Siege and Sacrifice (Numina)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Yetuae nodded. Braced himself. Chanted.

  A familiar flash of bright light engulfed him. Kaj jerked forward and reached into it. Grabbed . . . something, and pulled it free.

  Yetuae collapsed onto the gold disc, lifeless. The scout ran forward and knelt beside him, checking for a pulse.

  Kaj stared in awe at the small glowing orb in his hands, oblivious to the dead man at his feet.

  Rone knew exactly what it was, and what Kaj would do with it.

  He’d make the first amarinth.

  “It will not be you, Tagaro,” Kaj said as he carefully bent thin ribbons of gold by torchlight. His hands worked with the deftness of experience. “You will stay at my side, along with the first council. You are too useful to sacrifice.”

  The man standing beside Kaj seemed both relieved and discomfited. “Thank you, True Mighty.”

  Rone recognized the Noscon word. His thoughts translated “True Mighty,” but the man had spoken “Kolosos.”

  “I am almost ready for it,” Kaj whispered, connecting the ends of one of the ribbons. Grabbing the loop with pliers, he held it over the torch fire, warming the metal.

  In the distance, Rone heard shouting. It took only a few more seconds for Tagaro to stiffen and ask, “What’s that?”

  Kaj pulled back from the flame, turning toward the locked door. The voices grew louder. Lantern light brightened the drawn curtains.

  “They’ve found us,” Tagaro whispered as the door shook. The head of an axe pierced through the wood.

  Kaj scowled. “Only you.”

  He pushed Tagaro toward the door and bolted for the back window.

  “Give up, Kaj!” bellowed an older man at the front of the mob. His dress was familiar—he was the Mighty from Ireth’s memories. He held a long staff before him, the top burning with fire. He and his men surrounded Kaj, who had his back against a sheer wall of rock. That wasn’t one of the Fortitude Mountains, was it?

  Kaj’s nails dug into the rock behind him as the Noscon warriors slowly advanced. He’d been found out. Betrayed, perhaps. But he was so close. So close.

  I will not die here, he thought, and it felt as though Kaj spoke to Rone directly. I will not die here.

  There was a flash—how it happened, Rone couldn’t see, but as it faded, he got a glimpse of an empty clearing. The people had disappeared, and all that remained of them were fallen torches, scythes, and swords.

  This was how it happened, he realized, the vision fading. This is how he imprisoned them all in the ethereal plane.

  Rone stumbled onto the glassy floor of the plane, gasping for air. His clothes and hair smoked, his skin burned. He felt like he’d been suspended in the monster’s memories for hours, when, looking back at the ongoing battle, it had only been a fraction of a second—the amount of time it had taken him to pass from one corner of Kolosos’s hoof to the other.

  The images spun through his brain. Kaj had created this place, and the Noscons had vanished at his command. Leaving their world behind to decay until the Kolins found it and . . . what? Discovered Kaj’s runes and tablets? Worked the magic out for themselves? But by then, the spirits had mutated, and—

  The spirits. The numina.

  The fallen pillar lay in front of him. He had no time to work through what he’d learned, not if he hoped to thwart Kolosos.

  Shaking, Rone pushed himself upright, ignoring the tightness of skin that felt thoroughly sunburned. Limped. Walked. Ran.

  Could he stop Kaj? Kolosos? Probably not. But the oversized numen would have to figure out what was more important: the tiny gang of numina defending Rone, or his precious pillar.

  The tusked numen trumpeted as Rone neared. He didn’t need to look to feel Kolosos’s attention on him, despite Ireth’s, Isepia’s, and Drang’s attempts at distraction. Kolosos’s wrath raised the temperature of the perpetually mild plane to an unbearable level. The ground bucked under Kolosos’s feet as he gave chase.

  Rone reached the spider-rock creature and swept his arm between its rocky back and the two numina fused to it, and then freed the pair from each other. Snippets of memories poked at his mind, tangled and disjointed, none whole, but he tried to ignore them as he released the next numen, and the next.

  Ireth screamed at him to run, and Rone obeyed. He ran until he thought he’d vomit all the precious morsels he’d collected from the mortal realm. Ran while the freed numina scattered, forcing Kolosos to choose between fighting and collecting. He chose the latter.

