Siege and Sacrifice (Numina)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Straightening, Rone took in the sight before him and shrunk.

  The pillar was enormous, tall as the Degrata, or close to it. Soft, morose sounds echoed from the creatures trapped together to form it. The faces of dozens of beasts, many of which Rone didn’t recognize, watched the approaching army, a tangle of limbs both human and not. Skin, fur, scales. At the base was a great orange blob, a story high, with no other features that Rone could discern.

  “I can’t reach that.” The first connection, between the blob and the half-human, half-bird thing atop it towered above his head. And none of the numina could give him a boost.

  Iihedoh flapped its split wings at the pillar. It didn’t so much as sway, but it gave Rone an idea.

  Waving to Ireth to beg translation, Rone said to Iihedoh, “Could you and Isepia lie facedown here?” He pointed to the ground near the blob. “How fast can you beat your wings? How much air can we get?”

  Ireth glanced at each of the flyers in turn, his request silent, before all three made eye contact with him.

  They did as he asked, lying together, pulsing their wings. It worked surprisingly well, though Iihedoh provided the brunt of the power. Backing up, Rone ran full force toward the blob, then leapt just before reaching Isepia’s head. The gusts carried him upward, nearly flipping him over. He soared through the first and second numina of the tower—medicine bottles, mountains, a young girl’s laugh—and his mortality cut through their bond.

  All six stories of the great pillar collapsed to the ground without so much as a thump.

  Rone landed on his feet, then his knees, wincing as the skin on his back pulled. The numina behind him writhed in panic and excitement alike. Now to separate them—

  The ground shuttered, the cause undeniable.

  Ireth stood erect. We must go.

  Everyone crowded into Triumvir Var’s sitting room, which was the largest in the house. The furniture had been pushed back against the wall to make room for the dining table. Chairs were brought in to surround it. Teppa and Inda sat tightly together, silent, on a couch in the far corner. Rist, hands bandaged, fumed on the same furniture, pressing against the opposite arm to give himself as much space from the other vessels as possible. He had not been happy to be exiled to the back corner, but he also refused to leave. He didn’t like decisions being made without him present. Decisions that could involve him.

  Sandis felt very much the same. Fortunately, for now, none of that heated anger was aimed toward her. Rist had awoken sick, but more or less understanding of the actions Sandis had taken to defend them.

  The triumvirs took up the head of the table, their chairs pressed so close together the arms touched, which would make it difficult for any of them to stand, let alone leave. General Istrude and Chief Esgar, both of whom had been called back from their work, sat at the opposite end of the table. Sandis sat nearest the general, with Bastien to her right and Oz to his right. Jachim sat at the corner, between Oz and Triumvir Peterus. Across from the grafters stretched the Celesian retinue: Priestess Marisa, Cleric Liddell, High Priest Dall, and the Angelic, whose tight expression very much matched Triumvir Var’s.

  As the last of the group seated itself, Sandis closed her eyes, trying to stretch her mind to the ethereal plane. She knew she could not reach Rone, so she sought the presence that had comforted her so many times over the last two years. Ireth?

  She did not feel his warm response.

  “The pillars?” Triumvir Var spoke first, his gaze on General Istrude.

  “We’ve dismantled the eastern pillar.” His expression was grave. “Not without casualties.”

  Sandis’s heart thumped hard against its cage. “Casualties?”

  The general glanced at her, then shifted his gaze to Triumvir Var.

  Sandis didn’t wait for him to receive permission to disclose his meaning. “We’re meeting together because we are in this together.” She passed a glance toward the triumvirate. “By your invitation. If we want to succeed, we need to trust one another.”

  Triumvir Var’s lip curled.

  To her surprise, it was Triumvir Peterus who answered. “We gave the general a kill order, should his means be hindered.”

  Bastien paled. “Against the . . . minions?”

  The general nodded.

  Sickness churned in Sandis’s gut, but she tried not to let it show on her face.

