Rune Awakening

by Genevra Black

  “Look at how weak they are,” Sárr said, coming closer. “Why would you ever want to be like them? Why would you not seize your birthright?”

  She looked at him, cursing him for blocking her path to Mercy. The urge to tear him to pieces mounted. “And what the fuck are you doing?! Is this you seizing your birthright?”

  “Yes,” he growled.

  “I don’t care if I’m weak. I am never going with you.” Her anger was overwhelming. It bubbled over until her head was swimming with a thousand nasty things she wanted to shout at him, all mostly incomprehensible, furious gibberish. A strange, numbing coolness enveloped her arms, and she could somehow feel that she was on the verge of tapping into something. But no matter how she pushed, she couldn’t reach that crescendo, couldn’t push the power past her physical form.

  Sárr watched her, snorted, and picked up his claymore. “Enough. This has been amusing, but it’s time we left.”

  A battle cry rose over the commotion around them, loud and full of power. Edie watched as Satara and Cal charged toward where she and Sárr stood on the lawn, mowing down the black-clad mages and warriors in their path. The revenant had discarded his tux jacket, and the shieldmaiden’s dress was tied up around her thighs.

  Sárr turned and snarled at the sight of them, and as they came closer, Cal sprinted ahead of Satara and knelt, pausing for a moment to line up a shot from his sawed-off.

  Sárr darted just in time, but the bullet still grazed his ear. He barely had time to recover before Satara’s makeshift shield collided with his knees and he was knocked off-balance. The Wounded gave an otherworldly roar, markings flaring brighter.

  “For the Reach!” Satara cried, taking her tapestry rod in both hands and swinging with all her might as she flanked the enemy.

  It connected, hard, hitting the Wounded in his lower back, where Cal had stabbed him earlier. But the pain only seemed to empower him, and he turned and swung his sword in a wide arc, grazing Satara’s upper arm.

  Blood splattered, droplets flying from the sword’s edge, and hit Edie. Satara only shouted, bolstering her defenses with a brief flash of blue light, and went back for more, but Edie’s heart raced.

  The blood that had spattered on her … sizzled. Her skin came alive, and suddenly, the pain in her legs seemed a bit more tolerable.

  Sárr’s sword clashed against Satara’s weapon as she charged at him, but she held fast, gritting her teeth.

  There was more gunfire as Cal crossed the lawn, but Edie wasn’t sure if any of the bullets actually hit their target. She felt a few embed themselves in the dirt near her. “Cal!” she shouted, trying to see around Sárr and Satara’s duel.

  “Get the fuck back here, kid!” the revenant barked as he stepped carefully over Mercy’s body. He was playing it fast and loose with his gun etiquette, as usual—sawed-off in one hand, aimed ahead, and the revolver aimed to the side, ready to pick off anyone who might charge his flank.

  Edie glanced hurriedly at Satara, waiting until Sárr’s back was turned to her to sprint across the lawn to Cal. He covered her once she reached him, edging in front of her and firing the second shot from his shotgun, then flicking it open to reload.

  She covered her ears and knelt in the grass next to Mercy. “Cal,” she said, her voice shaking, “how can I help?”

  “You can stay out of the way.”

  “That’s not good enough!” she shrieked.

  He didn’t answer, running ahead a few paces, leaving her with Mercy. Edie crawled until she was sitting in front of her friend, gently rolling her on her back and cupping her face. Mercy’s skin was quickly losing its color, and Edie shook as she carefully maneuvered her friend’s head into her lap. There was so much blood.

  Frantically, she pressed down on Mercy’s thighs, trying to stop the flow.

  “Hail the New Gloaming!” roared a gruff voice, and Edie looked up to see two of the black-clad warriors charging at her, one with a matted blond beard and the other wearing a dark steel helmet.

  She yelped and held Mercy closer, but there was nothing she could do.

  A flash of brilliant light blinded her momentarily. For a few long moments, all she could see were the white outlines of figures in front of her as they clashed. But as her sight slowly returned, she could see that the light was coming from one of them—and she realized who it must be.

