Tenn nodded. “I went to school nearby.”
“Silveron?”
Tenn’s heart hitched with the name and Water pulsed with recognition. Too many memories were attached to it. Too many ghosts. He nodded again. He couldn’t get any words out around the pain.
“I did, too.”
Tenn looked to Jarrett, opened his mouth to ask more. How had he not recognized Jarrett? Why hadn’t he said anything earlier? But Jarrett gestured, and around the corner Tenn saw what was left of true human civilization.
A smooth, black-earth wall rose from the street, stretching four stories above the pavement. Its surface glinted in the dull light like obsidian, impossibly slick and impossible to scale. Great metal spikes stuck out from the highest ramparts, all angled down to impale anything dumb enough to try climbing over. It stretched beyond eyesight, cutting through the remains of the suburb in a protective ring.
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 untouched?” the guard called.
As one, the three of them opened to their Spheres. Jarrett glanced at Tenn and quirked an eyebrow; abashed, Tenn opened only to Earth. He didn’t want to risk Water, not after so much use.
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. It slowly parted with a shrill scream and the rumble of machinery.
They slipped through before the entrance fully opened.
“Welcome back, commander,” the guard said. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen, yet she carried a bow and arrow and sword, and her face was crossed with scars. She nodded deferentially to the twins, but when her eyes caught on Tenn, suspicion clouded her face. “You found him?”
Jarrett nodded. Tenn’s stomach lurched; how many people knew him?
“I knew I would,” Jarrett said.
The guard didn’t linger. She was already turning a great gear that slid the entry shut behind them. Apparently, he was worth noticing, but not much beyond that. At least it saved him from answering any questions.
In stark contrast to outside, the town within the stronghold’s walls was packed and thriving, like some modern reinvention of a Renaissance fair. Houses had been converted to apartments. Apartments had been built upon and converted into multilevel units. Laundry stretched from roof to roof, flapping like flags above stalls selling the last of the season’s fruits and vegetables. He inhaled deep. There was even the scent of baked bread. Three years had passed, and with the Resurrection had come the fall of modern man: no more smartphones, no more internet, no more technology. All of it had been rendered useless with the onslaught of magic. But here, in Outer Chicago, humanity actually seemed to be doing more than holding on. It seemed to be crawling forward.
His cheerfulness cut short when he stepped in a pile of crap. He glanced down, nose instantly wrinkling, and wondered if it was human or dog. He hadn’t seen a dog in years.
“Careful where you step,” Jarrett muttered. He didn’t seem amused.
Even though they were surrounded by people, and even though the guard had very clearly known them, no one in the city met their eye. People walked about in a crazy mismatch of fashion: high-end coats and shabby jeans, dresses layered with parkas, piles of jewelry amid rags. Like they’d just raided whatever shops they could, and had been stuck with it ever since. The citizens all milled or argued or hurried past. They talked to each other, but it felt like Tenn and his comrades were invisible.
Someone elbowed him in the side as they rushed past. Tenn started, but Jarrett’s hand was on his shoulder before he could react.
“Don’t bother,” Jarrett said, his voice still a low grumble. He was watching the crowd with outright animosity. “To them, we’re as bad as the Howls. We keep them alive, but we still use the magic that put them here.”
Tenn kept his head down and his eyes peeled after that, feeling the weight of the city press against his shoulders. He’d experienced this before, in smaller communes. Hunters used magic; civilians didn’t. And even though Hunters fought off the Howls and the necromancers, even though Hunters were sworn to defy the servants of the Dark Lady, they were still viewed as the cause of the Resurrection. With so much spite concentrated in one spot, he was surprised there wasn’t a riot.
He wanted to scream at them as his group pushed their way through the crowd. He wanted to yell at them just how many good men and women had died to keep them all safe, the names and faces that would go unmourned, unburied. Worse, he wanted to tell them about the Farms, where unturned humans were kept as cattle, and how much worse their lives could be. But he didn’t. He feared what speaking up would do. There might not be a riot now, but he knew the desire for vengeance like a bad taste in the air.
Water churned in Tenn’s stomach, twisting with guilt and fear. Water wanted to show them all, too. There was so much pain in this city, and it resonated in Tenn’s gut like a minor key. He kept the power forced down. Was it even safe for him to be here? Even without Matthias and the Kin, he could barely trust himself with Water’s urgings. Maybe these people had been right all along...maybe he was a danger.
He glanced at Devon, heard the guy’s words filter through his head. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m even me anymore...
What the hell am I?
The only thing keeping him grounded was Jarrett’s hand on his shoulder. The guy’s grip was strong. Heavy. For an Air user, he had a weight, a presence, that snared all of Tenn’s senses like a sun.
Right before they rounded the block, Jarrett leaned in and whispered into Tenn’s ear, “Whatever you do, don’t kill him. The council looks down on that sort of thing. Even if it’s Caius.”
Chills raced down Tenn’s neck at the feeling of Jarrett’s breath on his skin. It didn’t take him long to figure out what he was talking about.
A man stood on a pedestal in the center of the street. He wore a faded three-piece suit that barely covered his potbelly, his messy gray hair unsuccessfully slicked back with grease. He reminded Tenn of Matthias, albeit much less refined. Despite the man’s ragged appearance, he still had a crowd. It was the only part of the city that didn’t seem to be moving. People crowded around the dais like sheep as he spoke, his words cutting above the din of the city around them.
Whatever rant or sermon he had been on cut short when Tenn and the others rounded the corner. The man sneered over at them from his perch, causing more than one head to turn. Their venom was palpable.
Water seethed.
“So, the child army returns,” the man said. He had the voice of a man who used to smoke a pack or twelve a day.
Adult mages existed, but were rare; for some reason, kids seemed more adept at attuning to and using the Spheres than adults. Although Matthias seemed to be a terrifying exception to the rule. As it was, very few people lived
