Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(62)

“A sept,” Dreya whispered.

“What the hell is a sept doing this close to the Academy?” Tenn asked, gut in his chest.

The septs were the only other established human communes besides guilds. Septs, however, were created and ruled by the Church, and were formed even before the Resurrection. He had no idea how the places managed to survive the undead hordes, no matter how high their walls. Without the magic they deemed as evil, they should have gone under in the first few weeks. It’s not like they could rely on guns or bombs when a single mage could render them useless. Rumor was that their faith kept them safe, but Tenn had seen enough of faith to know it didn’t keep the monsters from tearing out your bones and sucking them dry while you bled out on the concrete.

Instantly, he thought of Caius. When you know the truth, you’ll have the whole of the Church at your back.

Tenn knew the Church had secrets. But what could they have to do with him?

“If there are any Inquisitors about...” Dreya muttered.

She didn’t have to finish the thought.

Inquisitors stayed true to their ancient charge—wipe out witchcraft in all of its forms, from mages to necromancers, and anyone else they didn’t like.

Tenn had heard enough horror stories of mages tortured by Inquisitors, had seen the bodies after they’d been hung up as examples. He had no clue how the hell Inquisitors were able to capture, let alone torture, mages when they themselves eschewed magic, but if he had to choose between a necromancer and an Inquisitor, he’d pick the necromancer. Necromancers weren’t known for thumbscrews.

“This is bad,” Dreya said. She kept sharing glances with her brother, who was staring at the glow on the horizon with narrowed eyes. Fire twitched on and off in his chest. “If the Witches are nearby... I do not want to think of what may have been done to them.”

She didn’t clarify, and Tenn didn’t ask. He didn’t need to wonder. If the sept was nearby, the Witches would be hunted down. If they were caught, they would be tortured. Just like he and the twins would be if they were found. Suddenly, he felt more exposed than he ever had in his life. If Matthias showed up, it would attract the Church and its Inquisitors. But whose side would they err on? The monsters from hell or those who opened the gateway? Or would they just wait until the battle was over and sweep up the remainders for “saving”?

He didn’t want to find out either way.

Wherever the Witches were, he hoped they were safe. And close.

An hour or so later, the lights now somewhat behind them, Devon led them off the highway and into a field covered in freshly fallen snow. There were no tracks anywhere, not from deer or mice or anything else that might live out in the wilds. Just smooth, unbroken white.

The night air was far too quiet for his liking. Quiet always meant an attack. Always. Every few minutes, Dreya would open to Air and send a gust of wind behind them, effectively obscuring their own tracks. Tenn flinched every time—even that small amount of magic seemed like a beacon in the night. As if the lights that guided them weren’t bad enough. A forest rose, tall and foreboding, on the far end of the field. Devon led them straight toward it.

They stopped near the edge of the trees. Devon stared into the undergrowth, his eyes set in concentration and Air pulsing in his throat.

“Are you sure?” Dreya asked softly.

Devon nodded. Nothing moved within the trees, nothing pulsed with life, not for miles, but Devon seemed dead set in his convictions and, frankly, there was nowhere else to go.

He opened to Fire, and then, before Tenn could say anything to stop him, he sent up a flare. It was like watching stars fall in reverse—tiny motes of light sparked into life around him and shot high into the air, blazing against the gray sky. Devon wove them together, lights streaking like white thread, forming intricate knots high above the tree line. Each was a symbol Tenn couldn’t understand, and each flared bright as a strobe before being replaced by another whirling shape. The field around them flashed white and glaring.

Devon dropped the Sphere a moment later. The night seemed even heavier the moment the magical light vanished.

“What the hell was that?” Tenn hissed.

“It is the signal,” Dreya said. “The Witches must be entreated. One cannot enter their territory without their express invitation.”

Tenn pushed his senses into the forest, but that was still and silent, too. If anyone was living in there, they were miles away and far out of both his magic’s reach and the sight of the flare.

This all seemed insane. And suicidal.

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

“We wait,” Devon said. “And we hope they are still alive.”

It was not the answer he was hoping for. The minutes seemed to stretch on forever. Tenn didn’t let go of Earth, not once, but he didn’t feel anything stirring within the forest. Devon and Dreya were both open to Air, scanning silently, their eyes practically glowing in the darkness. After using so much magic to send up a signal, using the Spheres to scout seemed pale in comparison.

Then a sound broke the air behind them.

A scream. A Howl.

In unison, their attention snapped to the way they’d come.

“They found us,” Tenn whispered. He couldn’t keep the fear from his voice.

“Did you expect anything less?” Dreya asked, her words biting.

“No, but I also didn’t expect to hand out our location on a silver tray, either,” he snapped, glaring at Devon.