Siege and Sacrifice (Numina)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  “I suppose your studies can also tell us where they ran off to?” Rone asked.

  Jachim’s lip quirked. “Wouldn’t that be useful? To have one of them here to guide us. This is all their mess, really. Their gods, their magic. I have not yet cracked that egg, but I dearly wish to. I have a theory involving barges—”

  “Franz,” Peterus groaned.

  The scholar shut his mouth as quickly as he had opened it and scribbled something in his notes.

  “It is clear,” General Istrude finally spoke, “that we need to strike Kazen between summonings. If I could have more men—”

  “You cannot have more men,” Var interrupted.

  “With all due respect, Triumvir, border patrol is not critical at this time. If this man and his numen are not taken care of, you will have no citizens left.”

  Finally, a man with sense.

  Oz chuckled.

  High Priest Dall narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, sinner, what causes you such mirth?”

  The Angelic’s brow furrowed in a familiar way that gave Rone more nostalgia than he cared to admit. “Do not condemn him here, brother.”

  High Priest Dall drooped. “My apologies, Reverence.”

  Rone sighed. Sighed, because he was growing tired of being angry.

  “Kazen is a smart son of a whore,” Oz said with a radiant grin. “He makes sure Kolosos always runs before it changes back, even if the work is left unfinished. Does it in a great sea of fire, too, flushing out any spies who might try to follow. Kazen also knows where to hide. He knows this city better than any of you.”

  Triumvir Holwig said, “We have lost many good men trying to pursue him. Those who survive the fire are hindered by the fallen buildings and broken streets left in his wake. Others are picked off by the crab monster.” He closed his eyes and grimaced. “At least, those who have not deserted.”

  Unfazed, Var asked Oz, “Do you have a similar knowledge of the underground?”

  Oz shrugged. “I’m an ant compared to Kazen. The reason this one”—he gestured toward Bastien—“isn’t with me anymore is because I don’t have the old bird’s savvy.” He chuckled, as if that were some great joke. Sandis’s hands formed fists, so obviously it was a joke she understood. “He will never hide in the same place twice. He will never hide where you can find him. If you get close, he’ll hunker down. You get closer, he’ll summon one of his monsters and kill you.”

  “He has Rist.”

  Sandis’s voice was reverent, but the table heard her. “The other vessel with him doesn’t need a full day to recuperate.”

  “Aye,” Oz agreed, “but neither do we.”

  Bastien, twisting his hair around his fingers until they turned purple, said, “S-So you plan to use us as your army?” Not so different from what Sandis had intended with Kaili and Rist, but it felt different.

  “We will use all the assets we have.” Var rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “I would like General Istrude to continue rallying his men in the city. Search, and try to maintain some degree of normalcy. Enforce the Citizen Action law.”

  “The what?” Rone and Bastien asked simultaneously.

  Jachim answered, “It’s a law that requires citizens to continue working in times of crisis if their immediate vicinity is not in danger.”

  Rone’s brows drew together. It made sense, yes, but to require men and women to work their factories when a monster could rise up and crush them at any moment . . . and then to use the border patrol to prevent them from fleeing? Who are the real monsters here?

  “Can any of your numina fly, Oz?” asked Holwig.

  One of the lads with him looked up suddenly. So they were paying attention after all.

  Oz nodded. “Jansen here is bound to Pettanatan. It’s a flyer.”

  Rone mouthed the strange word. He heard Bastien whisper, “It’s like a sandstorm on legs. Level five.”

  “But,” Oz continued, “none of my vessels, and none of the numina I know, will best that monster. I’m aware that grafters are the cockroaches of your wonderful city”—a wry smile played on his face—“but the actual number of summoners and vessels is much smaller than you may think. Vessels are hard to come by. They don’t always survive the . . . process. We have some powerful ones”—Oz looked in their direction, but Rone couldn’t tell if that look was for Sandis or Bastien—“but even together . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

  “I will use the resources we have,” Triumvir Var repeated, not dissuaded. “But I want you to take your boy as close as you can the next time Kolosos strikes. I want you to follow it. Our soldiers have yet to succeed on foot; perhaps you can find it from the air.”

