Runic Vengeance (The Runic Series Book 3)

by Clayton Wood

  There was a whizzing sound, and then he felt a sharp pain in the back of his shoulder.

  “What the...” he blurted out, grabbing at his shoulder. He felt something sticking out of it, and yanked it out.

  It was dart.

  He swore, rushing forward out of the bush, tossing the dart to the ground. He pulled magic into his mind’s eye again, turning around in a quick circle, his eyes darting from tree to tree. But he saw nothing.

  Then he heard leaves rustling behind him.

  Kyle turned around, weaving magic into a tight knot in his mind’s eyes. He saw a man with jet-black skin rushing toward him, a vicious-looking machete in his hand. The man raised the machete high in the air, then swung it down, right at Kyle’s head!

  Kyle shoved his pattern outward.

  A gravity shield burst to life around him, and his attacker struck it full-on, flying backward high into the air. He fell into a large bush some twenty feet away with a dull thump.

  “Lob mi joc!” he heard someone shout from behind.

  Kyle spun around, seeing another black-skinned man running toward him, a spear in his hand. The man stopped a dozen feet away, eyeing Kyle warily.

  “Get away!” Kyle shouted, reaching into his mind’s eye again. He felt magic there, but barely. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself for much longer. The man with the spear just stared at him, crouched low, the tip of his spear pointed at Kyle.

  Then the world began to spin.

  Kyle stumbled to the side, barely keeping his balance. He righted himself, feeling a sudden wave of nausea, and swallowed back a surge of bile.

  “Ik tom qua,” he heard the man call out.

  The world began to spin faster, and Kyle stumbled again, falling to his hands and knees on the packed dirt below. Another wave of nausea came over him, and he retched, closing his eyes. Still the world spun, and he fell onto his side, retching again.

  “Cov Petra,” he heard a different voice say.

  Kyle groaned, rolling onto his side, curling into the fetal position. He held his head in his hands, the world spinning faster and faster. Bitter vomit spilled out of his mouth and onto the dirt.

  And then, mercifully, darkness took him.

  * * *

  Kyle groaned, then opened his eyes, seeing only gray. Something was wrapped around his head, he realized, a piece of cloth maybe. He was lying on his back, on something hard...and there was something pulling on his ankles, cinching them together painfully tight. He tried to move his hands, but they were bound together in front of him at the wrists.

  “Tos m'nuam hais tuag, siali nyob rah hawuv zoo,” a voice in from of him said.

  “Lob yuav zav mus saib,” another voice replied.

  The voices went silent then. The only sounds he heard were the wind rustling the leaves and a rhythmic scraping sound directly below him. He shook his head from side to side, trying to loosen the blindfold tied around his head, but it didn't budge.

  Minutes passed.

  “Lalos tawm tuk. Layob ob quo tib lav,” one of the voices called out in front of him. There was no reply, only that rhythmic scraping sound. With each scrape, he felt tugging at his ankles.

  I'm being dragged, he realized.

  He tried to remember what had happened to him, how he'd gotten here, but his memory was fuzzy. He remembered falling out of the sky, remembered finding himself on the forest floor. He'd hear a sound...and then...

  Ariana!

  Kyle shook his head from side-to-side again, trying in vain to loosen his blindfold. She'd been there with him, in the bushes. If he'd been taken, that meant that she might've been too. Unless whoever it was who'd taken him had left her for dead.

  He reached inwardly, searching for magic, and found none. Without magic, he was helpless. His Aegis would not protect him, and he would never be able to fly out of here, even if he somehow managed to escape. And there was no way he was going to be able to do that, he knew. Without magic, he was just another kid.

  “Das nus. Ya sum tao la hoy.”

  A moment passed, and then Kyle felt something tugging at his ankles, where they were bound together. He heard a sawing sound, then felt the binds fall away, his legs freed. He tensed up, not daring to move. If they thought he was unconscious, they might not attack him.

  “Siah pom. Yo ib tug tuag rau noj.”

