Martyr

by A. R. Kahler

  “Yes. This is the night the world was damned. This was the night you lost your home.”

  Tenn said nothing. He didn’t move, just stood amongst the branches and watched the lights wink out, one by one.

  “She’s not gone, you know,” Matthias said. “Not really. My goddess, She still lives. And She stirs.”

  The words made Tenn colder than any winter could.

  “I don’t believe in your goddess,” he whispered.

  “But She believes in you,” Matthias said. “And in the end, that is all that matters.”

  All the lights winked out now, save for two on the horizon. They glowed red, like eyes. The Dark Lady smiled in the depths of the darkness. Then She swallowed Tenn whole.

  Tenn awoke with a start. The sheets were tangled at his feet, and the hurricane lamp burned low on the nightstand. He was alone. His heart raced as he looked around the room. Had Jarrett been taken? Had Matthias or Tomás snuck in during the night? Then he remembered that Jarrett would have left early to speak with Cassandra. She’d need the debrief. He flopped back on the bed.

  For the longest time, he just lay there, trying to calm the furious racing of his heart, the staccato of his breath. He could still feel those red eyes on him. In every corner of the room, he expected to see Her, the Dark Lady, watching him from the shadows and waiting for his back to turn. Matthias’s words echoed in his skull. Matthias, Leanna, Tomás…and now the Dark Lady herself. Why were they after him? How was he so special? Powerful in ways that are only just awakening, Tomás had said. But what powers? Tenn was suddenly reminded of the way Water had acted up without his trying. Was that what everyone was after?

  One thing was certain—he was being watched, and if he didn’t act very, very carefully, he’d have more deaths on his hands. He had no doubt Tomás would carry out his threat. The idea of finding Jarrett stone-cold some morning was enough to make him swear to anything.

  Almost anything.

  He pushed himself out of bed and followed the copper pipes hanging in the corridor toward the bathroom. A shower wouldn’t fix everything, but it would definitely help. At least it would get him out of the room.

  The showers were part of the original gym, but they’d been modified since the Resurrection. Hot water was one of the few luxuries they’d salvaged, and after any amount of time in the field, it was the one Tenn was most grateful for. He walked over to a stall and slipped out of his clothes, turned on the hot tap, and sank under the warmth. It didn’t reach the cold that rimed his very bones. He highly doubted anything ever would.

  He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool tile wall, letting the water slide down his back. Although he knew he’d been washed clean during their underwater journey, a part of him still expected to see red siphoning down the drain if he opened his eyes just a crack. Memories swam with the water. He let his defenses drop. He let the past bubble up.

  “Mom, Dad? Are you home?”

  He knew it was too much to hope for, knew it before he even opened the front door. But he’d held on to that flickering light anyway. It had led him here, on foot and by bus, across miles and miles of highway crawling with dead bodies and not-so-dead bodies. The thought of the monsters he’d had to avoid to get there made his stomach lurch. The news had said things were bad. He’d no clue just how bad they were. The little training in magic he’d undergone was barely enough to keep himself alive. But it had already saved his neck multiple times. He just hoped he’d made it here in time to save his parents…

  The house felt empty. It felt worse than empty. He felt it in his chest; the place was hollowed, like someone had stepped in and ripped out its heart. The blood smearing the walls in streaks and fingerprints made him want to drop to his knees. It’s not their blood. It can’t be their blood. But it led straight toward their bedroom. Or straight from.

  The Sphere of Water churned within him, as though fueled by all this pain. As though it enjoyed it.

  The bedroom door was eerily clean. He pressed his hand to the wood and pushed it open.

  It swung in on silent hinges.

  The room was empty.

  The bed was made, the quilt folded neatly at the foot. The windows were closed, blinds open. Sunlight streamed in, catching on dust motes, tiny fragments his parents had once breathed in and out. The dressers were closed. If they had left, they hadn’t left in a hurry.

  He walked over to the nightstand. To the photo sitting there, under the lamp.

