Smoke & Summons

by Holmberg, Charlie N.

  Pressing her forehead to the windowpane, she peered at the street five stories below her. It wasn’t as crowded in this part of the city, and there were more horses and carriages in the streets than near the smoke ring, but the roads still bore a decent-sized crowd between the buildings’ growing shadows. She searched for Rone among the various shoppers and workers, but from up here, everyone looked like Rone, minus the ones with hats. He never wore a hat. And he shouldn’t—she liked his hair.

  Forcing herself away from the window, Sandis plopped atop the bed, running her fingers over the striped pattern of its comforter. She’d taken a nap already today and couldn’t convince her body to sleep anymore. She’d paced a great deal, and thought a great deal more, though she avoided lingering on the events at Helderschmidt’s, or in that alleyway. She didn’t feel guilty, exactly, but she did feel . . . No, she wouldn’t think about it.

  The priests would hate her now, wouldn’t they? Even if they forgave the gold symbols embedded into her back. Was it all right to kill in self-defense, or if the person was a really bad person? She couldn’t remember. Before her parents died, she’d only gone to the cathedral once a year. After they died, she and Anon had never had time. One of them was always working, and the other didn’t want to go alone.

  Stop thinking about it. Rone would know. She didn’t think it would bother him if she asked a doctrinal question. If he was in a good mood.

  He’d been gone so long . . . Instinct told Sandis he might not be in a good mood. But that was all right. She’d insist he have the bed, and she’d have dinner waiting for him . . . That would cheer him up, wouldn’t it?

  Standing, she leaned toward the window again. Searched the rooftops. Still no sign of him.

  He’s fine. His amarinth had reset, so he had ample protection. She’d seen him knock out five grafters before, including Galt.

  Her stomach rumbled again.

  Sighing, Sandis moved toward the door and looked out into an empty and carpeted hallway. Glad for something to do, she made her way toward the stairs. A tenant she passed on the second floor smiled at her. She smiled back, her hope garnering strength. There were still so many good people in Dresberg. So many. Perhaps Talbur Gwenwig was one of them. And maybe, after Rone got back, they could go to District Three and start searching. If the grafters were reeling the way Rone thought they were, then they needn’t rush.

  For the hundredth time, Sandis wondered what her great-uncle was like. Was he in good health or no? She wouldn’t mind being his nurse. It would give him a good reason to keep her. To claim her.

  As she started for the main floor, she smiled to herself. Perhaps he knew stories of her father, ones she’d never heard before. What if she’d met him as a child? He might even remember her. He could welcome her. She could have family again—

  A middle-aged couple stood at the clerk’s desk on the main floor; she watched them as she took the stairs down. She wasn’t sure where the kitchen was. Should she ask the clerk? She didn’t see the harm in it.

  “Yes, for Jeris,” the woman said. Her hair was especially light for a Kolin. Her husband was balding, and . . .

  Sandis frowned as she reached the last steps. The man was balding, but he had terrible burn scars over the side of his face. They reached into his receding hairline and down into his collar. Recent ones, too, judging by the redness of them—

  The man turned at the sound of her approach. Their eyes met.

  Sandis froze.

  The banker. The banker from before . . . from the last time Kazen had summoned Ireth. She recognized him. Her blood turned to ice.

  She’d done that to him.

  He recognized her, too, by the way his eyes widened.

  Hunger forgotten, Sandis quickly turned around and raced back up the steps, hoping she’d misjudged his expression. Hoping he’d doubt himself. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut . . . Perhaps he couldn’t see very well. Perhaps he’d only stared because he was trying to clear his vision.

  Oh Celestial . . . she had done that to him.

  Her hands were shaking by the time she threw her shoulder into the door of Rone’s room. She slammed it behind her. Pressed her back into it. Threw the small bar above the handle to lock it. Her dress caught on a fine splinter as she sank to the floor.

