“I figured you were like everyone else. You were here because you didn’t have a choice.”
“You’re right,” Caius said. “But not for the reasons you think. I knew things, things the Church never wanted me to know, and they tried to kill me. Sent their Inquisition my way in hopes of silencing me. So I came here. But soon, they’ll find me. And when they do, their deepest secrets will die with me.”
“I don’t understand,” Tenn said.
“You will,” Caius replied.
He stepped closer, so close Tenn could smell the rot of the man’s teeth.
“There’s a darkness stirring in the world, Tenn. A darkness that fills even the holiest of men’s hearts. It started years ago, in the heart of the light. You think you know hell, think you’ve seen death and destruction, but you know nothing. Not compared to the evils yet to come.”
Tenn backed up. How did Caius know his name?
“What secrets?”
“You aren’t ready for them,” Caius said, still whispering. “Once you know, you’ll have the whole of the Church with a dagger at your back. But you will know. God told me. You’ll know soon why the first Howl was born.”
Caius cleared his throat and looked around.
“Now, I believe you had somewhere to go.”
“I...”
“I’m tired of you wasting my time, Hunter,” Caius said, even louder. “I’ve got no use for heathens.” He spat at Tenn’s feet and walked away, staggering slightly.
Tenn watched him go for a moment. He couldn’t force down the chills that raced over his skin.
How many people in this godforsaken world knew him?
* * *
Tenn spent the next hour wandering, his nerves steeled for another confrontation. But the world was eerily silent—even in the outposts, there had been noise: the crackle of fires, the murmur of voices. Here, there was just the still air and glimmering sidewalks, everything wet and reflective, slick as nightmare.
These had been the suburbs of Chicago, but three years had changed them. The great wall circled the entire compound, and the houses closest to it were dilapidated and charred. But when he opened to Earth, he found they were still inhabited. Judging from the smell, well...they either hadn’t been cleaned, or no one ever left them, even after death. The thought made him wonder what they did with the dead. He didn’t see a graveyard, and the lake was still a mile or so away. Maybe cremation? He glanced at the wall, and the few ladders and ramps on this side leading to the top. He hoped cremation. He’d seen far too many commanders leave their dead for the Howls.
Closer in, away from the danger, the houses were nicer. They were still overcrowded, but at least these had been kept up. Some even still had all their windows.
Despite this—or because of it—those were the streets Tenn avoided. They felt too much like before the Resurrection. If he ignored the twisted streetlamps, or the makeshift sheds and yurts built on front lawns, he could almost pretend this place had never been tainted by magic or monsters. The streets were clean and wide, the cars gone—probably to be used as barriers outside, or locked eternally in the standstill traffic that clogged every highway in America, creating a veritable buffet for the undead. Mailboxes gaped for letters that would never come and hedges were neatly trimmed. The quaintness set his nerves on edge.
So he stayed near the town center, where the buildings were cramped and the laundry fluttered overhead like ghosts and everything had an air of ruin and despair. Shops were boarded up for the night, outdoor stalls were emptied of produce, litter clogged gutters. He hated to admit that those were the streets that felt the most normal. He hated how they made him almost feel safe.
The idea of safety sent another thought through his head. Without a weapon, he felt naked. He wasn’t as powerful as the twins, who didn’t seem to need a blade to feel safe. Magic always exhausted him. Power always ran out. And when the magic was gone, he was defenseless.
He passed by what was clearly the dump, or junkyard, or some mix of the two: a large lot that had probably once been for parking, but was now filled with trash metal and twisted bicycles and the overpowering scent of rot. He didn’t want to wonder what was decaying deep within the pile. He opened to Earth and used it to seek out something suitable. Finally, he found it—a piece of steel pipe a few feet long, thankfully along the perimeter of the mess. He wrenched it free and examined it under the moonlight.
It was heavy, and covered in rust, and bent in a few places. But it was the right size, and with a little work...
One of the hardest parts of the Resurrection was adjusting to the weaponry required to survive. Guns and nukes and the rest were obsolete, and the typical zombie-killer flair of nailed baseball bats and chain saws didn’t hold up to hordes of monsters. Weapons could be twisted by any mage. Bullets could be stopped, bombs disarmed. The only way to make a weapon your own was to infuse it with your own blood and magic.
He pushed through Earth, rooted down into the soil and through the pole in his hand.
Metal shivered and melted and reformed, rust sloughing off like snakeskin as the staff elongated, became smooth. He twisted the power and twisted the pole, made it sleek and straight, its weight even. He pulled a blade from each end, each curved and sharp as a crescent moon. He ran his thumb along the top blade, let it slice into his skin, the blade so sharp he barely felt it. Blood trickled down, and he used the power to absorb it into the metal, threading it through the staff and blades, until every inch of it was infused with his lifeblood. Another twist of power, and silver steel turned black.
He closed off to Earth and examined the weapon in the moonlight. It was nearly identical to his old staff, and when he spun it the blades whistled their familiar call through the air. But something about this one felt different. Something about it seemed to signal a new life. For a moment, the thought thrilled him. Then he remembered everything his new life entailed, and the excitement cut off, sharp as the blade he wielded.
