Runebinder

“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. Tenn had seen those since before the Resurrection, in the scant months between magic becoming mainstream and magic fucking everything up. Hell, the signs still littered the highways, more common than bodies.

Tenn envied the twins; they 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 queer live.”

Jarrett grunted under his breath and said nothing, but his hand tightened on Tenn’s arm, anyway.

“It’s not worth it,” Jarrett said, dragging him on.

Tenn made sure to kick over a God Still Hates Fags poster on the way.

Behind Caius was a reinforced building that Tenn figured was the guild. The place looked like a multistory gym, though the windows were sealed and the street in front was covered in metal spikes. The only people who walked in and out were clearly Hunters—not many others wore all black and carried medieval weapons. They made their way past the blockades. Jarrett still hadn’t let go of Tenn’s arm. Dreya and Devon walked side by side, silent and smooth as ghosts.

Inside, the lobby still held the smell of a gym—the hint of bleach, the tang of rubber, the aftertaste of sweat. It felt strange walking in, dressed in leather coats and scuffed boots when, not four years ago, the place would have been crawling with soccer moms in spandex and bodybuilders with protein shakes. Now, the foyer was relatively empty. There was only a single guard behind the front desk. He gave them a perfunctory nod before going back to reading his book.

Jarrett led them through. Tenn still wanted to ask about Silveron, but something in Jarrett’s silence said that it wasn’t the time.

The back hall was flanked by workout rooms. A small group of Hunters was sparring in one room. The other was still filled with free weights and machines. Orbs of flame hovered in the corners, fueled by a Fire mage currently doing handstand push-ups. The light glimmered off metal and iron, everything within surprisingly well-maintained. It didn’t take much to figure out why the place was spotless: boredom didn’t kill, but it meant you were wasting time. If you weren’t fighting or eating or sleeping, you were training whatever way you could. Tenn knew the routine well.

The hall darkened farther in, ending with a set of stairs. The only light came from a few torches guttering along the walls. For being so big, why was there no electricity in this place? Even some of the smaller outposts he’d been in had had power. Some, at least.

“Let us know what you discover,” Dreya said. “We will be in our room.”

Jarrett nodded. Without even glancing at Tenn, the twins walked downstairs. Jarrett and Tenn watched them go.

“Well,” Jarrett said. “I guess I’ll show you to your room.”

“My room?” He’d spent the last few years living in communal barracks. The idea of having his own room...that wasn’t a notion he’d harbored since before leaving for Silveron.

“Yeah. Unless you want to share.” Jarrett winked at him, then continued on down the hall.

“Why are you doing that?” Tenn asked as he followed. He wasn’t certain where the words came from. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of the last few days—he was tired of feeling like he was being played with.

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me.” Despite the initial confidence, his words died into nearly a whisper. He expected Jarrett to laugh. Or to say he hadn’t been.

“Because you’re cute,” Jarrett replied. “In a quiet, emo sort of way.”

Tenn immediately regretted asking. Not because he didn’t like the honesty, but because it had been years since he’d even considered hitting on someone, let alone having them do it back. He felt the blush rising back on his cheeks. Not just because of what Jarrett said—something in the forwardness reminded him way too much of Tomás.

“Who are you?” Tenn asked. He had to stay on the offensive. Couldn’t let himself start asking the questions he hadn’t let himself consider in years.

“I’m Jarrett Townsend, captain commander—”

“Who are you really? I never met anyone named Jarrett. Not at Silveron.”

Jarrett paused and studied him for a moment. They were only inches apart. The way his eyes seemed to bore into him... Tenn’s heart couldn’t beat any faster if it tried.

“Before the Resurrection...” Jarrett sighed and looked away. “Before all that shit, before I became this—” he gestured at himself, still not catching Tenn’s eye “—before either of us were what we are...you were called Jeremy. And I was Kevin.”

Tenn gasped at hearing his old name. And Kevin...he remembered that name. He couldn’t forget it.

Jarrett smiled at his shock.

“Yeah. I hit on you once before—I’m glad you seem to remember. Surprise.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

“YOU... I DON’T...” I haven’t heard those names in years.

