Runebinder

by Alex R. Kahler

  “When you have it memorized,” Luke said, his voice barely cutting through his thoughts. The rune seemed to be calling to him. “Close your eyes and bring it to mind.”

  He did so. He could still see it, glowing in the dark of his eyelids, orange and fiery like a lantern. The moment he brought it to mind, he could feel it. Like an inner compass, he could sense precisely where the bowl was in relation to him. He turned and felt the proper direction slide around him, always calling him to the bowl.

  When he opened his eyes, Luke was nodding.

  “Good. Good. The rune is the same across the board—it’s the object it’s drawn on that allows you to focus. It will help you find us from anywhere in the world.” He put a hand on Tenn’s shoulder. “Find Tori. And use the runes to bring her back to us.”

  “We’ll find her,” Tenn said. He looked to the twins. They were still avoiding his eyes. “I promise.”

  * * *

  They left immediately.

  A wave of energy washed over him a few yards from the clearing. The magic of the first barrier tingled over his skin and soaked into his bones, and for the briefest moment he swore he heard a whisper, felt the urging deep within his muscles: run, run fast, run away. Then it was over, a voice on the breeze. Apparently, the defenses didn’t have so strong an effect when approached from behind.

  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 second barrier. Flashes burned through his mind the moment his fingers grazed the bark—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 dark promises. His fingertips tingled as he traced the runes over and over, trying to memorize the markings. Something about the language was familiar, like reading Italian when versed in Spanish—there were traces of things he knew, patterns he could almost but not entirely piece together. If only he had more time to study them...

  “Tenn,” Dreya snapped. He looked up. “We must hurry.”

  He nodded, guilt doubling as he stood. Every time he blinked, he saw the runes burning in his mind, their whispered meaning nearly drowning out his thoughts. “Sorry. Let’s keep going.”

  She led him onward—Devon had already disappeared from sight.

  “How did they get through?” Tenn asked as they approached the third barrier—he could feel the buzz of its magic now, could see the faint glow of runes scattered throughout the trees.

  “I do not know,” Dreya whispered. “They should not have been able to find their way through. Not without the tracking rune.”

  Tenn didn’t ask the other questions on his mind: if the Howls had broken through the first two barriers, why had they not penetrated the third? Why were they not out here, waiting, swarming? Why had they not attacked the rest of the Witches?

  The field stretched out before them when they broke through the trees, snow freshly trampled. And on the ground, Tenn found his answer. Written in the same script as the desk in his dorm room, were words written in blood.

  come out, come out, wherever you are

  “He’s toying with us,” Tenn muttered. His gut writhed with anger and self-hate. He’d been right. The illusion of safety was just that: an illusion. He would never be safe. He would never feel at home. Not so long as Matthias was out there.

  Or maybe even that was a lie. Maybe Tenn was the greatest danger to himself—death seemed to follow wherever he went.

  “Correct,” Dreya said. “And so, the question: Will you play his games?”

  Dreya opened to Air beside him, her pale blue eyes fixed on a point far, far away.

  “Anything?” Tenn asked. He didn’t answer her question; mainly because he felt like, no matter what, he was a pawn in someone’s game. Matthias or Tomás, the death following him seemed the same. His grip was tight on his staff, the point digging into the frozen earth. He refused to stare at the blood in the snow.

  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? And where are the others?”

  Dreya gestured to the horizon. “There is a town nearby. They are heading toward it. A few more Howls wait there. But not all. As for the rest, I cannot say.”

  This was a trap. They all knew it. But the alternative was waiting around and letting an innocent die. Jarrett’s image flashed through his mind. He wasn’t going to have any more deaths on his conscience. It was time to fight back. The Witches had their defenses—they would be safe. It was Tenn that Matthias was after.

  “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.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  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 of the town was the white light of 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. He wanted to attack, but Dreya advised waiting—if there were necromancers in the town, it would be best to attack when they were asleep.

  It still felt like wasting time to him. The only consolation was the idea that Matthias would have expected them to rush in. That maybe, by biding their time for the proper moment to strike, the trio was turning the tables, playing a game Matthias wouldn’t expect.

  It was barely a consolation at all; every blink, and he saw Tori’s blood in the snow. Every heartbeat, and he imagined hers stopping.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the tracking rune?” Tenn asked.

  Dreya glanced at him. There was a small fire 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.

  “What?”

  “The tracking rune. Devon knew about it, so you did, too. Why didn’t you tell me? Or show me?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, then bit back her words and stared into the fire for a while.

  “Because it was not my information to give,” she whispered. “You must understand, Tenn. We have already broken so many vows. We had to hold on to those we could.”

