Runemaker, page 8
He wrote a language to shatter the world and bring it back anew.
If he so desired.
And he desired.
The final rune connected. A snap of power. A silence.
He cried out in triumph, in bliss, as the Sphere in his chest once more connected to his senses, as the power that was hidden from him lapped through his limbs like a tiger’s tongue. He cried out, and the flames in the hearth burned back, reached out to him, bowed to him.
Fire filled him, burning away the weakness, the disease, the exhaustion.
Fire filled him, burning away every goddamned human frailty.
Fire willed him, and he was nothing but the flame.
A fire.
A spark.
A god.
He stood from the bed. Tendrils of smoke curled from his bare feet, the bloodied rug beneath him charring to ash.
The Dark Lady had given him the final runes. Had taught him the secrets hidden in the abyss. He had filled in the rest, the words she would never know, the words spoken only for him.
He had promised to aid her.
But first, he would destroy.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
TENN
“No,” Tenn gasped.
He’d thought the runes would take them somewhere safe. Somewhere near, but safe. Just out of harm’s reach. Somewhere he could leap in or help from afar.
But when the dust cleared and he stared up at the great expanse of wall—brilliantly lit by the afternoon sun—he knew that Jarrett had taken them even farther.
“We have to go back,” Tenn said. Panic churned through his veins as comprehension took hold.
They were back in America. In Outer Chicago.
Half the world away, his friends were fighting someone else’s fight. His fight.
Jarrett stood at his side, stoic and unmoving as ever, his pale eyes fixed on Tenn.
“We can’t.”
Tenn wanted to scream at him. He’d lied. He’d lied. And now the twins and Aidan and everyone else were going to die because of it. He wanted to fly back, but he couldn’t. He needed Air. He needed Jarrett. Reality washed over him, cold and numbing, and he found he could do nothing but stare at Jarrett in sad disbelief.
“Why?” It was the only word he could think of. He squeezed his eyes shut. Prayed that when he opened them, he’d be back in England. Back with his friends. His only friends. His dying friends.
Jarrett didn’t answer right away. When he did, his words were heavy. Distant.
“I told you that I was sent to ensure that you weren’t a threat. To ensure you fought for the right side. But you’ve kept far too many secrets, Tenn. Secrets that have gotten a great many people killed. I can’t risk that anymore.”
He raised his hand, and on cue, the gates to Outer Chicago opened and a squadron of guards marched out.
Tenn didn’t even fight back when they placed him in handcuffs. Even though a flick of Earth would have freed him. Even though he could have escaped.
Where would he have gone?
What would he have done?
It was only when Jarrett pulled something from his coat that Tenn flinched. Only when the cold metal touched his skin that he realized how truly screwed he was.
The sigil from the Church. The same one Kianna had been wearing.
The moment it looped around his neck and settled on his chest, he felt the cold sink through his skin. Felt his Spheres wink out, untethered, floating away in the darkness within.
He couldn’t have reached for them if he tried.
He didn’t try.
Without Water to pull him down or Earth to steady him, Tenn was numb. His story was over.
For the first time in four years, Tenn gave over to the cold and the silence.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AIDAN
Bliss.
Pure, unadulterated, screaming bliss.
Aidan walked through the battlefield, flames licking up his sides, dripping from his hands. An offering. A blessing.
He laughed to himself.
The Church had finally done what it intended to do all along.
He was purified.
He was reborn.
Reborn into a new world, clean and pure—both him, and the world.
Around him, the flames purified. Turned broken bodies to ash. Turned soil and blood and sin to steam. There weren’t even screams. Not anymore. Not through the all-consuming heat. Not through the purity of his light.
Distantly, he wondered how many Hunters he’d killed. How many had run to the battlefield to meet the enemy head-on, only to die in his fury before ever reaching their charge.
He didn’t care.
Fire filled him.
Gods did not care about mortals.
Gods cared only for worship, for respect.
And those that did not respect the gods were damned to feel their wrath.
Aidan strode through the piles of ash, the kravens and necromancers, the bloodlings and even the incubi who couldn’t swallow his heat fast enough. All of them ash. All of them traitors to the only god worth serving: Death.
Behind him, around him, within him, he felt the Dark Lady like a light in the dark, a warmth in the endless winter night. She guided him forward. Her gift filled his veins—the words of power, the words that allowed him to tap into a magic greater than his own Sphere, the ability to harness the great spark of creation, the flame that turned the engine of time. And his handiwork—their handiwork—spread around him.
The destruction seemed absolute. Flame everywhere. Blinding.
And yet here, in the midst of the flame, was a patch where the heat was not so great. A space where lesser men might die.
The Kin was far from a lesser man.
Even now, with his skin charred black and his hair burnt to nothing, he lived. He lived, because one could not simply kill a Kin with flame. One needed to do it the old-fashioned way. With muscle and tearing and blood. Aidan delighted in it.
