Runebinder

by Alex R. Kahler

  The Resurrection taught him that all those stories were full of shit.

  Real battle wasn’t pretty. You trained to block and parry and dodge, yes, but you didn’t think about it, didn’t focus on long dancing combinations. You swung. You screamed a lot. You killed as fast as you could and didn’t think about anything but the feel of flesh giving way under your hands. And if you were even a hairbreadth too slow, if today just wasn’t your day, you were never, ever heard from again.

  He gritted his teeth and prayed today wasn’t that day.

  Tenn lunged forward, meeting a kraven midleap and slicing its body right through the gut. Cold, black blood sprayed out, but Tenn was already slashing another monster before the first corpse fell. Michael was just out of sight beside him, grunting and yelling, the skull-shattering cracks of his mace echoing across the fields like thunder.

  But more monsters were coming. The field was thick with beasts, the air alive and hellish with their screams. A shadow darted behind him. He turned just in time to parry the slash of a cleaver. He barely registered his opponent—male, shirtless, whiter than snow and drenched in blood—before counterattacking. The man’s head fell to the ground with a wet smack.

  “Bloodlings!” Tenn yelled, but even though he screamed it at the top of his lungs, he knew his companions hadn’t heard. The world was a living, grinding thing of scarred flesh and teeth and talons, and everywhere he turned he was slashing, dodging, trying to stay alive as the gray tide overtook him. His breath was fire as he fought, as he hacked and screamed his way through the melee. Seconds felt like an eternity, and the damage done to him and his foes was immense. A thousand cuts burned across his skin. A thousand moments he was too slow. A thousand instances he could have died, and a thousand reasons he still might.

  A yell broke through the din—masculine, enraged and in pain. Then Michael’s voice cut short in a gurgle. Tenn spared a glance over but he couldn’t see anything through the kravens scrambling over corpses. Katherine screamed as well, but whether from rage or pain, he wasn’t certain.

  That’s when he realized, in the far-off corner of his mind, that he was going to die. They all were.

  His arm went numb from a kraven’s bite. His hands were drenched red. And still, the monsters came.

  Derrick’s voice drifted through his mind as he fell to his knees. Don’t use magic, not under any circumstances. Don’t give yourselves away.

  Water and blood seeped through Tenn’s jeans, his numb arm limp. He could only stare at the blood and wonder at how quickly this had come, his end. At how easy it was to die. Pain seared across his back as a Howl ripped through his flesh. Blood was everywhere—black blood, red blood, red rain. The Sphere of Water screamed inside of him as his own life spilled forth. Memories rode the current—flashes of his mother and father, the few friends he’d made and lost, his mother’s voice and a lullaby he couldn’t place. His eyes fluttered. His working hand dropped his staff.

  This is how it feels to die, and I will be eaten before they find my corpse.

  As another kraven lunged for the kill, mouth wide and broken teeth bared, the Sphere of Water opened unbidden in Tenn’s stomach.

  Power flooded him, rushing through in a whirlpool of memory and pain, a roar that filled him with a thousand freezing agonies, dragging him down, down, down into the pits of his every despair. Down into the deepest depth of power.

  The Sphere connected him to the rain hammering from the sky and the blood pooling on the ground and the pulse in every vein of every creature within a mile. He could feel it. All of it. He felt Katherine a few yards away, her heart throbbing so fast it hurt his own. He felt the Howls, their pulses thick and jagged and starved.

  Most of all, he felt power. More than he had ever tapped before. The rage, the fear, the anger, the thirst. It made his limbs vibrate, made his breath catch, made the rain around him seethe and hum. And in that split second after Water’s opening, he wrapped his fingers deep into the torrent and screamed.

  The rain shivered. Changed. He twisted the power and twisted the elements and raindrops became ice, became shards sharper than glass, became hammers that lashed from the sky with sickening velocity. His Sphere raged in joy and agony as its power unleashed, as the bloodlust filled his darkening vision and screams filled the air. His screams. Their screams. Blades of ice met flesh, sliced through skin and bone. Ice spilled forth blood, and Water rejoiced as the world drenched itself in crimson.

  Power ran through his veins, and this power craved revenge.

  It was over in seconds.

  He felt the Howls die. Felt their blood leave their bodies and pool against the sodden earth. Felt their pain. Felt their final heartbeats. And when every heart had stilled, the power in his chest winked out. He collapsed.

  “You’re going to do great things,” his mom says. She hugs him. Wipes tears from her eyes. “You’ve already done great things. The moment you came into my life. That was the greatest thing.” And he tells himself not to cry. Not here, in front of the dorm. He tells himself he will see her again. “I will always...”

  “What do you want to be when you grow up?” Kevin asks.

  “A linguist,” Tenn replies. “Or a writer.”

  “You like words?”

  “Yes. Words have power.”

  “Your words do.” They go silent, and the stars slide past as they watch from the library. They go silent, and the stars speak for them.

  He sees her. He sees her hand. He sees her hand from where he stands in the doorway. It droops from the shed, a finger cocked. Her fingernails red. Fingers red. Red, red—

  Tenn curled against himself. Curled against the memories.

  Nothing else moved in the world.

