Runebinder

Only one thing was certain, and it wasn’t a truth he wanted to think about. The Howls they’d faced weren’t the army his troop had been warned about. It had been a roaming band, one of the thousands scattered throughout the uninhabited swathes of America.

That meant there was still another, bigger fight left.

They reached Outpost 37 before nightfall. Home sweet home. Once, it had probably been some quaint touristy harbor town. Now the scattered houses along its perimeter were empty. Whole lots were charred to piles of ash, while other homes were unscathed save for shattered windows or scratched facades. Lawns entangled forgotten toys, and fences lay like dominoes. Everything had that sick old stench of antiquity, like a sodden vintage store. Even here, though, there were no bodies or bones, no scavenging birds or mice. The Howls were efficient, if only because they were hungry.

Cities were often the emptiest. After all, what was a city to a flesh-craving beast besides a buffet?

It wasn’t just the Howls that had destroyed the town. Necromancers had done their own part, and the Hunters that fought against them probably hadn’t helped. Lake Michigan swallowed half of the buildings, and a small hill erupted through another city block, the houses there toppled and tossed. Much had changed in the chaos of the Resurrection—whole cities burned or buried, mountains collapsed or created. Magic had altered the face of the country in more ways than one.

The world didn’t like being manipulated. At times, it seemed, the very planet fought back.

Katherine said nothing as they trudged through the streets, stepping over rusted bikes and piles of old refuse, dodging craters and overturned cars. Both her swords were clean and bared, and Tenn’s grip on his staff was just as tight as hers. No matter that the rest of their troop was only a hundred yards away—anything could have happened in their absence.

Every time Tenn walked through the base, he was reminded that they hadn’t been stationed here to thrive. Nothing in this shell of a town hinted at humanity—the storefronts were shattered and looted, the houses razed. There was no music, no industry, no trace of civilian life. No real reason to wake up in the morning, save to fight.

Shadows shifted over the rubble, and he jerked his staff to the ready. Then the shape stepped into the road: a small fox, its ribs horribly pronounced with hunger. The creature didn’t flinch as he and Katherine walked past. It watched them intently before finally turning and slinking back into an alley.

When houses gave way to the broad downtown avenue, his nerves calmed. Their hotel rose up from the buildings on the other side, one of the few structures still intact. Uprooted trees stretched like black veins across the concrete. Marble slabs and pillars of other structures tumbled across the road in piles of white bone. Only the hotel stood strong and seemingly deserted, the clean red brick and white marble an anachronism in the destruction surrounding it.

Something moved and Tenn turned on the spot, ready for the attack. A girl in black stepped out from the crumbling post office.

“Audrey,” he said. He lowered his staff.

“Jesus H.,” she said. There were two daggers in her hands, the kris blades glinting like wolves’ teeth. “I thought... We thought you were in trouble. Derrick’s had us on high alert since noon.” She looked between them, and it seemed to click then that Michael was missing. Her voice became a whisper, and her shoulders slumped. “What happened? I’ve never felt that much power. It was like a bomb going off.”

Tenn’s pulse began to race. If the troop had felt their use of magic all the way back here, there was no way the necromancers had missed it. There was no way Derrick would let him live for his insubordination.

“Where’s Derrick?” Tenn asked. The last thing he wanted was to admit what he’d done. Not when he wasn’t certain himself. He didn’t want to face their commander, either, but it would be easier to get it over with than wait in fear.

Audrey nodded to the hotel. “His office,” she said. “He’s meeting with the captains now. Everyone else has been stationed in the field in case...”

“In case we brought anything back,” Katherine finished.

“Yeah.”

“How pissed is he?” Tenn asked.

Audrey gave a small grin, though it was more forced than anything.

“Well, I wouldn’t go near him. Though maybe he’s cooled down by now.”

“Right,” Tenn said.

He’d have rather faced another bloodling.

* * *

Their base was depressing even during good days. Today definitely wasn’t a good day. The rain wasn’t helping.

