Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Ocrestia nodded. She could relate to her feelings, at least on some level. While she had no idea what it was like to be tiellan, she knew what it was to be in a position of power and feel inadequate. Cinzia was quite young when she graduated the seminary, and was younger than most when she became a priestess. She remembered feeling very self-conscious during her first sermons—her first few dozen sermons—and knew the power expectations and fear could have.

  “You’re doing wonderfully,” Cinzia said, squeezing Ocrestia’s shoulder. She looked at Elessa. “You both are.”

  The four women looked at one another, and Cinzia felt quite suddenly a wave of affection for them. Not just for her sister, but for Elessa and Ocrestia, as well. They had a connection, and they had work to do together. She wondered who they would find to fill the six remaining discipleships. Who else would be called? Would they fit in with the four of them?

  Underlying it all was the question that ran through Cinzia’s mind almost constantly: would any of this really work? Could it?

  But, for once in her life, not having the answers did not bother her so much.

  * * *

  Cinzia did not notice that something was wrong until partway through the next session, but once the feeling settled she could think of nothing else.

  Jane and her disciples faced their audience from the front of the drawing room. Ocrestia had just finished her speech. As Jane stood, Cinzia felt a strange sensation in her chest, like her ribs were constricting, squeezing her insides, her heart.

  Cinzia’s eyes found Knot first, leaning against the mantel over the huge fireplace. Astrid sat in the front row, looking up at Jane—only Cinzia’s family, Knot, and the cotir knew what she really was, and they hoped to keep it that way for as long as possible. Not just for security purposes—Astrid made a perfect undercover guard—but because if the Odenites realized Jane was friends with a vampire, what would they think? What would they do? Their new Church would surely lose a great many followers.

  It took Knot longer than Cinzia would have liked to meet her eyes. When he finally did, he seemed bored, of all things. His gaze drifted through the thirty or so Odenites crammed into the room, resting every few moments on one face or another, but he did not seem to be on his guard. When his eyes finally met Cinzia’s, they widened slightly.

  Danger? Cinzia mouthed, not sure what else to do or say. Knot’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head.

  Cinzia frowned. Did that mean there was no danger? Or that he had not understood what she had said? She nodded forcefully—but as subtly as she could—towards the audience. Knot shook his head again, and then his eyes drifted away from Cinzia’s to the group once more.

  Cinzia wanted to swear. She looked around for Wyle. He was usually standing near the back of the room, acting as an usher at the door. Sure enough, his wide frame was visible near the back, but he was… what was he doing?

  Wyle was walking to the back right corner of the room. It was the signal they had agreed upon. The assassins were here.

  Cinzia’s heart froze. She wanted to help, but what could she do? Cinzia glanced back at Knot, who by now was also looking at Wyle. She scanned the Odenites, but no one had moved. Time slowed around Cinzia for a moment. There was an old tiellan man, in the middle of the back row, scratching his head. A woman to the right of the room shifted in her chair. Someone to the left cleared his throat. A head in the middle of the crowd turned upward, looking at the ceiling, whether in prayer or supplication or boredom, Cinzia could not tell. She looked up at Jane beside her, who was speaking of the trials necessary for faith, but her voice was odd, lower than normal, and she spoke very slowly.

  Then, in the back, a man slowly stood up. In his hand was a knife.

  She did not have time to think about how he obtained the weapon. Knot’s guards had done their best to make sure that none entered the house. Perhaps it had been planted.

  Cinzia moved before she even knew what she was doing. She rose from her chair quickly, or at least wanted to, but she felt oddly sluggish, just as the man seemed to, just like Jane, whose voice sounded so lethargic.

  Cinzia looked around. Knot had seen the threat, but he was moving even more slowly than Cinzia, as if walking through thick snow.

  Goddess, Cinzia pleaded, what would You have me do?

  In that moment, something clicked in Cinzia’s brain. If anyone was going to stop this, it would have to be her. Canta had put it in her hands. Cinzia had to trust that Canta had done it for a reason.