  Marius lashed out with a whip of pure light energy, and the helmeted warrior’s armor hissed as the plasma made contact with the steel, turning it a deep orange. The warrior gave a battle cry and lunged with his axe, but the vivid anticipated it. A disk of sparkling light bloomed over his right forearm and deflected the blow, sending the warrior staggering back. The distraction gave Marius enough time to summon a lucent blade in his left hand and sink it into the man’s throat.

  Someone else joined Marius as he rounded on the other, bearded warrior: A tall woman with a crown of flaxen hair, wearing a wide-legged jumpsuit. She dual-wielded short swords, and crossing them over each other, she slashed at the back of the warrior’s knees.

  “Auroran scum!” The warrior turned and head-butted the woman, who was momentarily dazed.

  Marius moved in, and bashed him with his shield of light. On impact, it burnt the dark furs the warrior wore, branding his skin and making it bubble. He yowled in response and turned back on Marius, slashing wildly with his own sword.

  The vivid grunted as the edge of the blade scraped his chest, taking a step back before feinting to the left. When the warrior followed, Marius dove right and toppled him with a firm kick to the ribs. The blade in Marius’s hand broke apart and reformed into a ball of light, and he fired it at the warrior’s head, finishing him off—or at least knocking him unconscious.

  Finally, he turned to Edie, breathing fast. He’d discarded his cloak and doublet, revealing a flowing white shirt. With the high-waisted breeches, he looked like he’d just stepped off of a pulp romance cover from the 70s.

  His glowing eyes traveled to Mercy, widened, then met Edie’s gaze. “Váði vitnis, what happened?”

  She shielded her eyes from the light of the bright weapons he wielded. “Sárr. He ... hurt her. Satara and Cal are trying to hold him off.”

  As if on cue, the shieldmaiden cried out in pain nearby, drawing Edie’s panicked attention. Cal was dealing with some mages trying to flank them, but was slowed down by having to reload his weapons, and Satara was bleeding from a wound on her scalp and one on her thigh. They were up against the wall, but Edie knew they would fight until they stopped breathing.

  She couldn’t let that happen. If she couldn’t do anything useful, she could at least convince someone else to. She looked at Marius wildly. “Please ... you have to help them. Please.”

  The blonde who had helped Marius take down the two warriors looked affronted. She hazarded a furtive glare at Edie. “Vivid Marius, remember what we’re here to do.”

  “I remember!” he barked back, his brow knit tightly.

  He looked conflicted, but only for a moment. Then he held his right arm out, concentrating on summoning something new. A bladed bow materialized at the end of his wrist, steady as if he were gripping it. It shone bright like his other weapons had—and when he reached for his shoulder, as though to grab an arrow, one appeared. It sparked and popped like a solar flare as he nocked it.

  “If you want,” he said to the woman, “you can run back to Eirik with your tail between your legs, Ynga. But I will not let innocent people die.”

  The woman’s face hardened, and she gripped her swords tighter. “Innocent people? I’m following orders, Marius!”

  “Do it, then!” he snapped. He glanced at Edie, then looked ahead and squinted, aiming for the Wounded.

  He took a deep breath, then loosed the streak of plasma.

  It hit home. The arrow penetrated the tough leather armor of Sárr’s shoulder, sparks flew, and the Wounded turned with burning eyes to face Marius.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Marius
could see that the shieldmaiden was slowly losing the duel, her defensive magic weaker by the second, but the Wounded was bloodied. When he faced Marius, claymore held tightly in both hands, his white hair was matted with red and clinging to his scratched face. But, if anything, the battle seemed to fuel him. When he saw that he had another challenger, he grinned wickedly.

  “Aurora,” he snarled, his hot breath visible in front of his face. He studied Marius for another moment before laughing. “And not just any Auroran whelp, but the Radiant’s son!”

  Marius’s heart sped as he came forward. How was it that this demon whom no one, Reach or Aurora, seemed to recognize knew who Marius was? He lowered his glowing bow. “That was quite the speech you gave earlier. If you truly have your faction’s best interests in mind, why kill them?”