  He felt something grab at his blindfold, felt it jerk down over his nose. Light burst assaulted his eyes, and he squeezed them shut, tears welling up between his lids. He felt himself being hauled upward onto his feet, and then something struck him in the middle of his back. He stumbled forward, nearly losing his balance.

  “Sub los tawm ob has taw tej.”

  He squinted against the brightness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Something struck him in the back again, and he lurched forward, falling onto his knees. He grunted, then got back up, opening his eyes a little more. He saw lush ferns and bushes in front of him, with the thick, gnarled trunks of tall trees rising from the earth. Straight ahead, there was a large hill, peppered with more trees, and covered entirely in underbrush. He spotted something to his right, and turned to see what it was.

  Ariana, laying on a plank of wood, ropes binding her torso and ankles to it. She was still unresponsive, her eyes open and unblinking.

  Something moved to his right, and Kyle turned, seeing a man step in front of him. He was much taller than Kyle, his chocolate brown skin covered in black tattoos, intricate patterns crawling up his arms and legs, even up his neck and onto his bald head. He was practically naked, save for a small brown loincloth. Large white earrings dangled from his earlobes, and his nose was pierced between the nostrils. Small white crystals were embedded in his cheeks and forehead in rows. His eyes were dark brown, almost black.

  And in his right hand was a long, bloodstained machete.

  “Rasli cov,” the man growled, shoving Kyle's chest, then pointing to the base of the hill. He stared fiercely at Kyle, and Kyle lowered his gaze, feeling sweat trickle down his armpits to his flanks. He swallowed, staring at the ground.

  I'm going to die, he realized. They're going to kill me.

  The man in front of him stared at him for a moment longer, then turned about, striding up to the base of the hill, to a large bush there. He dropped to his hands and knees, crawling into the bush, and disappeared. Kyle felt something hit his back a third time, and he caught his balance this time, twisting around to find another man – dressed the same as the first, but with long black hair and a beard – glaring at him. The man gestured for Kyle to move forward, toward the bush.

  “Rasli cov!” he yelled. “Rasli cov!”

  Kyle glanced at Ariana's body, still lying on the plank, then turned around, taking a deep breath in, then stepping forward. He made his way toward the bush at the base of the hill, stopping before it. The man behind him kicked him in the back of the legs, dropping him onto his knees in the dirt. The man gestured toward the bush again, making crawling motions with his hands. Kyle nodded, lowering himself onto his belly. With his hands still bound, he had to bow his head down, pushing the prickly branches aside with his head. They scraped at his scalp and ears, and he ignored the discomfort, pushing forward. He'd crawled a few feet when his hands dipped into a hole in the dirt. He paused, lifting his bound wrists to feel around the perimeter of the hole. It was a few feet in diameter, at most.

  “Rasli cov,” the man behind him urged.

  Kyle continued forward into the hole, which was at a 45-degree angle down into the hillside. It soon became almost pitch-black, the edges of the hole barely visible. Still he continued, sneezing at the musty odor of the dirt kicked up by his elbows. Then his hands struck something cool and hard...it felt like metal. He heard a click, followed by a screeching sound from beyond. Then a sliver of light appeared before him, and he realized he was laying in front of a round metal door. The door swung outward away from him, letting more light in.

  “Cov,” the man behind him ordered.

 
Kyle grabbed the edge of the door frame – also metal – and pulled himself forward, using his legs to push himself through. He grunted as his head and chest swung forward and down, and he fell onto his forearms on a dark wooden floor below. He felt hands grab him, pulling him all the way through the doorway and up onto his feet. It was the man he'd seen crawl into the bush first, the one with the machete.

  “Cov,” the man said, pointing ahead. Kyle paused, getting his bearings. He was in a small room, the floor made of wide, dark brown wooden boards. The walls were constructed of larger beams of the same material, with gray stone columns at each corner. The ceiling was surprisingly tall, maybe eight feet, and made of large, crisscrossing wooden beams. The tribesman ahead of him slapped him on the shoulder, pointing again toward the far side of the room, toward an archway there. Kyle heard a scraping sound, and saw two dark legs dangle out of the tunnel. It was the second tribesman, the one who'd been behind him. He dropped to the floor, then reached his arms back into the tunnel, pulling two pale legs through. He gave one jerk, then another, and a limp body fell from the tunnel onto the floor with a loud thud. It was, Kyle realized, Ariana.

