Runebinder

“Careful where you step,” Jarrett muttered. He didn’t seem amused.

Even though they were surrounded by people, and even though the guard had very clearly known them, no one in the city met their eye. People walked about in a crazy mismatch of fashion: high-end coats and shabby jeans, dresses layered with parkas, piles of jewelry amid rags. Like they’d just raided whatever shops they could, and had been stuck with it ever since. The citizens all milled or argued or hurried past. They talked to each other, but it felt like Tenn and his comrades were invisible.

Someone elbowed him in the side as they rushed past. Tenn started, but Jarrett’s hand was on his shoulder before he could react.

“Don’t bother,” Jarrett said, his voice still a low grumble. He was watching the crowd with outright animosity. “To them, we’re as bad as the Howls. We keep them alive, but we still use the magic that put them here.”

Tenn kept his head down and his eyes peeled after that, feeling the weight of the city press against his shoulders. He’d experienced this before, in smaller communes. Hunters used magic; civilians didn’t. And even though Hunters fought off the Howls and the necromancers, even though Hunters were sworn to defy the servants of the Dark Lady, they were still viewed as the cause of the Resurrection. With so much spite concentrated in one spot, he was surprised there wasn’t a riot.

He wanted to scream at them as his group pushed their way through the crowd. He wanted to yell at them just how many good men and women had died to keep them all safe, the names and faces that would go unmourned, unburied. Worse, he wanted to tell them about the Farms, where unturned humans were kept as cattle, and how much worse their lives could be. But he didn’t. He feared what speaking up would do. There might not be a riot now, but he knew the desire for vengeance like a bad taste in the air.

Water churned in Tenn’s stomach, twisting with guilt and fear. Water wanted to show them all, too. There was so much pain in this city, and it resonated in Tenn’s gut like a minor key. He kept the power forced down. Was it even safe for him to be here? Even without Matthias and the Kin, he could barely trust himself with Water’s urgings. Maybe these people had been right all along...maybe he was a danger.

He glanced at Devon, heard the guy’s words filter through his head. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore...

What the hell am I?

The only thing keeping him grounded was Jarrett’s hand on his shoulder. The guy’s grip was strong. Heavy. For an Air user, he had a weight, a presence, that snared all of Tenn’s senses like a sun.

Right before they rounded the block, Jarrett leaned in and whispered into Tenn’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t kill him. The council looks down on that sort of thing. Even if it’s Caius.”

Chills raced down Tenn’s neck at the feeling of Jarrett’s breath on his skin. It didn’t take him long to figure out what he was talking about.

A man stood on a pedestal in the center of the street. He wore a faded three-piece suit that barely covered his potbelly, his messy gray hair unsuccessfully slicked back with grease. He reminded Tenn of Matthias, albeit much less refined. Despite the man’s ragged appearance, he still had a crowd. It was the only part of the city that didn’t seem to be moving. People crowded around the dais like sheep as he spoke, his words cutting above the din of the city around them.

Whatever rant or sermon he had been on cut short when Tenn and the others rounded the corner. The man sneered over at them from his perch, causing more than one head to turn. Their venom was palpable.

Water seethed.

“So, the child army returns,” the man said. He had the voice of a man who used to smoke a pack or twelve a day.

Adult mages existed, but were rare; for some reason, kids seemed more adept at attuning to and using the Spheres than adults. Although Matthias seemed to be a terrifying exception to the rule. As it was, very few people lived beyond their twenties: if you could wield magic and fight, you would probably die in battle. And if you couldn’t fight, you were probably already a Howl, or food for one.

“How many have we lost today, friends? How many souls have you handed over to Satan?”

“Ignore him,” Jarrett whispered. He took Tenn’s arm and guided them around the crowd. Small picket signs had been thrust into the grass.

MAGIC IS SIN

THE END HAS COME

Classic. Tenn had seen those since before the Resurrection, in the scant months between magic becoming mainstream and magic fucking everything up. Hell, the signs still littered the highways, more common than bodies.