  The smile faded, and Oz turned an almost paternal glance to Jansen. A moment passed before the grizzled man nodded. “I’ll do it.”

  Jansen averted his eyes.

  “Once the monster is gone,” Triumvir Var continued, “Kazen will be far less of a threat. We have three options.” He paused, looking around the room slowly, meeting everyone’s eyes. “Kill Kazen, take his amarinth, or kill the vessel.”

  “No!” Sandis jumped up on her seat.

  Every head turned toward her. Rone grabbed her fingertips and urged her back down. They had to be careful around these dogs. Keep their cards close.

  A vein protruded on Var’s temple. “Were this any other situation, Sandis Gwenwig, I’d have you tossed out for that.”

  Sandis squeezed Rone’s fingers. He felt her shake. She was losing her nerve. “I-I only mean to say that . . . that killing the vessel is unlikely to fix the problem.” She swallowed. “Kazen has others. With the amarinth, he’d be able to summon into them as well.”

  Rone ground his teeth together.

  Var nodded, albeit with a frown. “Regardless, I want to know where Kazen is. And Oz”—he focused on the summoner—“if you have any opportunity to end his life, take it. You will be rewarded handsomely.”

  The corner of Oz’s mouth ticked into a half smile. “I’m sure adequate compensation could be arranged, Your Grace.”

  “But I want an excavation team assembled.” Var turned first to the other triumvirs, who nodded their consent, then shifted his focus to Jachim. “I want you to direct it. And take this lot.” He gestured to Rone, Sandis, and Bastien. “I want to know more about this amarinth, and I want to know if there is more than one.”

  Jachim considered. “It’s very likely. I have little documentation on the artifact, but the plural form of the term is used just as often as the singular. There could be more than one.”

  Really? Rone sat up a little straighter. More than one? How many?

  He was not the only one interested in the scholar’s claim. Whispers rose up around the table.

  “As helpful as that may be,” Triumvir Holwig said, “I don’t believe Kolosos can be defeated in a minute.” He glanced to Rone, who nodded. “And not by a single person. It’s my understanding the amarinth works only for the individual, not the group.”

  “It’s a start.” Var sounded defeated.

  Sandis squeezed Rone’s hand harder, drawing his attention to her. Her jaw was tensed, as were her shoulders. He was about to lean over to ask what was wrong, but she blurted, “There’s another way to defeat Kolosos.”

  Everyone in the room straightened. Was she going to say what Rone thought she was? He peered in Cleric Liddell’s direction. The man was pale and bug-eyed.

  Sandis swallowed. “There’s a numen I believe is equal in strength to Kolosos.”

  Now the Angelic and Dall stiffened. Did Marisa?

  Interesting. Perhaps they did know.

  “What do you mean?” demanded Var.

  Oz touched his chin. “I wondered . . . the poles?”

  Sandis nodded.

  Cleric Liddell sputtered, “Perhaps now is not a good time—”

  “The Celestial is a numen, sir.”

  Rone could feel the collective intake of air at Sandis’s words. Felt it grow stale within their lungs.

>   The Angelic slammed his fist on the table. “This is blasphemy.”

  “Indeed,” murmured Peterus with interest.

  But Var held up a hand, silencing further outbursts. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  Sandis talked about Kazen’s time as a priest, his rants about the church, and her discovery about the astral sphere. Hearing the secrets spoken out loud, among so many, made Rone shiver.

  Var’s reddening eyes turned toward the priests. “Is this true?”

  “It is blasphemy,” Dall echoed.

  Cleric Liddell stared at his lap.

  “Regardless,” Oz chimed in, “whether it’s the Celestial or not, there is a name on the top of the astral sphere. One I cannot translate. Perhaps your scholar here can help.”

  Jachim worked his mouth, but didn’t answer. He looked defeated.

  “If we had an amarinth,” Oz went on, “we may be able to summon this numen and mimic what Kazen has done. We’d be able to fight him on his own ground.”

