Runebinder

by Alex R. Kahler

  “What the hell?” Katherine yelled. The roof door slammed shut.

  Tenn looked past Tomás at Katherine, who was holding a covered plate. The next moment, Tomás was beside her, a single hand around her neck.

  The plate fell to the ground and shattered.

  “You will be inspired, I think, to tell others you have seen me.” Tomás didn’t raise his voice, but it still cut through the rain, as if aimed for Tenn’s ears alone. “Perhaps to warn them of my presence. Perhaps to try and save yourself. That would be a very bad decision.”

  Tomás barely moved, but the crack that resonated said enough.

  He let go, and Katherine crumpled to the roof, her neck crushed.

  Tomás stepped forward, not even looking at Katherine. Tenn wanted to throw up. Bile twisted in his stomach, but with Tomás’s every step toward him, the sensation faded, replaced by a growing desire to pull the man closer, to tear the world down and bathe in blood and flame. Tenn forced down the imagery. Or tried to.

  “I have marked you, Tenn. I will follow you everywhere you go. And if you so much as speak my name aloud—” he was now so close that Tenn’s skin burned “—I will kill everyone you tell. Slowly. In front of you. I will make you wish I let you die.”

  He smiled sadistically. Tenn couldn’t take his eyes off Katherine’s limp body. Tomás had killed her, not by draining her heat, but by snapping her neck. He’d killed for the hell of it.

  Until now, Tenn had thought Howls only killed for food.

  “What do you want from me? Why?” Tenn’s voice shook, but it still carried. That was enough.

  “I want you to do your job,” Tomás said. His grin widened. Any larger, and it would split his face. “A job you are proving more than capable of doing—killing the minions of the Dark Lady.”

  Thunder crackled overhead. Tomás burst into giggles.

  “Oh, She is watching. Yes, She is.” He looked up into the sky and raised his hands. “But what do I care, Mother? What do I care, when you are dead dead dead?” He hopped around when he said it. One rotation, and he snapped back to attention, calmly staring at Tenn with his head tilted to the side. “You will help me. But you cannot do that if you stay. Your friends cannot beat this army, Tenn. Not when the army is coming for you.”

  Tenn opened his mouth to speak, heart thudding with Tomás’s final statement, but Tomás was there again, faster than lightning, faster than anything human. One hand gripped Tenn’s jaw. The other snaked behind his waist, pulling their hips close. Tenn couldn’t help the moan in the back of his throat. Tomás very clearly noticed.

  “Run along, little mouse.” He bit Tenn’s lower lip. Fear and shock and desire pulsed through Tenn’s chest. When Tomás let go, it took all of Tenn’s control not to bite back. “Run before the monsters get here. I want to make sure you live long enough to play with.”

  Then he was gone.

  Tenn staggered at the sudden loss and fell to his knees. Once again, he couldn’t stop staring at Katherine’s body. He could no longer hear his thoughts in the drowning silence and rain. Gingerly, he touched his own neck, feeling Tomás’s handprint burning ice-hot. He hunched over and heaved.

  He cowered there, curled over in the rain, his knuckles dug into the concrete.

  He waited for Tomás to reappear.

  He waited for Katherine to wake up, for it all to have been a dream.

  He waited.

  Katherine stayed dead.

  The nightmare stayed reality.

  And on the horizon, he felt a surge of power flare.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FOR THE BRIEFEST moment, Tenn thought it was the enemy attacking.

  There was no one else out there—at least, no one from his troop—that could use that much power. A power that was racing toward the outpost, strobing against the sky like lightning.

  Tomás had barely been gone a minute and Katherine was dead and what the hell was going on that everything was falling to shit so quickly?

  He jumped up and ran to the edge of the hotel, ready to send out a signal, ready to scream that they were under attack, when he realized the power was coming from the west. From Outer Chicago. And there was no way the enemy could be coming from there. Not when Outer Chicago was ringed with outposts like his to keep it safe.