  It was him and his dad at Christmas. He must have been four when this was taken. He was surrounded by crinkly wrapping paper, and the fire was roaring in the fireplace behind him. He could see his mother’s slippered foot at the bottom—she was always the one taking the photos.

  He sat down on the bed and picked it up, stared at his father’s smile.

  There, in the corner, was a tiny smudge of dried blood.

  He brought the photo to his chest and curled up on the bed. Tears wouldn’t come. So he rocked back and forth, cradling the photo like his mother had held him. His world ripped apart.

  He’d been too late.

  Too late.

  “Tenn? Are you in there?”

  Tenn opened his eyes. He had no way of knowing how long he’d been standing there, though the water hadn’t gone cold yet. He turned toward the curtain separating him from the voice. There was no mistaking it—Dreya.

  “Yeah,” he called. His voice was rough. Had he been crying?

  “You have been summoned,” she said.

  He peeked around the curtain. She stood in the doorway in a new pair of faded jeans and a fluffy white-knit sweater. Where she always got fresh clothes in a world of disrepair was beyond him. Maybe she had a stash from her travels. Her hair hung over her shoulders in waves, almost disappearing against the pale shirt. She was doing that hawk-gaze thing she always did, which didn’t make him feel any more comfortable about being naked. It was like she could see through the curtain and into his thoughts.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Cassandra. She has summoned you.” A hesitation. “All of us. We are having a meeting. The entire guild.”

  “A meeting?” They hadn’t had a meeting since he’d joined.

  “Yes.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “It’s about what happened. To us. Isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “Shit.”

  “I suggest you hurry,” she said. She tossed him a towel from a cupboard beside her. “She called the meeting ten minutes ago. We could not find you. You are already late.”

  With that, she turned and left. Tenn shut off the water and grabbed the towel from the floor. He hadn’t even been back a day. He’d been hoping he’d have a bit longer before they threw him out.

  8

  The meeting took place in the old basketball court. By the time Tenn got there, it was already well underway. He edged past the open double-doors and stood in the shadow of the bleachers, watching the show proceed.

  Cassandra paced in the center. She was in her late twenties, with dark ebony skin and long black braids that nearly reached her waist. Most Earth mages Tenn knew were stocky, grounded, but not Cassandra. She was tall and curvaceous, with a perfect hourglass figure. Today, she wore knee-high leather boots and tight black leather pants. Her skin-tight black top was barely concealed by a transparent black coat. Only an idiot would mistake her beauty for weakness. For Cassandra, it was just another finely tuned weapon.

  “…we all know our forces are dwindling,” she said. Her voice was powerful, and it carried in the gym. Although the entirety of the guild was in there—those not stationed elsewhere, at least—the bleachers were barely half-full. Once, their guild had numbered thousands. “And our hold on civilization is slipping. Leanna is pushing her forces east. Already we’ve received reports as close as Minneapolis.” She paused under one of the brilliant balls of fire floating high above. “We can barely hold on to the little land we do control, let alone try and
topple Leanna’s compound. Not that any previous attempts have proved successful. America is dying. And if we don’t do something fast, our great nation will be left to the Howls.”

  A murmur rumbled through the bleachers, and Tenn didn’t need to be amongst his comrades to know the gist. None of this was new information, but it wasn’t something anyone wanted to hear. Everyone remembered the horror stories of attempted conquests—the Hunters who made it back from raids on Leanna’s compound and could barely speak through their shock; whole armies, wasted in a heartbeat from magic or hordes of higher-Sphere Howls. There hadn’t been an attempted attack on Leanna in over a year. What sort of morale boost was this?

  “Which is why,” she continued, walking out of sight. Tenn stepped closer, so he could see her over the stands. “I have asked you all here. Troop Omega has returned from the field. And they bring a fortuitous gift.” She gestured to someone standing in the shadows. “Jarrett, if you please.”

