Smoke and Summons (Numina Book 1)

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Smoke and Summons (Numina Book 1) Page 15

by Charlie N. Holmberg


  It was just like before. Why would Rone think anything had changed? Though his father had been elected to the position, he’d chosen to accept it, despite the fact that doing so would cut him off from his real family. From his wife of thirteen years. From his twelve-year-old son. They were left without a father and a husband, and his abandonment had been financial as well as emotional. They’d gone from being comfortable to having no income.

  Rone had taken the best-paying job available: cleaning the sewers. Still, he and his mother had moved out of their small house and into a grubby apartment in the smoke ring after selling everything of worth they had to pay the rent. And his father hadn’t come back. Hadn’t sent money. Hadn’t done anything.

  Rone hadn’t believed it at first, of course. His father had always been a stern man, but he was his father. He wouldn’t just leave them as if they were nothing. So when Rone was thirteen, he made a “pilgrimage” to the Lily Tower against his mother’s wishes. To see his father. To have the reassurance that, though God had claimed Adellion Comf, the Angelic still loved his own flesh and blood.

  Rone had been little better than ignored. Cast away when he grabbed his father’s robes in tears. Chastised by the other priests. He’d left both his hopes for his family and his faith in the Lily Tower that day.

  The Angelic didn’t pause at Rone’s truthful accusation. He pulled the curtain aside and stepped down, almost gone—

  Anger like lava bubbled up Rone’s throat. “Mom’s in Gerech.”

  The Angelic stopped. It was a strange sort of relief. Maybe Kurtz’s suggestion that they come here hadn’t been completely insane.

  Slowly, Adellion Comf turned back around. Glanced at Sandis before settling a weary gaze on Rone. “What has she done?”

  His voice sounded like that of a man burdened with the weight of another’s sin. A small rivulet of warm blood ran down Rone’s palm.

  He forced his hands to relax.

  “She hasn’t done anything, other than survive when the man who swore to the Celestial to protect her abandoned her for his career.”

  A vein pulsed in the Angelic’s forehead. Good. His soul wasn’t completely dead.

  “Rone,” Sandis murmured.

  He ignored her. “She’s been framed.” He’d leave out the fact that she was being framed for his crime. “Theft. From one of the wealthiest families in Dresberg, so of course they’re paying off anyone with power to ensure she’s punished to the highest degree.”

  The Angelic closed his eyes for a moment, and in that brief span of time, he looked twenty years older. Like if Rone touched him, he’d turn to pale ash inside that white-and-silver robe of his. Then some other priest would take the position, abandoning his family just as Adellion Comf had abandoned his.

  The Angelic opened his eyes. Straightened. “There is nothing I can do for her.”

  Rone lunged forward, breaking Sandis’s hold on his wrist. “That is pig fodder, and you know it!”

  His father’s eyes hardened. “Do not raise your voice in this holy place, my friend.”

  “I am your son, not your friend.” Rone jutted a finger toward the Angelic’s chest. “Are you really going to stand here and tell me you don’t care? That you’ll let her rot half to death, until a noose finishes the job? You know that’s what they do in Gerech! You have power. You can intervene. Grant her sanctuary. Pay them off. Do something, damn it!”

  Rone knew the answer before the Angelic even spoke. He saw it in the coldness of his expression. The stiffness of his lip and shoulders. The tightening of his breath.

  He would do absolutely nothing.

  Mom was going to die.

  Rone stepped back and plunged both hands into his hair, pulling on the curls until it hurt. His bad shoulder protested the angle. “Damn you. Damn you and your Celestial.”

  The Angelic turned away.

  “S-Sir.”

  Rone spun around. He’d forgotten Sandis was there. He expected his father to ignore her, to storm off in his righteous indignation, but he didn’t. The coldness remained on his face, but he stopped to listen.

  Sandis eyed Rone. Walked silently to close the gap between her and the leader of the Celesians. “Sir, if you do not . . . care for . . . that”—she swallowed and glanced at Rone guiltily—“then perhaps you might listen to another matter.”