  Jachim said, “I’ve studied the ones we’ve captured, but I cannot understand the . . . spell, for lack of a better word, that Kolosos has put over them.” He rested his elbows on the stack of ledgers before him. His usual excitement wasn’t present today. The war was wearing down even him. “They’re worse than animals. They don’t sleep. They move under a will that isn’t their own. They can’t be dissuaded.”

  “We eliminated three of them,” General Istrude added, hushed. “I lost two men.”

  Sandis nodded. What else was there to do? Celestial, please—

  She looked toward the Angelic, who stared hard at his hands. Would it help, to pray to the Celestial? Would it even hear her?

  “However,” Chief Esgar butted in, “the base of the pillar won’t move.”

  “Pardon?” Triumvir Var asked.

  General Istrude rubbed his forehead. “The bases. The gold is somehow welded together.”

  “I’ve men digging as we speak,” the police chief added. “But . . . it’s strange. Like the foundation has merged with the earth. Like the soil beneath the cobblestones has turned to stone.”

  Triumvir Var sighed. “But the others are being dismantled?”

  “I’ve men on it,” the general said at the same time Chief Esgar replied, “Yes.” Then, looking sheepish, Chief Esgar continued, “But the west pillar was partly demolished before we got there. Seems the . . . rebels are assisting.”

  He was obviously loath to admit it.

  Triumvir Var made no response, merely nodded to Jachim, who bent over the arm of his chair and retrieved a large roll of paper from the floor. He laid it on the table and, with Cleric Liddell’s assistance, unrolled it. A map of Dresberg lay before them. Sandis leaned forward, examining it. Black marks crossed it, seemingly at random. But Sandis recognized them as buildings and landmarks Kolosos had already destroyed.

  “Assuming Kolosos respawns at the Innerchord,” Triumvir Var said without standing, “where will we place our men?”

  “I have four thousand,” General Istrude said, rising from his chair.

  “Only four?” asked Triumvir Holwig.

  The general’s cheeks tightened. “Reinforcements from the border have not yet arrived, and when they do, we’ll need to get them over the wall.”

  “When they arrive, they’ll make quick work of moving the destruction, I’m sure.” Triumvir Var sounded tired.

  “We have Rone, as well.” Sandis met General Istrude’s dark eyes. “I don’t know his numbers, but the numina are powerful—”

  “We can’t rely on that,” Chief Esgar spat.

  If Sandis were a cat, her hackles would have risen at the comment.

  “I’m afraid we must.” Triumvir Var sighed.

  “This is,” chimed in the Angelic, “a matter of faith.” He did not look up from his clasped hands.

  The chief groaned and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t trust what I can’t see. We don’t even know what’s happening . . . there. We have no means of communication.”

  Sandis stood, straightening her shoulders. “Then we’ll do the best we can here. General, where should your men go, and how can we assist them?”

  Bastien took her ring and pinky finger in his hand and squeezed.

  We must go, Ireth insisted.

  “Let me free them.” Rone stared up at the massive pillar of numina that lay before him. He couldn’t get to all of them, but a few—he rushed for the half human and the unidentifiable animal thing bound to her shoulders. His hand passed through, separating them. No vision followed—had he been too fast, or did these numina not remember anythin
g from their time on the mortal plane? The half human took off without an iota of gratitude, but Rone didn’t have the luxury of dwelling on it.

  The ground shook again, harder. Red light reflected off the distant western sky.

  One of the numen soldiers let out a panicked whoop. Ireth, hoofing toward Rone, urged him, Quickly!

  Rone moved to the next numina pair and separated them, then the next, only half comprehending the tattered memories he saw. The fourth freed numen sputtered off in fast Noscon Rone could hear, and Ireth answered it in kind. Instead of running, the creature sidled up next to Drang, who stared at the glowing red light with watchful, intelligent eyes.

  Five, six, seven. More faceless people swept through his mind as he moved between the numina. Sharpening a spear. Kissing a child. Taming a wolf.

  Another numen joined Ireth’s army. Another fled.

  Were the ground true glass, it would have split on the next shake. Rone fell onto his hip. It was as though the ethereal plane resided inside a ball, and someone had shaken it with great enthusiasm.