  Jarrett walked out next to her, his boots echoing in the otherwise silent room. He wasn’t in blacks. No, today he looked like the Resurrection had never happened—ripped blue jeans, black combat boots, and a grey T-shirt with a logo that had faded beyond recognition. Even from here, Tenn could see the intricate lines of Jarrett’s Hunter’s mark on his right forearm.

  But it wasn’t his appearance that was making the quiet room even more silent. No, it was the object he gingerly placed in Cassandra’s hands. Tenn’s stomach turned over at the sight of it.

  A small glass jar. Within it, a hovering flame. Cassandra raised it high above her head, like Lady Liberty with her torch. Jarrett must have pocketed it after killing the necromancer. The thing seemed to suck the life from the room.

  “This,” she said, “is the weapon used against us. For years, we have been at the mercy of the necromancers and their spawn, unaware of how they created more nightmares or how they could be stopped. Until now.” She smiled over at Jarrett. Her grin reminded Tenn of a feral cat. “Now we have insight into their dark magic, and with that knowledge, we may finally turn the tide of this war.”

  Tenn wasn’t watching Cassandra as intently as the rest of the troop. He was watching Jarrett. And Jarrett looked terribly uncomfortable. He must have known what came next. Tenn did, too. His chest constricted on instinct.

  “Sam, if you please. And Maria, please join us.”

  Two Hunters from the front row came forward. Tenn barely knew them, though he’d seen Maria training quite a few times. She had a strong, lean figure and dark hair that curled past her shoulders. Sam was about the same height, with spiked brown hair and a goatee.

  “Maria,” Cassandra said, holding out the jar, “if you would please take this a moment.”

  Maria took it without hesitating.

  “Very good,” Cassandra continued. “Now face Sam.” The pair faced off. “And when I say, channel a thread of Fire into the jar. I want you to focus on Sam while doing so. When I say stop, you stop. Understood?”

  Maria nodded.

  “Go.”

  Fire opened in Maria’s chest. The flame burned brighter, and symbols in the glass flared. Sam gave a startled cry and fell to the floor, twitching. More than one Hunter stood up in the bleachers.

  “Stop,” Cassandra said. She put a hand on Maria’s shoulder.

  Maria closed off to the Sphere. Sam took a deep breath. Jarrett went over to help him stand, and Tenn wondered if he’d looked as pitiful when he’d been tapped.

  “What the hell was that?” someone called out. Tenn didn’t recognize the voice.

  “That, my friends,” Cassandra said, taking back the jar, “is how the necromancers have been creating the Howls. This is how they are able to drain a human’s Sphere past the point of depletion, until the Sphere stops generating power and starts consuming it, until it drains the host’s essence and turns them into, well, a monster.” She traced the jar’s surface with a finger, the line of symbols seeming to glow under her touch. “They’re using runes. Somehow, runes allow them to draw energy and store it in these devices. This one targets the Sphere of Fire. We can only assume it would create a succubus.”

  The crowd was talking wildly. Runes? Tenn touched his right forearm. There, inked into his flesh, was the Hunter’s mark—a series of lines, concentric circles, and arcane symbols that he’d received at the Academy. It connected him to the Spheres, and he’d done enough research to know that some of the symbols were runes. Were they the same marks that could turn the Spheres against him? He remembered quite vividly another time, not two years ago, when he came to this guild and was attuned to Earth. He’d received new marks then. He’d never given it much thought; what would have happened if the tattooist messed up?

  Was it really that easy to become a Howl?

  Clearly, he wasn’t the only one having those thoughts, but he was the only one keeping quiet about it. At least, that’s what he thought until he saw Devon and Dreya sitting opposite him. While the Hunters around them spoke and gestured, the twins sat in stony silence, watching the figures on the court. Sam and Maria had taken their seats once more, and now Cassandra and Jarrett had their heads bowed together, conferring. Neither of them looked pleased by whatever they discussed.

  A few seconds later, they looked back to the crowd. Jarrett opened to Air, and when he spoke, his voice cut through the general roar of the room.

