Martyr (19 page)

The cave was vast. It stretched out before him in a seemingly endless expanse, lit only by dozens of enormous white pearls that rested atop stalagmites. The light was as dim and dusty as the room behind him, the air just as cold. Fog swirled amongst the columns, glowing grey in the light, eddying around mounds of stone. He couldn't tell where the voices were coming from. Before he could step forward and investigate, someone stepped from the mist at his side. Another Priest.

“You must be Tenn,” the man said. He was older, with a greying beard and thinning hair. His robes were as dark as the shadows pooling at the cave's edge.

Tenn nodded.

“Very good. The Prophets have been waiting for you. They are quite…eager.”

Tenn opened his mouth to ask where the Prophets were, but then a patch of fog before him cleared, briefly, and he realized that the mounds weren't actually rocks. They were moving. Shivering.

“Are those—?” he gasped.

“People?” asked the man. “Yes. They are the Prophets. And they wish to speak with you. Come.”

The man gently guided Tenn through the maze of columns and quivering heaps. Tenn wasn't able to make out the shapes right at his feet, the fog was so thick. But now that they were deeper in, there was no mistaking it—the huddles of rags on the ground were precisely where the voices came from. Other Priests wandered through the cave. Tenn assumed they were some sort of caretakers, seeing as the Prophets themselves didn't look to be in any state of self-preservation. What the hell had happened to them?

“Maya is a perilous Sphere,” his guide said, as though he could read Tenn's thoughts. “We dedicate our lives to seeking its depths, but sometimes—many times—the road is too dangerous. The mind is unfit or the soul not worthy. Maya casts them out.”

“And these—”

“These are the ones who were not suitable vessels. Yet somehow, for reasons we cannot comprehend, they are still open to Maya, to the language of the gods themselves. Most of the time, that language is indecipherable. It is our job to sift the truth from their words.”

They came to a person huddled beside one of the pearl-topped pillars. The figure was no more discernible than the next, but Tenn's guide halted and knelt.

“Hazel?” he whispered. The pile flinched at the name. “Hazel, there's someone here to see you.”

The mass of rags gave a jerk, and then Tenn was looking into the eyes of a woman. A girl. Her face was young, yet lined, and pale as ash. Her hair had gone a silvery blonde, and her eyes…her eyes were white as snow, flecked with purple stars. Although he could have sworn he'd never seen her before, that face was frighteningly familiar.

“It's you,” she whispered. She reached out a bony hand, then drew it back. “You. You. I've waited so long. To see you.” She examined her fingertips as though they were burned. “I knew you would come. I saw you come. And now you are here.” She peered back at him, her eyes narrowing. “But you are not here. Not entirely here. You have lost someone. Lost yourself.”

The words twisted Tenn's heart. Of course she knew about Jarrett. How would she not?

“You are not complete,” she said. Anger tinged her voice. “Not complete. You must be complete.” She jerked her head to the right, speaking into the fog. “He must find it. Find his half. He must be complete.” She began muttering to herself.

“Tell us what you have seen, Hazel,” the Priest said. He didn't touch the woman as he spoke, but he didn't move from his crouch beside her. Tenn shivered.

“Blood,” she whispered. “Blood and fire. So much fire. And death. Ravens flock to your call.”

Her hand snapped out like a snake, catching Tenn's coat and pulling him close. The glaze was gone from her blind eyes. When she spoke, her words were deep and dangerously lucid.

“You are more than you know. The dead gods will speak through you, and your voice will change the world. You burn bright, so bright, and that flame will rend us apart and make us whole. Your fire can burn away the darkness. But the Dark Lady watches you. She will take your flame and twist it to night. She will own you. And when She does, She will burn the world with your hands.”

She brought him closer, whispered into his ear.

“You are the only one. When you are whole. You are the only one who can save us.”

And then, the other Prophets began to speak.

