Blood Runes: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
“In my blood?” The Patryn tensed, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough of it spilled for one day.”
“Although such crude usage has its purposes, that’s not what I meant,” Zifnab’s dragon explained with a small smile. “I suppose I should have said, ‘bloodline.’ You are a direct descendant of one of the very first of your kind--those who first discovered and mastered the rune magic and broke away from the Sartan. Finding you is unexpected because many were convinced the original Patryn bloodlines had been lost.”
“In that case, you still don’t need me specifically,” the man retorted flippantly. “If you ever make your way to the Nexus, I’ve got a brother.”
“I know,” the dragon said solemnly, exchanging a pointed glance with the dark-haired dragon.
The man gaped at the revelation for a moment before he began to turn away again. “I’ve got to go find my father.”
“He’s the one who sent you here, isn’t he?” The dragon stated with certainty, and though the man would have been unconscious when he was transported, he was likely sure of it, too. “If he came out of whatever battle you just fought even half as bad off as you, it would have taken everything he had left to cast that transport spell. Add in the healing magic...” he didn’t voice the end of that sentence, but there was no way the young man hadn’t come to that very conclusion himself.
“He can’t be dead,” he insisted so quietly Haplo almost didn’t catch it. “I would sense it.”
“Even if he’s not, he sent you away for a reason. Your brother may be in very real danger from a foe the likes of which you’ve likely never seen. We can help you find him faster than you would on your own.”
Haplo was becoming more and more intrigued by the sheer effort the dragons were making to keep this stranger here. Things were about to get very interesting, and Haplo had every intention of being kept in the loop. From the looks of him, Alfred wasn’t going anywhere, either.
The stranger turned back around to face them all. “Tell me what you know about my brother.”
“Come,” the dragon gestured toward a cook fire, “rest and eat. We will share what we’ve learned.”
***
The dragons refused to elaborate upon what they had to share until the stranger had eaten, so the man sat sullenly, mechanically working his way through what had been placed in front of him. He absently scratched at the drying blood of the rune construct on his chest, realized what it was, and set about removing it completely.
“Shouldn’t we record it first?” Alfred made a feeble attempt to stop him. The younger man glared at him and ignored both the suggestion and the Sartan. Haplo wondered if he would be so calm if he knew what Alfred was. The hatred of the Sartan ran deep in his people.
Without the other rune blocking it, the man’s heart rune was clear enough to determine his name, but Haplo figured the stranger would react more favorably to being asked. He approached the younger man, made the traditional greeting gesture of their people, and it was warily returned.
“It’s a little late,” Haplo admitted with a wry grin, “but we were all a little distracted earlier. My name is Haplo.”
“Dean,” he replied curtly between bites.
“Oh! How rude of me. I am called Alfred.” The Sartan still had difficulty reconciling with his past and chose to continue using the alias he had invented for himself on Arianus.
“You a Sartan?” Haplo managed to cover his surprise at the unexpected question, but Alfred openly gaped before nodding sheepishly. “I’d heard rumors more of you were here. Can’t say as I’m terribly impressed.” The total lack of violent anger was shocking.
“I’m not much of a specimen,” Alfred muttered. That wasn’t entirely true, Haplo mused. When he put his mind to it, Alfred could be rather impressive.
“You probably won’t last very long here then,” Dean said dismissively. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Haplo was a bit shocked by the lack of open rage. He’d been ready to throttle Alfred with his bare hands the moment he’d first discovered the man was a Sartan. However, this young Runner’s earlier words implied that he knew that there had been a Sartan presence here for a long time. It had certainly come as a shock to Haplo to learn that the Sartan Council had sentenced some of their own people to be cast into this prison along with the Patryns. The knowledge was not very widespread, however, communication in the Labyrinth being unreliable as it was and many of the Sartan choosing to remain in the city of Abri at the entrance of the Labyrinth. Even knowing about their fellow Sartan prisoners, he expected some level of rage at the “ancient enemy.” Haplo’s surprise must have shown in his expression because the younger man decided to offer an explanation.
“What could I possibly do to him that’s worse than being here?” True enough. Dean looked like he might have said more, but the dragons approached and the young Patryn turned his attention to them instead.