* * *
The twins were already at the south tower when he arrived. It was clearly a new construct, made of magic-churned earth and bristling with steel spikes. It towered above the encircling wall, accessible only by a staircase that spiraled its way up through the center. The twins stood at the edge of the roof, their white coats glowing in the moonlight. Dreya’s coat was especially embellished, covered in more belts and buckles than seemed necessary. Devon’s coat was darker than his sister’s, like a cloud on the edge of a storm. The clean lines made him look like a military commander, though the burgundy scarf made him look like a commander with a cold.
“You guys look nice,” Tenn said. He didn’t know what else to say. “New coats?”
Tenn expected coldness from them, but to his surprise, Dreya smiled, the merest tilt of her lips. That was enough. Apparently, still being a newcomer had its merits.
“Has Jarrett been here?” he asked.
Hopefully she couldn’t see the blush that rose to his cheeks as he asked.
Devon shook his head, but it was Dreya who answered. “No. But I have no doubt he will be here soon. It is still early, and he is still covering our tracks.”
Tenn nodded and walked to the edge of the tower, staring out at what lay beyond the safety wall of the colony. The streets of the abandoned suburb were almost beautiful like this. Up here, away from the threat of, well, dismemberment and eventual death, it was easy to imagine how this place would have been years ago—families all asleep in their houses, dogs barking now and again in the yards. Easy to imagine, if you ignored the crashed cars and magic-pitted streets and the glitter of glass that swept across the debris-filled lawns.
“Do you ever think we’ll get it back?” Tenn asked, thinking of his earlier conversation with Jarrett. He hadn’t meant to say it aloud.
“This world?” Dreya asked. She stepped up beside him
and put her hands on the steel banister that kept them from plummeting. The ground was a long, long way down.
She didn’t say anything for a while. Tenn knew from her expression that she wasn’t dismissing the question, but mentally debating the possibility. A small part of him yearned for her to say what he knew she wouldn’t. That lie would give him hope, the hope that someday he could entertain the idea of a boyfriend, or a husband, or a home. The hope that maybe Jarrett—back after so many years apart—would be the one to signal it. The thought made his heart ache and Water boil.
“I do not think so,” she finally said. Her words were barely more than a whisper. “But I wish... I wish it could be.”
She exhaled deeply. “But wishes do not change anything.”
“What are we wishing for?” Jarrett asked. He stepped up behind them, his sword strapped to his back and another bag of provisions in hand. He was back in his blacks—wool coat, black boots, black combats. The only color was a light-blue knit hat pulled down over his ears. It made him look like a Nordic elf. One into heavy metal.
Dreya, of course, said nothing. Tenn wondered if she was actually embarrassed.
“Everything set?” Tenn asked, doing what he could to cover the silence. Jarrett just raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” He set his bag beside the others. “I double-checked to make sure the changeover was still at the same time. Midnight. On the dot.”
“I still do not like this plan,” Dreya said. She looked at Tenn. “This will kill him.”
Jarrett bit his lip before catching himself.
“It’s dangerous,” he admitted. “But Cassandra insisted we don’t just walk out. She’d rather someone know magic was in use than have us identified. Over is the only way.”
Tenn turned and looked over the railing. The cars looked like toys. It would be a very long way to fall.
“What do you mean, kill me?” he asked. He couldn’t cut his eyes from the ground far, far below.
Jarrett sighed and stepped up behind him, putting his hands on Tenn’s shoulders. The motion felt so easy, so familiar...
“It won’t kill you,” he said. “It’s just...well, we can fly because we’re attuned to Air. For anyone else, it’s like being caught in a tornado.”
“That is an understatement,” Dreya said. “Do not try to soften the reality. For him, it will not be flying. The winds that bear him will rip him apart.”
“No,” Jarrett said. “We’ll stick close, shield him with our bodies. And, Tenn, stay open to Earth. Keep healing yourself.”
Behind them, deep in the heart of the town, a bell began to chime. Midnight. Jarrett scooped up the bags and handed them over.
“No time for discussion,” he said, slinging one on his back. “They change on the tenth ring.”
Tenn pulled on his own bag, and the twins crowded close, each wrapping their arms around his waist. He felt like a sandwich. Jarrett took off his hat and shoved it over Tenn’s head before wrapping him in an embrace. Tenn closed his eyes—despite everything, all he could focus on was Jarrett’s scent, the musk and far-off fragrance of soap. He wanted to lean forward into that embrace forever.
“Close your eyes,” Jarrett murmured into his ear. “It’ll be over soon. And whatever you do, don’t stop healing.”
Then the tenth chime rang, and the three of them opened to Air. The other two chimes were lost to the roar of thunder.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IN THE CORNER of his mind, Tenn knew this was suicide. He could feel the invisible shield surrounding the compound flicker when control passed over to another Air mage.
Then they were beyond it.
That was all he could sense. Everything else was a roar of wind in his ears and the flare of pain in his flesh. Even with the twins and Jarrett clinging to him tightly, every minuscule piece of exposed skin screamed as the wind tried to tear him apart. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming, too. Earth flooded his body with magic as chunks of flesh shot into the night, only to be replaced and torn off again. It seemed to last an eternity, the pain and the screams and the wind.