  “Cov!” the first tribesman barked, slapping Kyle on the shoulder, harder this time. Kyle nodded, glancing one last time at Ariana before walking across the room to the archway on the other side. He stepped through, the other men following behind him, and found himself in a wide hallway. The walls and ceiling were constructed of the same material as the room before. There were three doorways on either side, each with a long piece of black cloth hanging from a rod near the ceiling. At the end of the hallway was a real door – made of black strips of wood – and it was to this that the tribesmen ushered Kyle. Machete – that's what Slim would have named him – pushed ahead of Kyle and strode up to the door, knocking on it with a rapid series of taps. It opened, and Kyle was led through.

  He found himself in a small room, perhaps ten feet square. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of thin strips of the same black, woody material he'd seen on the door. In the center of the room was a woman sitting cross-legged on the bare floor, her eyes closed. She was wearing a black uniform that looked like it was made of the same stuff as the walls; it covered her from her feet all the way up to her neck. It was remarkably form-fitting, so much so that Kyle found himself looking away to one side, his cheeks flushing; the woman was quite beautiful, with the same dark skin as the tribesmen, black eyebrows arching over her closed eyes. She too had tattoos covering her, crawling up the sides of her neck and temples in intricate patterns. But she also had thin, raised scars that extended from the sides of her neck upward, splitting into multiple scars that crawled across her temples like the bones of a bat's wing. She had thick black hair pulled into a ponytail, a few loose strands falling across her face. Her skintight black uniform made it quite clear that she was rather astoundingly feminine, with proportions above and below that threatened to burst free of the fabric that confined them.

  He heard a clicking sound, and turned to find Machete closing the door behind them. The tribesman motioned for Kyle to turn back around to face the woman, and he did so, trying unsuccessfully not to stare.

  Then he felt cold steel on the back of his neck.

  He flinched, and tried to turn around, but the other tribesman – the one with the long hair and beard – reached up and forcibly twisted his head back to face the woman sitting on the floor.

  She opened her eyes, focusing on Kyle.

  “Lee yog no?” she asked, her dark eyes never leaving him. Kyle shrugged helplessly.

  “I can't understand you,” he said. He reached into his mind’s eye, finding a little magic there, and send some to his earring. The woman uncrossed her legs, then stood up in one graceful motion. She was surprisingly tall and slender, and once again Kyle found himself staring. She walked up to him, stopping a few feet away.

  “You say he used magic in the forest?” she asked, putting a hand to the side of his face. Her uniform extended to her fingertips, the black material rough against his skin. Kyle swallowed in a dry throat, staring down at his bare feet. He realized that he wasn't wearing his boots. “He has magic even now.”

  Kyle kept his gaze downward, considering his options. Ariana had to be just outside. Whoever this woman was, she was probably a better Weaver than him. He’d have no chance against her in a fair fight, but Ariana certainly would. If he could launch a surprise attack and get to Ariana, then stream magic to her...

  “We found these,” the hairy tribesman said, handing the woman a large tan sack. She took it, pulling out his gravity boots. She stared at them for a long moment, turning away from Kyle and walking back into the center of the room. He saw a faint blue light appear at her forehead, saw it shoot toward the crystals in his boots.

  “Simple,” the woman murmured. “But elegant.” She set the boots on the floor next to her, then reached into the sack again, pulling out Kyle's Aegis. This she stared at for a much longer time, silently turning it over and over in her hands. Then she placed in on the floor, turning to face Kyle.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, gesturing at the Aegis.

  Kyle said nothing. If he spoke, she would understand him now, and she’d realize that he could understand her.

  She repeated the question, in a different language – the earring’s interpretation was the same, but her lips moved differently – but still he said nothing.

  “Either he doesn’t understand us,” Machete stated, “...or he won’t answer.”

  The woman stared at Kyle for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then she nodded at Machete.

