Martyr (25 page)

“And you must be Tenn.”

He opened his mouth, then paused.

“How do you know my name?”

The woman winked and smiled. She couldn't have been older than forty, but something about the glow in her eyes gave her an agelessness he couldn't place.

“I know much about you, young Hunter. The spirits have spoken highly of you and your travels.” She squeezed his shoulders. “But forgive me, I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Rhiannon. I'm the Mother of our clan. It is a great pleasure to meet you, all of you. We have been waiting a long time.”

She stepped back and regarded the twins as well.

“What do you mean you've been waiting for us?” Tenn asked. That was impossible.
He
hadn't even known where they were going this morning.

Rhiannon just smiled again and went back over to the pot. She grabbed a ladle from the counter and began doling out soup into bowls.

“You ask many questions, Tenn, but I'm afraid they aren't the right ones. At least, not for the moment.” She handed a bowl to him with a smile.

“Then what
is
the right question?” he asked. He couldn't keep the bite out of his words. Dreya noticed. She shot him a glare.

“If we can help you in your quest, of course.” She leaned back against the sink and nodded to the bowls in their hands. “Eat up before it gets cold. I suspect it's been a while since you've had a home-cooked meal.”

The girl at the table slid to the side, allowing them space to sit and eat. Tenn couldn't help but notice that both of the twins were unusually silent. Well, Devon wasn't a surprise, but Dreya looked like she was waiting to get thrown out into the night. Both of them had that frightened air to them, as though they anticipated the worst. How they expected anything like that from Rhiannon was beyond him; she seemed like the pacifistic hippie sort. Then he remembered the conversation back at the guild, when the twins swore they could never return to the Witches.

What had they done to incur the wrath of someone so kind? Or was Rhiannon hiding a darker secret?

“Now,” she said. “We know you are here to learn about the runes. The spirits have told us of your quest, and we know what rides on your shoulders. We will aid as we can.”

Even though she was saying precisely what he'd hoped to hear, Tenn's appetite faded with every word. How many people knew about him? And, worse, did any know of his secrets?

“So you'll teach us—” he began, but she waved him off.

“You are too hasty,” she said. “What do you know of the runes?”

Tenn glanced at the twins, since they were the ones who seemed to know more than anyone, but Dreya kept silent. She hid behind her hair, spinning her spoon idly in her soup.

“Not much,” Tenn said. Seriously, what was going on with those two?

“As I thought,” Rhiannon said. “The runes are a language. They were discovered years ago in cultures all across the world. The Celts had their Ogham, the Norse their Futhark. Back then, it was known by all that words had power. But these words, they weren't just the words of the people. These were the words of the gods they served. In time, the languages were fragmented or diluted to common speech. The truth behind the runes—the power—was lost. But that doesn't mean the gods stopped talking. We just stopped knowing how to listen.”

Tenn held up a hand. He'd heard and seen more than enough crazy shit in his lifetime to accept a great many things as possibility. But this?

“So, wait,” he said, “you're telling me that the runes are—what? The language of the gods?”

Rhiannon nodded.

An image of Dmitri shot across his vision, the sear of pain as Helena scribed runes into his skin.

“But the necromancers…”

“Serve a darker god,” Rhiannon said, her voice lowering. “They have tainted the sacred language, turned it against the very fabric of creation.”

“The Dark Lady,” he said.

“Yes,” Rhiannon said. She pushed herself away from the counter and walked over to them, sidling onto the bench next to Devon. He seemed to shrink away from her. And Dreya had glared at
him
for being rude. But if Rhiannon noticed, she didn't acknowledge it. “The Dark Lady was human once. But She wrapped Herself up in the words of gods that were best left forgotten. That knowledge changed Her into something more.”

“But She's dead,” Tenn said. “She died after creating the Kin. The Church killed Her—She's just a myth.”

“You can't kill a god, Tenn,” Rhiannon said. She shook her head. “Listen to me. Such dark talk on a night that should be merry! You've come a long way to find us, the least we can do is speak of lighter things.”

“I don't have time for lighter things,” Tenn said. He hadn't meant for it to sound so harsh, but the words left his lips before he could stop them.

Rhiannon's smile slipped.

“I know,” she said. She looked him straight in the eye. Her hazel irises bored into his. “You have lost so much in this journey. I wish I could take that pain away.”

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to fall back into despair. He had to fight. If he let go, let Water take over even for an instant…

“What can you tell us about the runes?” he asked. The sooner he got what they were looking for, the sooner he could track down and kill the bastard that did this to him. He didn't have time for pity. Water was more than enough reminder of what he had lost. The trouble was, he wasn't entirely certain what they
were
looking for, only that the Witches were the ones with the answers. He hoped.

Rhiannon sighed.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “It is far too late to begin your studies. Besides, our translator is out in the woods right now, checking our defenses. You three have brought quite an army our way. We must ensure our lines hold up.”

“Sorry,” Tenn said.

She reached out and patted his hand.

“Never apologize for being hunted,” she said. “We have been on the lookout ever since we settled here last summer. The sept nearby has been very active of late. Inquisitors roaming the woods, children missing… These are dark days.”

“Inquisitors? Why would you put yourselves in danger by moving here?” he asked, but she shook her head. She glanced over to the girl. The look was obvious.
Not in front of her
.

“Because the spirits told us this is where we would find you. Among other things.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “I'm sure you are tired, but I'm afraid we have no room in our trailers for guests. We have constructed a tent outside beside the fire. It should offer adequate shelter.”

“It's more than enough,” Tenn said. He looked at the twins, who were still staring at their bowls of soup. Neither had tasted a drop. “Thank you for the hospitality.”