  The Angelic sighed. “Quickly, child.”

  “The occult underground is spiraling out of control.”

  His countenance slacked. “The occult?” That obviously was not what he’d expected to hear.

  Rone released a long breath. Tried to refocus himself. Tried to bury the pain and panic rising in his chest. “The grafters have vessels.”

  “I know this.” The Angelic’s voice was curt. “That’s what makes them grafters, I believe.”

  “One of their leaders, a man named Kazen,” Rone continued, his shoulders tense as iron rods, “is trying to summon a numen supposedly greater than all others.” He looked at Sandis, who nodded confirmation. “He’s already killed innocent people to do it.”

  “Kolosos,” Sandis whispered.

  The Angelic jerked as if stabbed by a knife. “What did you say?”

  Sandis spoke louder. “Kolosos, sir. That’s the numen’s name.”

  The Angelic shook his head. Paused. “And how do you know this?” His eyes narrowed at Sandis.

  Rone took a step forward, putting one shoulder between Sandis and his father. “They thought she was the daughter of someone who owed them money. Captured her. Turned her loose when they realized the mistake.” He inwardly winced—the grafters would never turn a prisoner loose, mistake or not. Hopefully the Angelic didn’t realize that. “But she saw things when she was down there. Heard things.”

  “Please,” Sandis said, gently easing Rone back. “We have no voice with the government. No power. Surely you can . . . do something.”

  But the Angelic shook his head, denying them again. Rone was sure his skin would melt from the amount of heat brewing inside him.

  “Do not fear, child,” the Angelic said. “He will not succeed. You speak of a depth of the occult that is incapable of being summoned into our world. No vessel would survive that amount of evil.”

  Sandis blinked, and Rone noticed a tear on the rim of her eyelashes. “But, sir—”

  The Angelic dismissed both of them with a wave of his hand. “Leave now. I do not want to force you to depart, but I will call upon the priests’ arms if need be.” He focused on Rone. “Do not come here again.”

  And just like that, he vanished into the curtained hallway. The sound of a door opening and closing echoed around them, followed by the clicking of a lock.

  Rone almost chased him down. Almost kicked in that door and grabbed the selfish, godly man by his collar. How good it would feel to throw a fist into his father’s wrinkled face . . .

  But he didn’t. For a long time, he didn’t move, trying to garner some sort of control over himself. Because otherwise, he’d kill the Angelic right there in the Lily Tower, and then he’d be in Gerech, too.

  “Rone.”

  Rone growled.

  Sandis grabbed his arm and tugged. “Rone,” she whispered. “Someone is coming.”

  He blinked. Turned toward the stairs. Of course no one would leave the Angelic alone for so long. Rone couldn’t possibly be the only person who wanted him dead.

  He ushered Sandis back the way they had come, behind the privacy wall and the sheer curtains surrounding it. A priestess came up with a broom to clean the already-immaculate space. When her back was turned, they quietly snuck down the stairs. A small priest asked them if they were lost, but Rone plowed past him without a word, Sandis scrambling to keep up. He wanted out of this place.

  He descended the next set of stairs, then the next, feeling eyes on him. He ripped off his pilgrim sash.

  His mother. What was he going to do about his mother?

  As much as he hated to admit it, he’d held on to a sliver of hope
that his father would help them. That his heart would soften for the family he’d forsaken.

  Now what would Rone do? He needed money. But he’d never make more than Ernst Renad. He’d never be able to out-bribe the briber.

  She’ll be all right. She’s strong, he reminded himself.

  He reached their shoes; about half the pairs left by the pilgrims had been taken, their owners already en route back into the city. Rone paused.

  The city. They had nowhere to go. Kurtz’s home was out of the question. So was Rone’s flat. Could they go to his mother’s? Maybe, but if the grafters knew who he was, they could easily figure out her residence.

  He cursed under his breath.

  “I’m sorry, Rone.”

  Her words sounded like winter.

  He closed his eyes. Rubbed at the headache at the base of his skull. Pilgrims were granted one night in the Lily Tower before venturing back home. One night to figure out what the hell they were doing next.

