Martyr (14 page)

She nodded.

“In a sense. The Witches are tied to the very fabric of the world. They understand the Spheres on a level deeper than most. For them, magic is a religion, a way of life, rather than a tool to kill. They were the first to know of the Spheres, and look what the rest of the world did with their discovery. If they knew what we wished to do with their knowledge of the runes…”

They hit a bump that Tenn prayed wasn't a body. Jarrett snorted himself awake and looked around, eyes immediately wide.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Bump,” Devon replied.

Jarrett opened his mouth like he was going to ask more, then thought better of it.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked instead.

“Just scenery,” Dreya replied. She looked back to him. “It is almost morning. And we are on half a tank.”

Jarrett nodded. “Let's stop soon then. You guys need to sleep, and I don't know how to drive.” He looked to Tenn. “Do you?”

Tenn shook his head. He was supposed to get his license the summer after his first year at Silveron. Like so many things, that had never come to pass.

“That settles it,” Jarrett said. “We'll stop at dawn. Find a strip of cars so we can transfer, get a few hours of sleep. Then we're off again.”

“Where
are
we going?” Tenn asked.

Jarrett said nothing. Devon's hands gripped the wheel tighter. It was Dreya who answered.

“You shall know soon enough.”

Tenn had become used to thwarted plans, so when they stopped by an abandoned traffic jam a little after sunrise, he expected the worst. Jarrett scouted the area with Air while they sat in the parked car, the engine rumbling and the CD still on repeat.

“All clear,” Jarrett said, Air winking out in his throat. Devon turned off the ignition, and the sudden silence was deafening.

“Are you sure this is smart?” Tenn asked.

“There's nothing around for miles,” Jarrett replied. He put an arm around Tenn's shoulder and pulled him close. “I'll take first watch. Gods know I got enough sleep—I forgot how easily driving knocked me out. You guys rest. You need it.”

The twins didn't need any more coaxing. They both reclined their seats and curled onto their sides. Like true warriors used to the road, they were asleep in moments.

“You too, Tenn,” Jarrett said. “You've barely slept at all the last few days.”

“That's life,” Tenn replied. But he didn't argue. Now that the car was stopped, sleep crept in through the edges. He yawned and slid down on the seat, resting his head on Jarrett's lap once more. This time, he didn't pray for slumber; he prayed he wouldn't dream.

13

After
a few more hours of driving in a new SUV, navigating around stopped cars and overturned semis, they passed into Michigan. The sky outside had darkened, gone from grey to pitch-black. Snow covered the roads and countryside, the clouds above promising more, which meant the drive had become tedious. Devon hadn't been able to drive above thirty for at least an hour, and he was going slower with every passing snowflake. Not that Tenn blamed him. Without the sun or moon, the only lights in the world were the twin beams of their car, and even those lights were growing less effective as the snow continued to blanket them. The fact that Devon managed to keep it on the road at all was a small miracle. The flat land began to roll and curve toward the slate-grey heavens, the landscape filling with trees and distant lakes. The sight made Tenn's gut churn with recognition. Water surged, and he tried to push it down, but the past slipped between his fingers…

“Your father and I went to school around here,” Mom said
.

Dad had stayed back home—couldn't get the day off work—so the two of them were driving up to Michigan to check out Silveron. He still couldn't believe his mother had not only agreed to let him apply, but had offered to drive him the eight hours to check it out when he was accepted
.

Even though he wasn't leaving this time, hadn't put in his deposit, he still felt something unraveling in his chest, as though every mile they drove undid the tightly knit life he'd had before this. He stared out the passenger window as the cornfields rolled into evergreen forests and the air stopped smelling like pollution and started to smell, well, green
.

“You're going to love it out here,” she said. She reached over and put a hand on his shoulder
.

“Mom?” he asked
.

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“Do you think I'm making the wrong decision?”

She glanced over at him, then looked back to the road. She didn't take her hand away
.

“I think you're making the best possible decision you can. It'll be hard, but there's nothing back home for you. This is your chance to make something big out of your life. I know you. You'd never forgive yourself if you let it pass by. You're meant for bigger things.”

He sighed
. Bigger things.
He couldn't think of anything bigger than being one of the first students at Silveron, being amongst the first to learn how to use magic. He knew she was right—there wasn't anything back home for him. Even though he was only thirteen, he already felt like he'd seen and done everything his tiny town had to offer. It didn't even have a coffee shop to hang out in
.

Besides, this was his chance to make her proud. That, perhaps, was the most important thing of all
.

With a furious wrench, he pushed Water back down into submission. It seemed to squirm under his fingers. Silveron was still a few hundred miles and five or six hours away, if his memory of road signs was correct, but that didn't calm the memories. The closer they got to that cursed Academy, the more Water wanted out. He gritted his teeth and didn't relax until the Sphere finally died down.

“You okay?” Jarrett asked, stroking his hair.

“Yeah,” Tenn said. “Just…memories.”

Jarrett nodded like he understood, but Tenn knew he didn't. Jarrett's memories weren't tactile things. Water was taking over. Water was making him drown with regret.

“We are going to have to park soon,” Dreya said. “We are nearly out of gas, and the roads are becoming treacherous.”

Jarrett nodded.

“Any towns nearby?”

“Yes.” Air glowed in her throat. “We will come to one in a few minutes. It is deserted.”

“Good. Let's find a place there and settle in for the night. No use being outside in the snow if we don't have to.” He squeezed Tenn. “Besides, I could use a good night's sleep.”