Zifnab’s dragon gestured for his dark-haired companion to step forward. “This is Castiel. We sent him to observe the enemy from a distance. We suspected they may have plans in motion of which we were unaware. His report confirms that this is true.”
It made sense. The dragon-snakes had only been making token appearances and attacks against them after their initial assault on Abri. They didn’t seem the sort to simply step back and trust the Labyrinth to take care of their enemies. Haplo hadn’t realized the dragons were taking action, and he was angry that they had not shared their plans with their “allies.” They would definitely be discussing them later, but now this “Castiel” looked like he was preparing to share his report.
“They are focussing a great deal of attention on a location approximately midway through the Labyrinth,” the dragon began. “There appears to have been some kind of tower or fortress there once, though it was long ago overgrown and concealed by the Labyrinth, either deliberately or through neglect. They seem to believe it was once inhabited by the Sartan meant to act as the,” he paused to search for an appropriate word, “administrators of this place.”
“Huh,” Dean mumbled softly, “so there really were jailers here.”
“Our enemies believe that there must have been some means of contact between this location and the Nexus, Vortex, and most likely the worlds beyond. They’ve been seeking a means of reactivating this connection, hoping to alter it into a gateway.”
“They’re trying to find a way to create a new Death’s Gate!” Alfred voiced everyone’s realization aloud, his expression horrified.
“Even worse,” Zifnab’s dragon continued darkly, “they have found the way, they only lack all the means.”
There were a few moments of somber silence before Dean spoke again. “It sure sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you with all that, but I’m not seeing what any of this has to do with me or my brother.”
“Creating the gate will require extremely complex magic. We and our foes possess the ability to understand the rune magic, but in this case, it must be cast by one of your people. Someone with very specific qualities. Someone much like yourself, Dean.” Zifnab’s dragon gave the Runner an appraising look. “Do you know anything about blood magic?”
Haplo tensed. Blood magic drew upon the caster’s blood, alone or in combination with the blood of another, to enhance the level of power. It was spoken of among his people solely as a cautionary tale to keep headstrong young warriors from attempting magic beyond their capabilities. Only a fool would weaken oneself through blood loss in order to make their magic stronger, not in a place like the Labyrinth, and they were unlikely to find any willing volunteers. It was also said to be highly addictive, users eventually unable or just extremely disinclined to depend on their own magic alone, and the supplemented power levels could be difficult to control. In the minds of most, it simply wasn’t worth the risks.
“I know enough not to use it myself,” Dean answered after staring the dragon down. “I also know that the kind of blood you use can make a big difference. Is that what this is about? They need my blood?”
“Or your brother’s.” Dean paled at that, then he regained his former wary collectedness.
“You said they need him to cast this spell for them. That means they can’t kill him before that, they need his cooperation.” Dean smirked defiantly. “My brother doesn’t like being told what to do. They won’t be able to force him.”
Haplo could remember a time when he’d held such faith in Xar, certain that his Lord was immune to the manipulation of the dragon-snakes. It was still intensely painful to remember how very wrong he’d been.
“They won’t have to force him,” Haplo spoke up. “It’s not their way. By the time they need your brother to play his part, he’ll think the idea was his own.”
Dean glared at Haplo, and it seemed for a moment that he would continue to argue, but he must have seen something in Haplo’s face that gave him pause. Haplo simultaneously cursed himself for displaying such emotional weakness and was thankful that it appeared he would not have to elaborate further.
“All right,” Dean conceded grudgingly. “I’ll go look for my brother, but know that I’m not doing it for any of you.”
“You will not go alone,” Zifnab’s dragon announced, tone brooking no argument. “This is too powerful a foe to face unaided.”
“Well, I certainly can’t sneak up on them with an army behind me,” Dean retorted, gesturing at the large gathering around them.
“I’ll go, too,” Haplo found himself volunteering without a second thought. “A small group can remain almost as unseen as a single person.” He felt a slight pang at the thought of trying to explain this to Marit. He was meant to be searching with her for their daughter, not abandoning her for a fool’s quest! Something about this called to him, though, and he was helpless to resist the siren song.