  More numina began to bleat, cry, whistle—urging Ireth to call for a retreat. But the more numina Rone freed, the longer it would take for Kolosos to reconstruct his pillar.

  Idiot, he thought, you can run through them.

  Changing his angle, Rone lined himself up with the center of the closest bound numina, then ran up the length of the pillar, passing through ghostly body after ghostly body, holding a straight line toward the top. Colors, shapes, and chunks of Noscon words swirled through his mind, making him dizzy, but he didn’t slow.

  An earsplitting and all-too-familiar bellow thickened the air. Kolosos’s dark wings silhouetted the sky, his fire red as heart-squeezed blood.

  Rone collapsed, fatigue eating up his legs. He hadn’t finished, not nearly, but his energy had dwindled like flour in a sieve. His pounding heart couldn’t replenish it. His mind worked to reorient itself before his stomach dumped what little it had in it.

  A too-human cry ripped from one of the freed numina as it took skyward. The ground shook, then shook again, the brief pauses between the steps growing shorter and shorter until they vanished completely.

  Time to go.

  Rone pushed himself to his feet, passing a regretful glance to the three stories of numina still bound together, still struggling to free themselves. Their eyes shifted between Rone, their would-be savior, and Kolosos, their tormentor.

  Rone nearly toppled over in the next quake. Ireth appeared beside him as though to help, but Rone couldn’t lean on the fire horse. None of them. He could touch only the glass. Only the walls of the cage never intended for him.

  God’s tower, Kolosos moved fast.

  As tall as the pillar had been, the monster rushed toward them, all black and red cracks and sulfur and rage.

  Rone ran, but he only made it two steps before the ground bucked and threw him to his knees. He pushed himself up, muscles straining, and managed three more strides before falling backward. Even Ireth struggled to advance.

  The air grew hot. Hotter.

  They weren’t going to make it.

  Sandis, he thought, shoving himself upward once more. He would run until his body fell apart. He would. Not. Die. Here.

  He took off sprinting and fell, nearly hitting his head on the quaking crystal beneath him. Overhead, Isepia and Iihedoh flew.

  Ireth turned around, his fire blazing twice his height. We cannot run! he bellowed, even as another of his soldiers fled. Still, Drang, Unaresa, Pesos, and others took up beside him, turning toward Kolosos, who could be no less than half a mile away and gaining quickly. No, a quarter mile. It would only be seconds until—

  Hepingya.

  The voice was soft, feminine. Echoing in his head as though shared with anyone who could listen.

  Hepingya, said another, lower. And again, Hepingya.

  Mighty, murmured Ireth, reverent.

  The quaking slowed. Eyes watering, Rone looked out across the great plain before him, to the white light growing from the east. A soft, cool glow, like starlight. It intensified, brighter and brighter, until Rone had to shield his eyes and peer through the slits between his fingers to look at it.

  Everything stilled. The army, the creatures still bound into a toppled pillar, even Kolosos. The crimson cracks of his skin raged and burned, but he, too, turned toward the light, his obsidian teeth bared.

  Rone stood on trembling legs, squinting, watching the light grow and take shape. It was a cloud, then loops and rings that formed the semblance of a rounded body. Nothing about it was solid or tangible. Everything was brilliant and large and—

  Rone’s stomach dropped. “I can push the boundaries of this plane,” Ireth had said. “As far as I know, there is only one other who can do the same.”

  Hepingya.

  White, brilliant, enormous. Could this be . . .

  . . . the Celestial?

  “Black ashes,” Rone muttered. He should run—limp—away as fast as he could. Kolosos was distracted.

  But he couldn’t turn away. And neither could any of the numina.

  A horrid, choking sound emanated from Kolosos. It took Rone a moment to identify it as laughter. When the beast spoke, he did so with two voices, two languages, as though harmonizing with himself. As though he wanted Rone to hear alongside the others.

  You’ve finally decided to face me? Now? Another chuckle. What do you have planned, old man? You lost to me once; you will lose again.

  The reciprocating voice boomed, pushing against Rone’s ears like he’d swum too deep in the canals. You have already lost everything, Kaj. And will continue to do so.