  Though Sandis had some memories from housing Ireth, they were more like fleeting impressions. Feelings. Rooms, fire, sometimes screaming. Sometimes blood. Always sadness. She hated the sorrow more than anything else. But until now, she’d never confronted the realities of what Ireth was forced—through her—to do. Never before had she seen one of the people again in everyday life. Of course, until now, her everyday life had been spent underground.

  Her heart pounded in her neck, head, chest, and hands. Her fingers went numb, and she rubbed them together to bring the feeling back. Cool sweat pricked her spine.

  He’s alive. That counts for something. She took a deep breath in, let a long breath out. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t Ireth, either. It was Kazen. It was Kazen who forced you both . . .

  Then why did she feel like her skin was trying to suck into her center? Turn her inside out?

  She leapt to her feet. Paced to the window and back, window and back. Perhaps the man hadn’t recognized her. Maybe it wasn’t even him. She could be mistaken, and even if she wasn’t, there was no knowing what he thought or remembered.

  Ireth, are you there? She paused, hugging herself, trying to dig into her mind. Trying to send her thoughts into the ethereal plane, wherever it was. She closed her eyes. Ireth?

  No impressions. No warmth. Sandis didn’t entirely understand her bond with the fire horse, but she wished she could feel him more often. Send an impression of her own. Have a reminder that he was there.

  Opening her eyes, she reached back and traced his name at the base of her neck. It had made no impression on her skin, unlike the brands, but she knew exactly where to find it. These were the sole Noscon characters she could read.

  Pulling her fingers away, Sandis hurried for the window. Pressed both hands to the glass and searched high and low. Please come back, Rone. Celestial, please protect him.

  She swallowed. Paced some more. Sat on the bed. Picked a hangnail.

  Her stomach grumbled. She pulled her knees to her chest. Food could wait. Everything would be fine once Rone got back.

  She stared out the window, at the glare the descending sun made against the faint scratches in the glass. The false set would happen soon—when the sun vanished behind the buildings and the wall, its rays all pointing upward, turning from yellow to orange. Then the true set, and the clouds and smog would turn pink and violet. Then violet would dull to blue and fade to black. And then the stars, somewhere Sandis couldn’t see.

  She let her thoughts focus on the sunset. She didn’t get to see many of them anymore. Maybe it was a blessing, Rone’s being late and her being alone in this room. It let her pause to appreciate the sky. She could be daring and open the window. Stick her head out and look up. Get a better view.

  The yellow rays of the false set had begun to glimmer orange when someone kicked in her door, snapping the small lock right off the frame.

  Sandis jumped off the bed and spun around, her hair whirling across her face and catching on her eyelashes.

  Scarlet uniforms. Gold insignias of boats without sails.

  The banker must have summoned them.

  Sandis ran for the window.

  “Grab her!” one of them yelled, and as Sandis’s fingers brushed the sill, hands grabbed her right above the elbows and yanked her back. Her heel hit one of the bed feet. Another set of hands grabbed her shoulders and shoved her face down into the mattress, her mouth filling with cotton.

  Someone yanked down her collar, revealing the topmost symbols of her script.

  “This is her,” another voice said darkly. “Disgusting. Cuffs!”

  “No, please!” Sandis cried, then gasped when her shoulders jerked back and cool m
etal clapped around her wrists. “I didn’t choose it, I swear! I didn’t—”

  “I’d watch what I said, if I were you.” Her holders spun her around and brought her face-to-face with a man in his midfifties, short but wide. He had round gold buttons signifying rank across one shoulder. “You’ll just incriminate yourself further.”

  Sandis shook her head, hot, wet trails running down her cheeks. “Please, you don’t understand—”

  The officer grabbed her by the back of the neck and steered her toward the door. Her holders easily obliged. “Take her to Gerech. These ones are dealt with swiftly.”

  “No!” Sandis screamed. She tried to throw her head back, to hit something, but her skull only collided with shoulders. She pushed her feet against the door frame, but the men holding her were too strong. They pushed her forward. Her ankle popped sharply, and her entire foot stung.

  Two more uniformed men stood at the head of the stairs. They moved so unbelievably fast. She blinked, and she was on the second story.