  Cinzia picked up the chair she had been sitting on. It was a simple thing, polished wood, solid but not particularly heavy. Cinzia had never considered herself a physically powerful person, but even she could lift the thing over her head with some effort.

  People were starting to murmur, but the sound was slow and laborious just like Jane’s speech, rising from the depth of the room like the beginnings of an earthquake. Cinzia heard the whispers start, heard people beginning to cry out, slowly, in low, drawn-out breaths.

  Cinzia stood behind Jane with her arms either side of her sister, holding the chair out in front of them both, the seat and legs of the chair pointed out towards the audience. Her body was pressed up against her sister’s back. Jane was turning her head to look at Cinzia, confused, but Cinzia did not care. She looked back out at the man who had extended an arm towards Jane. He no longer held the knife.

  It took Cinzia a moment to realize that something was moving through the air towards them, slowly rotating like a windmill in the slightest breeze. A dark shape spinning towards them.

  Then everything returned to normal. Voices picked up in pitch, the screams that seemed to have been beginning for moments suddenly quickened, filling the room.

  Cinzia felt something slam into the chair she held, the force of the impact reverberating down her arms. She stumbled backwards, taking her sister with her. Jane landed on top of her, knocking the air from Cinzia’s lungs.

  “Cinzia, what’s happening?”

  “Assassin,” Cinzia rasped, pushing Jane off her roughly only to then cover her sister with her own body.

  Her lungs burned. She looked over at the chair she had used as a shield. A large, strangely shaped knife had pierced the seat, buried up to half its length.

  Jane followed Cinzia’s gaze, and then her eyes widened.

  More people were screaming, some were shouting that they wanted to get out, but Cinzia knew that wouldn’t happen. The protocol they had decided upon if such a thing were to happen was to shut the doors and let no one leave—finding the assassins was too important. All she could see was commotion, people stumbling over each other, trying to move towards the back of the room. The dozen guards tried to enforce order, but panic was thick in the air.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” A shout rang through the air, cutting through the panic. “Brothers and sisters!” the voice cried again, and Cinzia saw that it was Ocrestia, standing on her chair, trying to get everyone’s attention. Slowly, the panicked Odenites turned towards her.

  “Do not be alarmed. There is an assassin here, but we are going to take action. Please, be calm. Canta guides us, and she will guide you, too. Let our guards do their jobs.”

  Miraculously, the mood immediately calmed. Even Cinzia felt her breathing ease a little, the strain in her lungs fade. She rose to her knees, motioning for Jane to stay down.

  Suddenly there was a commotion by the door. She was not surprised to see the knife-thrower at the center of it. He thrashed about, pushing people left and right, but Knot was already there. Knot moved quickly, so fast he seemed a blur, and the assassin crumpled to the floor. Cinzia felt a wave of satisfaction. She looked to Wyle. There might be more; she hoped he would know if that was the case. But Wyle was gazing into the crowd, his eyes clouded in concentration. He must not have finished, Cinzia realized. He must still be delving the people.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Cinzia blinked, surprised to see Astrid standing beside her. “I… I don’t think so,”
Cinzia said as she rose to her feet. To her chagrin, Jane followed suit.

  “You need to stay down,” Cinzia whispered to her. “There may be more of them.”

  “That may be, but I will not cower on the ground.”

  “Astrid, can you stay with Jane, please?” As Cinzia said the words, she realized that Astrid was staring at her, a strange expression on her face.

  “Of course,” Astrid said.

  “I need to speak to Wyle,” Cinzia said, but Jane grabbed her hand.

  “Thank you,” Jane said. “You saved me, Cinzia. Thank you.”

  I don’t think it was me who saved you, Cinzia wanted to say. She still remembered the strange sensation of everything slowing around her, Jane’s voice as it lowered in pitch, the knife as it rotated through the air towards Jane. It was decidedly not normal.

  “You’re welcome, Jane,” Cinzia said. “Now, please, stay with Astrid.”