  Light flared as the door burst open, and Derrick ran up beside Tenn, followed by two younger recruits. Fire flickered to life all around the edge of the roof, casting garish shadows and splays of light over the crew. Whether the fire was for defense or a beacon or just from Derrick’s anger, Tenn wasn’t sure.

  Derrick didn’t even look at Katherine’s body. He was too trained on the sky. The others, though, they lingered. Kneeled at her side. Tenn looked away.

  They would say he did that, too. They would say he killed her to hide the evidence of his treason in the field.

  “Commander...” Tenn began, not knowing what to say, but Derrick cut him short.

  “They’re here,” Derrick muttered.

  “The army, sir?” one of the recruits asked.

  Derrick glared back at him.

  “No, idiot. The fucking cavalry.”

  That’s when Derrick noticed Katherine.

  He turned back to Tenn. Tenn had seen his commander angry before, but never like this. Derrick’s jaw was tight, and full flames swirled around his hands and from the burning Sphere of Fire in his chest.

  “What the hell have you done?” he seethed.

  Tenn didn’t get the chance to answer.

  Lightning flashed above them as a gust of wind buffeted the roof, sending Tenn to his knees.

  He blinked away the afterglow, his ears ringing with thunder.

  There were three of them—two guys and a girl—all in pale clothes and white trench coats, all emanating more power than Tenn had felt in his lifetime...save for what he’d wielded that afternoon.

  The blond-haired guy stepped forward. A broadsword was strapped to his back, and his pale, angular face bore a dozen half-healed scars. Something about that face made Tenn’s heart flip, almost with recognition, but he was positive he’d never seen him before in his life. The man didn’t speak at first, his arms in front of his chest. He looked like he was assessing their value.

  He looked like he didn’t enjoy what he saw.

  “Outpost 37,” he said. “I’m Jarrett, captain commander of Outer Chicago. I’ve been sent here to handle the rest of this mission.” His eyes looked over all of them again. Maybe it was Tenn’s imagination, but they seemed to linger on him.

  “And one of you has fucked up.”

  * * *

  “This is madness,” Derrick said, chasing behind Jarrett. Tenn and the others followed them down the steps. The other newcomers were silent, ghosting behind them all. Easy to forget, if not for the shivers they sent down Tenn’s spine every time their cold eyes raked over him.

  “What do you expect when your orders are disobeyed so flagrantly?” Jarrett replied. He was taking the steps two at a time, his pale undercut glowing red in the light of Derrick’s angry fires.

  Even with fear lodged in his gut—surely this would get him discharged or killed or worse—Tenn was mildly impressed that Jarrett knew the word flagrantly.

  “This is my outpost and my troop. You can’t just waltz in here and—”

  Jarrett stopped and spun, and before Derrick could blink, Jarrett had him pinned against the wall, one hand to Derrick’s chest and the other holding a dagger to Derrick’s neck.

  “This outpost is owned and run by Outer Chicago,” Jarrett said. There wasn’t the slightest hint of emotion in his voice, which almost seemed worse than Derrick’s anger. “And that means we own and run you. You screwed up, commander. That is why we are here. So I suggest you take your cocky attitude and shove it
somewhere dark and quiet, because the army is nearly here. And, quite frankly, I’m more than happy to throw you out there as bloodbait. I can promise you that Cassandra won’t give a damn if you’re gone.” He resheathed the dagger and patted the side of Derrick’s face, smiling. “Understood?”

  He stepped back, turned and continued down the steps until they reached the bottom floor. Derrick seethed silently behind him, fires flickering in and out. Once in the lobby, Jarrett gestured to the strangers he brought with him.

  “Devon, Dreya, go secure the perimeter. I want troops every hundred yards. Keep them tight and close to base. You know the drill.”

  The two strangers nodded in unison. Tenn had to believe they were related, despite the contrast in their appearance. They were both tall and lithe and angular. But the girl was paler than ivory, with long willowy fingers and silvered hair that reached her waist; paired with the white coat and faded jeans and sweater she wore, she looked like a specter. Even her blue eyes were nearly gray. But the boy—her brother—was darker than night, with choppy black hair and a burgundy scarf wrapped around his face, leaving only his blue eyes bare. So blue...it must have been their use of Air. Tenn tried not to stare. He’d seen plenty of people subtly changed from the element they used, himself included, but he’d never seen transformations so distinct. Neither seemed to carry weapons, which meant their magic was impossibly powerful.