  “Rone!” she screamed, trying to wrench herself free. She couldn’t feel her hands or forearms—the policemen gripped her so tightly they’d cut off the flow of blood. “Rone! Someone! I didn’t choose it! I didn’t want to do any of it!”

  First floor. So many scarlet bodies. A flash of sunlight met her eyes, and then she was plunged into a wooden box. The hands released her, and a heavy door swung shut. One, two, three locks clicked into pace.

  Sandis spun around. Her bound hands threw off her balance, and she fell onto her side. Wood panels surrounded her except for a narrow slit in the door. Narrow, and barred with wrought iron. Iron reinforced the panels in long strips.

  A prison wagon. Celestial, she was in a prison wagon.

  Sandis threw herself at the door, barely feeling the impact. “Rone!” She pressed her face to the slit. “Rone!”

  The wagon jerked forward, throwing her off balance once more. She hit her head on the wagon wall. A horse whinnied, a whip cracked, and the vehicle accelerated and turned, throwing her into the other wall.

  Blinking tears from her eyes, Sandis pulled against her cuffs. The chains held tight. She tried to get her hands in front of her, but the wagon jolted and she lost her balance again. Her shoulders burned. Her heartbeat sped to a high-pitched buzz.

  She was going to prison. To Gerech. They were going to kill her.

  “No, no, no, no, no, no.” She righted herself on her knees and inched back toward the window. Leaned her head against the wood above it to keep herself upright. She couldn’t go to Gerech. She couldn’t die, not before she understood what Ireth wanted to tell her. Not before she stopped Kazen. Not before Rone—

  Where was Rone? Was he safe? Was he still at Gerech? Maybe he hadn’t yet used the amarinth . . .

  The wagon turned again. Sandis’s muscles strained as she leaned opposite to it, managing to stay on her knees. She had to get out. Had to.

  Falling onto her back, Sandis rammed her feet into the door once, twice, three times, fighting the dull ache in her ankle. She used all the strength she had. Shimmied to the side and aimed her strikes at the locks. If she could just break them—

  She pounded and pounded. The locks didn’t budge. The door didn’t offer so much as a splinter.

  Her eyes stung—sweat? Pushing herself up again, Sandis scanned the walls around her—but of course they were secure. This was a prison wagon.

  More tears blurred her vision. She crept back to the window. Anyone, anyone . . . Celestial, please—

  She knew this street. Peering through the slit in the door, she watched the shops speed by, watched the faces of the curious people who glanced her way. They didn’t know about Kazen, about Kolosos, and the Angelic had not heeded her warning. Would Rone spread the word? Would anyone protect them?

  She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. The wagon turned, growing closer to the Innerchord. Closer to Gerech. There was nothing she could . . .

  Ireth.

  The thought was so loud it drained out the turning wheels, the heavy steps of the horses, the sounds of the city.

  Could she summon Ireth? He was a powerful numen. He could certainly break out of this wagon.

  But the last time Sandis had summoned—half summoned—him, she’d passed out. She couldn’t run if she passed out. And if she ignited a prison wagon, she might as well light a beacon for any grafters, mobsmen, or policemen in the city. Kazen would find her for sure. How could he not? And what if there were innocent people crossing the street or passing the wagon? What if the flames caught them?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing sweat and tears from them. Opened them again. Searching the street passing under her. She tugged at her memory, making a map of Dresberg. Gerech . . . they’d turn soon, and—

  The canal.

  They would pass over one of the city’s canals any minute now. This street bowed into a bridge to cross it. The water would put out the flames, and if the water’s current was strong enough, maybe it could sweep her away. Do the running for her. She could swim, a little. Her father had taught her before he died.

  But if Sandis lost consciousness . . .

  Anon had drowned in a canal. Had it been this one?

  She gritted her teeth. There was no other choice. Ireth, the canal . . . or Gerech. Death. She had to risk it. She had no time.

  She chose.

  Dropping onto her back, Sandis wrestled with her handcuffs, trying to get her feet over the chains so she could have partial use of her hands. She strained her shoulder doing so—cried out—but she got one over, then the other. Her hands were in front of her.