  Just the rain.

  Just his breath.

  Just his blood mixing with the dead.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HE DIDN’T KNOW how long he lay there. The wind and rain were a constant roar, but their sound was distant compared to the throb of blood in his ears, the roar of memories in his head.

  His house is empty. Too empty. He walks. The gun is gone. His hand is covered in blood. Blood, like the blood streaking the walls. Where is the gun? Where are his parents? He shakes. He walks. Water roars within him, a tide that drowns the screams outside. His house is too empty. His house is too silent. He shakes as he walks and the blood-streaked halls tilt. He shakes, and the back door swings. He walks, and his silent house bleeds.

  Something brushed his cheek. Frayed nerves snapped to life, and his eyes fluttered open.

  Katherine knelt beside him. Blood stained her skin, and long gashes webbed across her in leaking lines.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Her voice was angelic, if only because he had been certain he’d killed her.

  Tenn could only nod. There were tears in his eyes. He couldn’t force them away. He was hollowed out. Raw. Earlier, he’d wanted to break the world, but the world had broken him.

  Even as the memories ebbed, the pain and the sadness lingered in his lungs. Tears leaked from his eyes unchecked.

  “You’re bleeding,” she continued. “Badly.”

  He tried to sit. His muscles wouldn’t cooperate. He felt it then...or rather, he felt the lack of feeling. The numbness leaking through his limbs as blood leaked to the soil. His wounds would kill him. Just as her wounds would kill her.

  “So are you,” he managed. He bit back a sob. The world was spinning. Fading. Fast.

  “You’ve already broken orders,” she said, without the slightest hint of sarcasm. “We might as well live to face Derrick’s wrath.”

  Tenn closed his eyes and reached deep into the pit of his pelvis, to the place where the Sphere of Earth rested. It was the second and last Sphere he’d been attuned to. He coaxed it awake and sank his focus into the rich soil of it, to the heav
y power that rooted him to the earth. Energy filled him with green light, with the warm, calming sap of gravity and flesh.

  He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t. Just as he couldn’t move his arm to meet hers, to start healing. His fingers twitched, and she placed her bloodied hand in his. Energy connected, a snap of power, and slowly, painfully, he began his work.

  She winced as flesh knitted itself back together. There was no shortcut—he had to heal each wound one at a time. If his connection to Earth had taught him anything, it was that dying was easy; healing was the painful part.

  “So like you,” she muttered. “Healing me before yourself.”

  He laughed. It hurt like hell, but he didn’t let his concentration break. Even when something warm dribbled from his lips.

  “You’re the pretty one,” he whispered, and choked down a sob of pain or despair, he couldn’t tell which.

  When her wounds had closed, he turned his attention to himself. Arcs of fire lanced across his skin, seared through his bones. He didn’t grimace. This pain, this physical hurt, couldn’t hold a candle to the hell that Water had dragged him through. This was just a reminder that he was still alive.

  After what seemed like hours, he closed off to Earth.

  The Spheres all had a backlash as unique as their power, but Earth’s was, in many ways, the most dangerous. Earth was like a drug: when you were on it, you felt invincible, high, immortal. The moment it left you, you were sharply reminded just how weak and mortal and close to death you truly were.

  His limbs, though healed, shook as he forced himself to sitting. His heart raced and his stomach wanted to eat itself, but at least he hadn’t used so much that he passed out. Or lost a chunk of hair. Again. He just hoped that nothing would break when he moved.

  Together, the two of them hoisted each other up to standing. Katherine wouldn’t meet his gaze; she stared out at the creatures littering the ground around them. Limbs and carcasses were splayed everywhere and, even with the rain, the stink was atrocious. Blood pooled dark and thick like an oil spill.

  “Michael?” he asked.

  She shook her head and continued looking off into the distance. The rain hid whatever tears she might be shedding. He bit back an apology; apologies wouldn’t bring the guy back. Idiot or no, he had still been their companion. He was still important.

  For a while, they stood there, looking out over the massacre. Tenn’s heartbeat didn’t slow, but it was no longer just the blowback of Earth. It was the fear. The fear of what he’d done, or what Water had done. He’d jeopardized their mission by using magic.

  Rather, the magic had used him. How? And where the hell had that power come from?

  “How did you do that?” Katherine asked.

  He started, wondered if he’d spoken aloud. Then he realized that of course she would ask that, because no one could use that much magic and live. At least, no one he’d ever met.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. His voice rasped.

  “You killed them. All of them.”

  “I know.”

  He wondered if Michael had still been alive when he called down the power. Pain wrenched in his chest at the thought. If he’d killed Michael by accident...

  “Did I—”

  “He was already dead,” Katherine whispered. “I saw him go down.”

  That shouldn’t have been the relief that it was. It almost made him feel worse.

  She looked at him, but her eyes quickly flicked away.

  “I’ve never seen that much power,” she said. “How are you still standing?”

  “I don’t know,” he said again. He felt like a broken recording.

  “Did you know...”

  He shook his head. “I was ready to die.”

  “Me, too,” she said, and went silent.