“Save us,” they said, their voices perfectly in unison, a timbre that echoed through his bones. “Save us, Tenn.” Hazel released him, and he stood hurriedly. But not before catching the final words to leave her lips—“Save us from ourselves.”

19

The
Prophet went silent after that, curling into herself and mumbling to the shadows. The fog seemed to pool around her like the rags she wore. By the time Tenn stood, she was barely discernible through the gloom.

He opened his mouth to ask more—there were so many questions, so many demands curled on his tongue—but his guide led him away from the woman and toward the door before he could speak. It wasn't just the clarification he was after.

He couldn't see how that was worth Jarrett's death.

By the time the old man opened the door for him and gestured him out into the room of purple light and fog, Tenn came to the conclusion that the Prophet's words hadn't actually meant anything. They were the mumblings of a madwoman. Hell, his entire system was run and ordered by the Prophets. Hunters moved and fought and died under the Prophets' command. What would his comrades do if they knew just who was giving the orders?

To her credit, Erin didn't ask him about the prophecy. Instead, she gave him a small nod and asked simply, “Which Prophet gave you your wisdom?”

He opened his mouth to speak Hazel's name—once more wondering why she seemed so familiar—but found the word got caught in his throat.

“Good,” she said. “Let us meet with your friends.”

They wandered back up the spiral staircase and out into the warm, tropical world, Erin a half-step ahead. She didn't speak and neither did he. He swore off the entire encounter with the Prophet as some strange hallucination on her part, but her words still echoed whenever he let his thoughts cease—
You are not complete. The Dark Lady watches you
. She seemed to be right on those counts at least.

“What was that?” Tenn finally asked. They were walking down the hall flanked by rainforest, birds of all colors fluttering through the branches. “The Prophets. What she said. What the hell was that?”

She paused and looked at him. “I do not understand the question.”

Tenn sighed. Emotions were a storm within him—hurt and loss over Jarrett's death, rage toward Matthias, hatred toward Tomás. All of it clashed, but right now, overriding it all, was a sense of hopelessness. He hadn't realized how much he'd hoped the Prophet would say something, anything, to make sense of all of this. But Hazel had given him nothing but garbage. He doubted Erin would give him anything more concrete, but he wasn't going to leave here without trying.

“A week ago, I was sent out into the field to fend off an attack. There were other guilds that could have sent troops, but the Prophets demanded us. And while we were out there, I was…targeted. By a necromancer, by the Kin. The Prophets sent me out there to die. And now they're telling me I could either destroy the world or fix it. What the hell does it all mean?”

Erin bit her lip and looked out into the trees.

“I cannot say, for I truly do not know. Perhaps you were not sent out there to die. Perhaps it was a trigger for something greater. In going, you set something larger in motion.”

“But what?” Tenn asked. “Why? So many people have died. Because of that. Because of me. Why?”

“Because you are important,” Erin said. She looked to him again. “History is filled with women and men who changed the course of the world. You are amongst them now. For better or worse, you will change everything. The how and why are yours alone to decide.”

Tenn dropped his eyes, and she put her hand on his shoulder.

“His death won't be in vain, Tenn,” she whispered. Her words shredded at his heart. “It cannot be remedied, but it can be avenged. Just make sure that, when you fight, fight for the world you want to create and not the one you fear to inhabit.”

Then, before he could say anything else, she let go of his shoulder and resumed walking. He followed. She didn't say anything else until she stopped outside his door.

“You are welcome to stay as long as you need. You and your companions. You are safe here. You can rest. There will be attendants on hand should you need anything. When you are ready to leave, simply ask.”

She turned to go, then hesitated. She looked back.

“And, Tenn…I truly am sorry. I will live with the weight of your boyfriend's death. I accept that burden. But I wish I could negate your pain. If there was a way, I would.”

She walked off, leaving him speechless.

After she vanished around the curve of the hall, he took a deep breath and steadied his thoughts. Seeing the twins again would just push the inevitable reality home—he had to continue on the mission. He had to keep pushing forward. The fire of revenge guttered inside of him. He doubted that it would fuel him much longer. Especially not when the cold reality hit.

