Siege and Sacrifice (Numina)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  He took her hand in both of his freckled ones. The bandages were gone from the left, revealing puckered pink scars. A twinge of guilt shivered in her chest. “Be safe, Sandis. Be careful.”

  “We will be.” Unless it didn’t work. Unless Rone couldn’t come, or it made Anon sick. Unless the others got word of their plan and thwarted them somehow.

  She wondered if Bastien could see her heartbeat against the skin of her neck.

  She kissed him on his cheek—it was soft as a babe’s—and slid her hand free of his grasp. After offering him one last reassuring smile, she hurried back through the house. As fast as she dared. There were already blue-clad guards on the property, as well as scarlets. Triumvir Var had told her they would be moved to a new facility, one that would fit them better. He’d spoken of amenities and space, jobs and potential. But even if Sandis hadn’t heard whispers of his intention to use her, she would have recognized the strange glint in the man’s eyes. He had Kazen’s confidence and Talbur’s smoothness. She and the triumvir had fought together and won together, but she still didn’t trust him.

  And so the time to leave was now, before he decided not to trust her, either.

  She moved up a flight of stairs, legs itching to run. One of the nurses came down the other way, carrying a basket of bandages. Several of Sandis’s own had been discarded, leaving her with splotches of pink skin. She still wore wrappings around her left shin and midsection.

  “How is he?” Sandis asked as they came together. She knew this woman. She’d been tending Arnae Kurtz’s burns.

  “Left at first light with the mob woman,” she answered with a shrug. “Didn’t even say goodbye.”

  Sandis nodded, hid a smile, and ascended the rest of the stairs. She wondered if Arnae would venture back to his flat with its secret room in the back or if he would remain allies with Sherig. Only time would tell, along with Bastien’s letters.

  Sandis wasn’t entirely sure she’d ever return to Dresberg. In the end, she had very little to return to.

  She strode up the hallway toward more guest bedrooms, passing a soldier as she went. She didn’t miss how he shied away from her, his movements abrupt enough that his shoulder bumped one of the portraits hanging on the wall. He stopped to straighten it, and Sandis slid past him. Her brands seemed to warm as she did, almost as though Ireth spoke to her. Pressing a hand to her heart, she prayed, I hope you are well, my friend. I hope you are at peace.

  And thank you, for this gift.

  She opened the door to the bedroom where Chief Esgar slept, the curtains drawn tight to keep out the day. Light on her feet, Sandis moved to the closet and opened the door.

  It was a large closet, but the three men inside it took up a great deal of room. No lamp or candle was lit, but Sandis knew them all by their shadows and sounds. The broadest one, standing still and ready, was Rone. The shortest, who shifted closer to her, oversized clothes rustling, was her brother. The one in the corner, as though part of the darkness itself, was Rist.

  Their packs were ready and in hand.

  “Let’s hurry,” she whispered. “Rone, in the middle.”

  Rone let out a long breath that smelled of spearmint. He shuffled to the center of the closet. Sandis and Anon stepped close to him; Rist was slow to comply.

  To her brother, Sandis whispered, “Try to repeat the words as I say them.”

  She took his hand. Waited for Rist’s. When he grabbed her fingers, his hand was dry, his grip too tight.

  They surrounded Rone and pressed into him. If three vessels couldn’t get him into the ethereal plane, nothing would.

  Please, let this work.

  “Vre en nestu a carnath,” Sandis began, and Rist’s voice joined her, Anon’s quietly lagging behind. “Ii mem entre I amar.”

  Her skin warmed.

  “Vre en nestu a carnath.” She squeezed their hands tighter and pushed her forehead into Rone’s chest, closing her eyes. “Anon, Sandis, Rist, and Rone epsi gradenid.”

  For a moment, Sandis was falling. Her stomach flipped over. Her blood rose to her head. But there was no pain. No burning, no suffering.

  She came back to herself. Squeezed the hands interlocked with her own. Opened her eyes.

  Rone. He was still here, at least.

  Rist pulled free first. Sandis turned her head.

  Her lips parted.

