Martyr

by A. R. Kahler

  Jarrett helped Tenn sit down on one of the benches. A few other dirtied Hunters were there, but no one seemed too heavily injured. He prayed that this wasn’t all that was left of their troop. Not only because that was a lot of deaths, but because there were many more Howls to kill.

  And because, in some unknown, twisted way, those comrades were dying and bleeding because of him.

  Jarrett opened his mouth to give a command when an explosion rent through the air and cut him off. Light burst from the city, followed by a tremor so great the obelisk cracked. But it wasn’t the mushroom cloud billowing into the air or the scent of brimstone that made them cower—it was the power, the sheer force of the magic that ripped through the air like a bomb.

  Tenn had seen power in his life, but he’d never seen power as great as that.

  “What the…” Katherine whispered.

  They stared in silence as the smoke cleared, weapons raised, pulses speeding. Air glowed brighter in Dreya’s throat as she reinforced the shield. There was a note in her eyes that Tenn had never seen before. It wasn’t just focus; it was fear. And that scared him more than anything.

  From the ruins floated a shape. The silhouette appeared first, suspended high above the crumbling towers and burning storefronts. Then the glint of light, the breath of power, as the stranger’s Spheres came into focus: Earth, Fire, and Air. The energy radiating from them was enough to level a whole city.

  “Shit,” Jarrett cursed. He looked to the troop. They were broken, bruised, barely able to strike the lesser Howls now fleeing across the boulevard. Fear was plain on everyone’s faces. Whoever this enemy was, they were far outmatched. Even Dreya’s usually stoic calm cracked into wide-eyed disbelief.

  “We need to run,” Jarrett said. “We can’t fight this. Not now.”

  Laughter cut over the sounds of fire.

  “Run?” came a man’s voice. The figure above the city floated closer. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’d be so easy to follow.”

  In the blink of an eye, the figure stood before them, barely a hundred feet away. The movement reminded Tenn of Tomás, and the very thought made his stomach churn. But this man was definitely not the incubus. This man was tall and sharp, wearing an immaculate black pinstripe suit and holding an ebony cane. His grey hair was combed back, and his goatee was the color of ash. Every inch of him was sleek and strong, a sharp contradiction to the destruction around him.

  He reached out his free hand and tentatively stroked the surface of Dreya’s shield. It crackled under his touch, flurries of sparkling energy trailing to the ground with a hiss.

  “So charming,” he mused as he watched the sparks fall. “And so naïve to think a magic so simple could protect him from me.”

  Then, with the press of his finger, he brought the whole shield down in a cascade of sparks. Dreya gasped, hands going to her throat as Air winked out. The man smiled. Directly at Tenn. That look poured ice down Tenn’s veins, and he knew without a doubt that none of them would leave here.

  “Who are you?” Jarrett asked. He took a step forward, his sword held at the ready. Air burned in his throat, but he didn’t make any move to attack. Tenn couldn’t help but notice the slight shake in his hand. That was almost worse than the man’s ease at dismantling their shield.

  “My name is Matthias,” the man answered. He gave a curt nod. “And I have come for the boy.” He pointed to Tenn. Tenn took a half-step back.

  “You can’t have him,” Jarrett said.

  Matthias grinned. “Oh, I think you’ll find you’re much mistaken. My mistress desires him, and I shall bring him to her with or without your cooperation.”

  “Mistress?”

  “Leanna.” Matthias’s words dripped poison. The hole in Tenn’s stomach grew wider.

  “Never,” Jarrett said. He didn’t take his eyes off the man, but Tenn knew the body language well. Jarrett was preparing himself for one last stand. But Tenn wouldn’t let him fight alone. He tightened his grip on his staff, and a hand clamped down on his arm. Dreya. Her eyes were wide and her lips were tight. She gave a slight shake of her head, her eyes never leaving Matthias.

  “Let’s let him decide that, shall we?” Matthias asked. He winked at Tenn. “After all, who better to decide the worth of his own life? Is it worth, say, one other?”

  He swatted his hand, like he was batting away a fly. Fire flared brighter in his chest.

  Katherine didn’t even have time to scream.