Outpost 37 hadn’t been built to house civilians, but to act as a buffer between Outer Chicago and the wild lands beyond. Wild lands that were inhabited by necromancers—mages who bowed in service to the Dark Lady, the Goddess of Death—and the Howls they created and controlled. There were other settlements and other outposts scattered across the States, many of which Tenn had bounced between after the Resurrection. Hunters had no say in where they were stationed to fight the forces of the Dark Lady. They went where the battle was. And, frankly, the battle was everywhere.

Outpost 37 was home to him and maybe thirty other Hunters. For now.

These were the trenches. Those stationed here would fight until they died, and their bodies would burn or be tossed in the lake, and a fresh batch of Hunters from Outer Chicago would come in to take their place. Or they were transferred to die in service somewhere else.

Being a Hunter wasn’t glorious. But it did mean you were fighting back, trying to return the world to what it once was, rather than sitting around waiting to be eaten. After everything he’d seen during the Resurrection, joining the Hunters was honestly the only way forward. Revenge was the only reason he could live with himself.

A few Hunters mingled in the hotel lobby. Maybe mingling was the wrong word; they were clearly all waiting for the alarm to sound. Their weapons were at hand, and though a few were reading musty paperbacks and another group was playing cards, there was a tension in the room that belied the apparent ease. Tenn nodded at those who looked up, waiting for them to ask about what had happened in the field. About what he’d done in the field. But they said nothing. Even the new recruits—easy to spot, from the lack of scars and the life in their eyes—knew better. Someone had fucked up, and since Tenn had been in charge of the food-scouting mission, it was on his shoulders no matter what.

He looked down and continued up the emergency stairwell to the top floor.

“What the hell happened out there?”

The words were out of Derrick’s mouth before Tenn closed the door behind him.

Whereas the rest of the encampment was cold and dark, this suite was warm and brilliantly lit, albeit far from welcoming. Flames danced across every surface, fires fueled by magic alone. It should have been beautiful, but it just set Tenn’s hair on end. The Sphere of Fire burned brightly in Derrick’s chest and his eyes darted with agitation. That was never a good sign.

Derrick himself stood behind a grand mahogany desk, its surface coated in papers and maps and weapons. He was tall, commanding, his Mohawked hair burnt-red and his skin traced with scars.

“I didn’t mean to—” Tenn began, but Derrick cut him off.

“What do you mean, you didn’t mean to?” He stepped around the desk, hands clenched tight into fists. Small sparks flickered around his skin. “I felt your fucking magic all the way out here!”

Tenn wasn’t about to point out that none of them should be using magic and that Derrick was betraying his own orders, but he knew that the amount Derrick channeled wasn’t enough to give them away, and, frankly, Tenn didn’t think Derrick would appreciate the reminder.

“We were surrounded,” he said, lowering his eyes. “There were dozens of kravens. We wouldn’t have made it.”

“Then you should have died.”

Derrick’s voice was so terse, so fully void of emotion, that Tenn barely realized it sounded more like a command than anything else. It was a stab in the gut. Water churned over. You should have died, you should have died—your life is worth nothing, and neither is your death.

“I meant to,” he said. His words sounded small. “But Water took over.”

“The Spheres don’t control you. You control the Spheres.”

It was ironic, seeing as Fire users were notorious for the tempers their chosen Sphere gave them. But it was a phrase they’d all learned during training. It might not be true, but the meaning was clear: you didn’t give in. Ever.

“Not this time,” Tenn said. He looked up then, just in time to see something new flicker across Derrick’s features. Fear. “Water took over. It... I don’t know. It killed them. Every last one.”

“You aren’t that powerful,” Derrick said, his voice muted. It wasn’t a dig; it was fact.

Tenn didn’t have anything to say to that.

“I should have you killed for this,” Derrick said. He stood up straighter, as though taking more control of himself and the situation. “You jeopardized the safety of everyone in this troop. Because of you, we have lost the element of surprise.”

This outpost has been here for over a year. We lost that element a long time ago. But Tenn didn’t say that. Of course he didn’t say that. Outposts always changed locations. Keeping one in place had been a new tactic, decided by the higher-ups of Outer Chicago itself. If it was expected that base locations changed, having one stay put would be a surprise to the necromancers and the Howls. So long as it kept a low profile. So long as it wasn’t compromised.

“I’m sorry,” Tenn said.