  Isepia’s wind beat at Rone’s back, urging him onward.

  Rone hissed through clenched teeth as he pulled off his ruined jacket. He felt like he’d lain out in the summer sun for a week. The skin on his back burned mightily as he moved his arms and discarded clothing that was half-incinerated.

  He tried to pull off his shirt, but moving that much sent sharp stabs of pain over his skin. He craned an equally scorched neck to better see his back. Blisters. Yellow ones.

  He cringed and turned toward Ireth. They had taken shelter in a blocky sort of cave, though the ceiling was far higher than in any cave Rone had ever seen in the natural world. It cut off the light from the heavens and glowed orange with Ireth’s banked fire.

  “I don’t suppose you have anything to treat this.” Rone’s voice was flat.

  Ireth shook his head. Behind him, Drang crouched, licking his own burns. Isepia lingered somewhere outside their protective tunnel.

  You will have to find it yourself, in the mortal realm. Ireth lowered his silvery head. But if you do, you will have to forgo sustenance. I do not think it wise. I do not believe this injury is fatal.

  No, it wasn’t, but it hurt like high hell.

  God’s tower, what Rone wouldn’t give to close his eyes and wake up back in Dresberg, despite its ravaged state. She was there, and that was enough. Rone thought he’d done a pretty good job of holding out up here. In part because everything was so new and, honestly, dangerous. It had kept his mind off things. But the novelty of the ethereal plane was wearing thin.

  Drang said something in Noscon, and Ireth quietly translated, That was foolish. Ireth then said, Thank you for your help.

  Trying to focus on anything besides his fire-damaged skin, Rone asked, “Why can you speak Kolin and he can’t?”

  Drang looked at him. Did he understand?

  I have been watching mankind more closely than most, Ireth answered. I have learned. But they understand some. Especially those who have been summoned frequently.

  Rone nodded. He touched the back of his neck, winced, and dropped his hand. He needed water, desperately. “I’m going to need you to show me the city again.”

  Ireth nodded and tapped his hoof on the glassy ground. Dresberg lit by morning sunlight came into view.

  Rone paused a moment. “If I endured it—went a couple days, maybe three, without reaching down there—could I have enough strength to go back?”

  Ireth shook his head, and the hope Rone had summoned puddled around his feet like used oil. It cannot work that way. And you cannot be summoned, mortal as you are.

  Rone shook his head. “Then how do I get back?”

  Ireth looked at him a beat too long for comfort. Kaj’s power holds up the ethereal plane. Destroying him will free all of us.

  Rone rolled his eyes. “Easy.”

  It is not.

  “It’s called sarcasm, Ireth.” He rubbed his face. At least his hands were never dirty here. But Ireth’s words sank into him, burning hotter than the blisters marring his back. He tensed, understanding.

  “I’m trapped here until Kolosos dies.”

  Or until he destroys us, yes.

  Rone flung his hands into the air, then winced as the motion pulled the tender flesh beneath his shirt. “That’s not exactly freeing!”

  Your spirit will be free.

  Rone growled and turned toward the unnaturally smooth wall of the cave, smacking his forehead against it. “You sound like my father.”

  Ireth cocked his he
ad, perhaps interested by the comparison. Given that he followed Sandis so closely, the numen likely knew who the Angelic was.

  Keeping his forehead pressed to the dark glass, Rone considered what action to take next. He couldn’t sit idly by and hope something happened. He had to continue down this path. His only path, as far as he could see. Knock down the pillars here, hope that Sandis and the others could do the same there. Rone could buy them time while they tracked down the amarinth and Anon. It was possible. It was just . . . hard.

  You need to drink, Ireth reminded him, and though the fire horse was trying to be helpful, Rone really wanted to punch him.

  He didn’t need his hand blistered, too, so he resisted.

  Find water. Water will help you think.

  Rone sighed. It wouldn’t help at first. He hated how much energy it took to reach into the mortal plane. The weakness made him vulnerable.