  Despite the fact that they needed to move, despite the cold and the scent and the bodies, they stood there in silence and let the minutes drip by. Tenn tried to gather his thoughts, tried to create an argument that would hold up against Derrick’s inevitable tirade. He failed. He couldn’t stop looking at Katherine, at the old blood trickling down her face and the small quiver in her fingertips. What did she think of him, after what had happened? What would she say to the others?

  Tenn looked back to the bodies. Michael was under there, somewhere. He deserved a better burial than this.

  “We need to burn them,” Tenn said. “In case...”

  In case they attract attention. In case any are still alive. In case others come along and devour Michael’s corpse...

  She looked at him, and maybe it was his imagination, but that look was different. Like she wasn’t certain who or what she was staring at. She didn’t speak, just nodded tersely, and light flickered in her chest as she opened to the Sphere of Fire. Heat shimmered around her, made sweat break out across his skin. Then, with tendrils of flame snaking around her fingertips, she lashed out.

  The fields erupted into flame. Tenn hid behind his arm as the world around him roared with heat and anger. Katherine screamed as bodies caught fire, as rain sizzled and the earth cracked. She screamed and cursed until the roar of flames drowned her out.

  Fire was the Sphere of passion and hate. It pulled from the heart, just as it burned it apart.

  It lasted only a minute. But when the power died down, the fields were nothing more than smoldering ash and steam.

  He put a hand on her shoulder, trying not to wince from the heat of her skin.

  “Don’t touch me!” she snapped. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

  He stepped back.

  This was why he didn’t get along with Fire users. After using their powers, they were unstable at best.

  Then she started to laugh. He took another step back.

  “Sorry,” she said through the laughter. She sniffed and wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s gone,” she continued. “The fucking deer. It’s gone. They ate it.”

  Tenn turned to the road. She was right. Hell, there was nothing on the road anymore save for the burned-out scraps of cars and pools of the dead that streamed like magma.

  “Michael would be so pissed,” Katherine said. She giggled. Then her laughs choked into a sob. “We should have let him eat the tongue.”

  * * *

  The walk back to base was long and silent. Tenn ate some jerky from their packs, but it didn’t assuage the hunger gnawing at his bones. That, he knew, would take hours and a few days of rest to overcome, just like the waves of sadness that kept washing over him. He didn’t stop scanning the fields, but both he and Katherine kept their Spheres closed off. Katherine didn’t ask him any more questions; somehow that made things worse. He was asking them all himself, and he didn’t have an answer.

  How had Water opened like that? The Spheres weren’t sentient, they were just energy centers. Everyone had them, but only those who were attuned could use each particular Sphere. Even then, it required training and concentration to get them to influence the outside world. Magic wasn’t just something that happened; it was something you had to force. So how had Water taken over? As though it were a reflex, as though the Sphere itself hadn’t wanted to die. And where the hell had that power come from? It should have been beyond him, should have drained him entirely. Yet here he was. Alive.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Everything. Everything.

  For the first time since he’d been attuned to Water, he was scared. Not of the monsters. Not of the world outside. But of the power that rested within him. The power that seemed to be scratching for control.

  Only one thing was certain, and it wasn’t a truth he wanted to think about. The Howls they’d faced weren’t the army his troop had been warned about. It had been a roaming band, one of the thousands scattered throughout the uninhabited swathes of America.


  That meant there was still another, bigger fight left.

  They reached Outpost 37 before nightfall. Home sweet home. Once, it had probably been some quaint touristy harbor town. Now the scattered houses along its perimeter were empty. Whole lots were charred to piles of ash, while other homes were unscathed save for shattered windows or scratched facades. Lawns entangled forgotten toys, and fences lay like dominoes. Everything had that sick old stench of antiquity, like a sodden vintage store. Even here, though, there were no bodies or bones, no scavenging birds or mice. The Howls were efficient, if only because they were hungry.

  Cities were often the emptiest. After all, what was a city to a flesh-craving beast besides a buffet?

  It wasn’t just the Howls that had destroyed the town. Necromancers had done their own part, and the Hunters that fought against them probably hadn’t helped. Lake Michigan swallowed half of the buildings, and a small hill erupted through another city block, the houses there toppled and tossed. Much had changed in the chaos of the Resurrection—whole cities burned or buried, mountains collapsed or created. Magic had altered the face of the country in more ways than one.

  The world didn’t like being manipulated. At times, it seemed, the very planet fought back.

  Katherine said nothing as they trudged through the streets, stepping over rusted bikes and piles of old refuse, dodging craters and overturned cars. Both her swords were clean and bared, and Tenn’s grip on his staff was just as tight as hers. No matter that the rest of their troop was only a hundred yards away—anything could have happened in their absence.

  Every time Tenn walked through the base, he was reminded that they hadn’t been stationed here to thrive. Nothing in this shell of a town hinted at humanity—the storefronts were shattered and looted, the houses razed. There was no music, no industry, no trace of civilian life. No real reason to wake up in the morning, save to fight.

  Shadows shifted over the rubble, and he jerked his staff to the ready. Then the shape stepped into the road: a small fox, its ribs horribly pronounced with hunger. The creature didn’t flinch as he and Katherine walked past. It watched them intently before finally turning and slinking back into an alley.