Latirian snorted, and Solinus edited out his first three answers. “Let’s go have a talk with Hannibal,” he said, instead, and, trying not to laugh, extended his hand for the small, illusionary one that Rig offered in return. He couldn’t even tell if the one he was holding was real or not; it felt small in his own, and clearly also felt as if it angled up to meet his, not across. “You are getting ungodly good at this,” he muttered as he drew Rig with him out into the medical ward.
“I am my father’s son. He left me gifts. And I got over most of my issues with him years ago. It’s hard to resent someone for doing their best to save the world . . . even if they didn’t succeed.”
Solinus pulled Rig over to Hannibal’s bedside. “Ave, little general,” he told the boy. “Are the doctors treating you well?”
An uncertain nod, and woebegone dark eyes, as the boy sat up a little further on his cot, wincing as he did so. “I was a little scared,” he confessed. “But everyone has been really nice to me. Look. A legionnaire made me a little man.” He picked up a piece of paper, which, if one squinted, might have had arms, legs, and a head. “He said if I’m here long enough, I’ll wind up with a whole army of them.”
Solinus smiled faintly, and introduced Rig now. “Rig here is one of the legate’s sons,” he lied, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. “He travels with his father to all the major battles. Learning how to be a leader himself, someday.”
“Huh. You don’t look Roman.”
“My mother’s Marcomanni,” Rig piped up. “The centurion asked me to come along, so I could help you be brave. It won’t be so scary if someone else is here for the tests, right?”
Hannibal shrank in on himself. “I don’t like tests. They said they were going to do tests, and then they put a mask over my face, and when I woke up, my tummy hurt.”
Rig plopped down on the bed next to Hanni, seeming to swing his legs freely above the floor. “I think they want to look inside you first. Right, centurion?”
“Yes. With an X-ray machine, to start with. They want to see what the Persian doctors did to you, and why. They might have to cut you open again to fix what was done, but if they do, we’re going to make sure it’s not too scary, all right?” Solinus crouched down beside the bed himself. “Think you can handle that?”
“I . . . guess so . . . . ”
“Someone will be with you the whole time. I promise.” Solinus ruffled the wavy dark hair, and moved away again, leaving Rig in his place. What do you think? It was much harder to use mind-voice when he was in pure human form. Only in pure flame-shape did it come naturally.
Rig’s voice was an illusion; Solinus understood that. But it was still uncanny how good his friend had gotten with this sort of thing, as the low-pitched, adult voice spoke in the air beside him, as Solinus re-entered the anteroom. “There is definitely something inside of him,” Rig assessed, quietly. “It’s like looking at an inclusion in a crystal. I’m going to say it’s approximately the size of a test tube, so between four to five inches in length.”
“Where is it situated?” Latirian asked. “Can you give me some idea as to the materials?”
The Magus just looked around, in evident fascination at the powers currently in use. Rig’s voice hesitated. “I’m not as conversant with the anatomy of the abdominal cavity as you are, Tiri, but it’s left side, and high. I think it might be wedged between the stomach and the spleen, if I had to take a guess.” Rig’s tone was dubious. “I’m getting a sense of metal. Non-magnetic, so it could be anything from aluminum to bronze.”
“Bronze would not be a good thing to place in a body for the long term.” Latirian sounded angry, and Solinus watched her face harden. She could look surprisingly like Aunt Sig, sometimes.
“Tiri, I don’t think these doctors were doing this for his health.” Rig’s voice was just as angry. “There’s a faint sense of electricity, too. Damned if I know what that’s about.”
“Timer or a detonator? Maybe a transmitter?” Solinus asked, quickly.
“. . . could be. I can’t tell.”
“We need the X-rays,” Latirian decided, and got a room set up for the boy. Solinus and Rig led the child inside, while Latirian smiled at him, warmly, and reassured him that everything was going to be all right. “Just stand here, and I’m going to take a picture of what’s in your stomach. And hopefully, nothing’s wrong. But we have to know if there’s anything we have to fix, right?”