  Rone turned back to the image of the city. He didn’t want to risk drinking from the canals. Maybe they could move to the Fortitude Mountains. It was a little early in the year for snow and a little late for runoff, but even those barricading mountains had to have streams, right?

  Footsteps outside the tunnel called Rone’s attention away from the vision in the glass. He tensed for a moment before making out Isepia’s silhouette. She spoke directly to Ireth, who translated, There are others here.

  Rone’s pulse quickened. “Others? Good others, or bad others?”

  Ireth looked at Isepia, continuing their soundless conversation. The fire on his body danced russet and gold.

  Come, he told Rone and Drang, and led the way out of the cave. Rone followed, keeping a healthy distance between himself and the wolf-lion.

  When he stepped out into the muted light of the surrounding plane, he gaped.

  There had to be a dozen numina there. A handful had human features mixed with those of plants or animals. There was a serpent, a cloud with tentacles, a deformed hornet. An enormous beast Rone recognized—Mahk. They clustered together, facing Rone. Studying him with curiosity.

  With knowing.

  We witnessed your fight, the cloud said in Kolin. Her mental voice was distinctly female. And we have seen Kolosos and his intentions.

  Kaj, another echoed. And a second. Kaj.

  “You remember.” Rone’s voice was little more than a croak, so he repeated himself, louder. “You remember.”

  Eyes—those who had them—sharpened.

  “You’ll help us?”

  A few looked to Ireth. Perhaps not understanding. Perhaps not trusting a mortal.

  It is dangerous, Ireth said in his matter-of-fact way. But the mortals fight for their lives below. Can we not join them and fight for all that we have lost?

  A symphony of mismatching tones vibrated through the group. It sounded positive.

  Rone smiled. “We can do this. We can do this.”

  Hepingya, one said. The serpent, maybe? The name was repeated again. Hepingya. Hepingya.

  I do not know where the Mighty is, Ireth said, lowering his head.

  Mighty? Rone looked out over the numina. So the chieftain from Ireth’s and Kaj’s memories was Hepingya. Rone’s god. The revelation ignited a strange sensation in his gut, something like nervousness and dread, tainted with hope.

  As though sensing his thoughts, Ireth glanced to Rone. He fears being found by Kaj.

  The cloud numen turned . . . east? Rone could only judge by the muted sun.

  Hepingya, someone repeated. Hepingya.

  Ireth’s flames blazed, quieting the group. He stomped his right hoof twice. The mortal needs sustenance, and I cannot carry him. Let him drink, and we will go.

  The crowd of numina hummed.

  Hope flared so strongly within Rone he forgot the pain radiating through his skin.

  Perhaps they had a chance after all.

  Chapter 23

  Sandis had only followed Kolosos a short ways before the monster exploded in light.

  It was almost like the brilliance of a summoning, but red, hot, and huge. It had flashed like lightning and boomed like thunder, swallowing the sky in its purposeful brilliance.

  She and Hapshi had nearly crashed, both of them temporarily blinded, but he’d landed on a balcony at her directive. The feather-covered rodent hadn’t been able to take off with Rist on its back, so it was only the two of them.

  Tears streamed down Sandis’s cheeks as she blinked red from her vision. By the time her eyes recovered, she faced nothing but a dark city.

  No, she thought, commanding Hapshi to the edge of the balcony. Where had the monster gone?

  Sandis flew, traveling in the same direction as before . . . or in the direction she thought she’d gone before.

  This was right. Wasn’t it?

  She searched, feeling exposed as crowds of survivors gawked from the streets, streaming from their hovels and flats now that the demon had vanished. Sandis faced forward, hoping her hair shielded her face.

  The light had disoriented her, but Sandis was close. Desperately close. And so she waited on a stairwell as Hapshi, under her blood-bound command, flew back to fetch Rist.

  Beneath the pinkening sky, Sandis and Rist searched together until they found an intact but abandoned flat to hide Bastien. Sandis saw to his burns, some of which had cracked and bled, and left the medicine and remaining water with him. Then, uttering a prayer to anything that would hear it, she and Rist hurried into the city to find her brother.

  This time, Kolosos had not had time to leave the city. She was sure of it.