  Fire burst from her chest and lips, curling around her and hollowing her out so, in less than a heartbeat, she was nothing more than a shell of ash. Her katana clattered to the ground, dropping from her paper fingers. The rest of her collapsed in a cascade of soot.

  No one screamed. No one outwardly mourned her death. The silence in the air could suffocate, and when Jarrett took a step forward, Matthias held out a hand to stop him.

  “Now, now,” he said. “Let’s not be too hasty. After all, I highly doubt Tenn would like any more deaths to weigh on his soul, especially yours.” Then he looked at Tenn, his smile deepening. “Personally, I would have thought Mommy and Daddy were enough.”

  The words were a punch to Tenn’s gut. He stumbled back and felt another set of hands holding him up. He barely had time to register the twins flanking him before Water stirred in his stomach, dragged at him with cold fingers. Mom, Dad, where are you? It took everything he had to force the bloody memory down.

  “Stay away from him,” Jarrett said. His voice was deadly low.

  “Your choice, Tenn,” Matthias said, as though he hadn’t heard Jarrett’s warning. He gestured to the rest of the troop. “You have seven more chances to come willingly.”

  There was no way in Hell Tenn was going to let anyone die for him. He wasn’t worth it.

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  But before he could shake off the twins to join Matthias, Jarrett lunged into action.

  Tenn screamed, but Matthias just brushed Jarrett aside with a wave of his hand. Jarrett skittered to the ground at Tenn’s feet. Barely a second passed before the rest of the troop rallied. They ran toward Matthias, weapons raised and magic blazing.

  Tenn wasn’t allowed to watch. Before he could push away to fight, before he could keep these idiots from dying for him—him, worthless, meaningless him—someone was pulling him back, back toward the waves. Fog descended over the boulevard, a fog broken only by muffled shouts and flares of fire. All he saw before he plunged into the icy waters of the lake were the shadows of the twins and another shape he prayed was Jarrett. Then everything went cold and black.

  The four of them raced beneath the waves of the lake. It wasn’t the first time Tenn had traveled this way, but it was the first time he hadn’t done it on his own accord. He struggled against Dreya’s fingers as she pulled him along. Magic wrapped around them, pushing them through the water at breakneck speed. Tenn’s lungs burned as they rocketed away from the shore, heading deeper and deeper into the depths of the lake, far out of Matthias’s sight. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t tell how deep they were diving. Dreya’s hands were a vise. The water around him was heavy as a grave.

  When he couldn’t take anymore, he took a frantic breath. Air filled his lungs. He didn’t even have room to be surprised.

  Every second that sped by, he expected the dark water to erupt into flame, expected Matthias to drop down into the depths and kill them. Every second and Water churned Katherine’s shocked face in his mind as flames burst from her pores. The ash still seemed to cling to his lungs. Her image stuttered like a broken movie reel, shadowed by the flares in the fog, the silhouettes of his comrades as they fought against Matthias. As they died for him…

  He struggled again against Dreya’s grip. He had to get back. He couldn’t let them sacrifice themselves. Not like this. Not for him.

  Dreya’s nails dug in deep. Even though he couldn’t see it, he knew his blood trailed in the water from where they cut his flesh.

  Sec
onds turned to minutes. Minutes ebbed to hours. Tenn lost track of how long they fled, and the depths gave no hint of the time. There was nothing to distract him from the memories, from the smell of his comrades’ burning flesh. Nothing to distract him as Water regurgitated the battle scenes, meshed them with all the horrors of his childhood he struggled to hide from. Katherine, burning in his room, all that blood staining the blue walls red…

  It might have been his imagination, but the water seemed to grow lighter. The sun must have been rising, but they were still so deep he couldn’t see more than a tinge to the black.

  They changed course. Dreya dragged him another direction, and in seconds, they plunged into the air. Only a few moments of weightlessness, the shock of light after so much dark, and then they landed on top of a crumbling concrete slab. For a while they just lay there, staring at the pale-blue sky and listening to the crash of waves. Every bone in Tenn’s body ached from the awkward landing, but he didn’t open to Earth. He wanted to feel the pain. After everything that had just been sacrificed for him, it was the least he could do.

