregated on the ruins of a building already destroyed.

  Sandis was fine with staying away from the prison that had always haunted her. The place she would have ended up if the government had found her before they needed her. The place that had nearly driven Rone mad. The place that might still hold her great-uncle captive, if it had not yet already killed him.

  Soldiers in steel blue clustered together ahead of her, waiting for a signal, a strike . . . Sandis didn’t know what was planned. General Istrude didn’t invite the vessels to his war meetings.

  In the distance, the demon’s red light brightened.

  “Wh-What’s north?” Bastien asked, eyes locked on the sky. His teeth chattered, but from cold or from fear, Sandis wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

  What was north? What did Kazen want to destroy this time? The homes of priests? The wall itself?

  General Istrude, mounted on a horse Sandis swore could challenge Ireth in size, rode in front of his men. “Lieutenant Martal, your men with me.” He turned to Oz, who lingered several feet away, standing beside Teppa and Inda. He looked haggard, older than before. Kazen, too, hated losing his vessels, but he saw them merely as assets. Oz behaved as though he’d lost family.

  Family. The word hardened in her chest, hurting her. She thought of Rone. Tried not to think of him. Celestial, anyone, please, please protect him.

  He wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be.

  “Are you ready?” Triumvir Var asked, and Sandis felt as if she’d caught Bastien’s shivers. Kazen had used her as a weapon to frighten his enemies, but now she would be an actual soldier. Under Oz’s direction.

  She didn’t like the thought of someone else controlling her. Didn’t like the bruise on the inside of her arm, where Oz had taken her blood—along with Bastien’s—earlier. She didn’t know Oz. Didn’t trust him. Bastien said he’d been a good master, but he’d been a master all the same. Sandis hadn’t been used like that for so long . . . her stomach clenched at the thought of bowing under Oz’s hand and disappearing until afternoon. If she came back at all. But Ireth was more useful in a separate summoner’s hands. Sandis, by herself, could only hold on to the fiery numen for mere seconds.

  She glanced back to that red light. It hadn’t moved. The ground, too, remained still.

  “I’m ready,” Oz said, catching Sandis’s eye. He gestured to the carriage pulled by a team of six horses—another extravagance of the triumvirs. It would give them the speed they needed, so long as the roads held up. Many had been crushed or buckled by Kolosos’s trampling.

  Taking Bastien’s clammy hand in hers, Sandis pulled him toward the carriage as General Istrude’s small cavalry headed north. Each step was a struggle. She wanted to fight Kolosos. Truly, she did. But if they won . . . didn’t that mean Anon would die?

  Her fingers grew cold at the idea. Could she stop Kazen and also save her brother?

  Inda entered the carriage first, followed by Teppa and Bastien. Eyeing her, Oz slipped in. Sandis moved to follow, and—

  Warm pressure filled her head and shoulders, strong enough that she gasped. Ireth. He was hale, he was present, he was—

  A strong impression pushed through their connection. One Sandis had never felt from him before. Safe. It was clearer than Ireth’s usual messages, almost like he stood behind her, breathing into her hair. Safe.

  Then, all at once, t
he warmth and the impression faded, winking out like a dying star.

  “Sandis, hurry,” Oz said.

  She blinked. Touched her heart. Turned that word over in her mind. She wasn’t safe at all. None of them were. Why would Ireth—

  Warmth of her own bloomed in her chest. Rone. The moment she thought it, she knew. Rone was safe. He and Ireth were in the same place. Did Ireth watch over him? Tears sprang to her eyes. She could have laughed. Thank you, Ireth.

  “Sir.”

  Sandis turned, spying a scout jogging up to Triumvir Var. Several had been stationed atop buildings throughout the city. Sandis stepped away from the carriage, trying to listen.

  “—stagnant, sir. It’s just . . . not moving.”

  Kolosos?

  “Sandis!”

  She whipped her head back toward the carriage. Oz didn’t need to explain; Kolosos only existed for a short amount of time each night, and Celestial knew what kind of destruction Kazen had planned for tonight. Sandis hurried into the carriage, which took off before she even closed the door behind her.

  The horses sped into a gallop, and the dark city passed in blurred shadows.

  “He’s employed Kuracean to keep back soldiers.” Oz spoke as though in the middle of a conversation, and Sandis realized she may have already missed something. Not that it mattered; Oz would make her and Ireth do whatever he pleased. “If there’s no clear shot for Kolosos, I’ll aim for Kuracean. It has a soft spot under its neck. It looks up, it’s done for.”

  Sandis stiffened. She had sat right beside Oz on the carriage bench, their hips touching. Now she moved as close to the shaking carriage wall as she could, craving distance. Bastien sat across from her, his eyes wide. His thoughts must have matched her own.

  Rist.

  “B-But Mas—Oz, that will kill the vessel.” Bastien was barely audible over the thunder of horse hooves and spinning wheels.

  Oz’s dark eyes narrowed. “We’ve all had to make sacrifices.”

  Jansen, he meant. But was that really Oz’s sacrifice? Did he know the meaning of the word?