  One would think that a six-story demon with enormous wings and glowing rock skin would be hard to hide, and yet between the carnage, the fire, and the smoke . . . Sandis wasn’t sure how to track it. This part of the city seemed so intact. The broken cobblestones marking Kolosos’s footfalls just . . . ended. Like the monster had retracted its heat and flown to safety. To make things more difficult, they searched not for a giant demon, but a slender adolescent boy.

  She and Rist barely spoke to each other as they searched street after street, peering through windows and into garbage bins, retracing their steps, and bumping into listless people who wandered the streets. In the afternoon hours, their advance was slow, thanks to scarlets and soldiers also scouting the area. Only a few of them might recognize Sandis and Rist, but the vessels didn’t want to take any chances.

  The uniformed patrols ventured too far north, she thought. Sandis had been so close before Kolosos flashed and vanished. She was sure the monster had been headed east . . .

  “Maybe we should follow them.” Rist pointed toward two soldiers on horseback passing through the next street.

  “No. It didn’t go that far.”

  “I watched the sky turn red, Sandis,” Rist said, kicking a broken spoon on the side of the road. “It was brilliant. And huge. Kolosos could be anywhere in District Four.”

  Sandis merely shook her head. She knew they were close.

  “Maybe one of the minions moved the body,” Rist said. “Otherwise he’d be out in the open.”

  The back of her throat burned. “That body’s name is Anon.”

  Rist didn’t reply, but his suggestion nagged at her. If Kolosos’s brainwashed victims also had instructions to hide her brother, she might never find him. Or she’d have to fight innocent people to reach him.

  Her hope floundered.

  Limbs weak, Sandis and Rist continued to search for Anon, occasionally checking trash bins for scraps of food, but everything had already been picked over. Sherig could help them, if she was willing, but Sandis didn’t want to risk losing Kolosos’s trail. The sun was already setting. Her chances of finding her brother would shrink drastically in the dark.

  Even the bell towers held their breath.

  She paused at a canal, scanning its depths as though its waters would grant her answers. She remembered nearly drowning in one not long ago. She’d thought Anon had suffered that fate. Shivering, Sandis forced her aching feet to move on. Cross the br
idge. She and Rist were far from the smoke ring, and the flats up ahead were in better condition than many they had passed. Some still showed signs of people: hanging laundry, scents of dinner. But the windows and doors had all been closed, boarded, bolted. Some of the lower flats had broken windows. Had they been raided? Had the occupants left of their own will, or had something terrible happened?

  Rist, who’d gone around back, reappeared from behind the building. He looked ragged and worn, but for once he didn’t complain. When he neared her, he muttered, “Scarlet,” and tipped his head back. Sandis followed his line of sight and spied two men in police uniforms. They seemed too focused on the task they’d been given to notice her and Rist.

  Kill the vessel, kill Kolosos.

  Get the amarinth, stop the beast, she reminded herself.

  Sandis turned south, softly gesturing for Rist to follow. A man with sallow cheeks crossed their path, muttering to himself, clutching a gold candlestick to his chest. Marching east on worn shoes. Dirt lined the wrinkles of his face.

  Another minion.

  Sandis shied away from him, her hunger swirling into dread.

  She paused at the next intersection, searching as the shadow of Dresberg’s behemoth wall slowly stretched over the city, darkening it before true night settled. Rist left her side, heading for a row of shops nearby. Several had already been vandalized, but Sandis didn’t stop him. She searched the shadows, a prayer in her heart. If only Rone were here. He knew the city so well. He was smart. He’d know what to do.

  Rone at the forefront of her thoughts, Sandis looked up. To the roofs.

  Maybe, if she looked at the city the way Kolosos did, she’d have a better chance of figuring out where the monster had gone.

  Elfri slammed the door on the moaning, mind-numbed slave and balled her hands into fists. The Riggers had captured this one, a young woman, days ago. Treated her wounds, tried a variety of potions, talked to her . . . nothing would snap her out of her mindless crusade to serve the bull monster. Even now, eyes hollow from lack of sleep, the woman pulled against her restraints. She’d already broken a thumb in her attempts to escape.