Hannibal nodded, rapidly, and clutched Solinus’ hand as he lay on the platform. Sol wore a lead-lined apron, just in case; he knew he healed rapidly whenever he switched between flesh and flame, but he didn’t know what radiation did to his system, and didn’t want to find out.
The machine whirred. Clicked. The hand clenched on his, and then relaxed. The boy’s face went slack, just for an instant. Solinus blinked. “Hanni, are you all right?”
“Fine. I’m . . . just fine. It wasn’t scary.” The boy sat up, and stared around the room, as if disoriented. Then he smiled up at Solinus. “Can you help me down?”
Something pinged at the back of Solinus’ mind. There was something different in the boy’s smile. No shyness. No hesitance. “I think they’re going to want to take another picture or two,” he said. “How about if we wait and see what your doctor says, hmm?” Unconsciously, his fists clenched, and he readied himself to summon flame.
“Please,” the boy wheedled, holding out his hands, the hospital gown falling down over his wrists in a dozen extra folds. “I don’t want to hurt if I just jump down on my own.”
Solinus backed up a step. He didn’t have othersight, the spirit-eyes that Rig had inherited from his father, Loki. He just had instinct. And instinct said Children don’t talk that way. Shiori doesn’t have any sense of the future, really, at three. She’d either jump down, or beg for me to pick her up. But not this. This is not the boy he was a moment ago. “Who are you?” Solinus said, just as Latirian stepped back into the room from where she’d been operating the machinery. His sister’s face was pale.
“I’m me,” the boy said, frowning, and then looked at Latirian. “Was something in my tummy?” The boy smiled at her, angelically. “I’m hungry. Can I have something to eat?”
“There’s a metal container inside of you,” Latirian said, gently. Whatever was setting off Solinus’ instincts, didn’t shake her professional mien, at least. “It has some kind of a device attached to it.”
“Could you tell what it was?” Solinus asked, instantly.
“No. It’s mechanical, but I won’t know what kind of device it is, until I get it out.” Latirian’s words were barely audible, meant for his ears alone, and then she smiled at the boy. “You can’t have anything to eat before surgery. But afterwards, once you’ve been able to pee and poop, I promise you can have ice cream, all right?”
The boy’s expression shifted. Turned sly, a little hint of humor curling up his lips. Solinus moved up beside his sister, unobtrusively, and touched her wrist, lightly. “Ice cream after you carve open this body, or food now? Not even a question.” The boy bared his teeth, a rictus grin in the small face, and Solinus threw Latirian to the ground, igniting himself, even as his sister’s hands burst into flame as well. Solinus rolled back to his feet, shouting, Rig! Now would be good—
—and was hurled off his feet and into the wall behind him, which burst into flames on contact, as a boy just over three feet in height directed a wave of pure force at him. Sol called all of the flames in the area back to his body, and stared as the child’s body was suddenly shrouded in waves of energy; extra limbs began to force their way out of the ribs. Twin swords of light appeared in his two existing hands, and wings and a tail began to form as well, but the child’s face stayed the same, mockingly enough. Solinus cursed under his breath and threw fire at the creature, trying to break down the energy shield around the boy’s possessed body. Latirian did the same, hurling orbs made of sun-bright plasma right at the creature.
Solinus’ flame wa
shed over the tiny form, and set the wall behind the boy on fire; the child lifted a finger, and Latirian’s orbs vanished in the air. “Mmm,” the child whispered. The voice had changed now. Become older, though still piping. “That tastes so good. What are you lovely creatures? I taste summer, honey, fire, and smoke. I’d like some more, please.” A smile, and then the creature leaped at Solinus. Solinus dodged, but one of the swords slid through his flame-shape, and he felt . . . cold, suddenly. Cold and hungry. As if he were about to go out. Rig!
