Martyr

by A. R. Kahler

  A few yards on and he began to slow. Dreya cast him a glance, but she didn’t speak as he scanned the trees. He could sense the next line of defense, the line of runes that somehow kept the clan safe. He could feel it in his gut. And he knew he needed to see the magic for himself.

  Something glowed on the trunk of a nearby tree. He walked over and brushed the snow away. Green light shone beneath the flurry, glowing like a faerie fire. A long line of runes was etched down the tree, a sentence he could almost understand. The moment his fingers grazed the bark, flashes burned through his mind—being lost in the woods late at night, a wolf at your heels; spinning around at full force, never stopping; staring into the mouth of a ferocious beast; a chameleon, hiding in plain sight. In an instant the visions cleared, washed away with a whisper of promises. His fingertips tingled.

  “Are you okay?” Dreya asked. She stood beside him, staring at the tree.

  “Did you feel that?” he asked.

  “What?”

  He hesitated. He knew what the runes meant, knew that they were fueled by the sap of the tree and the energy of the earth. He knew they linked back to the very primal instincts of man, to hide and be hidden, to flee from danger. But how he knew that he couldn’t say. And he had a feeling she wouldn’t know either.

  “Nothing,” he said. He pushed himself to standing. “Sorry. Let’s keep going.”

  She nodded. But as they walked the rest of the way through the forest, he couldn’t help but feel her eyes on his back. Strange visions, dark prophecies, and now even the runes seemed to be speaking to him. And a week ago, he didn’t think the world at large even knew he existed.

  They broke from the trees without encountering a single Howl.

  The field stretched out before them, the snow freshly trampled by the army they had so narrowly escaped. Everything was white and black and grey, and for that he was thankful. No blood or body parts. Which meant Tori might still be alive.

  Then again, that might not be a good thing. He had a sinking suspicion the army was luring them out, and a little girl would only last so long as bait. Dreya was open to Air beside him, her pale blue eyes fixed on a point far, far away.

  “Anything?” Tenn asked.

  She nodded.

  “Yes. I can feel them moving a few miles off. They have quite the start. I don’t know how they moved so fast…” She shook her head and looked at him. “It is not the full army, of that I’m certain. Matthias must have split his forces.”

  “Where are they going?”

  Dreya nodded to the horizon. “There is a town nearby. They are heading toward it. A few more Howls wait there. But not all.”

  “So the rest of the army moved on,” Tenn said.

  “So it would appear.”

  “Well then,” he said. He opened to Earth and stretched the points of his staff into two wickedly curved blades. “Let’s show these bastards what happens when they mess with our friends.”

  With Earth still fueling him, he broke into a run, heading straight toward the demons that had been waiting for him all along.

  Hours passed. Once more, Tenn cursed the weather and the impassable roads—the chase would have been so much easier if they could drive, but the near foot of snow on the ground prevented it. The sky grew darker, and a biting wind whipped over the fields, blowing up old snow and spiraling fresh flakes into the mix. Tenn pulled up the collar of his coat and tried to keep his original pace, using Earth to keep his muscles from tiring. He could sense the town on the horizon, now, getting closer by the minute. It was small, barely a hundred houses and moderately tall buildings. But he could also sense the creatures stirring within. There was no doubt that that was where the Howls had taken Tori. Though what they were doing to her now that they had stopped moving was anyone’s gruesome guess.

  “This isn’t right,” Dreya called. She had to yell to make herself heard over the wind, and even then her voice was faint.

  “What isn’t?” Tenn asked. He stepped closer so they didn’t need to scream as loud.

  Dreya pointed to their left.

  “Can you not feel it?” she said. “In the distance. It’s the sept.”

  Tenn pushed out his senses, but he couldn’t feel what she was talking about. Air had a much longer reach.

  “So?” he asked.

  “So the Church has made it their prime goal to wipe out the Howls and all users of magic. If that is the case, why have they not sent out troops? Surely so large an army would not go unnoticed.”

  Tenn shrugged.

  “Maybe they just don’t care anymore,” he said, then had to repeat himself when he realized she couldn’t hear it over the roar.

  “No way,” Devon said. Fire burned in his chest and made the snow around them sizzle. “The septs keep the surrounding land clear of sin. It’s how they function. If they’re not sending out troops to kill off Howls, they’re either dead or have given up defending the weak.”

  Something in Devon’s words made Tenn’s stomach clench. The Church was vehement in its crusade against the assumed minions of the Dark Lady—be they Howl or necromancer or Hunter. Everyone had heard the stories of the Church’s armies scouring the land and ridding nearby towns of evil. It was how they attracted followers, that notion of safety. And yet here he was, using magic against hordes of undead only a few miles from the sept’s front door, and he hadn’t seen a soul. Especially strange if the Inquisitors had been spotted searching for the Witches.

  “It doesn’t add up,” Tenn agreed.

  He shivered and burrowed deeper into his coat. The cold was sinking through the fabric, sending goosebumps racing up his skin in spite of Devon’s heat.