  “If you had told me, we could have skipped coming here. Tori would still be alive.”

  She gasped. It sounded like she was biting back a sob.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “Yes, I know that. But they have magics we have never dreamed of. Runes we’ve never seen—like their defenses. We were ever only shown the tracking rune so we could find the clans. A small magic. Of no use to fighting the Dark Lady. That is why we brought you here—the Witches have access to so much more. They can teach you how to understand runes we’ve never seen. And when this is over... When this is over, you will learn everything they know. They will help you. I’m sure of it.”

  “If they’re so helpful, why are you scared of them?”

  He didn’t care that it was mean. He couldn’t even blame it on Water at the moment. He was tired of being the cause
of so much pain. Especially when it seemed to be preventable.

  “Devon and I...we grew up among them. 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.”

  “I thought you said you grew up with a fashion designer?”

  She gave him a small smile.

  “I did cosplay growing up, and Genevieve loved her clothes and the ones I designed for her. The rest...it’s an easier story to tell than the truth.”

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  “Genevieve 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 couldn’t.”

  “What happened?”

  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.”

  Tenn’s stomach knotted.

  “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.

  “Please,” she said.

  He nodded, took her hand and opened to Water.

  Her memories flooded through him in a downpour...

  “What’s that?” she asks.

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

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

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

  I don’t care, she replies.

  Trees rise up on all sides of them, blocking their view of everything for miles around. She stands and walks 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 demanded such. Just water and meditation. Just waiting and praying and begging for a sign from the gods. The rumble comes again, and she closes her eyes. Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

  She breaks her vows.

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

  The power sends 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 stands out like shadows in the light. She can see the outline of it all, can hear the rustle and staccato of breath. She pushes her magic farther, down into the valley where the rest of the clan camps, waiting for them and holding a vigil for their eventual return.

  Smoke and fire fill the air, the scent of brimstone scoring the screams of men and women and children as flesh chars and snaps. But there is another taste that makes her skin crawl—the taint of twisted magic. She can feel energy sizzling as Witches try to fight back, feel shapes moving through the surrounding woods as kravens burst forth, searching for flesh. She senses necromancers using their evil magic to turn her friends and family into Howls.

  As she stands there, everyone she knows is being slaughtered. Or worse.

  She snaps back the power and opens her eyes. There’s no need to tell Devon what she saw. Through their connection, he’s seen it, too. He stands facing the direction of the clan. His fists clench, knuckles white. Sparks dance around him like fireflies while Fire burns 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 says. “We have to.”

  “No,” she gasps. The very thought makes her stomach churn. Her mind swims from using Air, the aftereffect making her slow, her thoughts confused. She must have heard him wrong.

  He looks at her, his eyes burning with hatred. It doesn’t matter how many times she’s seen Fire take him over—it still terrifies her. When the Sphere takes hold, he is no longer her brother. Not fully. He’s something infinitely angrier, and infinitely more powerful.

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

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

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

  She bites back the tears that try to form in her eyes. Now isn’t the time for emotion. Now is the time for clear thought, for action. Air screams in her throat like a gale, pushing away all weakness. She closes her eyes and feels the power surge between them.

  “Night has fallen,” she whispers, Air carrying her words, 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 blooms in the valley, sharp and hot, searing through the woods like the hands of a hundred gods. Devon’s magic knows no bounds, holds no distinction between Witch or necromancer or Howl. Flesh is flesh, and flesh is food. She fuels his flames with Air, until the night sky grows white and bright as day. The roar of fire is deafening, a scream and hiss that pierces through her bones. The hell feels like it should burn and last forever, but the fight is over in an instant. She doesn’t open her eyes. Not until she hears him sobbing beside her.

  She turns and looks to her brother, tries to find some words to comfort him. But she can smell the smoke of flesh filtering through the air, can taste the dead. Air leaves her breathless, without thought, without words. She can only gasp as she puts a hand on his shoulder. He cries, 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. Violence goes against the very core of their beliefs, and we killed our entire clan. We killed everyone we ever loved. They were innocent, and they died by our hands.” She cradled her head in her 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 sounded hollow.

  A few beats passed in silence. He opened his eyes, but neither of them looked at 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 behind every thought: you die.

  “I would give anything to silence them,” she said, almost to herself. “But we cannot die. Not yet. Not until the necromancers are gone and the threat of this happening to anyone else is vanished. That is why we joined the guild, why Jarrett did us the greatest of services. We told him what we had done, yet he 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.” She paused and looked at him, the fire glinting in her pale, wet eyes. “We let it burn until it burns us alive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  DEVON ARRIVED A while later. His scarf was wrapped high over his ears and around his head to keep out the cold. 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.