He stood over the burning Kin. The man had been tall, once. Muscular. Aidan could tell the man was Breathless, from the way his own lungs burned in the Kin’s presence. Even now, the Kin held on to life. Tried to turn Aidan’s vitality against him.
He had to admire that even now, even facing destruction, the man refused to give in.
“You have spark,” Aidan said. His lips twitched in a smile as sparks rained down around them, ashes and embers in the breeze. Then he felt the Dark Lady through the flames, and his mirth turned to anger. “Do you know who I am?”
The man’s lips cracked and bled as he opened his mouth. His words were barely more than a rasping hiss. There was no point asking who he was. It didn’t matter, not anymore. Aidan would rip this Kin from the fabric of the world, and his legacy would be replaced with Aidan’s own.
Gods and mortals.
Aidan knelt at the dying Kin’s side. Leaned his ear to his lips.
“What was that?” he asked.
Another rasp.
Aidan grunted and stood.
“My name is Aidan Belmont. I believe I’m the one you were sent here to kill.”
Aidan chuckled.
“Looks like there was a change of plans.”
He kicked the Kin’s side. The Kin grunted. Skin cracked. Blood hissed on the charred ground.
“Personally, I’m grateful that you brought everyone here. Makes me feel special.” He held his arms out to the sides, to the flames that surrounded them in a cocoon, an embrace that should have burned Aidan to crisp. He felt nothing but pleasant warmth. He kicked the Kin again, his approval turning to ashen disgust in his mouth. Just like with Calum, this didn’t feel like a great victory. This was too easy. Far, far too easy. “This also saves me from chasing down your asses all across the globe. Given the bodies, I’d assume this was your entire army?”
A grunt. Close enough to a yes.
“Good.”
Aidan stood straighter, rolled his shoulders back. He glared down at the Kin. “I have a message for you. From your mistress. From the woman you failed to serve.”
The Kin’s blue eyes widened. Ah, yes. Not at all what he expected to hear. Good.
“The Dark Lady does not forgive treachery. You failed her. Worse than failed. You betrayed her, and then had the nerve to carry on living, to use the gifts She gave you. You’ve been living on borrowed time, my friend.” With every word, the Kin’s eyes grew wider, his breath faster. He knew. He knew.
Aidan smiled and knelt back down, his knee crushing the Kin’s chest.
“I asked you if you knew who I was. I told you my name. But we both know it is not the truth. Not entirely.”
He pressed his hand to the Kin’s throat. The man’s flesh felt like sandpaper and cracked leather under his palm.
“I am the hand of the Dark Lady. And she has come to take back what you failed to earn. As she will do to all who opposed her.”
Aidan squeezed.
The Kin’s throat collapsed in. Like paper. Like eggshell. His starved Sphere of Air collapsed, too. And with barely a whimper, the most powerful Howl in Western Europe died beneath Aidan’s hand.
Easy.
Far too easy.
“You took far too much enjoyment from that.”
Aidan jerked up.
To see Tomás walking through the flames unscathed, his shirt torn and bloodied.
Aidan stood slowly. Memories filtered through his thoughts, but the fear that should have accompanied them was distant. He had just killed one Kin. Killing Tomás, if necessary, would be as simple as swatting a fly.
And yet, the Dark Lady said nothing about killing Tomás. So far.
“You’re one to talk. You seemed pretty content when you were trying to kill me.”
“I took no pleasure in that,” Tomás said. He spread his hands out to the sides. “I only did what I thought was best. You were in pain. I had hoped to relieve you of that.”
“Yet here I am,” Aidan said. “What kept you from killing me?”
Tomás touched the shreds of his shirt. “Your friend.”
Kianna.
“Did you kill her?”
Tomás shook his head.
“It was not the time.”
“And is it the time for me to kill you?”
“That depends. Do you feel I’ve outlived my usefulness?”
Aidan looked around. At the destruction he wrought on his own accord. The purifying fire, the silence in the blaze. None had survived. None, but them.
He didn’t need Tomás.
The Kin seemed to gather as much.
“Your power far outmatches mine,” Tomás said, “but I can still be of use. You want to kill the rest of my brethren? Let me help you find them.”
Aidan considered. Tomás was interested in only one thing: himself.
“You know why I’m doing this,” Aidan replied.
“Of course. My brothers and sisters betrayed the Dark Lady. She demands their lives in return. Fair is fair.”
“I’m not just here to avenge her.”
“I know,” Tomás replied. “She gave you these gifts in exchange for something. She gives nothing without a demand in return. And neither do you. If I had my guess...you swore to bring her back.”
Aidan nodded. It should have felt like heresy. Instead, it felt like the only way forward. The Dark Lady wanted all of her creations dead? Good. So did he. And he would happily be the one to bring it about.
“That is good,” Tomás said. “Very good. I knew you were the one, my prince. The one to make the whole world bend the knee. And that, too, is why I offer myself to you.” He knelt. Beside the ashes of his dead brother, as though the corpse was no more than dirt beneath his heels.