  The high priest continued to mutter about blasphemy.

  “Then that is an avenue we will pursue,” Var said. “Jachim?”

  “We’ll start where you found the first amarinth.” Jachim’s eyes sought Rone. “If you can remember the location.”

  Rone licked his teeth under his lips, and for a moment, he thought he felt a twinge in his once-injured shoulder. “I think I can. But you’re going to get wet.”

  Chapter 6

  They all filed from the room, Bastien practically thrumming with eagerness to get away. Sandis didn’t think it was because of Oz—Bastien had never seemed particularly fearful of his previous master, whom he claimed was kinder than Kazen. She assumed it had to do with the four walls, made to feel closer by the sheer number of bodies between them. Bastien didn’t like tight spaces.

  Jachim and two of the triumvirs descended upon Rone, carrying him out of the room on a palanquin of inquiries about the sewer where he’d found the amarinth. Chief Esgar and General Istrude followed them. Oz took his time gathering his vessels, who seemed oblivious to their surroundings. But it was the priests Sandis waited for. The Angelic, specifically. And though his three attendants huddled around him like bodyguards, they all stopped when Sandis blocked their path.

  She looked straight at Rone’s father’s face and said, “I need to speak with you.”

  The Angelic’s eyes narrowed. “You have spoken enough.”

  “Please.”

  Sandis expected him to push her away, as he had always done before. But something had changed in his countenance. Changed in Dresberg, and changed in her as well. Glancing around the room, likely to ensure it was indeed empty, the Angelic said, “Leave us.”

  “But—” Cleric Liddell began to protest, but the Angelic silenced him with a raised hand.

  High Priest Dall leaned in. “We’ll be just outside the door.” He gave Sandis a look cold enough to freeze before he pushed past her, guiding Cleric Liddell and Priestess Marisa to the large foyer beyond the room. Rone, shoving Jachim aside, started toward her, but Sandis waved a hand, urging him to stay put. He glanced once to his father before nodding and turning back to the scholar.

  Sandis looked the Angelic in the eye without flinching. “I want to know the truth. I want to know about the name on the top of the sphere.”

  In a low, quick voice, almost a hiss, the Angelic said, “You should have only spoken to me. To say such a thing aloud in this company . . .”

  “Then it’s true.”

  “You do not know what powers you toy with—”

  Sandis cut the air with her hand, interrupting him. Matching his tone, she said, “I will shout it to all the world if you do not speak to me as an equal, sir.” She’d had enough of being talked down to from Kazen and her great-uncle. She had value here, and she wouldn’t let this man, however she’d once respected him, take it away from her. “I spoke out because I want my city to survive. I want the people I love to live. Now”—she leaned closer—“I need answers to very specific questions, and we have very little time to speak privately.”

  Sandis didn’t dare take her eyes from the Angelic. She waited for him to refuse her demand for equality. Never before had a vessel been anywhere near equal with the head of the Celesian Church. Anything but. Yet Sandis knew the secret at the heart of their religion—a secret that meant she and the other vessels were more entwined with Celesia than she’d thought possible.

  The Angelic let out a great, deflating breath that aged him twenty years. He pressed a hand into the wall as if to support himself. When he spoke again, it was with a sliver of voice. “The last thing this country needs is a trial of faith.”

  Sandis gritted her teeth. A trial of faith? What about my trial of faith? “Am I not a sinner, then?”

  She hadn’t planned to ask that. Yet now that the words hung between them, her heart constricted, desperate for an answer.

  He contemplated the question only a moment. “The occult is what it is.”

  Her mouth soured. “That is not an answer.”

  “You tread very delicate ground, Sandis Gwenwig.”

  Sandis straightened. She was a few inches shorter than the Angelic, who was a few inches shorter than Rone. She could see traces of Rone in his father’s face—not the shape of his eyes, but the color, the faint star around the iris. The nose was the same, too, the curl of the hair. That was it. Perhaps age had skewed the Angelic’s features, but Sandis suspected Rone’s looks took after his mother.