  “Take him outside,” she stated. “Burn the girl’s body. I’ll finish this boy.”

  Kyle felt hands grab him from behind, and he lunged forward out of their grasp, shaking his head.

  “No, wait!” he cried. The woman arched an eyebrow.

  “You can understand us,” she murmured. “Speak again.”

  “What do you mean?” Kyle asked. The woman frowned.

  “I can understand you,” she stated. “But your lips do not form the words I hear. How is this possible?” Kyle grimaced, realizing he’d been tricked.

  “My earring,” he muttered. “It's a universal translator.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, and he found it hard to look back at her. She was painfully attractive, in an exotic sort of way. She pointed back to the Aegis.

  “This is yours?”

  “It is,” he confirmed. She seemed taken aback by this.

  “You made it?”

  “Uh, no,” Kyle admitted. “It's two thousand years old, it was made by powerful Runics.”

  “Who would give such a thing to a boy?” she demanded. Kyle shrugged.

  “It was a gift.”

  “This is common where you come from?” she pressed, again pointing to the Aegis. Kyle shook his head.

  “No, it's very rare,” he admitted. “My boots are common there,” he added. She seemed relieved by this.

  “Your boots are simple,” she agreed. Then she cocked her head at him. “Where do you come from?”

  “The Empire.”

  “Where is that?” she inquired.

  “East, across the ocean.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Kyle blinked, taken aback by the sudden change of subject. He felt the cold edge of Machete's blade against the back of his neck, felt it press harder into his flesh. He swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. What could he say? If he told them a lie, they'd know it. He was terrible at lying, especially in the heat of the moment. But if he told them the truth, they might kill him anyway.

  “We were looking for something,” he answered at last. The woman's eyes narrowed.

  “What?”

  “My, uh, friend,” he stammered. “She wanted to meet someone in the Barrens.”

  “Your friend?” she pressed. “The dead girl?”

  “She's not dead,” Kyle corrected. “I mean, she's...well, she looks dead, but sh
e's not. Not really.”

  “She is dead,” the woman countered. “Tavek says she has no pulse,” she added, pointing to the bearded tribesman.

  “She doesn't have a pulse,” Kyle agreed. “She lives on magic.” The woman frowned, then crossed her arms under her bosom.

  “Show me,” she ordered, nodding at Tavek.

  “Yes Petra,” Tavek replied. He turned and opened the door, walking out of the room and closing it immediately behind him. A few moments later, the door opened again, and Tavek walked in, Ariana draped over his shoulder. He dropped Ariana gently down onto the floor, then stepped back. The woman – Petra – knelt down over Ariana, putting her fingers to Ariana's throat. Then she stood.

  “This girl is dead,” she declared. But Kyle barely heard her. For he saw faint tendrils of blue light leaking from the woman's scalp, pulling down toward Ariana's forehead.

  She's still alive, he realized, his pulse quickening. Just a little more magic, and she would awaken...and then Petra wouldn’t stand a chance.

  “How can you say she is alive?” Petra demanded. Then Ariana's eyes twitched, fluttering open.

  Petra swore, backing away from Ariana, her eyes widening. Kyle paused, then slowly stepped toward Ariana, feeling Machete's blade still at his neck. He put his hands up, trying to look as innocent as possible. A few feet away, Ariana groaned, her left leg jerking once. Then her arms spasmed. Her eyes widened, and then she turned her head to the side, staring right at Kyle.

  “Kyle!” she exclaimed.

  “Ariana...” Kyle replied, dashing forward toward her. He heard Machete yell, felt strong hands grab onto his shoulders, yanking him backward. He froze. “Okay, okay! I won't move.”

  “Kyle, what's going on?” Ariana asked, pushing herself up to sit on the floor. “What happened?” Tavek walked up to her, jabbing his spear toward her chest.

  “Don’t move!” he exclaimed, glaring at her. Ariana glared at him, then grabbed the point of his spear in one hand, shoving it back. Tavek flew backward, slamming into the wall behind him, his spear falling to the floor with a clatter. He landed in a heap on the floor, groaning in pain.