  Sárr swung his sword down with one hand and pointed it at Marius. The vivid couldn’t imagine what kind of strength this mysterious man possessed if he was able to throw around a sword that big so easily. “Reform comes at a price. Their cowardice and vice are what made the Gloaming weak to begin with.”

  “Killing the innocent, then? That’s what makes your faction strong?”

  Sárr cocked a dark brow. “Is it not what makes yours strong?”

  Marius gritted his teeth, poised to nock another arrow if he had to. “Your fight is with the Aurora, so come. Let’s fight.”

  Nearby, Edie’s revenant had gone to the shieldmaiden’s aid. Marius cast a glance over the Wounded’s shoulder and watched as they both eased down onto the grass and began to dress her wounds with torn bits of clothing from fallen warriors. But the zombie didn’t look so well either; he was singed from magefire and bleeding in several places himself.

  And beyond the burnt and bloodied grass, past the broken bodies, the two wolves had finished feasting. With red-slathered maws, they prowled forward, approaching their master.

  Sárr took advantage of Marius’s wandering gaze, and struck. He charged forward, swinging his sword down, and Marius just barely had enough time to deflect it with the bladed edge of his glowing bow.

  They struggled, straining against each other. “Worried?” Sárr taunted. “Not sure your friends can handle my brothers?”

  Marius’s bow sparked under pressure, and he gave a final push, throwing Sárr off-balance enough to buy him time to duck out of the way of his sword. His bow dispersed and then coalesced into a shield, just in time to block another swing.

  The shield flared and sang as the sword clashed against it, and Marius tried to hold fast, blocking as he observed how his opponent fought. But Sárr was unpredictable. One moment, he seemed to be in a berserker’s rage; the next, he was defensive and precise.

  If Marius was to overpower him, he would have to break his focus.

  The wolves were closing in on Marius and Sárr, and if there was one thing Edie knew, it was that Sárr was not going to fight fair. She had to keep those things off Marius while he dealt with their master. But Mercy was growing colder by the second, her pulse becoming weaker. Edie had managed to staunch the blood with someone’s discarded wool cloak, but Edie knew it was the shock that would kill her friend.

  She looked up frantically and spotted Satara limping over to her, her legs and forehead wrapped in makeshift bandages.

  “Hey!” Edie called, waving an arm.

  The shieldmaiden approached, pushing past the woman Marius had called Ynga and dropping hard to her knees next to Edie. “Blessed Mare’s tears, he mangled her.”

  “How are you doing? Where’s Cal?” Edie asked, her voice cracking.

  Satara shook her head. “I can’t fight any longer. That man fights like a monsoon. Cal’s ... I don’t know. He helped me wrap my wounds and took off.”

  Edie pursed her lips and looked toward Marius. He was holding his own in the fight, but the wolves were quickly losing interest in the bodies strewn across the lawn and beginning to circle him, waiting for their opening.

  She looked down at Mercy—poor, broken Mercy. She almost couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her side when she was in this state … but if those wolves jumped on Marius? He wouldn’t have a chance. They’d all die.

  “Keep pressure on this,” Edie said, voice wavering, and moved over so Satara could kneel by Mercy.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to do something about those wolves. Look.”

  Satara followed her gaze, but shook her head. “Edie, you don’t know how to fight. And if those wolves are who I think they are, they’ll kill you in a second.”

  “I don’t need to kill them, I just need to keep them off Marius.”

  She looked around for something she could use, and her eyes fell on a nearby mage’s staff. It was made of oak that twisted to encase a large ball of amber at the end. She lifted it, testing the weight; she held it like a baseball bat and tried a swing. She could probably hit something pretty hard with it if—

  A fireball shot out of the end and singed the grass in front of her with a booming sound, and she squealed, almost dropping the staff.

  “Did I do that?”

  Ynga, apparently engaged in her own personal battle, stood nearby. She glared at Edie and snapped, “That’s a runic staff. It’s already imbued with magic; you just have to wield it. You don’t have to be a witch to know that.”

