Martyr (27 page)

“Very good,” Rhiannon said. “Tracking runes are indispensable. The mark itself is the same across the board, but every clan has a different vessel. It is how we keep our network alive. No distance is too great for the rune's magic. When you have found her, use this to bring her back to us.”

“We'll find her,” Tenn said. “I promise.”

They left immediately, halting only to grab a few supplies from their tent. Then they broke through the trees, nearly running to reach the field beyond.

Tenn had expected the Howls to be waiting for them. He'd been hoping for that, at least—it would have taken his mind off the guilt. But the woods were silent save for the crunch of their own footsteps. The sky was beginning to cloud over, and their breath came out in puffs. It would snow again soon. He just hoped they found the girl before it became a storm. He nearly forgot about the Witches' defenses, but then a wave of energy washed over him a few yards from the clearing. It 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:
turn around, turn around, 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 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
.