Tenn envied the twins; they walked on as though completely oblivious to the world around them. Or maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe they just hadn’t deemed the outer world worth noticing. It was a skill Tenn wished he could employ, especially right now.

“Oh, look,” Caius said. “God must have been on a break today, friends. He let the queer live.”

Jarrett grunted under his breath and said nothing, but his hand tightened on Tenn’s arm, anyway.

“It’s not worth it,” Jarrett said, dragging him on.

Tenn made sure to kick over a God Still Hates Fags poster on the way.

Behind Caius was a reinforced building that Tenn figured was the guild. The place looked like a multistory gym, though the windows were sealed and the street in front was covered in metal spikes. The only people who walked in and out were clearly Hunters—not many others wore all black and carried medieval weapons. They made their way past the blockades. Jarrett still hadn’t let go of Tenn’s arm. Dreya and Devon walked side by side, silent and smooth as ghosts.

Inside, the lobby still held the smell of a gym—the hint of bleach, the tang of rubber, the aftertaste of sweat. It felt strange walking in, dressed in leather coats and scuffed boots when, not four years ago, the place would have been crawling with soccer moms in spandex and bodybuilders with protein shakes. Now, the foyer was relatively empty. There was only a single guard behind the front desk. He gave them a perfunctory nod before going back to reading his book.

Jarrett led them through. Tenn still wanted to ask about Silveron, but something in Jarrett’s silence said that it wasn’t the time.

The back hall was flanked by workout rooms. A small group of Hunters was sparring in one room. The other was still filled with free weights and machines. Orbs of flame hovered in the corners, fueled by a Fire mage currently doing handstand push-ups. The light glimmered off metal and iron, everything within surprisingly well-maintained. It didn’t take much to figure out why the place was spotless: boredom didn’t kill, but it meant you were wasting time. If you weren’t fighting or eating or sleeping, you were training whatever way you could. Tenn knew the routine well.

The hall darkened farther in, ending with a set of stairs. The only light came from a few torches guttering along the walls. For being so big, why was there no electricity in this place? Even some of the smaller outposts he’d been in had had power. Some, at least.

“Let us know what you discover,” Dreya said. “We will be in our room.”

Jarrett nodded. Without even glancing at Tenn, the twins walked downstairs. Jarrett and Tenn watched them go.

“Well,” Jarrett said. “I guess I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” He’d spent the last few years living in communal barracks. The idea of having his own room...that wasn’t a notion he’d harbored since before leaving for Silveron.

“Yeah. Unless you want to share.” Jarrett winked at him, then continued on down the hall.

“Why are you doing that?” Tenn asked as he followed. He wasn’t certain where the words came from. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of the last few days—he was tired of feeling like he was being played with.

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me.” Despite the initial confidence, his words died into nearly a whisper. He expected Jarrett to laugh. Or to say he hadn’t been.

“Because you’re cute,” Jarrett replied. “In a quiet, emo sort of way.”

Tenn immediately regretted asking. Not because he didn’t like the honesty, but because it had been years since he’d even considered hitting on someone, let alone having them do it back. He felt the blush rising back on his cheeks. Not just because of what Jarrett said—something in the forwardness reminded him way too much of Tomás.

“Who are you?” Tenn asked. He had to stay on the offensive. Couldn’t let himself start asking the questions he hadn’t let himself consider in years.

“I’m Jarrett Townsend, captain commander—”

“Who are you really? I never met anyone named Jarrett. Not at Silveron.”

Jarrett paused and studied him for a moment. They were only inches apart. The way his eyes seemed to bore into him... Tenn’s heart couldn’t beat any faster if it tried.

“Before the Resurrection...” Jarrett sighed and looked away. “Before all that shit, before I became this—” he gestured at himself, still not catching Tenn’s eye “—before either of us were what we are...you were called Jeremy. And I was Kevin.”

Tenn gasped at hearing his old name. And Kevin...he remembered that name. He couldn’t forget it.

Jarrett smiled at his shock.

“Yeah. I hit on you once before—I’m glad you seem to remember. Surprise.”