The door to the room slammed open, and Rig stood in the doorway, looking no more than six once more. Or at least, a Rig-shaped child stood there. The creature smiled at Rig. “Oh, there’s my playmate. All in good time.” The swords lashed out, and Latirian lifted both hands, putting a shield of pure fire in front of her fragile body, stopping the blades, at least for a moment . . . and then her shields flickered and were snuffed.
Solinus forced himself back into human form as his consciousness wavered, and rolled, grabbing for his side-arm, which had fallen, in its holster to the floor, the belt that had supported it smoldering. Thumbed the safety off, and fired at the creature. Bullets made of iron and dipped in human blood, heavily enchanted, to boot. He might be in the JDF, but he wasn’t Judean. He had no compunctions about having Masako or any other technomancer enchant his weapons.
Two of the bullets got through, and slammed into the creature’s back. Blood actually poured out, and it turned and looked over its shoulder at him, hissing from Hannibal’s little face, and one of the lower hands, now fully formed, flicked a finger at him . . . and another wave of force slammed Solinus through the wall behind him, into the room beyond. He didn’t even register the way the flimsy, portable wall crumpled into fragments and the debris followed in his wake; he was unconscious from the moment of impact.
Rig winced as Solinus’ limp body tore through the wall, and concentrated, harder. “Tiri, left!” he whispered in her ear, forming an image of her, over where she was now, and rendering her real self invisible—and invisible, too, to othersight. He hoped. “Further. Trust me.” He kept his child-self puppet frozen in horror in the doorway, its only animation the way the eyes flicked around the room.
Seconds later, Rig watched from his true vantage point as the creature lashed out again at Latirian’s simulacrum, and he curled her effigy in on itself, and made it crawl away . . . only to dissolve into a mist. The creature spun around, sniffing the air, and below it, on the floor, the real Latirian inched away, crawling towards where Solinus had been flung through the wall.
“Nice try,” Rig told it sardonically, trying to catch and hold its attention. Letting his own effigy seem to be speaking. “But I think you're going to find me a much more engaging playmate.” The child-like face bared its teeth. “Want to play hide-and-seek?”
A split second later, and the creature was on his illusion, swords lashing out, and two new weapons materializing in the lower hands—whips of raw energy. Rig exhaled, slightly, in relief. He hadn't been sure his illusions were good enough to fool a spirit of this power; he was weaving on several levels at once. Multi-sensory input, including othersight itself, which had an outside-of-time component that he wasn't sure most humans could sense, let alone simulate. His illusion for Latirian, for example, had included how he saw her in the spirit-vision that had manifested itself in his late adolescence, due to Aunt Sig's constant tutelage. He’d added a heartbeat that could be heard by sharp ears, and even scent, if crudely; he simply didn't have the same senses as someone like Maccis. Calculated risk. But the creature had seemed fooled; it probably relied on othersight to hunt.
As it was, Rig let his personal simulacrum disperse, all but the othersight version, which he'd more or less invented on the spot. He couldn't see himself in othersight. No one really could. He'd used what Solinus looked like to him, however, a blaze of golden fire . . . but he made his a flame wrapped in shadow, just to distinguish himself from Sol. He swirled the man-like form away, drifting it down the corridor and away, like a demanifested spirit. And watched as the creature followed.
The Magus to his left gaped. “How long can you hold its attention?” Shin Ilam demanded.
"As long as I have to. I hope." Rig’s words were terse. He couldn't afford the distraction. “Get a binding circle on the ground, and I'll lead it there. It shouldn’t see the circle till it's in the middle of it.” Othersight told him that the creature was chasing his effigy down a long hall, but there were people all around. Come on, don’t just stand there staring, he thought. He couldn’t hold this complex of an illusion and throw light distortion over all the people standing in doorways, gaping. And he didn’t think he could force the creature to overlook them, as he could sometimes convince a human’s mind to do. Figments and hallucinations were only two of the tools he possessed.