  The pair strode toward the hotel exit. Then Air opened in their throats, and they flew off into the night.

  “You don’t need to change our formation,” Derrick said when they were out of sight. “I already have scouts in position.”

  “We don’t need scouts,” Jarrett said. “We know the army is coming. And they know where we are. We need our ranks close. Otherwise, our fighters will be swallowed up one by one.”

  Derrick said nothing.

  “And you,” Jarrett said, turning his attention to Tenn. “What are you?”

  It wasn’t so strange a question. Not anymore.

  “Earth and Water. Sir.”

  “That one’s a fuckup,” Derrick interjected. “Nearly cost us the whole mission this afternoon, which is probably why you’re here. Went against orders.”

  Jarrett eyed Tenn up and down, a hint of...something...in his pale eyes. “He doesn’t seem the insubordinate type. What happened?”

  “He—”

  “I was asking him,” Jarrett said quietly. Why was his voice so familiar? “What happened today, soldier?”

  “I used magic. Against orders.”

  Jarrett’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “And why did you do that?”

  “I didn’t,” Tenn said. “It...it used me.”

  “He’s clearly crazy,” Derrick said, “or just trying to save his own a—”

  The Sphere of Air opened in Jarrett’s throat, harsh and pale blue, and a second later Derrick slammed against the wall. Jarrett didn’t even gesture or take his eyes off Tenn.

  “What’s your name?” Jarrett asked.

  “Tenn.”

  Jarrett’s eyes narrowed.

  “And you say your Sphere...what? Acted against your will? Used itself?”

  A lump lodged in Tenn’s throat, but he forced himself to speak.

  “We were surrounded. Only two of us left. I was prepared to die. I swear. But Water just...took over. Before I could stop it...” Tenn took a deep breath. Saying it again felt like insanity. “It killed every single Howl surrounding us. In a heartbeat. Before I could try to stop it.”

  Jarrett didn’t say anything. Not for a long time. And whether Derrick was silent out of newfound respect or some sort of invisible gag, Tenn couldn’t say. Tenn didn’t care. He couldn’t take his gaze off Jarrett. Not because he was scared—though he was, definitely—but because there was something about the way Jarrett looked at him that sent electricity through his veins. Like Jarrett knew his secrets.

  It should have made him feel like he was being appraised. Instead, he felt, in that moment, like the center of Jarrett’s universe.

  He couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy it.

  “Is this the first time it’s happened, Tenn?” Jarrett asked. Just hearing Jarrett say his name sent another course of energy through his veins. It was nothing like what he’d felt around Tomás, but the intensity was just as sharp.

  “Yes. Sir.”

  “Call me Jarrett,” he replied. He lowered his voice. “When this is over...we’ll talk again. At length.” He looked Tenn up and down. “I want you to stay out of the fight. The reports say you don’t have many healers out here, so we’ll need all the Earth mages we can get. And if your Spheres are acting up, I think it’s best you stay out of battle.”

  Jarrett patted him on the shoulder and left. Derrick slumped down from the wall, rubbing his throat. He didn’t approach Tenn, but the glare he shot over was enough.

  “You killed her, didn’t you?” he rasped. “You killed her, and now you’ve damned all of us.”

  He spat on the ground.

  “You’re no better than a fucking Howl.”

  He walked out, and all light went with him.

  There, in the darkness, Tenn began to wonder if it would have been better if he’d died.

  * * *

  It was sometime past midnight. The troop was assembled and the orders had been given. Tenn was back on the roof of the hotel, most of the troop stationed to the city or field beyond. Katherine’s body had been...removed. He didn’t ask where, or by whom. No one told him. No one told him anything.

  Especially not the two Hunters he’d been stationed with.