  “Come on,” Tenn said. “We don’t have much time.”

  He resumed his jog toward the coming city. But Devon’s words bounced through his thoughts. The Church and the Hunters didn’t get on, that was no secret. But they were still all defending the weak, right?

  The city was only a stone’s throw away by nightfall.

  They paused, staring at the houses that inked black against the greying sky. He could feel the creatures swarming inside. Not too many, not for them to handle. But there was no way they could attack from out here, not when there was no telling where Tori was in the throng.

  “What do we do?” Dreya asked.

  “We wait,” he said. “If there are necromancers among them, they’ll have to sleep some time. We strike at midnight.”

  “The girl could be dead by then,” Dreya said.

  “Yes, but they’ll kill her if they know we’re coming for her.” He took a deep breath and looked at the twins. “Whatever this is, it’s a trap. The Howls knew we were in the woods. This is their way of drawing us out.”

  “Howls don’t plan like that,” Dreya said.

  “Precisely. Which means whatever’s in there has a brain. And it’s waiting for us.”

  27

  Tenn and Dreya sat nestled in the relative safety of a pine grove, huddled under blankets and watching the town on the horizon. To the left was a soft glow of white light—the sept. Just the sight of it made Tenn shiver. Devon was out scouting. There was no chance they’d use magic and give themselves away, so they were forced to rely on their other senses. It was impossible to tell what time of night it was, only that it was late and dark and the only sound for the longest time was the whistle of the wind and hiss of the trees.

  Finally, Tenn gathered the nerve to ask the question he’d been dying to know since they started this mission.

  “Why are you so nervous around the Witches?”

  Dreya glanced up at him. There was a small fire in between them, just enough to give a little light and warmth, but not enough to give them away. Her eyes went wide, then narrowed. It took her a long time to answer.

  “Devon and I…we grew up amongst the Witches. Years ago, years before the Resurrection, we lived in an orphanage. We were five when Genevieve adopted us. She was smart, that woman. Most people believe that the Spheres were
discovered only shortly before the Resurrection, when the first Academy was built. But the Witches, they’ve known about the Spheres for centuries. They just never told anyone or hid them under different names. Genevieve was one of those who knew the true power of the elements, how to attune to the Spheres and use their powers, and she guarded her knowledge with ferocious passion. She created one of the first clans after the Resurrection hit.”

  She took a deep breath. When she turned back, Tenn was surprised to find that there were tears pooled in the corners her eyes.

  “She showed us the greatest of kindnesses. She took us in when we were abandoned, taught us everything she knew about the world and the nature of magic. She even attuned us to our first Spheres. When the Howls appeared, she kept us safe, taught us never to turn to violence. We stayed with her clan until…until we could no longer.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. In that one, small action, she looked terribly young and impossibly vulnerable. “We killed them,” she whispered.

  “What?” Had he misheard? “You mean the Howls?”

  “No. The clan. We killed them. All of them. That is how we repaid their kindness.”

  There was a horrible knot in Tenn’s stomach, a mix of fear and doubt that churned away at his intestines.

  “I don’t understand…” he began. She held out her hand, and he fell into silence.

  “It is better to show you,” she whispered.

  “I—”

  “Open to Water,” she said. “Open to Water and see.”

  He looked at her hand, at her delicate fingers. He had no clue what she was going on about, and a part of him didn’t want to find out. How well did he know this girl?

  “Please,” she said. He’d never heard her plead before. This was as close as he ever wanted her to come.

  He nodded, took her hand, and opened to Water.

  Her memories flooded through him in a downpour…

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Devon sat bolt upright beside her, his shirt unbuttoned and his legs crossed before him, sweat dripping down his forehead and bare, stubbled cheeks. The moon was thick and full above them, the hum of cicadas almost deafening. She hadn’t thought the insects lived this far up the mountain. Beyond the hum, the air had been still and humid save for the sudden bellow of thunder in the valley below.

  “I don’t know,” he said, his words trailing like a question. They locked eyes.

  We aren’t supposed to use magic, she felt him say.

  I don’t care, she replied.

  Trees rose up on all sides of them, blocking their view of everything for miles around. She stood and walked to the edge of the small stone circle they’d created—their sanctuary and sign to the gods that they were there to feel their voice, there to be granted a vision. She had locked away the hunger of the fast days ago, until it was nothing but a quiet murmur in the back of her mind. No food, no shelter, no magic—the ritual of the vision quest demanded such. Just water and meditation. Just waiting and praying and begging for a sign from the gods. The rumble came again, and she closed her eyes. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  She broke her vows.

  She opened to Air, the first Sphere she’d ever been attuned to.

  The power sent her flying, her senses soaring down the mountain like an eagle, every leaf and blade of grass, every movement of every creature, all of it standing out like shadows in the light. She could see the outline of it all, could hear the rustle and staccato of breath, but she couldn’t see colors, just shapes. She pushed her magic farther, down into the valley where the rest of the clan camped, waiting for them and holding a vigil for their eventual return.