  Cinzia squeezed Jane’s hand, and then moved away. Ocrestia still stood atop her chair, comforting the Odenites. Cinzia was surprised at how easily she made her way through the throng, the Odenites backing away from her.

  “Did you see her move?” someone asked.

  “I almost didn’t, she moved so quickly.”

  “Like lightning.”

  “She is Canta’s servant, what do you expect? She has Canta’s power.”

  As she approached the back door, she saw Knot standing beside Wyle. The man who had thrown the dagger was slumped against the wall beside them unconscious, his hands and feet bound.

  “Has Wyle discerned anyone else that might be a threat?” Cinzia whispered to Knot.

  Knot shook his head. “Not yet.” He was frowning, but his eyes met Cinzia’s. “That was a brave thing you did.”

  Cinzia laughed, unable to help herself despite the humorlessness of the situation. “I’m not sure brave even begins to describe it. What do we do now?”

  She looked over at Wyle, who was scanning the crowd intently. He normally did not look so… intimidating, when he delved, but she suspected he was working harder now that they needed to get through this group as quickly as possible.

  “We wait for him,” Knot said, nodding towards Wyle. “He finds anyone else connected with either assassination attempts, we take them in.”

  “How?”

  “By whatever means necessary.”

  “I’ve got one,” Wyle said after a few moments. He leaned close to her and pointed in the direction of a group of Odenites. Cinzia found herself uncomfortably close to him. The memory of what he had said to her earlier was suddenly very clear in her mind. “The woman there. Blond hair, dark-blue dress. She’s connected with this man, and she’s looking for a way to escape.”

  Cinzia followed Wyle’s gaze and saw a young woman, younger than Cinzia would have expected. “What do we do about it?” Cinzia asked.

  “Might still be others,” Knot said. “We risk them doing something more drastic if we show our hand.”

  “But if we don’t take her now, she may find a way to escape.”

  “How many more people are left for you to delve?” Cinzia asked.

  “Six.”

  “And that will take you how long?”

  “A few minutes.”

  Cinzia nodded. “Then we wait until you’ve delved the rest of them.”

  Wyle nodded, and Cinzia settled back to wait, keeping her eye on the woman he had pointed out.

  She did not have to wait long. Before Wyle had finished, another commotion broke out, but not around the young woman. A middle-aged man grabbed an older woman, wrapping one arm around her neck. In the other hand he held a metal tool of some sort, pressed up to her temple. The man moved towards the door, his back against the wall.

  “Let me out of here!” he demanded. “I need to get out or this woman dies. I can’t stay here any longer!”

  Cinzia, eyes wide, looked at Wyle. He was shaking his head. “I… I already delved him. No signs of danger or any strange associations. He’s just panicking. But he’s not bluffing. He will kill that woman.”

  Beside Cinzia, Knot muttered a string of curses.

  “Knot, can you stop him?” Cinzia asked.

  “I can.”

  “Do it.” Knot immediately began moving towards the man. “Wyle,” Cinzia said, “continue delving the others. I’ll keep an eye on—”

  Cinzia stopped. The young woman was gone. She glanced around frantically. They couldn’t let her go. They had this woman in their grasp, they couldn’t afford to—

  And then Cinzia saw the woman approaching a window. The window was thick glass, not meant to open, but the woman was already hefting a chair, and Cinzia could guess what she was going to do next.

  Cinzia moved quickly, or as quickly as she could, suddenly feeling very slow compared to how she had felt when saving Jane only moments before. The woman raised the chair above her head and threw it at the window, shattering the glass.

  The Odenites, already panicked by the man who had taken a hostage, began to scream.

  Cinzia sprinted towards the woman. She did not know what she would do when she reached her, but she knew she had to stop her somehow. Cinzia bellowed, surprised at the low growl that came from her throat. The woman turned to face Cinzia, her eyes wide, just as Cinzia lowered her shoulder and plowed into her, ramming her against the wall.