  “I need a straight answer,” she whispered, focusing on the black circles in his eyes. “Do you have an amarinth?”

  Genuine surprise widened his features. “No.”

  She nodded. “Then how could you summon—”

  “The Celestial has never stepped foot in the mortal realm,” the Angelic said, clipping his words. “It is too powerful.”

  “You once said that of Kolosos.”

  The Angelic shook his head. “I do not have one. I did not know what one was until this meeting.” He weakly gestured to the long table surrounded by empty chairs. “If I did, I would forfeit it. I would do whatever it takes to crush the evil that grafter has unleashed on this city.” His face fell, and he rubbed his forehead. “But I cannot stop him. Not yet. I am . . . too weak. I fear we all may be.”

  Sandis rolled her lips together. Were they too weak?

  Adellion Comf’s heavy hand settled on her shoulder. “I admonish you, Sandis. Swallow what you know and keep it safe. Before today, I could count on one hand those who knew the nature of God. You will destroy the people’s spirit if you treat the truth lightly.” Pulling himself to full height, the Angelic walked away, joining the others from his retinue.

  Count on one hand, she thought, her gaze seeking the nearest window.

  And one of them was Kazen.

  This wasn’t the first time Sandis had been in the sewers beneath Dresberg, but this time the cool darkness made her uneasy, despite all the people with her. Perhaps because of them. Rone and Jachim were the only ones she knew by name; the rest were excavators Chief Esgar had rounded up.

  She splashed into the water, though here it only reached midcalf. Rone’s hands were warm around her waist, which was the only pleasant thing about the tunnel lit by handheld kerosene lamps. The water looked relatively clean, but it smelled of mold and excrement. When Sandis put a hand on the wall to steady herself, her fingers slid on the slimy surface.

  “Careful, it’s splintering,” Rone said, holding his own light high, studying the wall. Sure enough, not far from the manhole, the concrete had cracked. He guided her away from it, farther down the narrow passageway to make room for the remaining excavators. The street was about nine feet above them. The sewer narrowed up ahead, unless that was a trick of the shadow. As they trudged forward, Sandis noticed a connecting branch of the tunnel had crumbled in on itself.

  She eyed the concrete ceiling and prayed.

  “Here?” Jachim asked, his light swinging with his
excitement.

  “Up a little ways more.” Rone offered his hand to Sandis; she took it with both of her own.

  In the past, she and Rone had traveled through the sewers in near darkness. The lanterns brought to her attention colors and textures she hadn’t noticed before. Things she didn’t wish to notice—filth and splintering concrete and foul slime—so she kept her eyes on the water and listened for rats. They dropped down a small incline, the current growing louder as they went. The water deepened, but concrete lips on either side of the tunnel gave them something to walk on. Everyone’s shoes squelched with their steps. Sandis stumbled, but managed to right her footing without impeding the others’ progress.

  They trudged for twenty minutes before Rone said, “Here, I think,” and pointed. Sure enough, a quarter of the tunnel up ahead was cluttered with debris. Jachim instructed the men with pickaxes to tear at the wall beside it. Sandis watched for several minutes as stone and concrete splashed into the water and the hammering of steel echoed through the sewer.

  “Hey.” Rone’s voice drew her away from the sight of destruction and scent of burning kerosene. He clasped her shoulders and lowered his face until it was level with hers. “What are you thinking?”

  She hadn’t had a chance to tell him about her conversation with his father. She would when they were alone. Of course, Rone knew she’d spoken with the Angelic.

  “They won’t hurt you,” he tried.

  Shaking her head, she said, “Not thinking about that.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. They were warm, soft, assuring. She wanted to pull his mouth to hers, forget her worries for a few seconds, but there were so many people—

  “Here!” a man called, and he set aside his pickax to haul a great stone brick out of the wall. “Hold up the light!”

  Sandis and Rone exchanged a glance before pushing closer, Rone literally elbowing excavators aside. A man held a lamp near the excavated hole, and Jachim stepped up to it, peering inside.