  It was chaos.

  Smoke and fire filled the air, the scent of brimstone scoring the screams of men and women and children as flesh charred and snapped. But there was another taste that made her skin crawl—the taint of twisted magic. She could feel energy sizzling as Witches tried to fight back, felt shapes moving through the surrounding woods as kravens burst forth, searching for flesh. She could feel necromancers using their evil magic to turn her friends and family into Howls. As she stood there, everyone she knew was being slaughtered. Or worse.

  She snapped back the power and opened her eyes. There was no need to tell Devon what she saw. Through their connection, he’d seen it, too. He was standing now, facing the direction of the clan. His fists were clenched, knuckles white. Sparks danced around him like fireflies while Fire burned in his chest, casting strange lights on the trees around them. It was the first Sphere he had attuned to, and that meant its hold on him was the greatest.

  “Kill them,” he said. “We have to.”

  “No,” she replied. The very thought made her stomach churn. Her thoughts were swimming from using Air, the aftereffect making her slow. She must have heard him wrong.

  He looked at her, his eyes burning with hatred. It didn’t matter how many times she’d seen Fire take him over—it still terrified her.

  “It’s the only way,” he said. “If we don’t kill them, they’ll come for us.”

  Then the Fire in him mellowed, just for a moment.

  “They would have wanted this, Dreya. They would rather die at our hands than be turned.”

  She bit back the tears that tried to form in her eyes. Now wasn’t the time for emotion. Now was the time for clear thought, for action. Air screamed in her throat like a gale, pushing away all weakness. She closed her eyes and felt the power surge in him.

  “Night has fallen,” she whispered, the funereal chant echoing down the cliff, piercing through the chaos below. “The Ancestors come to take us away, for we are but ghosts and form, ash and breath. We call to you, gods of water, earth, air and flame, protect us, shield us, and carry us home again.”

  Fire bloomed in the valley, sharp and hot, searing through the woods like the arms of a hundred gods. Devon’s magic knew no bounds, held no distinction between Witch or necromancer or Howl. Flesh was flesh, and flesh was food. She fueled his flames, until the night sky grew white and bright as day. The roar of fire was deafening, a scream and hiss that pierced through her bones. The hell felt like it would burn and last forever, but it was over in an instant. She didn’t open her eyes until she heard him sobbing beside her.

  She turned and looked to her brother, tried to find some words to comfort him. But she could smell the smoke of flesh filtering through the air, could taste the dead. She put a hand on his shoulder as he cried, his fingers clenching and unclenching in the dirt as if trying to tear the world apart. As if trying to make the world feel their pain.

  Tenn snapped his hand back. His senses were on fire, every inch of his skin tingling and burning as the aftereffect of the vision faded. Dreya watched him, her expression carefully guarded. There was a look in her eyes, though, one he wasn’t used to seeing. Expectant.

  Like she was waiting for him to cast his judgment.

  “What was that?” he finally managed.

  She held her hand to her chest and stared into the flames.

  “That is why we avoid the Witches. We killed our clan. We broke the gravest of vows—harm ye none. We killed everyone we ever loved. They were innocent, and they died by our hands. I can still hear their screams.”

  Tenn closed his eyes. Her grief was fresh in his mind and heart, just as raw and nagging as his own. He felt her memories lingering with his, filling in cracks, becoming his own history.

  “You had no choice,” he whispered. We’ve all done horrible things. If it were his parents being turned, if he’d had that chance to save them from an agonizing death or an eternity of mindless devouring, would he have done any differently?

  “We always have a choice, Tenn,” she said. “Every day, I question ours. Every day, I try to convince myself we chose properly.”

  “You did,” he said. His words tasted hollow.

  A few beats passed in silence. He opened his eyes, but neither of them looked a
t each other. Finally, Dreya spoke.

  “Do you remember when you asked us how to control the madness of the Spheres? How to stop the visions and nightmares?”

  He nodded. Of course he remembered. Devon’s words burned in his mind every day: you die.

  “I would give anything to silence them,” she said, almost to herself. “But we cannot die. Not yet. Not until we have paid for our sins in the blood of those that caused it. That is why we joined the guild, why Jarrett did us the greatest of services. We told him what we had done, yet he covered for us, let us fight by his side. And that is why we will follow you to the very end.

  “We cannot rest until we have destroyed every servant of the Dark Lady. Then, and only then, will our deeds be absolved. Until that day, we live knowing we killed our own family. We live with the madness, and we let it burn. We let it burn until it burns us alive.”

  28

  Devon arrived a while later. His scarf was wrapped high over his ears and around his head like a Bedouin. He put a hand on Dreya’s shoulder. Now that Tenn knew that they actually could read each other’s thoughts, the exchange was, oddly, a little less strange.

  “The humans are asleep,” she said. “If we are to strike, we should do it now.”

  Tenn nodded. Adrenaline coursed through his veins at the thought of running headfirst into a town overrun with the undead. He stood and kicked some snow into the fire. They left before the last ember died out.