“I-I would like to come as well,” Alfred stammered. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “I’ve battled these creatures before, you see. I can be of use.”
“Myself as well.” Castiel stepped closer to Dean, though careful to remain out of touching range. “One of my kind should accompany you.”
“Fantastic!” The young warrior’s voice practically dripped sarcasm. “I suppose it’s useless to protest; you’d probably just follow me anyway. When can we leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
***
Dean bit back a sigh of frustration and began reviewing the runes inscribed on his weapons again. He’d lost count of the number of times he had done so already. He continued even though he knew he would find no flaws, just as he had not the last time. At this rate, their group would not be leaving today, possibly not even the next.
He had not expected Haplo to be attached; it was very rare amongst their people and even more so for Runners. The woman, Marit, he had learned from overhearing parts of their argument, objected to Haplo leaving with their group. Dean had never understood the impulse for permanent relationships outside of family, and lately that didn’t seem to be so permanent either.
“You told me we would go together!” Marit fumed, making at least some slight effort to keep the volume of her voice low.
“We will go together.” Haplo was much better at maintaining his calm. “When I return, we’ll go look for Rue. I have to help stop this.”
“Then I’m going, too!” She declared adamantly. “We’re not walking away from each other again. Never again.”
“I’m not taking you with me this time, Dean.” He recalled his father’s words from not so long ago. “Not for this. Don’t follow me.” He wondered what might have been different if he had listened. He wondered how likely it was that Marit would.
“Marit-” Haplo began, but Dean cut him off by clearing his throat. He was too irritated to feel badly about interrupting the not so private conversation. They were wasting daylight.
“Why not?” Dean grumbled. “Unless you think she’ll be distracting or can’t hold her own in a battle?”
Marit bristled at the insulting suggestion, but Haplo calmed her with a hand on her shoulder. “She’s capable.” Of course she was. She wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise. At least the fight was effectively over.
“Let’s go then.” What was one more person on top the other three he wished weren’t coming?
***
Sam was awakened by a rustling in the underbrush near where he had bedded down for the night. Slowly and silently he moved his hand down to wrap around the hilt of his hunting knife, relaxing only slightly as the noise moved further away. It was probably some small animal.
He had slept fitfully, but at least he was no longer visibly jumping at every small sound. How his brother would have taunted him! He frowned at the thought of his family, fully awake now. He wondered absently where they were, whether they were even still alive. His father was probably too stubborn to die, and Dean always managed to escape death in one way or another.
Pushing them from his mind, Sam sat up and considered the direction he would travel today. He chose to follow the direction of a clear path he had found without traveling directly on it. He was a bit out of practice with this nomadic lifestyle, but he was confident enough that he was not leaving an obvious trail in his wake.
Even so, he couldn’t help but feel that he was being watched, followed. There was no physical evidence of this, nor had he actually seen anyone, it was just a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He knew better than to question his instincts or let on that he knew was being tracked, so he carried on as though nothing was amiss. There wasn’t anything he could do until his stalker, provided they truly existed, made a move.
The going had been disturbingly smooth, once he’d finally made his way back into the deadly prison. He felt a fleeting pride in being the first of his people since Xar to manage to bring himself to reenter this place. Never mind that he had wavered for an interminable seeming time staring at the final gate, rooted to the spot where he stood. He’d finally forced himself to cross that deadly threshold, limbs trembling violently and not daring to breath. He’d been forced to practically throw himself the last few feet, but he had done it.
Perhaps the dark magic of the Labyrinth somehow knew that he was not planning to immediately turn tail and attempt to exit again. Maybe it was relishing how his paranoia steadily built. He was ready to fight, he had not grown weak. It was an inner mantra. Last evening before he slept, he had trained his body, running it through paces burned into his brain as a child.
He hadn’t really used his magic in years, but it was always there, a part of him. Sometimes he found himself tracing the runes tattooed on his arms as he walked, reviewing their names and meanings, running through possibilities. Dean had always told him part of his problem was that he thought too much. It wasn’t as though it was something he could just stop, but he resolved to focus for at least a while on nothing but the way ahead of him, moving deeper into the heart of the Labyrinth.