  Devon and Dreya stood farther back. They’d been there when he arrived, and when he tried to introduce himself, they stared at him like he was speaking a different language. He shrunk under Dreya’s hawk-like glare and didn’t try speaking to them again.

  The rain pounded down harder now, but he barely felt it. It was a perk of being attuned to Water, though it didn’t necessarily make up for the emotional backlash. You took what you could get. Like Tenn, the cold and the rain didn’t seem to bother the newcomers. He looked back to them. They stood on opposite sides of the roof, both open to Air as they scanned the sky.

  Neither of the twins spoke as they stood there, waiting. Minutes churned to hours. The night deepened. His nerves sharpened to daggers with every drop of rain. He wasn’t just waiting. He was waiting to die.

  No. He was waiting for something else to go horribly wrong.

  He stiffened when Dreya walked up next to him. She stood by his shoulder, staring out at the abandoned town. She was almost a head shorter than him, though she seemed much taller.

  “You say that Water used you,” she said. Her voice was soft, barely carrying over the rain, but it was perfectly enunciated.

  He nodded.

  “That should not be possible,” she continued.

  “I know.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while, so he took that as his opportunity.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Because you need us.”

  It was not the response he expected. She had to be lying—they were clearly here because of him, to take him away. They were just guarding him to ensure he didn’t escape.

  “Then why just the three of you? If you’re here to stop the army, why didn’t they send more?”

  She laughed. It was high, and childish, and completely belied her serious demeanor.

  “We are more than enough, Tenn,” she said. “Besides, the Prophets did not send us here to save your army. They sent us to save you.”

  He couldn’t speak. The fear in his chest prevented it. The Prophets were a group of mages dedicated to understanding the fifth and elusive Sphere of Maya—the one Sphere you couldn’t attune to by choice. It had to choose you. No one ha
d seen the Prophets, no one knew how to contact them, but many battles were won or prevented by their guidance. Tenn didn’t know how anyone learned what the Prophets decreed. He’d never wanted to ask.

  The future wasn’t something he wanted to know too much about.

  “You are being noticed,” Dreya whispered. She reached out and touched his neck. Right where Tomás had gripped his throat before. “That is a very dangerous thing.”

  Fire blossomed on the horizon, a red stain on night’s canvas. He didn’t have a chance to speak.

  “That is the first line,” Dreya said. In this new light, her damp hair glinted rose. “The army is near.”

  Tenn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d spent the last week waiting for the executioner’s ax to fall, and here it was, at last.

  Dreya walked back to her brother, who stood with his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed. The red on the horizon seeped closer, the whole town illuminated in its ghostly light. Tenn could sense the magic even from here. Somewhere out there, the necromancers were pulling out their big guns and spurring their undead army with fire and fear. Tenn counted the seconds in his head, like counting the space between lightning and thunder. He counted the seconds until death arrived.

  Deep in the pit of his stomach, the Sphere of Water simmered. It knew battle was coming, and it was excited.

  Flames leaped higher, burning through the fields and stretching to the clouds above. The wall of flame burned white-hot, speeding toward the city in a ravenous wave. Years ago, magic had turned the tides of war. It was no longer the most powerful who walked away from battle, but the quickest. He prayed his comrades in the field had shielded themselves. He prayed that he would get out of here alive, that Water wouldn’t destroy him.

  The fire splashed closer, only a mile away. Its roar chilled his bones, and its heat threatened to melt him.

  And then, behind him, the twins began to sing.

  The sound sent chills up his spine, and he turned and glanced at them, the fire momentarily forgotten. The twins stood there, heads tilted back and hands outstretched. Three Spheres blazed in them like ghostly lights—the slow blue of Water in their stomachs, the fierce red of Fire in their chests and the swirling vortex of pale blue and yellow Air in their throats. Everyone had all five Spheres, but you had to be attuned to them individually to use them, and each consecutive attuning was more difficult. Most mages could only handle one Sphere. Two at most. To split your concentration to three Spheres was nearly impossible. To be so powerfully trained in them...it made what Tenn’s Sphere did that afternoon feel small in comparison.