  The closet and its walls were gone, replaced by a wide-open space—grander and broader than any Sandis had ever beheld. The sky was a strange mix of dark mauve and maroon, made of clouds . . . the kind painted with brush strokes on canvas, not the kind that lived in the sky. These clouds didn’t move. They glowed with a strange light, like the choking of a candle. The ground beneath her was smooth and dark as obsidian, but shaved so thin she could see through it. Not perfectly, but the shadowed shapes far beneath her looked like houses. And that curve in the distance . . . that had to be Dresberg’s wall.

  “It’s different.”

  She turned to Rone, still holding Anon’s hand. “What do you mean?”

  Rone turned slowly, taking in their surroundings. “This isn’t what it looked like before. The sky was dark, and the ground . . . it was made of glass and stars. There were random blocks . . . but everything looks level now. No mountains or caves.” He knelt and ran his hand over the ground. “No portals. It’s like the glass just . . . rusted.”

  Rist snorted. “Glass can’t rust.”

  Rone rolled his eyes. “I know that. It’s a metaphor.”

  Rist turned away, taking in the strange view for himself. Anon breathed heavily. Sandis pulled his arm over her neck to support him, even though he shook his head. She turned slowly, taking in the great expanse, remembering what Ireth had said about Kolosos—about Kaj. But she saw no other signs of life besides their small group. That was a relief. Even in a “powerless” form, she’d rather not come across the being that had haunted her for weeks before destroying half of Dresberg.

  Sandis’s skin tingled as though a cold breeze touched it, but the air here didn’t move. Smiling, she met Rone’s eyes. “We did it.”

  He placed his hands on her shoulder, tracing its curve with his thumb. “We did it.”

  They walked for a long time.

  The strange majesty of the ethereal plane—the place that had been Ireth’s cage for so long—soon lost its appeal. It was all the same, mile after mile. The only change was the shifting of the world below them. They camped without fires, traveled without roads. This new world darkened when night fell, but not as much as Sandis thought it should. And so they walked night hours, too, resting when they needed it. For much of the way, Rone carried Anon on his back, never once complaining about the load. And Sandis loved him all the more for it.

  They never came across another soul. Perhaps Kolosos truly had perished. Perhaps Kaj was merely lost, unaware that they trespassed his prison.

  The Fortitude Mountains were larger than Sandis had ever imagined. She had seen them in the distance before. Pictured them like a great wall. But they were far thicker than they were tall. They walked over the pass, following the high peaks south. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. Rist, especially, was quiet. But despite the toll of traveling and the repetitive rations they’d stowed away, Anon regained a little strength each day. Though, Sandis imagined, it would be a long time yet before he was truly well. It seemed the more his body healed, the worse he slept. As they reached the end of the mountains, Anon began to wake multiple times a night, thrashing and moaning, never able to recall his dreams when he woke. Sandis soothed him. Rone assured him. Rist didn’t complain.

  It was early in the morning when Rone finally said, “This is it.”

  Sandis paused and looked beyond her feet. “Godobia?”

  Rone’s face brightened, lifting the dark circles that had begun to form under his eyes. He shifted Anon on his back. “It has to be. I think that’s a town. Can you get the map?”

  Sandis reached into his trouser pocket and grabbe
d the folded letter there. Many of the words were smeared, and the paper had been folded and refolded so many times it threatened to tear between her fingers. But the letter had a map sketched on it. A map to Rone’s mother.

  “She’s not far, I think,” Sandis said, hope building in her like restless butterflies.

  “I’m going this way.”

  They all turned toward Rist, who gestured east. He shrugged under their scrutiny. “I think I’ll try Serrana first.”

  Sandis’s belly tightened. “You won’t know anyone, Rist.”

  “I know the language. I’ll get by.” He shifted his pack. “Thank you, for helping me survive all . . . that. But I don’t want to follow you. I don’t belong.”

  Rone frowned. “Rist—”

  “I don’t. And I don’t want to.” He dipped his head to get hair out of his eyes. “I can’t. You remind me of her. All of you.”

  Kaili. Sandis’s eyes moistened, but she managed to nod. Then she opened her pack, searching for a pencil and paper. She tore a corner off Rone’s expired emigration papers and scrawled the address she’d memorized onto it. Held it out to Rist.

