Martyr (7 page)

The four of them raced beneath the waves of the lake. It wasn't the first time Tenn had traveled this way, but it was the first time he hadn't done it on his own accord. He struggled against Dreya's fingers as she pulled him along. Magic wrapped around them, pushing them through the water at breakneck speed. Tenn's lungs burned as they rocketed away from the shore, heading deeper and deeper into the depths of the lake, far out of Matthias's sight. He couldn't see anything, couldn't tell how deep they were diving. Dreya's hands were a vise. The water around him was heavy as a grave.

When he couldn't take anymore, he took a frantic breath. Air filled his lungs. He didn't even have room to be surprised.

Every second that sped by, he expected the dark water to erupt into flame, expected Matthias to drop down into the depths and kill them. Every second and Water churned Katherine's shocked face in his mind as flames burst from her pores. The ash still seemed to cling to his lungs. Her image stuttered like a broken movie reel, shadowed by the flares in the fog, the silhouettes of his comrades as they fought against Matthias. As they died for him…

He struggled again against Dreya's grip. He had to get back. He couldn't let them sacrifice themselves. Not like this. Not for him.

Dreya's nails dug in deep. Even though he couldn't see it, he knew his blood trailed in the water from where they cut his flesh.

Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes ebbed to hours. Tenn lost track of how long they fled, and the depths gave no hint of the time. There was nothing to distract him from the memories, from the smell of his comrades' burning flesh. Nothing to distract him as Water regurgitated the battle scenes, meshed them with all the horrors of his childhood he struggled to hide from. Katherine, burning in his room, all that blood staining the blue walls red…

It might have been his imagination, but the water seemed to grow lighter. The sun must have been rising, but they were still so deep he couldn't see more than a tinge to the black.

They changed course. Dreya dragged him another direction, and in seconds, they plunged into the air. Only a few moments of weightlessness, the shock of light after so much dark, and then they landed on top of a crumbling concrete slab. For a while they just lay there, staring at the pale-blue sky and listening to the crash of waves. Every bone in Tenn's body ached from the awkward landing, but he didn't open to Earth. He wanted to feel the pain. After everything that had just been sacrificed for him, it was the least he could do.

Finally, before he could get too deep in his own regrets, he pushed himself to standing. The twins and Jarrett were already up and standing farther off, none of them speaking.

The morning was cold and clear, the sun streaking across the horizon. No land in sight. Just sparkling waves and, rising from the surf, what looked like broken pillars. Things clicked with a disgusting snap. He knew precisely where they were. This was all that was left of Chicago.

Tenn wanted to scream at them, wanted to run back to the comrades who were more than likely already dead. But he couldn't move. He couldn't speak. He was hollowed and raw. Jarrett was shaking—it took Tenn a moment to realize it wasn't from the cold. Jarrett's eyes were tight, and he gripped the railing with white knuckles, looking out at the ruins of this once-thriving city, before the lake had swallowed it whole.

The silence didn't last forever. Dreya turned to Jarrett, her hands clenched into fists.

“What have you gotten us into?” she whispered.

There was a weight to her question, an undercurrent laden with power:
why were we sent out here, why was that man looking for Tenn, what did our comrades die for?
Those, Tenn knew, were the other questions laced through her words. He tried not to shrink back. He tried to ignore the heaviness settling on his shoulders.

Jarrett looked down at his hands. His sword was gone, and it was only then that Tenn realized he'd lost his own staff somewhere in the melee.

“I honestly don't know,” Jarrett whispered. He took a deep, staggered breath. “You know everything I do.”

Tenn knew Jarrett more than anyone else. He knew Jarrett's tells. So he noticed the slight waver in Jarrett's voice, the quick flick of his eyes while answering.

Jarrett was lying. But about what?

Dreya turned to Tenn.

“What do you have to do with all of this? Why are they looking for you?”

He shook his head. “I…I don't know. I swear.” He felt like curling in on himself. If it would have done anything, he would have thrown himself back into the waves.

“They died for you—” Dreya began, but Jarrett cut her off.

“That's enough.” He walked over and stood between her and Tenn. “This isn't his fault. He's just as confused as the rest of us.”

“Then why—” she said, but this time Tenn spoke up.

“I didn't ask you to save me!” he yelled. He pushed Jarrett aside. Rage and agony swam in his chest. Every blink, he saw them burning. Every beat of his heart was a reminder that they'd died for him. And he knew, deep down, he wasn't worth dying for. “This is your fault,” he said, pointing at Dreya. “If you'd have let me, if you wouldn't have held me back, I could have…”

“What, Tenn?” she asked. “Given yourself up?” She shook her head. “Are you so foolish as to believe Matthias would have let us go? No. He is not the type for mercy.” She looked back to her brother, who stood a little ways off, watching them in silence. Devon's eyes were carefully guarded, though Fire flickered on and off in his chest, as though he were struggling against it. “We have heard of him, this Matthias.” Her voice grew darker. “He has razed a hundred cities. He is Leanna's hound. Where he goes, death follows. He would not have let us escape so easily.”

“So what do we do now?” Tenn asked. Now that the anger had left him, he felt small. Like the whole world could crash on his shoulders and he wouldn't care at all.

“It's obvious he's after you,” Jarrett said, “and he won't stop until he finds you.”

“So I should give myself up,” Tenn said.

“No,” Jarrett replied. He stepped behind Tenn and wrapped his arms tight around his stomach. The movement wasn't just loving; it was protective. Jarrett's arms were strong, holding Tenn in place, keeping him from falling deeper into Water's clutches. “We need to head back to base, see if the Prophets know anything about this.” He paused and looked to Dreya. “Are you fine getting us back?”