***
Sam finished etching the last rune into the dirt around his campsite and carefully reviewed the circle of runes in its entirety. Satisfied, he sat down to build a small fire. The runes would keep the fire hidden from outside the circle, but he would be able to see a respectable distance by the light of the flames. He’d purposely chosen a spot without good cover in his field of vision and a sheer rock face at his back. Tonight, he was going to confront whoever or whatever had been following him.
His stalker did not appear to be a threat, having passed up several opportunities, both deliberate and at least one embarrassing accident, to kill Sam, if that was truly the goal. He had a nagging suspicion that the mystery follower may have even been helping from the background. Enemy numbers sometimes seemed to spontaneously decrease, what would have been obstacles were helpfully cleared before he reached them, and small game animals ran across his path with a frequency strongly suggesting they might be driven there.
Sam was extremely reluctant to trust in general, and a mysterious benefactor in the shadows was certainly no exception. Nothing came without a cost, and he wasn’t about to let his debt build up too far. There was no time like the present to bring this out in the open, make the intentions of all parties clear.
It didn’t take long for Sam to notice slight movement in the shadows at the edges of the firelight’s reach. He suspected that he’d only seen anything at all because that was the watcher’s intent.
“Come into the light, where I can see you,” he requested.
A female figure stepped forward, full of confidence. A she drew closer, the stranger stepped over the rune circle. Whoever she was, this woman was powerful in magic. She looked like a Patryn, but Sam was certain, even with no further evidence than a gut feeling, that she was not. The Labyrinth was capable of producing look-alike creatures, but one of them would never have come so close without attacking. When she was almost close enough to reach out and touch, Sam realized why the sense she was not what she seemed was so familiar.
“Dragon-snake!” Sam hissed, reaching for his knife.
“I am,” the creature acknowledged with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder.
“If Azazel thinks he can win me over this way, he’s wrong!”
“Who says he sent me?”
“Please,” Sam scoffed, “don’t treat me like an idiot. Azazel tried to enlist my help, I refused and ran, and now another dragon-snake just coincidentally happens to find me and follow me around ‘helping?’ Excuse me if I find that a little hard to swallow.”
“I’ll admit that I did follow you out of the Nexus,” the woman conceded. She almost sounded hurt, but Sam knew the dragon-snakes were all skilled actors. “I’m surprised at you, though. You’ve spoken to one of us, so now you know exactly what all of us are like?” She clucked her tongue, expression turning mocking. “After all the times you got so angry when everybody tried to fit you into the stereotypical Patryn warrior mold, too.”
“All right,” Sam said. He lowered his blade, but didn’t relax his guard. “Say I believe you came here on your own. What is it you want from me?”
“You have great power within you, Sam, nearly limitless potential. I can sense it just like Azazel.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, eyes gleaming in the fire’s glow. “I want to see you embrace what makes you different, Sam. I want to see how far you can go, how strong you can become. I want to be there the day your potential is finally realized.”
“Why?” Sam knew the dragon-snakes fed off of chaos, fear, hatred, and all the worst aspects of emotion. The fact that he seemed to be drawing the things to him like flies to a corpse was unsettling.
“Sudden rises to power bring upheaval and change--it’s just a fact of life.” Her smile widened and Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. He was surprised to note it wasn’t entirely an unpleasant one. “Yours is going to be glorious.”
“What if I don’t want this hypothetical power?” Sam challenged, trying to ignore the thrill a small part of him got at the idea of using what had brought down the judgment and disdain of his people, his own family, upon him to turn the tables. “What if I decide to ignore this ‘potential?’”
“You can try. Either way, you’re going to be very interesting to...observe.”
If he tired to refuse letting her join him, the dragon-snake would probably continue following him anyway. He held no illusions that he could shake her from his trail, not after she’d been following him so long already.
“Just don’t get in my way.” She only smirked at him some more. “What should I call you?”
“Ruby.” As if in response, her eyes briefly glowed red.
Previous || Master Post || Next
“In my blood?” The Patryn tensed, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ve had enough of it spilled for one day.”
