Martyr (28 page)

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 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 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.

They kept to the highway as they made their way to the town. It was so dark and the wind so biting, it was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them. They made their way from car to abandoned car, finding brief solace against toppled semis. Every once in a while, Dreya would pulse a small flame between her hands, letting the faint light filter out between her fingertips. Then darkness would swallow them again. What Tenn wouldn't give to once more live in a world with electricity. Or at least a flashlight.

It was the third or fourth time that Dreya opened to Air that she stiffened and halted them in their tracks. The flame in her hand burned longer than usual, but her eyes were focused on the road before them.

“Something is moving,” she said.

Tenn's grip instinctively tightened on his staff. Even through the thick leather of his gloves, the metal was bitingly cold.

“Howl?” he asked.

“I do not think so,” she whispered. “It is staggering.” She sniffed. “Blood. I smell blood.”

“Tori,” Tenn said.

He opened to Earth and Water, a quick flash, just enough to let him sense the figure's approach. Sure enough, it was a young girl, maybe thirteen, maybe younger. He could feel her cooling flesh, taste the blood that sprinkled on the ground with every footstep. Every shivering bare footstep.

“She's hurt,” he said. Then instinct took over. He opened once more to Earth and ran, the power guiding him through the dark.

“Tenn, wait!” Dreya yelled, but it was too late. He had already taken off, the twins falling fast behind him. He knew it was a trap. He knew that he was running to his death. But Water and Earth told him all he needed to know: Tori's pulse was failing, her skin was bare. If he didn't reach her soon, she was good as dead.

For some insane reason, he couldn't get Jarrett's face out of his head. He wouldn't lose someone else because he was too slow, because he had hesitated. He wouldn't let someone die because he hadn't been there to help. Not again.

He ran full speed, Earth fueling his muscles and numbing him to the wind and the snow that beat down in chunks of ice. A few hundred yards. A hundred. Fifty away, and he felt her stagger. She fell into the snow, shivering. He felt her heart skip.

He reached her seconds later, dropped to his knees in the snow and tried not to gasp. Now that he was near, he could sense all the things he'd been too distanced to notice before. Like the way blood smeared over every inch of her flesh. Or the thousand cuts slashed across her bare skin. Not one inch of her was clothed, and not one inch was spared from the slices that slowly bled her dry. Behind him, he felt the twins approach.

When he placed a hand on her shoulder—he needed the connection to start mending her wounds—she flinched away and screamed.

“Shh, shh,” he whispered. “It's okay. I'm here to help.”

But the girl was lost to him. Her screams split the air, and with every inch she tried to put between them, another ounce of blood was lost. If he didn't act fast, she'd bleed out before he even had a chance to start healing. If she didn't die of hypothermia first.

“I'm sorry,” he said. He reached out and grabbed her arm, clamped it tight as a vise. Then he began pouring Earth into her body.

She screamed again at the pain he knew the process was inflicting. Her heart hammered fast. Stuttered. She fell silent.

He knew the cuts that crossed her skin. He'd seen them before. They weren't the casual, careless marks of a kraven or even a necromancer. They were made by a bloodling, one who knew how to prolong the pain and the bleeding, how to make the most from their bloodbag victim. He'd felt himself make those same marks when consumed by Dmitri's past.

Devon and Dreya knelt by his side. Dreya put a hand on his shoulder. Cool light filtered down around them, but he didn't check to see which of them was using magic.

“Tenn, you must stop,” she said. “The power you're using, it will give us away.”

“Either help me or shut up,” he snapped. He poured his focus into the girl. The process was painstakingly slow, even though he worked as fast as he could. A small voice inside of him screamed that it wasn't fast enough—he could only heal one cut at a time. He didn't listen. He forced Water into her veins and Earth into her bones, tried to replenish the blood that was quickly seeping into the snow, staining it crimson.

There was only the slightest hesitation from Dreya.

“What can we do?” she asked.

“Heat,” he replied. He could barely hear them through his concentration. “She'll freeze to death otherwise.”

Devon knelt by the girl's side and placed his hands on the concrete. Fire opened in his chest, and the snow around them melted in an instant. A small cocoon of warmth enveloped them and sweat burst across Tenn's skin.

“Tenn,” Dreya whispered suddenly. Her grip on Tenn's shoulder tightened.

“What?” he asked.

“They're coming,” was all she said.

Tenn glanced up, spared a half-second to focus on something other than the girl quickly dying at his feet. That was enough to tell him that she was right. The Howls within the town were emerging now. In spite of the warmth Devon enveloped them in, the air grew colder, a chill that seeped and burned into his very bones. He didn't need to see them to know what was causing the sudden cold. Succubi. The town was harboring succubi.

“Fend them off,” he said, then refocused on Tori. In that momentary distraction, she had slipped away even further. Her pulse was weak, so weak.

“But the sept—” she began.

“I don't care about the bloody sept!” he yelled. He glared up at her. “I won't let her die.”

Her jaw clenched, but she nodded and looked out to the city. Using all this magic would call the full wrath of the Church down upon them, that was for certain. But it was the only way.

She opened to Air and opened her lips, a single, clear note singing into the wild night. The wind became a gale. Within the town, the necromancers began their counterattack. Fire billowed around them, held off by a quick shield from Dreya. Even then, Tenn's hands shook from the succubi's life-stealing cold.

“I said fend them off!” he yelled. Rage filled him, but it wasn't just anger, it was desperation. Tori's skin glistened red and bloody in the firelight, and now, when he looked at her, he couldn't help but imagine Jarrett lying there, slowly bleeding out. Every blink, and he saw Jarrett's face. Pleading. Waiting. Dying.

Dreya didn't answer in words. Instead, her song rose in volume as a blast of wind shot across the countryside, wailing like hungry wolves. Funnels broke down from the sky, but that didn't stop the oncoming Howls. He could hear their screams, could feel the necromancers' magic as they worked against him. But that knowledge was small and distant. Every ounce of attention he had, he gave to the girl.

“Tenn,” Dreya said, her song cut short. Her voice was strained. “I cannot hold them off. There are too many necromancers. And I think…I think they have a breathless. Some Howls are resisting my magic.”

In spite of his focus, this made him halt. The breathless were hard to create and harder to kill and were thankfully rare. Bloodlings, succubi, breathless… What other nightmares had been lying in wait for them?

“Devon,” he said. “Help her.”

Devon nodded and stood. Power flashed through him as Fire billowed in his chest. The town erupted into flame.