She nodded. Tenn's stomach was in a twist. Of course the Prophets knew about this. They'd sent Tenn out here as bait. But he couldn't voice that, not yet. Not until he knew
why
. Before this, he'd been nothing—just a soldier, just fodder. What had changed?

“Then let's go,” Jarrett said, cutting Tenn's thoughts short. “Before Matthias finds us.”

The twins walked over to the edge of the platform and Tenn made to step toward them, but Jarrett held him back.

“I'm not going to let Leanna get you,” he whispered. “I swear on my life, I will do everything I can to keep you safe.”

And that
, Tenn thought,
is the problem. Your life is worth more than mine
.

They walked over to the twins, hand in hand. Dreya grasped his shoulder. When her power flooded around him, they jumped back into the waves.

6

It
was late afternoon by the time they reached the shores of Outer Chicago. Water lapped at the highway stretched before them, slowly eating at the asphalt, turning it to sand and stone. Grey clouds streaked through the slate-blue sky, and the horizon was heavy with the promise of rain. Dreya used her magic to pull the water from their clothes, but the bite of the air still cut deep. Tenn glanced up into the sky. December and still no snow.

None of them spoke as they made their way through the abandoned streets. The air was still and perfectly silent. After the roar of battle and water in his ears, the hush made Tenn's head ring, like stepping from a crowded school dance into the night air. Yards were overgrown and browned, tumbled with old clothes and mangled bikes and toys bleached white in the sun. No bones. It'd been two years since Tenn had come to Outer Chicago. Even then, the surrounding city was clear of corpses. He'd never thought it appropriate to ask if that was because of Howls or Hunters.

They rounded a corner and faced a rough, black earthen wall that rose straight out of the street, cutting houses in two and stretching four stories above the pavement. Great metal spikes stuck out from the highest ramparts, all angled down to impale anything trying to climb over. And those were just the physical defenses. Tenn could feel the magic running through the place, the traps and snares of fire and ice that were just waiting to be triggered. When the four approached, Jarrett called out in a loud, clear voice.

“I am Jarrett Townsend, commander of Troop Omega, requesting permission to enter.”

Something shifted on the high wall. A figure peered over the top.

“Are you clean?” the guard called.

As one, they opened to their Spheres. Tenn only opened to Earth; he couldn't bear the thought of Water gaining hold. Magic was proof enough that none of them had been turned into Howls.
Although apparently the Kin could slip by without a problem
, Tenn thought. He suppressed a shiver. The guard disappeared from sight and moments later, a chunk of the wall in front of them shivered. Like the waves of a mirage, the stone faded from sight, revealing a large door of rusted steel and heavy girders. With a shrill scream and rumble of machinery, it slid aside.

They slipped through before the entrance was fully opened. The guard gave them a quick nod before turning the great wheel that closed the gate behind them. Tenn caught Jarrett taking a deep, steadying breath before he led them deeper into the heart of one of humanity's last semblances of civilization.

In stark contrast to outside, the town within the stronghold's walls was packed and thriving. And disgusting. Laundry stretched across the streets on useless power lines, the houses cramped and the stench of humanity overpowering. People milled about wearing whatever they retained from their old lives—tattered suits and dresses, jeans and T-shirts and sweaters. Carts and wagons lined the sidewalks, laden with rotted fruit and bread and other pitiful crops. It looked like a Renaissance Faire crammed into a city street, only no one here was laughing or getting drunk. And there was a hell of a lot more shit in the gutters.

Years ago, Tenn would have expected a hero's welcome, but no one looked them in the eye. They all kept their eyes down and skittered to the side like the mice they'd become. It was evident in the hunched backs, the nervous twitches—the Resurrection had broken them. It made Tenn's blood boil. These people knew what Tenn and his companions were—the black coats, the weary faces, the battle scars—but that didn't grant them any friendliness. To the populace, the Hunters weren't necessarily saviors. Hunters used magic, and everyone knew that magic was the reason the cities had fallen.

It didn't matter that he'd just watched a dozen men and women die to protect these people.

To the residents of this and every other town, the protectors were barely better than the beasts outside.

They trudged down the street, skirting vendors selling the last of the season's crops and children playing in the gutters. Filth piled on every corner. There was a city council designed to take care of things like this—sanitation, food management, all of that—so the Hunters could do what they did best—defend. In theory. In practice, without the hope of things getting better, no one really gave a shit. Somehow, even that was blamed on the Hunters' Guild. And its leader, Cassandra.

Tenn gritted his teeth before they rounded the final corner leading to the guild headquarters. He knew what they were going to find before the mob even came into view.

Caius stood on his usual pedestal in the center of the street, conveniently in front of the only entrance to the guild. The building loomed up behind him like a reinforced fitness center—which was, in truth, precisely what it was. Caius was in his late forties with greying hair, a potbelly, and a venomous tongue. He wore a faded three-piece suit with patches on the elbows, his messy hair unsuccessfully slicked back with grease. Despite his ragged appearance, he still had a crowd. They hovered around him, his sheep, his starving cattle. Tenn was surprised he'd never caught them moo-ing.

Whatever rant or sermon Caius had been on cut short when they rounded the corner. He sneered over at them, causing more than one head to turn. Tenn clenched his teeth harder and shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't know how the others managed to stay calm around the man. He didn't trust himself to speak. Hunters were expressly forbidden from killing the innocents.

“So the child army returns,” Caius said. He had the voice of a man who used to smoke a pack or twelve a day.
The child army—
that's what they were to these people. It wasn't Tenn's fault most of the elderly had been killed off, that only young teens could successfully be attuned to the Spheres and fight back. It wasn't his fault, but like so many things, no one really cared about that. “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. As usual, the twins 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 queers live.”

Tenn turned and made to say something, anything—Water raged in his gut, told him to surrender, to let the bloodlust sing—but Jarrett's grip was firm. He dragged Tenn away.