Then he felt Earth connect to the sudden ground beneath his feet. The wind stopped.
Flesh knit itself together one final, searing time as the twins stepped away. Jarrett kept a firm grip on him.
“Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was a little breathy, and his chest moved fast. Only the twins seemed unfazed by the experience; they stared at the horizon, Air glowing in their throats as they scanned.
Tenn nodded and the world swayed with that movement. If not for Jarrett’s firm grip, he would have fallen over.
“Never again,” he said, his lips cracking from Earth’s drain. He let go of the Sphere; his stomach rumbled in protest.
He fought down the bile that rose in his throat and wiped away his tears—from pain or the wind, he wasn’t certain. All he knew was that he’d used far too much magic lately. He needed to sleep. He needed to recharge.
The four of them were covered in Tenn’s blood, white clothes stained crimson, Jarrett and his blacks oily and slick. A momentary pang of guilt flooded him before he was able to remind himself that flying hadn’t been his choice. Before he could feel too guilty, Dreya opened to Water and pulled the blood from their clothes. Blood could be controlled by a Water mage only once it was outside of a living body; otherwise, bodies were protected against manipulation unless direct contact was made.
“We must go,” Dreya said when their clothes were cleaned. “The guards will have felt that much magic. They will send a search party soon.”
It was only then that Tenn realized they weren’t in the suburbs surrounding Outer Chicago, but in the middle of a highway that shot like a silver arrow through the night. He glanced over his shoulder. The city was barely a glimmer in the distance. But Dreya was right; that much magic would have triggered an alarm. How was she still able to talk? Jarrett still seemed to be recovering, his breath fast and his eyes darting, but she was fine.
“Where are we going?” Tenn asked. Here they were, in the dead of night, in the middle of the monsters, with no plan. At least, none that he knew of. They needed to move fast. Even if the Hunters didn’t send scouts, there were still Howls and rogue necromancers to contend with.
“The Witches,” Jarrett said. Tenn couldn’t tell if it was condescending or not.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“This way,” Dreya said. She walked off, leaving him no choice but to follow.
“Where?” Tenn asked again. He refused to budge, even though Jarrett cast him a bewildered glare.
He almost expected them to leave him there, but Dreya stopped and looked back.
“We cannot tell you.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Maybe it was the pain of flight, but Tomás’s words fired through his brain. Why were they dragging him along on this mission? Why had they come to him in the first place? “I’m sick of being led along like a dog.”
He expected Jarrett to speak up, but it was Dreya who replied.
“Won’t,” she said. She sighed. “If we tell you, and you are captured, and tortured, you may reveal their location. We swore we would protect their safety and their secrets. We cannot risk that by telling you where they are.” She looked to Jarrett, and her sad expression turned razor-sharp. “Some vows, at least, we must uphold.”
Jarrett bit his lip, but he didn’t say anything, and neither did Dreya. She turned and continued on.
Tenn considered not moving. He considered turning around and wandering off into the night.
“Don’t do this,” Jarrett whispered.
Tenn stared at him.
“Do what?” He watched Dreya and Devon walk on; neither looked back.
“This isn’t the fight you want,” Jarrett replied.
“I
don’t want a fight. I want answers.”
“I know,” Jarrett said. He put a hand on Tenn’s shoulder. Tenn hated himself for it, but that one movement weakened his resolve. “I want answers, too. For both of us. Whatever’s happening with this—” his hand moved from Tenn’s shoulder to his stomach, to where Water churned over with wanting “—affects both of us. The Witches are said to have discovered magic. They trained those two.” He nodded to the twins. “If anyone will have answers, it’s them.”
Tenn knew he should be asking more questions. He should keep the inner fire going. But he couldn’t get his thoughts in gear—they were spinning on Jarrett’s statement. This affects both of us. Both of them. Together.
Maybe Jarrett wasn’t trying to use him like Tomás had said. Like Tomás was. Maybe Jarrett was trying to work toward a mutual future.
Tenn nodded, and Jarrett pulled him in for a quick hug, kissing him gently on the neck.
“We’ll figure this out. I promise.”
He pulled away and walked on before Tenn could get used to the closeness. The absence was stronger than anything Jarrett could have said to convince him—it tugged Tenn onward, and he knew then that he would follow Jarrett wherever he went.
They trudged on in silence until the night was deep and the city was barely a memory behind them. Moonlight filtered down from the clear sky, making everything glow silver and ink-black. They hadn’t come across a single soul since they’d left the compound. The night seemed longer and emptier than it should have—just endless road and fields and abandoned cars. The sight of the fields reminded him way too much of Michael’s death. How had that only been a day ago? It felt like the entire world had changed.
Minutes dragged to hours and the cold went from cool to piercing. There were a thousand questions Tenn wanted to ask—who were the Witches, how did the twins know about them and where the hell were they going?—but he kept quiet. The questions he truly wanted answers for were the ones he couldn’t voice, the ones he was terrified to know. Tomás and Matthias were out there, still hunting him. And he still had no idea why.
Runebinder Page 12