“I don't know if I can hold a creature like that. Every summoning is a wrestling contest, and even the circle is just . . . a way of expressing will—”
“I've heard the academic debates my whole life. Circle. Ground. Banish it.” Blood sang in Rig’s ears.
“I may have to blood-bind it—”
“No. Banish. Not bind. ”
“You may have to kill the host's body—”
"The host body is a child, and killing it could potentially empower the spirit. Last resort." Every word was an effort, as Rig danced his illusion through the halls of the medical center, his mind swimming from the effort. People running, screaming, fleeing. He could hear muffled shouts, could hear Latirian telling the unconscious Solinus that she had him, she’d fix the broken bones . . . . Rig couldn’t do it all. He couldn’t cloak all of them, and certainly not from where he stood, motionless, in the radiological anteroom, beside the Magus.
“At the moment, I don't think there's a child left, ” Shin Ilam told him, grimly. “It's treating the body as a full possession. ”
“An avatar?”
“You are educated.” Ilam still sounded startled. “Yes.”
“We can't be sure there's nothing left. But if you're sure it won't empower—”
“Take a good look at the spirit,” the Magus said, sharply. “If you see even a wisp of the child left, then killing the body won't work. If the spirit has consumed him, it's already empowered.” Shin Ilam was of the Magi, through and through, He adapted to harsh realities very quickly.
I don't like your version of hide and seek! The voice rang through Rig’s mind. The spirit spun and leaped away from his illusory self, and Rig could see it, through the walls as it advanced, a vortex of blacks and reds, and leaped upon the pale gray outline of a man, who was lying down. Just barely alive, and trapped in a bed. All four of the upper limbs tore into him, and Rig saw the life . . . go out. It was no less horrifying for being so abstract; he knew that in reality, a hospital bed and its environs were likely sprayed with gore, and he shook with impotent fury for a moment. “No!” he snapped.
Rig wrapped his real essence in invisibility, and the Magus beside him, as well, letting his child-effigy vanish. He couldn’t cloak everyone in the hospital, not individually. But he could make everyone vanish at once, as he melted the hospital into a hallucinatory terrain that was . . . a dark cavern under a mountain. The halls replicated that theme; the rooms became bubbles carved out of soft limestone, with stalactites and stalagmites. Cool drip of water. Every wall blocked othersight; the people behind them faded from visible reality for the spirit. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as Rig said, out loud, “That soldier couldn’t have been much of a mouthful,” letting the words whisper everywhere, like echoes in a cave. “Come find me. I’m a much better meal, don’t you think?”
Shan Ilam swore and raised his hand, blazing the lines of a binding circle into the floor with raw fire. The magus grabbed Rig by the arm, and moved him, physically, out of the circle. Rig obeyed like a child; he was floating somewhere above his little creation, trying to keep every detail smooth and believable. “No, no, not that way,” he taunted
the spirit. “This way. I’m over here.” For the doctors, patients, and nurses, he couldn’t do much. If he hadn’t been holding the othersight illusion in place, he could have escorted them out with another effigy of himself. But he was, alas, just a little too human to be able to pull off that many things simultaneously.
Rig baited the creature back. And when it ran back into the prepared room, it paused at the door, sniffing suspiciously. Rig tried to suppress the smell of burned carpet, and just hoped that the overall scorched smell from Solinus and Latirian’s attacks would explain any lingering hints. A quick glance at the creature. No inner core, no lingering sign of the child’s spirit . . . but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. Deeply suppressed. “You need its Name?” he whispered, suppressing the sound, but letting Shin Ilam hear it.
“It would help. But I think I can take a guess,” the Magus said, grimly. “Body aspect is a Persian daeva. They are not usually summoned, and for very good reason. From the constant mentions of hunger . . . could be Tawrich. That one’s . . . usually female.”
The Goddess Embraced (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 3) Page 4