  “Write to us.”

  But Rist shook his head. “Sandis. I really don’t want to.”

  She placed the paper in his palm, much as she had with Bastien. “If you change your mind.”

  Rist frowned, but he didn’t discard the paper. And he didn’t say goodbye. He merely diverged from their path, the one they’d walked together for nearly two weeks. Sandis watched him grow smaller and smaller. There was nothing in this place to block him from view.

  Anon slid from Rone’s back and grabbed her pack, tugging her back to them. “Let’s go, Sandis,” he said, weary. “We’re almost there.”

  Swallowing a lump rising in her throat, Sandis nodded.

  They walked one more day.

  Their palms pressed to hers, Sandis spoke the words.

  “Parte Rone, Sandis, and Anon en dragu bai.”

  She had the sensation of falling, though her feet never left the ground.

  Sunlight turned her eyelids red. When she opened them, a new world surrounded her.

  It was so yellow. Yellow dust on the nearby road, yellow grass waving in a cool breeze, yellow-tinged leaves on the sparse trees. It was yellow and warm and bright and wonderful.

  Suddenly Rone’s hands grabbed her under the arms, and she found herself flying through the air, her pack hitting the ground. She laughed, and Rone whooped, spinning her around twice before setting her down.

  “We’re here. God’s tower, we’re really here.” He hugged her tightly to him, then pressed his warm lips hard against hers. Despite Anon’s groan behind her, Sandis gladly reciprocated—as well as she could while smiling.

  They had dropped down near a town, close enough to see it in the distance, far enough not to startle anyone. Sandis had no idea what their appearance looked like after two weeks in the ethereal plane, but she supposed it didn’t matter if there were no witnesses.

  Grabbing Rone’s and Anon’s hands, she hurried toward the town.

  It was just as yellow as everything else. Storefronts and homes were built of yellow brick and wood, so much smaller than those in Dresberg. The tallest was two stories, and most were only one. The roads were wide and uncrowded and unpaved. There was something distinctly pleasing about the openness of it all.

  Women with hair ranging from blonde to crimson gathered around a large well near the center of the town, gabbing to one another in a tongue completely foreign to Sandis’s ears. It was quick and clipped, and she couldn’t tell one word from another. As they passed by, eyes turned their way and conversation stopped. Most stared longest at Anon, a boy of sixteen with hair as silver as a newly minted coin.

  Rone approached a stand selling squash and held out his Kolin money, but the merchant shook his head and turned him away. He returned slightly annoyed, running a hand back through his hair.

  “You’ll go bald if you’re not careful.” Sandis elbowed him in the ribs.

  “If I do, I’ll grow a beard,” he teased back.

  “We’re not far,” Anon said, leaning into Sandis. “From the border, I mean. Keep asking around for Kolins.”

  They did, letting Rone take the lead. “Kolin?” he asked a freckled woman by the well. “Kolin?” he asked a laundress with hair the same color as the brick behind her. All shook their heads no and turned away, only to stare at them as they passed.

  They’d nearly reached the other end of the town when a man ran up to him, his hair streaked gray and his freckles so close together he looked like he had a deep tan. He darted in front of them, stopping Rone, Sandis, and Anon in their tracks.

  “Kolin?” he repeated.

  Rone nodded.

  The man said something in Godobian.

  Sandis offered her upturned hands. “We don’t understand.”

  The man repeated himself, slower. His words were as garbled as they’d been the first time. He obviously didn’t speak Kolin, as Sandis had hoped.

  But he reached forward and took Rone’s elbow, pointing down a road joining the one they stood on. “Kolin,” he said. “Kolin.”

  Sandis’s heart fluttered. “Kolin?” she repeated, pointing.

  The man nodded, patted Rone’s arm, and ran back the way he’d come.

  Rone turned and met her eyes. A childlike hope sparkled in his own.

  Sandis grinned and pushed them in the direction the man had pointed. Anon stumbled, so she grasped his arm and hurried him along, unable to tamper her excitement.