  Cinzia stumbled away, her head spinning, but before she could regain her senses she felt a sharp blow to her stomach. What in the Sfaera had she been thinking charging a dangerous person like that? Something struck the side of her head. Cinzia’s vision exploded in flashes of bright light. When she opened her eyes she realized she was lying on the floor, staring up at the female assassin. The woman turned, going for the window, but then stopped. She looked back at Cinzia, and their eyes met.

  The woman muttered something that Cinzia did not understand. Then a small dagger appeared in her hand. Cinzia blinked. Where had the weapon come from?

  Cinzia had been so focused on making sure that she did not escape, that she had forgotten that this woman was an assassin, sent here to kill Jane. But not only Jane, Cinzia realized, as the woman lunged towards her; anyone who was associated with Jane, and certainly Jane’s sister, once a priestess, now her first disciple.

  Cinzia knew, in that moment, she was going to die.

  Then something blurred across her vision, colliding with her would-be assassin, sending the woman sprawling. A small form picked the woman up, slamming her head against the wall, and the assassin slumped to the floor, still.

  Astrid walked toward Cinzia. Cinzia stared at Astrid’s hand as the girl extended it down to her. The hand was small, but not as small as Cinzia would have thought. Cinzia had a sudden very vivid memory of looking at herself in the mirror when she was about Astrid’s age. Cinzia had gone through what could only be described as an ugly phase—and that was being kind—around her ninth and tenth summer. Cinzia remembered looking in the mirror and being disgusted at how her hands and feet seemed so much larger than they should have for her skinny, boyish body. “You’ll grow into them,” her mother had said. “It’s natural, dear.” And her mother had been right. But now, as Cinzia looked at Astrid’s hand, she had a very clear memory of looking into her looking-glass at that age. Astrid was at that same stage of growth, her tiny, boyish frame disproportional to her slightly more feminine, but certainly larger, hands.

  She will never grow out of this, Cinzia realized. She will be stuck staring at this form in the looking-glass until the day she dies.

  A sudden wave of crushing sadness descended upon Cinzia. Cinzia felt something very tangible for this girl, for the life she lived.

  “D’you want me to help you up or what?”

  Cinzia blinked, and then nodded, grasping Astrid’s hand. As she moved, she became very aware of the warm wetness on her thighs and her undergarments. She felt her face turn hot.

  “Pissed yourself?”

  Cinzia’s eyes widened as she stared at Astr
id. “A little,” she said.

  A little?

  “Don’t worry,” Astrid said, helping Cinzia to her feet. “Happens to the best of us when shit like this goes down. No one will care. No one will even notice. I’m just a bit more sensitive to smells.”

  As Cinzia stood, she realized, thankfully, that it had only been a little. She looked down. No wetness was visible through her dress. Still, the discomfort she felt was horrible, as if everyone in the room were staring at her.

  But Astrid was right about one thing—it did not matter. Cinzia squeezed Astrid’s hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Astrid’s hand slipped out of Cinzia’s quickly, waving her off. “Don’t mention it,” she muttered.

  “I mean it,” Cinzia said, but the vampire had already turned back to the unconscious assassin. Cinzia took a deep breath, smoothing her skirts, careful not to press where the wetness might show through. She nearly jumped out of her skirts, wet or not, when a voice spoke behind her.

  “You all right?”

  Cinzia turned, hair on end, to see Knot standing behind her. “Fine,” she said, looking over Knot’s shoulder. “What of the—”

  “We contained the incident,” Knot said.

  Behind him, Cinzia saw a few people from the crowd around the woman that the crazed man had taken captive, comforting her. The man himself was unconscious, slumped against the wall, next to the first assassin they had caught.

  “Good,” Cinzia said, with a sigh of relief. If that woman had been harmed, she did not know how they would have handled the situation.

  “I’m amazed,” Knot said, “at how quickly you went from doing something brave, to doing something stupid.”

  Cinzia’s cheeks, which had not yet cooled down from her earlier embarrassment, now only grew hotter once more. “I know. I just… I couldn’t let her get away.”

  “She could have killed you.”

  “She would have, if it weren’t for…” Cinzia looked at Astrid, who was currently binding the female assassin.