“Although such crude usage has its purposes, that’s not what I meant,” Zifnab’s dragon explained with a small smile. “I suppose I should have said, ‘bloodline.’ You are a direct descendant of one of the very first of your kind--those who first discovered and mastered the rune magic and broke away from the Sartan. Finding you is unexpected because many were convinced the original Patryn bloodlines had been lost.”
“In that case, you still don’t need me specifically,” the man retorted flippantly. “If you ever make your way to the Nexus, I’ve got a brother.”
“I know,” the dragon said solemnly, exchanging a pointed glance with the dark-haired dragon.
The man gaped at the revelation for a moment before he began to turn away again. “I’ve got to go find my father.”
“He’s the one who sent you here, isn’t he?” The dragon stated with certainty, and though the man would have been unconscious when he was transported, he was likely sure of it, too. “If he came out of whatever battle you just fought even half as bad off as you, it would have taken everything he had left to cast that transport spell. Add in the healing magic...” he didn’t voice the end of that sentence, but there was no way the young man hadn’t come to that very conclusion himself.
“He can’t be dead,” he insisted so quietly Haplo almost didn’t catch it. “I would sense it.”
“Even if he’s not, he sent you away for a reason. Your brother may be in very real danger from a foe the likes of which you’ve likely never seen. We can help you find him faster than you would on your own.”
Haplo was becoming more and more intrigued by the sheer effort the dragons were making to keep this stranger here. Things were about to get very interesting, and Haplo had every intention of being kept in the loop. From the looks of him, Alfred wasn’t going anywhere, either.
The stranger turned back around to face them all. “Tell me what you know about my brother.”
“Come,” the dragon gestured toward a cook fire, “rest and eat. We will share what we’ve learned.”
***
The dragons refused to elaborate upon what they had to share until the stranger had eaten, so the man sat sullenly, mechanically working his way through what had been placed in front of him. He absently scratched at the drying blood of the rune construct on his chest, realized what it was, and set about removing it completely.
“Shouldn’t we record it first?” Alfred made a feeble attempt to stop him. The younger man glared at him and ignored both the suggestion and the Sartan. Haplo wondered if he would be so calm if he knew what Alfred was. The hatred of the Sartan ran deep in his people.
Without the other rune blocking it, the man’s heart rune was clear enough to determine his name, but Haplo figured the stranger would react more favorably to being asked. He approached the younger man, made the traditional greeting gesture of their people, and it was warily returned.
“It’s a little late,” Haplo admitted with a wry grin, “but we were all a little distracted earlier. My name is Haplo.”
“Dean,” he replied curtly between bites.
“Oh! How rude of me. I am called Alfred.” The Sartan still had difficulty reconciling with his past and chose to continue using the alias he had invented for himself on Arianus.
“You a Sartan?” Haplo managed to cover his surprise at the unexpected question, but Alfred openly gaped before nodding sheepishly. “I’d heard rumors more of you were here. Can’t say as I’m terribly impressed.” The total lack of violent anger was shocking.
“I’m not much of a specimen,” Alfred muttered. That wasn’t entirely true, Haplo mused. When he put his mind to it, Alfred could be rather impressive.
“You probably won’t last very long here then,” Dean said dismissively. “You’ll get what’s coming to you.”
Haplo was a bit shocked by the lack of open rage. He’d been ready to throttle Alfred with his bare hands the moment he’d first discovered the man was a Sartan. However, this young Runner’s earlier words implied that he knew that there had been a Sartan presence here for a long time. It had certainly come as a shock to Haplo to learn that the Sartan Council had sentenced some of their own people to be cast into this prison along with the Patryns. The knowledge was not very widespread, however, communication in the Labyrinth being unreliable as it was and many of the Sartan choosing to remain in the city of Abri at the entrance of the Labyrinth. Even knowing about their fellow Sartan prisoners, he expected some level of rage at the “ancient enemy.” Haplo’s surprise must have shown in his expression because the younger man decided to offer an explanation.
“What could I possibly do to him that’s worse than being here?” True enough. Dean looked like he might have said more, but the dragons approached and the young Patryn turned his attention to them instead.
Zifnab’s dragon gestured for his dark-haired companion to step forward. “This is Castiel. We sent him to observe the enemy from a distance. We suspected they may have plans in motion of which we were unaware. His report confirms that this is true.”