  Finally, before he could get too deep in his own regrets, he pushed himself to standing. The twins and Jarrett were already up and standing farther off, none of them speaking.

  The morning was cold and clear, the sun streaking across the horizon. No land in sight. Just sparkling waves and, rising from the surf, what looked like broken pillars. Things clicked with a disgusting snap. He knew precisely where they were. This was all that was left of Chicago.

  Tenn wanted to scream at them, wanted to run back to the comrades who were more than likely already dead. But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He was hollowed and raw. Jarrett was shaking—it took Tenn a moment to realize it wasn’t from the cold. Jarrett’s eyes were tight, and he gripped the railing with white knuckles, looking out at the ruins of this once-thriving city, before the lake had swallowed it whole.

  The silence didn’t last forever. Dreya turned to Jarrett, her hands clenched into fists.

  “What have you gotten us into?” she whispered.

  There was a weight to her question, an undercurrent laden with power: why were we sent out here, why was that man looking for Tenn, what did our comrades die for? Those, Tenn knew, were the other questions laced through her words. He tried not to shrink back. He tried to ignore the heaviness settling on his shoulders.

  Jarrett looked down at his hands. His sword was gone, and it was only then that Tenn realized he’d lost his own staff somewhere in the melee.

  “I honestly don’t know,” Jarrett whispered. He took a deep, staggered breath. “You know everything I do.”

  Tenn knew Jarrett more than anyone else. He knew Jarrett’s tells. So he noticed the slight waver in Jarrett’s voice, the quick flick of his eyes while answering.

  Jarrett was lying. But about what?

  Dreya turned to Tenn.

  “What do you have to do with all of this? Why are they looking for you?”

  He shook his head. “I…I don’t know. I swear.” He felt like curling in on himself. If it would have done anything, he would have thrown himself back into the waves.

  “They died for you—” Dreya began, but Jarrett cut her off.

  “That’s enough.” He walked over and stood between her and Tenn. “This isn’t his fault. He’s just as confused as the rest of us.”

  “Then why—” she said, but this time Tenn spoke up.

  “I didn’t ask you to save me!” he yelled. He pushed Jarrett aside. Rage and agony swam in his chest. Every blink, he saw them burning. Every beat of his heart was a reminder that they’d died for him. And he knew, deep down, he wasn’t worth dying for. “This is your fault,” he said, pointing at Dreya. “If you’d have let me, if you wouldn’t have held me back, I could have…”

  “What, Tenn?” she asked. “Given yourself up?” She shook her head. “Are you so foolish as to believe Matthias would have let us go? No. He is not the type for mercy.” She looked back to her brother, who stood a little ways off, watching them in silence. Devon’s eyes were carefully guarded, though Fire flickered on and off in his chest, as though he were struggling against it. “We have heard of him, this Matthias.” Her voice grew darker. “He has razed a hundred cities. He is Leanna’s hound. Where he goes, death follows. He would not have let us escape so easily.”

  “So what do we do now?” Tenn asked. Now that the anger had left him, he felt small. Like the whole world could crash on his shoulders and he wouldn’t care at all.

  “It’s obvious he’s after you,” Jarrett said, “and he won’t stop until he finds you.”

  “So I should give myself up,” Tenn said.

  “No,” Jarrett replied. He stepped behind Tenn and wrapped his arms tight around his stomach. The movement wasn’t just loving; it was protective. Jarrett’s arms were strong, holding Tenn in place, keeping him from falling deeper into Water’s clutches. “We need to head back to base, see if the Prophets know anything about this.” He paused and looked to Dreya. “Are you fine getting us back?”

  She nodded. Tenn’s stomach was in a twist. Of course the Prophets knew about this. They’d sent Tenn out here as bait. But he couldn’t voice that, not yet. Not until he knew why. Before this, he’d been nothing—just a soldier, just fodder. What had changed?

  “Then let’s go,” Jarrett said, cutting Tenn’s thoughts short. “Before Matthias finds us.”

  The twins walked over to the edge of the platform and Tenn made to step toward them, but Jarrett held him back.