Dreya nodded and turned back to quietly confer with Devon. They pulled off at the next exit and drove into town.

Tenn couldn't see anything in the darkness, so he opened to Earth and pushed his senses out like sonar, figuring out the lay of the land as they drove. The place was small, barely a handful of houses and commercial buildings. Podunk, his mother would have called it. Much like his own hometown.

They pulled to a stop in front of an old farmhouse at the end of a winding drive, the tangled path and fading façade illuminated in the headlights. The house was huge—three stories tall with peeling white siding and large picture windows. A wraparound porch stuck out from the front, complete with broken rocking chairs and a swing.

“This'll work,” Jarrett said. Air glowed in his throat as well, and Tenn had no doubt he was scanning the interior, making sure the place really was as abandoned as expected. The fact that they hadn't run into any wayward Howls was unusual. The cold must have driven them to shelter, whatever that was to the undead, and he couldn't imagine any necromancers traipsing around in this weather.

The first snow
. When Tenn was younger, it would have been cause to run around outside, catching snowflakes on his tongue. He'd outgrown that, though staring at the snow-coated house through the beams of their headlights brought a little bit back. If not for the obvious disrepair, the scene could have been from a greeting card.

Devon killed the engine, and they got out, grabbed their things, and trudged through the snow up to the front door. Devon opened to Fire, and tiny orbs of light appeared around them, hissing whenever a snowflake fell into the glow. The scene was nothing but white and black, and it made Tenn feel like they were in some vintage fairytale film. The front porch creaked under their combined weight, but miraculously, it held.

Jarrett pushed the door open. The air within smelled stale from three years of neglect.

They walked in, Devon shooting lights into every room, upstairs and down, Dreya and Jarrett going off to investigate the kitchen and bedrooms to see what sort of provisions they could scavenge. Tenn opened the door into the dining room.

Two orbs of light hovered up near the crystal chandelier, making everything in the room a pallid greyscale. The air was colder in here, and it took him a moment to realize why. What he had first mistaken for ice on the carpet was actually shards of glass, all glittering like crystal knives. The great picture windows in the far wall were shattered, and a cool breeze filtered in, billowing the long drapes in perfect horror-story undulations. The large oak dining table was a mess of broken plates and scattered cutlery; it looked like someone had left in a hurry. The food, however, had either been eaten by the diners or the ensuing vermin.

Something about the room made Tenn's heart beat a little faster. His fingers shook, and not from the cold. The air in here just felt
wrong
. Like it carried the rawness of an old wound, a scab just peeled back from flesh.

He reached out and trailed his finger along the dust of the table, taking a step toward the glass.

Water uncurled in a wave.

“What the hell is that?” the woman asked. “James, did you hear that?”

There were screams from outside—screams and the sound of gunshots
.

The man looked over at his wife and kids
.

“Stay here,” he said. He pushed himself up from the table and ran to the back room. The woman stood and went over to her two sons, gathering them close. They edged back to the wall, staring out at the darkness beyond the window. The screams were getting louder, but the three of them remained silent. When the man returned, he had a gun in his hand
.

“Get to the basement,” he said. “Quick.”

But something crashed through the window. It wasn't a brick or a bomb, like they had expected. It was a human. He stood slowly, unfolding himself until he towered above them all. Save for his height, there was nothing to distinguish him from anyone else in town. He wore faded jeans and a lime-green flannel. He looked like he was eighteen, with black hair and piercings in his ears and lip, but his blue eyes seemed to glow
.

“Good evening,” he said, glancing at the four of them. His accent was distinctly Southern. The woman covered her children's mouths with her hands, and the husband stood in front of them. As if he could protect them. “I thought I might join you for dinner.”

“Get out,” the husband said. There was still screaming outside. There was no doubt that this boy—this
thing—
was connected to it. “Whatever the hell you are, get out.”

The intruder just grinned
.

“That is
no
way to treat a guest.” He stepped forward
.

The man shot him, the bang ringing through their ears. Blood splattered from the boy's chest and sprayed across the floor in an arc of red. He staggered back, just a step, before looking back up. The smile dropped. The man had raised his children to be decent and God-fearing, but the evil that cracked through the boy's face was a force no faith could puncture. The boy snarled. His eyes glowed brighter as blood dripped down his shirt and pooled on the carpet. The wound was already stitching itself back together. When the boy spoke again, his words seemed to scrape from the pits of Hell
.

“And here I was going to be merciful.”

He took a deep breath
.

The man dropped his gun and reached for his throat, choking and gagging like he'd been dropped into the ocean. His family did the same. The boy stepped over to them, watching them claw at thin air, watching them suffocate on nothing at all. He smiled and leaned down, picking up the smallest kid
.

“I think I deserve dessert first, don't you?” he asked, looking down at the father. He pulled the boy's face close to his and inhaled. The boy's eyes widened and rolled back in his head, his skin paling, turning blue. The moment the boy was dead, the breathless dropped him to the ground and turned to the father
.

“Now, daddy,” he said. “Who dies next?”

“Tenn?” Jarrett asked, shaking him. Tenn didn't respond, and Jarrett slapped the side of Tenn's face. None too gently.

Memories swirled in Tenn's skull as Water slowly released its grip, sloshing back into silence in the pit of his stomach. There was a dull ringing in his ears that sounded far too much like gunshot fallout. He could still hear their screams.