  Runic staff, huh? It wasn’t shadow or plague magic, but it was something. She steeled herself and passed Ynga, muttering, “Well, someone has to do something.”

  Her legs were still in pain, but thinking about them only made it worse. I’m going to need like twenty freaking tetanus shots after this. She stole a pair of boots from a nearby fallen mage and pulled them on roughly, then focused on the wolves as she trudged forward. The boots were adorned with a steel point on the end, perfect for making as much sound as possible as she stepped over fallen warriors, kicking their helmets and shields aside.

  As she approached, the wolves’ attention turned to her. The golden one lifted its head, eyes burning brighter and ears perking up, then its silver companion lifted its head as well, sniffed the air, and emitted one of its shivering cackles. She saw those cobalt eyes dilate, and a shudder went through her.

  Don’t freeze up. Just get them chasing you. Find Cal.

  She took a deep breath and glanced to make sure Marius was still all right. He had summoned a huge lance in his left hand but was mostly blocking, probably trying to pick out Sárr’s weak spots. From the look on Marius’s face, it didn’t seem like he had many. Edie had to act quickly.

  “Hey!” she shouted, surprised at the volume of her voice. She held the staff up over her head, and it ignited with a whoosh.

  The wolves lowered their heads, hackles raising. Oh, god. This was a mistake. What could she even say to taunt them off Marius and to her?

  Suddenly, it came to her.

  “All right, you primitive screw-heads,” she barked, mustering her best Bruce Campbell impression, “listen up! You see this? This ... is my boomstick!”

  With a fluid motion that surprised even her, she twirled the staff down under her arm and aimed it at the silver wolf’s feet. It erupted, causing her to stumble back a bit, but hit its target with delicious accuracy—just close enough to singe them and successfully secure their attention.

  And then she turned tail and booked it.

  She swerved onto driveway, streaking past the fountain and the ambulance. In the grass, she might trip on a body or something, and she really didn’t need that at the moment. At least on the pavement she could see what she had to avoid.

  The wolves were in hot pursuit, and all she could think was that they ran a lot faster than she had anticipated.

  She bought herself a little time by hopping over a bench, but the landing hurt her legs, and she almost collapsed right there. Not to mention it was pretty fucking inconvenient to have to keep hiking up the hem of her dress.

  Edie ducked behind a low hedge and frantically tied her skirt up, knotting it around her knees as she
tried to catch her breath. She could hear the wolves’ heavy breathing nearby, but their footsteps slowed; she must have lost them, if only momentarily. But they were wild animals, probably used to tracking their prey in the dark, and she was just a stupid, loud, hairless ape.

  The element of surprise wouldn’t be hers for long; she had to act on it now.

  She waited, listening closely as the wolves approached her hiding place—and at the last possible moment, just when they were about to round the corner and find her quivering there, she leapt out of her crouching stance and swung the staff, flinging a round of three fireballs at them.

  The wolves yowled as the fireballs hit home, but Edie didn’t have time to admire her handiwork. She took off again and found she was falling into a cycle: run like hell, hide behind something, shoot at wolves, repeat. She let them chase her until she was almost where the road met the beginning of the driveway.

  And she fell.

  She tripped, knocking the wind from her lungs, the shock of the fall reverberating up her arms. And once she was lying there, half on the grass and half on the pavement, feeling came rushing back.

  Her cuts stung so bad it felt like her skin was on fire, and now that the power from the blood she’d come in contact with on the battlefield was fading, her ankles and knees ached. She gasped, trying to pull herself forward a bit, and a lance of pain shot up her leg. Stop moving, her mind said, but that wasn’t really an option. The wolves had already been on her tail, and the fact that she had fallen only seemed to excite them. They panted heavily as they advanced.

  With a groan, Edie pulled herself up into a sitting position and swung the staff, trying to buy herself a little more time by blasting them. It deterred them a little, and she could hear them whimper each time a fireball hit home, but it was no use; in a few seconds, they would be on her.

  She turned, digging the staff into the ground and trying to lift herself up. If she couldn’t run away, she could try to fight; she’d still be mauled, but better to die fighting than just lying there.