“Of course, Tenn,” she said. “In the morning, you'll find the answers you seek. Gabriela, if you could please show them to their tent?”

“Gladly, mother,” the girl said. She slid from the booth. “If you please?”

Tenn nodded and stood, the twins only a beat behind.

“Thank you again,” he said as Gabriela led them from the trailer.

“It is we who should be thanking you, Tenn,” Rhiannon said. She watched them leave from the doorway.

He wanted to ask her what she meant.

But the majority of him didn't want to know.

The tent was small and pockmarked with tiny holes, but with the bonfire only a few feet away, it made for a relatively comfortable setup. Dreya pulled the extra blankets from her pack and settled them on the ground, hunching under the tent's roof. It would be tight sleeping together, but at least it would be warm.

“No watch tonight,” Tenn said. “Everyone sleeps.”

“I thought you didn't trust their defenses,” Dreya said.

“I don't,” he said. “But it's been a long day. I don't think any of us can afford to lose sleep.”

Admit it. You just don't want to be alone in case Tomás comes back
.

You're assuming he's left
.

He tried to push the thought away, but suddenly it was all-consuming. Every time he blinked, he saw Tomás, standing in the dark, glowing like a demon. It made Tenn's pulse race. And when he tried to counter the image with Jarrett's, he found it was harder than it should have been. For some reason, it was much, much easier to remember what Tomás looked like, how it felt when he had been inches away. Jarrett was only a memory, and he was fading fast. The thought scared Tenn more than Howls ever had.

Half an hour passed, the three of them sharing the same blankets, trying to share heat. There was no doubt in Tenn's mind that it was going to be impossible to sleep. Not when he knew Matthias's army was circling them barely a mile away, not when he knew for a fact that Tomás was still trailing him. Devon chuckled to himself, and for a moment, Tenn thought maybe he was laughing in his sleep. Then he spoke.

“It's funny,” Devon said, then went silent.

“What is?” Tenn asked a few beats later.

“Everything. Us three. Fighting the Kin. Looking for runes. Like a story.”

Neither Dreya nor Tenn said anything. Devon paused, then spoke again.

“Do you think…do you think we'll have a happy ending?” he asked.

The way he said it was so quiet, so uncertain, it made Tenn want to reassure him. Dreya whispered in the dark before he could speak.

“It is unlikely,” she said. “The only ending we're allowed is death, and even that isn't guaranteed anymore.”

25

Tenn
woke early, but a quick glance around the tent told him he wasn't the first to rise. Devon was missing, though Dreya was still fast asleep.

He slipped from the tent and stood by the edge of the fire, the snow drifting around his ankles in a breeze. It was a clear day, and fresh snow blazed white in the bright morning air. It looked beautiful—frost on the trailer windows, snow against tires and sloping on roofs. No Tomás in the night, no Matthias in his dreams, at least not that he could remember.
A good night
.

Devon sat on the opposite side of the fire pit, his legs crossed and body turned toward the rising sun. Fire flickered in his chest, and sparks danced about like motes of dust, the heat melting a perfect circle around him. A part of Tenn wanted to walk over and try to talk, but he had a feeling that would be a mistake. If meditating was the only thing keeping the rage of Fire in check, Tenn wouldn't do anything to interfere.

The door behind him opened, and Rhiannon stepped out, a thick quilt wrapped around her. She smiled when she saw him, then caught sight of Devon. The smile slipped as she walked up beside Tenn.

“He is deeply hurt,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Tenn replied.

“Do you know why?” she asked.

He shook his head. Even though their voices were muted, they still carried in the thin morning air. If Devon heard them, he didn't show it.

“You hurt as well,” she said. “You, most of all.”

Tenn shrugged. “We all do,” he replied, but his words didn't carry the resoluteness he wanted. He was quickly growing tired of all these people seeing inside his head. Rhiannon shuffled her quilt tighter around her. She smelled like wildflowers.

“I know you don't fully trust us or our beliefs. Not many do. But I have lived long enough to know one thing: pain is what lets us know we are alive. Without it, we are ghosts. Accept it as a gift. It will give you strength. Otherwise, pain will consume you, and then you risk losing sight of what life has granted you.” She looked at her trailer briefly, then went back to staring at the trees. “I'll introduce you to Michael after breakfast. He's quite excited to meet the three the gods have been speaking of.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You, especially. Our Circle is soon. You are welcome to join if you'd like.”

“What's a Circle?” he asked.

She smiled. “You will find out.”

The rest of the community woke up shortly thereafter. The moment the first door cracked open, Devon started and stood, wiping invisible dust off his jeans and walking over to the tent, avoiding Tenn's eyes. Of course, Devon didn't say anything.

Despite the outdoor fires, no one started making breakfast. Instead, they milled about in front of their trailers, not talking, not really starting the day. Devon appeared from the tent with Dreya and stood there, silently trying to avoid the eyes of everyone else. Then Rhiannon walked into her trailer and brought out a large brass bowl. When she returned to Tenn's side, she struck the bowl with a mallet wrapped in leather, creating a low, ringing tone that echoed through the clearing. Immediately, the timbre of the morning changed. Silence grew, and even Tenn felt compelled to stand at attention. Rhiannon stepped forward with the bowl held before her.

“We give thanks,” she said. “Today, we give thanks for warmth and shelter, for food and family. We give thanks for new friends,” she said, glancing at him and the twins, “and we give thanks for old traditions.” She struck the bowl. “We call to the ancient ones, to the spirits of the earth and air, the gods of fire and rain, and pray for guidance as we navigate this new world. We offer our prayers and our lives. Lead us back to balance, and we shall follow willingly.” Another ring.