  “I’m not going to let Leanna get you,” he whispered. “I swear on my life, I will do everything I can to keep you safe.”

  And that, Tenn thought, is the problem. Your life is worth more than mine.

  They walked over to the twins, hand in hand. Dreya grasped his shoulder. When her power flooded around him, they jumped back into the waves.

  6

  It was late afternoon by the time they reached the shores of Outer Chicago. Water lapped at the highway stretched before them, slowly eating at the asphalt, turning it to sand and stone. Grey clouds streaked through the slate-blue sky, and the horizon was heavy with the promise of rain. Dreya used her magic to pull the water from their clothes, but the bite of the air still cut deep. Tenn glanced up into the sky. December and still no snow.

  None of them spoke as they made their way through the abandoned streets. The air was still and perfectly silent. After the roar of battle and water in his ears, the hush made Tenn’s head ring, like stepping from a crowded school dance into the night air. Yards were overgrown and browned, tumbled with old clothes and mangled bikes and toys bleached white in the sun. No bones. It’d been two years since Tenn had come to Outer Chicago. Even then, the surrounding city was clear of corpses. He’d never thought it appropriate to ask if that was because of Howls or Hunters.

  They rounded a corner and faced a rough, black earthen wall that rose straight out of the street, cutting houses in two and stretching four stories above the pavement. Great metal spikes stuck out from the highest ramparts, all angled down to impale anything trying to climb over. And those were just the physical defenses. Tenn could feel the magic running through the place, the traps and snares of fire and ice that were just waiting to be triggered. When the four approached, Jarrett called out in a loud, clear voice.

  “I am Jarrett Townsend, commander of Troop Omega, requesting permission to enter.”

  Something shifted on the high wall. A figure peered over the top.

  “Are you clean?” the guard called.

  As one, they opened to their Spheres. Tenn only opened to Earth; he couldn’t bear the thought of Water gaining hold. Magic was proof enough that none of them had been turned into Howls. Although apparently the Kin could slip by without a problem, Tenn thought. He suppressed a shiver. The guard disappeared from sight and moments later, a chunk of the wall in front of them shivered. Like the waves of a mirage, the stone faded from sight, revealing a large door of rusted steel
and heavy girders. With a shrill scream and rumble of machinery, it slid aside.

  They slipped through before the entrance was fully opened. The guard gave them a quick nod before turning the great wheel that closed the gate behind them. Tenn caught Jarrett taking a deep, steadying breath before he led them deeper into the heart of one of humanity’s last semblances of civilization.

  In stark contrast to outside, the town within the stronghold’s walls was packed and thriving. And disgusting. Laundry stretched across the streets on useless power lines, the houses cramped and the stench of humanity overpowering. People milled about wearing whatever they retained from their old lives—tattered suits and dresses, jeans and T-shirts and sweaters. Carts and wagons lined the sidewalks, laden with rotted fruit and bread and other pitiful crops. It looked like a Renaissance Faire crammed into a city street, only no one here was laughing or getting drunk. And there was a hell of a lot more shit in the gutters.

  Years ago, Tenn would have expected a hero’s welcome, but no one looked them in the eye. They all kept their eyes down and skittered to the side like the mice they’d become. It was evident in the hunched backs, the nervous twitches—the Resurrection had broken them. It made Tenn’s blood boil. These people knew what Tenn and his companions were—the black coats, the weary faces, the battle scars—but that didn’t grant them any friendliness. To the populace, the Hunters weren’t necessarily saviors. Hunters used magic, and everyone knew that magic was the reason the cities had fallen.

  It didn’t matter that he’d just watched a dozen men and women die to protect these people.

  To the residents of this and every other town, the protectors were barely better than the beasts outside.

  They trudged down the street, skirting vendors selling the last of the season’s crops and children playing in the gutters. Filth piled on every corner. There was a city council designed to take care of things like this—sanitation, food management, all of that—so the Hunters could do what they did best—defend. In theory. In practice, without the hope of things getting better, no one really gave a shit. Somehow, even that was blamed on the Hunters’ Guild. And its leader, Cassandra.