He pushed open the door and expected the worst.

What he didn't expect was Dreya rushing over and wrapping her arms around him. Devon wasn't too far behind. Tenn stood there awkwardly, arms out to the sides while the twins squeezed him tight.

“I am so sorry, Tenn,” Dreya said. Her voice was tight, like she had been crying. “I am so, so sorry.”

Devon said nothing, but his grip around Tenn's back tightened.

“It's…it's okay,” Tenn said . He patted the back of Dreya's head. Her hair was fine and soft as silk.

“It's not,” she said into his chest.

He didn't have anything to say. Of course it wasn't okay. Nothing was okay. His boyfriend was dead, and every single nightmare creature out there had a mark on
his
head. Not to mention the fact that he was apparently fated to doom the world. Things were about as far from okay as was humanly possible, even in today's fucked-up world. He rested his chin on the top of Dreya's head and tried to stay standing. The sheer weight of it made him want to laugh.

For a while they just stood like that, none of them speaking, none of them crying. Finally, the twins untangled themselves from him and stepped back. Devon walked over to the bed and sat down, but Dreya remained standing there, looking into his eyes. The whites of her eyes were tinged red. She'd definitely been crying. And she would definitely never admit it.

“What now?” Dreya asked.

“What do you mean?” Tenn replied. His world was spinning, spinning, and he had no way of finding solid ground.
You are missing your other half. You are missing your other half
.

Apparently the Prophets didn't know his other half was dead.

To his surprise, it wasn't Dreya that answered, but Devon.

“You are commander now,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual. “You must decide where we go. What we do.”

Tenn shook his head. The action made him dizzy, so he made his way over to the bed and slumped down.

“I'm no commander,” he said.

Dreya was by his side in a moment. “But you are,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. She looked to her brother, then back to him. “Jarrett told us, before…before we left on this mission that if anything were to happen to him, it would be you who took his command.”

“I'm not Jarrett,” he said.
Jarrett was confident and charismatic and…
He looked to the twins. “I don't know what to do.”

And that was the truth. His love was gone and he was being hunted, and all the while, they were supposed to find some mythical new magic to defeat the undead army. All he wanted was revenge. Or death. He would take either. Though, when he imagined Jarrett's last look, when he remembered Matthias's taunts, revenge gained the upper hand.

Dreya hesitated a moment before speaking.

“Then might I make a suggestion?”

Tenn looked at her, his face blank.

“This is the first place we have been that is safe,” she said. He wasn't about to correct her. “They have provided us food and lodging and have promised to return us to…to where we were, whenever we are ready.”

“So let's go,” Tenn said. “Before Matthias gets any further. Let's kill him.”

He started to push himself from the bed, but he could barely muster the strength. The house flashed through his mind, the blizzard and firestorm that had nearly swallowed them whole. The storm that had swallowed one of them whole… Water surged in his gut at the sudden image, but he shoved it back down with all his might. Now was not the time for weakness.

Dreya shook her head. “That decision is too hasty. We are too weak.” She looked at her brother. “The magic we used has drained us. We still have not recovered from our previous mission.”

“I can't just sit around while he gets away,” Tenn said.

Dreya sighed. “I know you desire revenge. We do as well. But you are commander and that means you must think these actions through. If we return now, we may very well be walking into a trap. One we are not strong enough to break free from. If you truly wish to avenge Jarrett, you must do so at the peak of your power. Otherwise, you will die, and all he did will be in vain.”

Tenn looked to Devon, who nodded. Dreya was right. The last thing he wanted to do was sit here and wait, but if they left right now… Jarrett had given up his life to see them safe. Tenn could give up a night.

“Okay,” he said. “We'll stay. Just for the night, though.”

“As you command,” she said.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Devon opened it, and in came another black-robed Priest, this one pushing a cart laden with silver domes and pitchers.