  The road stretched south, away from the town. Half a mile out were a few small homes dotting the prairie grass. Two Godobian children played with a dog outside one of them. Another had an enormous garden behind it with a ginger-haired man swinging a scythe. The third cottage was a little farther down, with a roof in need of repair and one window boarded up. Pastel-pink flowers had been planted outside of it, and a short clothesline stretched to the side. A woman in a Kolin-style dress with dark, curly hair shook out a damp sheet and hung it to dry.

  Rone stopped in his tracks, and Sandis knew they’d found the right place.

  As the woman turned back for her basket, she looked up. Squinted and shielded her eyes with her hands.

  Then she screamed.

  Adalia Comf ran down the road, kicking up dust as she went. Rone darted toward her. When they met, he scooped her up in his arms and lifted her feet from the ground.

  Wiping a tear from her eye, Sandis squeezed Anon’s arm and approached.

  “Rone!” Adalia cried, taking her son’s face in her hands. “You didn’t write! Oh, what a surprise! I’m so glad you’re well. I heard about the civil war up north. I don’t think any of my letters made it through.” She hugged him again as tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, Rone, I could die now and be happy.”

  “Please don’t,” he said. When she pulled back, Rone kissed her on the cheek and led her to Sandis. Adalia’s dark eyes found her and widened.

  Rone stood behind Sandis and placed both hands on her shoulders. “Mom, this is Sandis Gwenwig. And her brother, Anon.”

  “Sandis,” she said the name, and recognition lit up her face. Wiping her hands on her apron, she approached and clasped Sandis’s hands in hers. “I’ve heard much about you, Miss Gwenwig. And I admit I was hoping he’d bring you with him.”

  Sandis’s cheeks warmed, and she laughed. “I was hoping he would, too.”

  “And Anon, was it?” She turned toward Anon, noticing his hair. There was a question in her expression, but she didn’t ask it. “I’m very happy to have all of you.” She grinned so hard her ears lifted a good half inch. “So happy.”

  She pulled back and dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Come in, all of you. Come in. I’ll make us something to eat. And tell me everything. How did you get here? Rone, your papers—but no, tell me after we’ve sat down. You must be so tired. And you need a bath. Come, come.”

  She urged Sandis forwa
rd gently, Rone not so gently. Sandis squeezed her brother’s hand, and Rone took her other one, lacing his fingers through hers and kissing her knuckles. And as they approached the house at the end of the lane, Sandis couldn’t help but notice the brightness of the sun, the freshness in the air, and the promise awaiting her behind that door.

  Together, Sandis and her family went home.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I am so utterly grateful to those who have helped bring this book, and this series, to fruition. It’s been a journey, and this is possibly the first time I’ve cried typing, “The End,” upon finishing a manuscript. This story and its characters are so dear to me. But this isn’t a one-woman show, so let’s get on with it!

  Thank you (again) to Marlene and Jason, whose firm encouragement planted the seed for this novel and its predecessors. Thank you to Angela for helping me polish it real shiny, and for all the editors, designers, layout-ers, etc. at 47North who put in so many hours to make my brain spew presentable.

  I want to especially thank Caitlyn McFarland, who is way smarter than I am and helped me do a midbook overhaul halfway through the drafting process. It benefited the story immensely, as well as made me look better in the eyes of editors and agents alike! Go read her books. They are fantastic.

  Thank you to Whitney, Rachel, and Leah, who beta read this sucker in less than a week so I could turn it in on time. For free. They are literally that awesome. And thank you to my alpha readers, who followed me through the entire trilogy: Rebecca, Laura, Tricia, and Cerena. And a hat tip to James, who answers all my weird medical questions.

  A huge thank-you, of course, to my wonderful husband, Jordan, who should really have every book I write dedicated to him. He is so utterly supportive. He is my brainstorming champion, my critique partner, my marketing manager, and a fantastic dad to our kids. He’s also incredibly good-looking, which is inspiring in and of itself.

  Thanks to my kiddos, who are somehow okay with Mom locking herself in the basement every morning to invent characters and the things they do.

  Finally, most gracious praises to my Father in Heaven, for my ability to create and so much more. Cheers.