“I know where they keep her. Let me help you. We shall kill my traitorous siblings. And then, with their blood staining our hands, we will bring our Great Mother back.”
“It is our greatest vanity
to believe we should alter creation.
Demons are born
when men
raise angels.”
—Sermon of Brother Jeremiah
1 P.R. (Post Resurrection)
PART 2
GODS AND MORTALS
CHAPTER TWENTY
TENN
Silence.
Absolute, perfect silence.
Tenn could hear the blood pumping in his veins and the distant drip of water from the ceiling. He could hear his breath rattling in his lungs. He could hear the seconds ticking by with every pulse of blood, every drop of water, every timid breath.
Every second was another Hunter dead on the other side of the world.
Every second was another reminder that he had failed. Miserably. He hadn’t saved Aidan. He hadn’t saved anyone. As far as he knew, Aidan and everyone else had died in the Kin’s attack. And now what? He was just supposed to wait here for the Kin to find him and destroy Outer Chicago? Or did Jarrett truly think that locking him down here would inspire some sort of meditative state, some trance that would let the spirits speak? Tenn doubted that.
He felt like bait.
For the first time in his life, he actually wished he could reach for Water. Wished the damnable Sphere would drag him down into despair, or dredge up memories to haunt his waking life.
He had been down here for over an hour, with only his thoughts and a guttering candle to keep him company. And right now, neither was good company.
He grunted as he tried to shift positions. The guards had manacled his hands behind his back, and the pendant hung heavy on his chest. He considered trying to go upside down or something to remove it, but that seemed like too much work. Everything seemed like too much work. Living seemed like too much work, and without the Spheres to energize him, he couldn’t see the point in trying.
It’s not like escaping would get him anywhere.
His friends were dead. He had to come to terms with that. Mostly. His friends were dead, and even if he did get out of here, he’d lost. Aidan was gone. He’d failed everyone. The whole world. He deserved to be down here more than anyone else. It was only a matter of time before the Kin came after him and finished what they’d started.
Metal screeched as the door to the cells opened, letting in more torchlight. Tenn flinched. At least he didn’t have to worry about it being Tomás—the incubus would never resort to something as pedestrian as a door.
When Tenn saw who it was, he realized he would have rather it be the incubus.
“What are you doing here?”
Jarrett stepped into the room, a torch in one hand and a sad look plastered on his face. Honestly, it was the first time Tenn had seen Jarrett look remotely remorseful, and he felt a vindictive sort of schadenfreude about it.
“Are you okay?” Jarrett asked. As though he wasn’t the one who threw Tenn down here in the first place.
“The hell does it look like?” He didn’t struggle. He wouldn’t give Jarrett that satisfaction.
He felt his world flip as he remembered that a little over a week ago, the roles had been reversed. He’d stumbled into the cell holding Jarrett. Had ripped the ropes from Jarrett’s body. Had brought his lover back from the brink of death.
And now, Jarrett had the gall to stand on the other side of the bars, looking down at Tenn as if he was absolutely powerless in this situation.
Jarrett looked at his feet.
“I wish it didn’t have to be like this,” he muttered.
“Then don’t make it be like this,” Tenn replied. He made sure to stare at Jarrett’s eyes, even if Jarrett refused to return the look. “Why are you treating me like the enemy?”
Jarrett didn’t answer, not at first. Then he let out a huge sigh and hung his head even lower.
“You asked why I was sent after you. And I told you the truth. Most of it. The Prophets had seen a power was awakening. One they thought could change the course of history. And they said that like all things, that power could be used for good or evil. I was to ensure you stayed on the path of good.”
“Did you know? Did you know who I was before you were sent to find me?”
Jarrett nodded.
“And the rest of it. Did you actually...” The word caught in Tenn’s throat. “Did you actually love me, or was that part of the ruse?”
“I did. I thought I did.”
Tenn’s heart dropped. It felt like being kicked in the gut.
“You thought you did?” he whispered.
“I don’t know. Everything seems so fucked up.” Again, it was as if Jarrett were the one in chains, and not the other way around. “When we went over there, when I saw you standing over him. I knew... I knew I didn’t fit into your story. Neither of us did.”
“What do you mean?”
Jarrett crouched down, still not looking at Tenn.
“I mean, the stories we told each other of the life we would live after this. After all the fighting and the bloodshed and the death. The life with a house and a yard and a herd of dogs. All of that...all of that was a lie.”
“You didn’t want it?”
“No, Tenn. I want that more than anything. But I don’t think you do.”
If Tenn could collapse any further into himself, he would.
“What? How could you say that?”
“You aren’t destined for a quiet life, Tenn.” Jarrett looked up, looked him straight in the eyes. “The moment I saw you next to Aidan, I knew that stronger than anything else. The power you wield, the runes...there is no after for you. At least, not the type we’d dreamed of. You and Aidan... I know that story. You’re the chosen ones and I... I’m just the third in a shitty love triangle.”
“You think I’d leave you for him?”
“Haven’t you already?”
Silence.
“I don’t love him,” Tenn said.