  “Silence,” he called. The troop hushed immediately. Air faded, and Cassandra spoke once more.

  “Tomorrow, a few of you will be sent out into the field,” she said. “Our sources know of those who might have insight into the runes. We are making it our prerogative to seek them out. Those selected will receive their orders by nightfall.”

  She took a deep breath and surveyed them all.

  “Remember this moment, comrades. This is the moment we cease being the hunted. This is the moment we take back what they have stolen. This is the moment we get our revenge.”

  The crowd broke into a roar.

  “A word, Tenn?”

  He’d hung back to meet with Jarrett. He hadn’t expected Cassandra to pause by his side as she left. Up close, he could smell her spicy perfume. Her eyes were as green as the dense forests the scent conjured.

  “I would like to speak with you and a few others. Privately. I’ll meet you back in your room in five minutes.”

  Tenn opened his mouth to ask who was included, but she was gone before he could speak. Not that it would have mattered; Cassandra was the type of leader who told you precisely what you needed to know. If you didn’t know it, you didn’t need to.

  Jarrett must have left through the back, as he didn’t come through the double doors Tenn haunted. When the last of the Hunters filtered through, he turned and made his way back to his room.

  His heart nearly gave out from fright when he opened his door. The lamp was lit, and there were humanoid shadows stretched against the walls. For the briefest flash, he imagined them as Matthias and Tomás. Then his eyes focused, and he realized it was the twins. They did not look amused.

  Dreya leaned against the wall, arms folded across her chest. Devon was sitting in a chair beside the small table. His clothes had changed, but the burgundy scarf remained. Did he ever take it off?

  “I had wondered whose room this was,” Dreya said.

  Tenn glanced around, seeing his tiny home through a stranger’s eyes. Even though he shared it with Jarrett, there wasn’t anything to differentiate the room from anyone else’s. The pile of clothes in the corner could have been anyone’s, and there weren’t any photos or posters. It was blank. Easy to change out for the inevitable day either he or Jarrett failed to return…

  “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Tenn said as he closed the door behind him.

  “Nor did I,” Dreya said. “Do you know what this is about?”

  Tenn shook his head. Devon sighed and sank down in the chair.

  “Whatever it is,” she continued, “I do not like it. We are reaching into territories we sh
ould know nothing about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Runes,” she continued. “They are more than just faerie stories. They are dangerous.”

  The door opened behind him, and in walked Jarrett and Cassandra. The moment they were within the room, Jarrett opened to Air and sent a curtain of magic through the walls, a pulse that rippled like heat on pavement. Tenn had seen that magic in use plenty of times before—a shield to keep out prying ears. Whatever this was about, it was deadly secret.

  Cassandra strode into the center of the room and looked them over, her green eyes calculating. Jarrett stayed in the corner, hands behind his back and a guarded look on his face. He wouldn’t meet Tenn’s eye. What did you tell her?

  “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said, taking them all in with her gaze.

  You kind of forced us to, Tenn thought.

  Her voice was soft; it spoke of understanding, of care. That was the true reason men and women died for her. “I know you would much rather be sleeping now. You’ve had a horrible few days. Your work is beyond commendable.”

  Tenn wasn’t certain if she expected them to thank her for thanking them. No one said anything.

  “In any case, in light of recent developments, I’m afraid I must send you back out into the field.” Her gaze narrowed in on the twins. All that motherly comfort left her voice in an instant, replaced with the cold detachment of their commander. “I hear you know how to find the Witches.”

  Save for the last battle, Tenn had never seen the twins lose composure. To see Dreya’s jaw drop, Devon’s eyes widen—it was like seeing a Howl smile. Fire flickered in Devon’s chest, just for a moment, before he managed to shut it back down. The slight shake in his shoulders made Tenn take a half-step back. The guy was a ticking time-bomb.

  “How did…?” Dreya began. Then she looked at Jarrett, and her mask slipped back into place. But colder. “You swore you would say nothing.”

  Jarrett looked down to the floor.