Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(65)

“How do you know my name?”

“I know much about you, young Hunter. But I’m getting ahead of myself. My name is Rhiannon. I’m the Mother of our clan. And we’ve been waiting for you for quite some time.”

“How could you have been waiting for us?” Tenn asked.

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. Tenn felt like he was stuck in one of those books he’d read as a kid—hanging out with a band of witches in the woods, eating soup in a caravan. Almost like the stories, if not for the dread that settled in his gut and the monsters looming on the horizon.

“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. Even that felt storybook.

“Then what is the right question?” he asked. He couldn’t keep the bite out of his words. Dreya noticed and 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. Mara, if you could make some room.”

Quest. This wasn’t a quest. He’d just lost the guy he’d been falling for and had been dragged through hell. That wasn’t a quest. That was torture. That was life.

The girl at the table, Mara, slid to the side, allowing them space to sit and eat. Tenn couldn’t help but notice that the twins were unusually silent. It didn’t help his nerves.

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

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

The soup caught in his throat, but he swallowed it down. Was it that easy? She would just give them the information like that? Rage filled him, but was quickly suppressed. If they’d gone faster, if they’d gotten here sooner, Jarrett might still be alive. But that was dangerous thinking. There were a dozen things he could have done to save Jarrett, had he known. The first being dying during the Resurrection...

Then another, more bitter thought crossed his mind: if the Witches had shared this knowledge sooner, they could have prevented the deaths of millions.

“You have to teach us—” Tenn 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.

He pulled back his sleeve to reveal his Hunter’s mark.

“I know that the runes connect us to the elements,” he said. He wasn’t about to mention that he could hear them, in a way. “They’re what let us use the Spheres. I know they’re magical. That they can turn people into Howls.”

“In a sense, but not quite,” Rhiannon said. “The runes are an alphabet—they hold no power in themselves. Ages ago, man and the gods communicated freely. As time progressed, the communication turned into a written language. The gods granted mankind words to influence the world, the words the gods used to will creation into being. Because when humanity thrived, so did the gods humanity served. Every culture had its own alphabet and its own words, as the gods were as unique as the culture and land. In time, however, the languages changed. Became diluted. Humans lost sight of the gods and the origin of their words, and as they turned away from the source, the words lost their power. Eventually, magic bled from the words, and only the holiest of mortals were able to tap into the original power. Only a few remembered the original sigils of change. Runes, hieroglyphs, even the words we speak today, were all derived from the lost words of power.

“But the gods never stopped speaking. Years ago, when we learned how to tap into magic again, it was not because we stumbled upon the right symbols by accident. It was because we finally learned how to listen to the gods, and to the language they’d been speaking this entire time. When we use the runes, we tap into their power. We literally speak the language of the gods our Ancestors once served.”

“So these runes,” Tenn muttered, pulling back his sleeve to stare at his arm, “these were spoken by gods?”

Rhiannon nodded. “They are the words of creation. The words of the elements.”

“And 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, 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. She became a vessel for something darker, a power that had been lying in wait.”

“But She’s dead,” Tenn said. “She died after creating the Kin. The Church killed her. Now, She’s just a story.”