  The air sweltered again as Kolosos’s form brightened.

  And lunged.

  Jachim set out small blue discs as General Istrude described one plan, then another. The Angelic and all three triumvirs had pushed back their chairs and stood to examine the map.

  “The first seems smarter,” said Triumvir Peterus.

  “I hesitate to use the buildings.” Triumvir Var rubbed his chin.

  “Won’t see what’s happening otherwise,” quipped Oz. “I can send a numen with each company.” He leaned forward and moved the discs back to align with the general’s first plan. “Maybe two here.”

  Sandis’s gut squeezed. You have to let him control you. You have to sacrifice, too.

  But she was already sacrificing something important, wasn’t she? Her eyes trained on the red dot at the center of the false soldiers, pulse quickening. Anon. In every version of the battle General Istrude had laid out, her brother died.

  She really couldn’t save him, could she?

  Priestess Marisa, her voice delicate, said, “Can . . . Can you control them, from such a distance?”

  Oz opened his mouth to retort, hesitated, and answered, “I don’t know.”

  Swallowing against a lump in her throat, Sandis said, “You could take Inda and Teppa, and I could take Rist and Bastien.”

  From the sofa in the corner, Rist snorted.

  “I don’t think that’s wise,” said the general. “As you stated, a numen is worth more than a soldier. I want to fight with five, not four. And the Godobian is . . . weakened.”

  Bastien ran his fingers down the healing scars on his jaw.

  Sandis pressed her hands to the table so she wouldn’t dig her nails into her palms. “Can Oz not bear a numen? All summoners are vessels first.”

  Oz shot her a crooked smile. “Afraid not, dearie.”

  Pressing her lips into a line, Sandis nodded.

  “But,” Chief Esgar stepped around Priestess Marisa and Cleric Liddell to better reach the map. He pointed to the southeast corner of the Innerchord. “Your plan leaves this side wide open. Kolosos can flee, just like it always has, and come back to torment us another night. And you’re also assuming it will attack from the same direction it fled.”

  “Then we draft more soldiers,” said Triumvir Holwig.

  “No,” Sandis pushed. “There ne
eds to be an evacuation.”

  Triumvir Holwig glowered. “We have able-bodied people in this city still.”

  “And how will you arm them?” Bastien asked, his good arm folded tightly across his chest. The other rested in his lap. Perspiration gleamed on his upper lip. His entire body was tense, his face paler than usual. “How will you protect them?”

  “They’re innocents,” agreed the Angelic.

  Triumvir Var’s hands formed fists. “We have to use our resources—”

  “The Riggers,” Sandis said.

  Eyes turned to her.

  “The Riggers are in the city, managing a lot of the people you’ve . . . neglected.” There wasn’t a kinder way to say it.

  “You’re suggesting we work with the mob?” Chief Esgar was aghast.

  Sandis nodded. “I know their leader. She’s reasonable—”

  “She?” Chief Esgar practically yelled, forcing his way between Cleric Liddell and High Priest Dall to get closer to Sandis.

  “She has a network throughout the city right now,” Sandis went on, ignoring the chief and focusing on Triumvir Var. “She can add to your numbers. Guard your . . .” What was it called?

  “Flank,” Bastien whispered.

  “Flank,” Sandis repeated. “But you have to recruit her quickly. Ask around. The people know. If you head toward the Green Street Boardinghouse, you’ll find her. Tell her Jase and I sent you.” Jase was the alias Rone had used in their dealings with Sherig.

  Chief Esgar shook his head. “The likelihood of—”

  “Go,” Triumvir Var snapped, eyes on the chief. “Find her. Now.”

  Chief Esgar paused, mouth agape. Several seconds passed before he fled from the table and out the door to the sitting room, which was guarded by two men in steel blue.

  Sandis drew in a long breath to calm her nerves. “I think Rone can see what happens here. In Dresberg. If we make a plan, he may be able to supplement it—”

  The Angelic fell back into his chair with a thump.

  All three of his accompanying Celesians flocked to him. High Priest Dall said, “Are you well? Reverence?”