  Even if he left Sandis, they’d still come after him.

  Besides, he didn’t want to leave her. Not yet.

  He sighed. “Come on.” He led her away from the shoes, away from the stairs, until two white-garbed priestesses with lilies embroidered on their robes greeted them and asked if they were hungry. Rone lied about their backstory, and they were granted a room. He doubted his father would intervene, if he even heard Rone had lingered. He wouldn’t care. As far as he was concerned, Rone was a ghost.

  At least his belly would be full.

  His story had named Sandis his wife, so one of the two priestesses took them to a room with a bed barely large enough for two. Half the far wall was eaten up by a circle-top window that let in bright sunlight dimmed by only a portion of the main city’s pollution. Sandis hurried to it and put her hands on the sill, looking out at the sky with something like wonder. Rone crumpled into a chair by the door and put his forehead in his hands, wincing when the scabbing cuts on his palm met the salt of his skin.

  “It’s so pretty,” she said, pressing her nose to the glass. “The sky looks blue.”

  Rone grunted a response.

  He heard her pull away from the window and settle on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry . . . about your father.”

  Rone lifted his head and snorted. “Don’t be. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not.”

  Sandis frowned.

  It irritated him. It shouldn’t have, but it did. “What?” he snapped.

  She leaned back as if the word had physical force. “I . . .” She looked away. “I think it’s sad. To be alone, even when you have living family.”

  Rone growled. “He chose to leave. When the Angelic dies, the high priests petition together for his replacement. The man they select can choose whether to take the position or not; it isn’t an absolute.” He pushed his head against the stone wall behind the chair and folded his arms across his chest. “He chose to leave.”

  Sandis’s eyes glistened. God’s tower, was she going to cry? This was his life, not hers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So you’ve said. Twice.”

  She was quiet a moment, tracing a ray of muted sunlight on the bedspread. “At least you still have your mother.”

  He glared at her. “My mother is in the pits of the worst prison in Kolingrad.”

  She nodded. “But she’s alive. And she still loves you, doesn’t she?”

  The ball of guilt rolled around stupidly in his stomach. Those damn scars on Sandis’s back resurfaced in his mind. Slave. Her record taken. No one had come to look for her, had they? From what she’d said, the sole family she had left was a distant uncle she couldn’t find.

  “Maybe you can talk to him.” Her words were barely louder than a whisper.

  Rone gritted his teeth. “He obviously doesn’t want to listen.”

  “Not your father.” She scooted along the edge of the mattress to get closer to him. “The man accusing your mother.”

  “Ernst Renad? Ha!”

  “It’s worth a try, isn’t it?” She thought for a moment. “Talbur has, or had, a sizeable bank account, I’m guessing. If we can find him, maybe he can help.”

  “Maybe.” Rone nearly dismissed the dreamlike possibility, but Sandis’s suggestion gave him pause. “You found his name on a gold-exchange record?”

  She nodded. Studied his face.

  He turned away and rubbed the scruff growing on his jaw. What if Sandis was right? Only wealthy men dealt in gold. Maybe this relative of Sandis’s could help him. What Rone needed was money . . . money he could preferably get without risking being thrown into Gerech himself. If Sandis pleaded on his behalf . . . maybe, depending on how much the guy was worth . . .

  And who wouldn’t want to reward a man handsomely for returning his long-lost niece? And if Talbur didn’t turn out to be the charitable type, Rone could take it.

  It wasn’t an idea he relished, but the city had taken so much from him over his twenty-five years. Maybe it was time to start taking back.

  The city. “You’re sure he’s in the city?”

  Sandis nodded, still watching him. He wondered what his face betrayed. But he wasn’t using her; he had planned to help her regardless, more or less. He already had, hadn’t he?

  Then he remembered. “All the pilgrims sign a book before they leave. Maybe one of the priests will let you sort through the names.” It was worth a shot.

