Runebinder. Alex R. Kahler

die for it. For him.

      “You should have let Matthias take me,” Tenn whispered. “I’m not worth their lives.”

      “Do you really think Matthias would have let us go?” Jarrett asked. Suddenly, there was a hand under Tenn’s chin; Jarrett tilted Tenn’s head up to meet his gaze. “Matthias is a necromancer, Tenn. He would have taken you and killed the rest of us, anyway. At least this way... At least now you’re safe.”

      Tenn wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Jarrett’s gaze held him, as surely as Jarrett’s touch sent flames racing through his chest.

      “Why? What makes me special? Why do they want me?”

      Jarrett grinned.

      “That’s what we’re trying to figure out by keeping you alive. The Prophets told us to protect you. Personally, I’d guess it’s tied to your Spheres acting up. I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

      Tenn couldn’t take his eyes off Jarrett’s. They were so warm. So familiar. He was acutely aware of Jarrett’s fingers under his chin, of their closeness, of the warmth Jarrett gave. A warmth, and a confidence. He could have stayed there forever. Instead, he pushed the warmth away and stepped back, letting Water slosh through his veins in a cold curse.

      He hated himself. For being alive when the rest of his troop was dead. For being the reason his troop was dead. But mostly, he hated himself because, right then, he didn’t hate himself. There was something about being in Jarrett’s gravity that made him feel alive. That made the last few years of bloodshed and regret fade away.

      Something clanked beneath Jarrett’s coat as Tenn stepped away.

      “What’s that?” Tenn asked, pulled from his thoughts.

      “Something I picked up,” he said.

      Jarrett pulled the object from inside his pocket. Tenn gasped and stepped back. It was the jar the necromancer had held, the one with the flickering flame.

      “Why—”

      “I thought it might come in handy,” Jarrett said.

      The twins stepped forward, peering over Jarrett’s shoulder silently. But Tenn wasn’t watching them. He couldn’t take his eyes off the jar.

      At first, he thought it was badly scratched, but the more he stared at it, the more the markings that flickered in the sun and from the inner fire became, well, if not legible, at least uniform. Definitely symbols. Harsh and angular. They seemed to whisper in his head, like reading a foreign language he could almost place. The weight of a void, the dark center of a star, the raging heat of space, consuming, consuming...

      “What?” Jarrett asked.

      Tenn looked up. He didn’t realize he’d been moving his lips.

      “Can you read them?” Dreya asked.

      Tenn stepped back and looked away. “No. I just... No.”

      He caught the twins looking at Jarrett. He caught Jarrett’s furrowed brow. He caught the slightly stronger glow coming from within the jar. Or maybe it was just the sun.

      “It sounded like you were reading it,” Jarrett ventured.

      “No. I was just making it up.”

      Jarrett’s next words were slow. Confused. “Are you—”

      “We should be moving,” Dreya interrupted.

      Jarrett seemed to snap back to reality. He looked to Dreya, shoving the jar back inside his pocket.

      The moment it was hidden, the whispers in Tenn’s mind quieted. He hadn’t even realized they were still there.

      “Are you recharged?” Jarrett asked.

      “Not fully,” she said. “But we do not have time to waste. Especially if you are carrying that.”

      “Where are we going?” Tenn asked. Jarrett was still looking at him curiously, like he wanted to ask him a thousand questions. Questions, he knew, that had nothing to do with the symbol-covered jar.

      “Outer Chicago,” Jarrett replied. His words were still guarded.

      Tenn looked to Dreya. He could feel the warmth of Jarrett’s gaze. It lingered in his chest, thawing the cold places. And sending a dozen more questions racing through his brain.

      “Why?” he asked.

      Dreya sighed. She kept looking to the horizon, to the way they’d come from. “Outer Chicago is safe. Mostly.”

      Did she mean that he would be safe there? Or that keeping him there would make it safe for others? Either way, Tenn knew he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t turn them down even if he wanted to. But the truth was, he didn’t want to fight them, and not just because of Jarrett. Tenn had planned to spend the rest of his short life wandering between outposts, fighting the undead until he died for a cause. But now, knowing that he was a danger to those around him...

      Or were they just bringing him back so they could experiment on him? He looked from Jarrett to Dreya to her silent brother, Devon. Tenn wanted to believe they were on his side. He couldn’t afford that luxury.

      The truth was, though, it didn’t matter what their motives were: he had one of his own. He didn’t have anyone left to fight for, but what he did have was an ax to grind. If what was happening to him—the strangeness of Water, the attraction of the Kin—could be used against the Howls, he would embrace it. If only so he could use it against those who had destroyed his life.

      “Let’s go, then,” he said. He opened to Water. Memories flooded to the surface—Derrick, curling into flame; his bedroom, dripping blood—but he was ready for them. He grappled them down with a well-practiced hand. “But I’m not letting you drag me there.”

      “He has spark,” Jarrett mused.

      “And you have no tact,” Dreya replied.

      She opened to Water. Devon opened at the same time. He felt the twins wrap their power around Jarrett, the barest flicker of blue in the sun.

      Jarrett just chuckled and leaped over the building, swan-diving into the lake. Dreya followed close behind.

      Devon, however, stood there for a moment, hands crossed at his chest and his eyebrows furrowed.

      “You still hear them, don’t you?” His voice was gruffer than Tenn expected.

      “Who?”

      “The dead.”

      Tenn’s blood went cold. He could only nod.

      “I hear them, too. Every day. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore. Or just all the dead I carry around.”

      Devon shook his head, then tightened the scarf around his face and leaped into the water.

      Tenn walked over to the edge. Stared down into the waves. They were already jetting off, cutting beneath the waves like spears of light. Devon’s words lingered, curled around the base of his skull. The last thing he wondered before jumping in was if Jarrett and the rest would save him, or if they’d just be three more names on the list of the dead he carried on his soul.

       CHAPTER SIX

      IT WAS LATE afternoon by the time they reached the shores of Outer Chicago. The water grew shallower, until they were able to trudge up through the waves toward the shore. The lake lapped at the highway stretching before them, slowly eating at the asphalt, turning it to sand and stone. He wondered if the destruction had been intentional—some necromancer trying to drown the whole city—or if it was just the Earth rebelling, eating itself alive to escape the madness magic had wrought. The aftershocks of the Resurrection had struck deep, and humans weren’t the only ones to receive the blowback.

      Dreya