  Now the timing. She pressed herself against the door. Stared out the window. She had to say the words fast. They had almost reached the canal—

  Pressing her hand to her head, she sang, “Vre en nestu a carnath. Ii mem entre I amar. Vre en nestu a carnath.

  “Ireth epsi gradenid!”

  Flames like screams engulfed her.

  They pierced like sharpened knives. She fell into the sun and kept falling, burning, wrenching apart—

  The metal of her handcuffs dripped bright and molten from her wrists. The wrought iron of the wagon whined like a dying horse—and then it blew apart, blasting her into the canal.

  The water hit her like acid.

  It sizzled around her ears, and quicker than a gasp, the flames were doused, extinguished. There was water and cold and no air, no air—

  Sandis’s head burst from the surface. She gasped, even as the current tried to drag her under. The canal spun around her. Darkness edged her vision.

  Stay awake. Stay awake!

  She submerged. Tried to kick with the current, but her legs were leaden weights. Her body barely felt like hers. The black crept into her eyes like bleeding capillaries.

  Her hand hit the concrete wall of the canal. She pushed herself up. Broke the surface again. Gasped for air.

  Somehow, she managed to roll onto her back. It made it easier to stay afloat, to breathe, though the cold water continued to splash onto her face. Trash hit her shoulder and stuck for a moment before breaking away. The sky was fragmented, made of sand. Her eyes rolled back—

  Water filled her nose and mouth. Sandis sputtered. Tried to swim. The current sucked at her heavy limbs. She hit the side of the canal, and the water pushed her up. Let her cough and gasp for a moment before dragging her down again.

  This was how Anon died.

  Her vision blinked black. She forced it to gray. Stay awake. Celestial, let me stay awake. Help me. Help me!

  Her body slammed into metal grating.

  She grasped at it, though her fingers felt fat and numb. The hands of a corpse. The canal waters surged into a tunnel and dropped into the sewers, but rusted grating barred the way, keeping out trash and bodies.

  Her grip slipped—she grappled with her other hand. Her feet. It was like holding on to the surface of a mirror. Her muscles had no strength. The water pressed her against the grate, and Sandis managed
to shove a hand through the crossing bars high enough to keep her head above water. To breathe.

  Blackness trickled across her sight. Dark spots when she blinked. Eyelids like anvils. No. Stay awake. How far had she gotten? This grate . . . They’d find her if she couldn’t get past this grate—

  Her hand slipped from the bars. Water sucked her dead weight toward the canal bottom.

  Chapter 19

  Sandis’s pale hand slipped under the water’s surface. Two seconds later and he wouldn’t have seen it. Wouldn’t have known.

  He was losing her.

  “Sandis!” Rone shouted. He dived into the cold water, shoes and all. The grate had stopped her. Thank the Celestial, the grate had stopped her.

  The canal turned black as he reached the bottom, but Sandis’s pale foot beckoned to him. He grabbed her ankle and jerked her toward his chest. Got his arm under her shoulder. Kicked off the concrete and sailed for the surface.

  He broke free and sucked hot air into his lungs.

  He’d seen officers outside the inn. A prison wagon turn the corner. He’d nearly fallen to his death entering their room through the window instead of the door.

  The room had been empty, trampled. One look and he knew.

  He’d never run so fast in his life. But the cart was faster.

  Right up until it burst into fire.

  The flames shot three stories high, blinding and bright like a piece of sun had fallen from the heavens. They’d destroyed the carriage, its driver, and the attending scarlets, maybe the horses. Taken out part of the bridge.

  Though Sandis had surely caused the fire, she hadn’t been there. Ashes, glowing iron, and smoldering wood, but no Sandis.

  He’d followed the canal. Thank God he’d followed the canal.

  He had to stretch and leap through the water to reach the edge of the canal. Almost couldn’t pull himself up with her weight added to his, but he wouldn’t let her go. His heart felt twice its normal size, and he heaved, got an elbow on the lip, a knee. Dragged her with him.