  Sandis lit up like a candle. “Really?” She bit her lip, and Rone could see thoughts swirling behind her eyes. “Everyone makes a pilgrimage once in their life, surely. Maybe he’s there. Maybe he came recently!”

  She grinned. Was it so easy to make her happy, even after everything she’d endured? Rone almost mirrored the smile. Almost.

  “No one will question you if you keep your shirt on and watch what you say.” He gestured toward the door with his head. “Go. They’ll kick us out in the morning.”

  Sandis jumped to her feet. “Thank you, Rone.”

  The sincerity in her words eased the cramping in Rone’s middle. He nodded, and Sandis danced into the hallway, leaving him to his tangled misery.

  Chapter 13

  Sandis’s fatigue evaporated the moment her eyes found his name.

  It was in the eighth book she’d tried, two-thirds of the way through. They were not small volumes. An acolyte no older than fourteen had brought her candles and helped her look through the well-kept records; he looked over when she gasped.

  “You found it?” The boy set down the volume sprawled open in his lap.

  Sandis licked her lips and nodded. Blinked tired eyes to make sure she had read it right. Talbur Gwenwig. He’d come to the Lily Tower over six years ago on his own pilgrimage. The entry didn’t list his sins or the like, but he had indicated his place of residence was District Three.

  It wasn’t a true address, but it confirmed that Talbur Gwenwig most likely resided within Dresberg. This was the first true lead she had on her great-uncle. She’d narrowed down his location by seventy-five percent! Her eyes stung with a few rogue tears.

  The acolyte leaned close. “Are you all right?”

  Sandis nodded and wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. “Yes, yes, I’m fantastic.” She scanned the entry again, ensuring she hadn’t missed anything. She even memorized the date and the jagged edges of his penmanship.

  She closed the book and walked back to the shelves in the tiny room, where the pilgrimage records were kept.

  “Get some sleep, miss,” the acolyte said. “It will only take me a few minutes to clean up.”

  Sandis smiled. “Thank you.” She offered a bow—she’d seen several priestesses exchange greetings as such—and hurried from the room, taking a candle with her so she could find her way up the stairs. The higher she climbed, however, the further her success seemed to diminish.

  Rone had looked so . . . miserable earlier, when he’d confronted the Angelic. His father. She could hardly imagine how much it must hurt to be swept away like th
at. To have family, and yet not have family. Like her mother before . . . but that had only been for a brief time.

  A hollow pocket in her chest opened, and it ached for him.

  She neared a room of priests chatting and sped up, shielding her light. Rone had assured her she’d be fine inside the Lily Tower, but she didn’t want to draw attention. Didn’t want to be asked questions, for fear of slipping up.

  She pushed open the heavy door to the room. Rone stood at the window, his arms folded, looking out at the darkened sky. She had assumed he’d be asleep by now. Was he still thinking of his father?

  He glanced back at her. Silent.

  Setting the candle down, Sandis offered him her happy news, hoping it would help. “I found him. He lives in District Three!”

  Rone straightened. “He does? Where?”

  “I . . . that’s all the record said. He didn’t write an address.” Only about a third of the entries had one.

  Rone frowned, an expression that looked deeper and longer in the flickering candlelight. “That’s not much.”

  “But it’s something.” She smiled, wishing he would smile, too. “I feel so much closer. I’ll knock on every door in District Three until I find him.”

  “That will get you caught in no time.” He looked back out the window. Specks of silver caught Sandis’s eye. Excitement built at the base of her throat, and she hurried over to the window, straining to see as far up as its large panes would allow.

  “Oh, wow,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  She pointed. “Look at all the stars! I can see . . . seven of them!”

  Rone snorted. “If you left Dresberg, you’d see a lot more.”

  Pulling back from the cool glass, Sandis said, “Truly? How many more? My father once said that in the country there’s whole clusters of them, and they make shapes.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re like a kid.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked back at the dusty black sky. “What’s wrong with loving stars? They’re so rare . . . but so bright. Even when you don’t see them, you know they’re there. And to think there’s more we can’t see . . . it’s like the Celestial is keeping them secret, and it makes you wonder why.”

 

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