Jarrett’s grin didn’t slip, but it took on a darker cast.

“I know,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I thought I recognized you when we met, but I wasn’t sure. But when you said Silveron... Well, we’ve both changed a lot.”

Tenn nodded, thoughts slowly congealing into something he could recognize.

Kevin.

Memories blurred. He’d done so well at hiding the past from himself, he could barely recognize the life that slowly swirled to the surface.

Kevin had been in the year ahead of him. They’d crossed paths a few times. Had taken a world history class together.

Water surged...

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Kevin asks.

Tenn looks up from his homework, his stomach rumbling at the thought.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kevin replies.

Light rain drifts outside the window, blinking in the lantern light like the butterflies awakening in his stomach. Tenn had been able to keep them silent, wrapped up in wars and dates and political figures he knew he’d forget the week after the exam.

His skin tingles as the papers before him flutter and the history book slams shut.

“You’re not supposed to use magic outside the classroom,” Tenn says, but he can’t help the smile that fights its way to his lips as he looks at Kevin. The Sphere of Air swirls light blue and yellow in Kevin’s throat, illuminating the planes of his chin and collarbones. Tenn goes back to packing up his notes. He doesn’t want Kevin to notice his stare, because then he’d clearly know everything that Tenn had been thinking. And wanting.

“I do what I want,” Kevin says. He shoves his own papers sloppily into his bag. “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

Tenn keeps his head turned. Damn it, now he’s blushing. But if Kevin notices, he doesn’t say anything as he pulls on his coat.

They head toward the on-campus café. Tenn glances at Kevin, then opens to Water. It pulls at him, but he’s getting the hang of it. After two months of sitting by the lake in class and trying to manipulate the waves, even this little bit of magic feels like a victory. He focuses, and arcs the rain around them.

Kevin smiles and pats him on the shoulder. Warmth floods through Tenn’s chest.

“See?” Kevin says. “A little magic never hurt anybody.”

Tenn stumbled as Water sloshed off. Jarrett’s hands were there, steadying him, keeping him balanced. But his hands couldn’t force away the memory, the roar of Water in Tenn’s ears, the after-cries of the thousands of other memories that bubbled alongside that one. He’d hoped that leaving the field and the bloodshed would help, but...

When will it stop?

“What was that?” Jarrett asked.

Tenn couldn’t answer at first; he studied Jarrett’s face, compared it to the boy he barely remembered. Three years of fighting and magic had definitely taken their toll—this new incarnation was taller, more muscled, his skin paled by magic and scarred by bloodshed.

“Water,” he finally said. “Sometimes it... Sometimes it dredges up memories.”

Jarrett nodded slowly, studying him, his hands still steadying Tenn’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

Dozens had asked Tenn that over the last few years, normally during or after battle. Never had he actually felt like the other person wanted an honest answer.

“I don’t know anymore,” Tenn replied.

A Hunter walked past them, saluting Jarrett. Jarrett just nodded. His hands didn’t leave Tenn. The fact that he wasn’t hiding this closeness sent another wash of heat through Tenn.

“How did you know it was me?” Tenn asked.

Water and war had changed him, too. He’d watched the transformation in the mirror over the last few years—the new scars, the dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness that never seemed to fade no matter how much he rested or ate. He didn’t think he looked anything like the boy he once was. He sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“You stood out back then,” he said, squeezing Tenn’s shoulders. “And you stand out now.” He actually reached up and brushed the side of Tenn’s face, tracing a scar with the back of his fingers. Tenn nearly collapsed at the softness of that touch. “It takes more than a few scars to hide that.”

Jarrett’s seriousness was replaced with a grin.

“Besides, you’re just as gloomy as you always were.” He took a half step back. “Who’d have thought we’d meet again out here, at the end of the world?”

Tenn shook his head. It was still swimming. His skin burned and tingled from Jarrett’s touch, and he wanted nothing more than to close the space between them, if only to be held, if only to connect to a part of his past that wasn’t covered in blood. A part of his past that suddenly, like a flare of light in the dark, felt like it could beckon toward a different future.

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