It made sense. The dragon-snakes had only been making token appearances and attacks against them after their initial assault on Abri. They didn’t seem the sort to simply step back and trust the Labyrinth to take care of their enemies. Haplo hadn’t realized the dragons were taking action, and he was angry that they had not shared their plans with their “allies.” They would definitely be discussing them later, but now this “Castiel” looked like he was preparing to share his report.
“They are focussing a great deal of attention on a location approximately midway through the Labyrinth,” the dragon began. “There appears to have been some kind of tower or fortress there once, though it was long ago overgrown and concealed by the Labyrinth, either deliberately or through neglect. They seem to believe it was once inhabited by the Sartan meant to act as the,” he paused to search for an appropriate word, “administrators of this place.”
“Huh,” Dean mumbled softly, “so there really were jailers here.”
“Our enemies believe that there must have been some means of contact between this location and the Nexus, Vortex, and most likely the worlds beyond. They’ve been seeking a means of reactivating this connection, hoping to alter it into a gateway.”
“They’re trying to find a way to create a new Death’s Gate!” Alfred voiced everyone’s realization aloud, his expression horrified.
“Even worse,” Zifnab’s dragon continued darkly, “they have found the way, they only lack all the means.”
There were a few moments of somber silence before Dean spoke again. “It sure sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you with all that, but I’m not seeing what any of this has to do with me or my brother.”
“Creating the gate will require extremely complex magic. We and our foes possess the ability to understand the rune magic, but in this case, it must be cast by one of your people. Someone with very specific qualities. Someone much like yourself, Dean.” Zifnab’s dragon gave the Runner an appraising look. “Do you know anything about blood magic?”
Haplo tensed. Blood magic drew upon the caster’s blood, alone or in combination with the blood of another, to enhance the level of power. It was spoken of among his people solely as a cautionary tale to keep headstrong young warriors from attempting magic beyond their capabilities. Only a fool would weaken oneself through blood loss in order to make their magic stronger, not in a place like the Labyrinth, and they were unlikely to find any willing volunteers. It was also said to be highly addictive, users eventually unable or just extremely disinclined to depend on their own magic alone, and the supplemented power levels could be difficult to control. In the minds of most, it simply wasn’t worth the risks.
“I know enough not to use it myself,” Dean answered after staring the dragon down. “I also know that the kind of blood you use can make a big difference. Is that what this is about? They need my blood?”
“Or your brother’s.” Dean paled at that, then he regained his former wary collectedness.
“You said they need him to cast this spell for them. That means they can’t kill him before that, they need his cooperation.” Dean smirked defiantly. “My brother doesn’t like being told what to do. They won’t be able to force him.”
Haplo could remember a time when he’d held such faith in Xar, certain that his Lord was immune to the manipulation of the dragon-snakes. It was still intensely painful to remember how very wrong he’d been.
“They won’t have to force him,” Haplo spoke up. “It’s not their way. By the time they need your brother to play his part, he’ll think the idea was his own.”
Dean glared at Haplo, and it seemed for a moment that he would continue to argue, but he must have seen something in Haplo’s face that gave him pause. Haplo simultaneously cursed himself for displaying such emotional weakness and was thankful that it appeared he would not have to elaborate further.
“All right,” Dean conceded grudgingly. “I’ll go look for my brother, but know that I’m not doing it for any of you.”
“You will not go alone,” Zifnab’s dragon announced, tone brooking no argument. “This is too powerful a foe to face unaided.”
“Well, I certainly can’t sneak up on them with an army behind me,” Dean retorted, gesturing at the large gathering around them.
“I’ll go, too,” Haplo found himself volunteering without a second thought. “A small group can remain almost as unseen as a single person.” He felt a slight pang at the thought of trying to explain this to Marit. He was meant to be searching with her for their daughter, not abandoning her for a fool’s quest! Something about this called to him, though, and he was helpless to resist the siren song.
“I-I would like to come as well,” Alfred stammered. He took a deep breath to compose himself. “I’ve battled these creatures before, you see. I can be of use.”
“Myself as well.” Castiel stepped closer to Dean, though careful to remain out of touching range. “One of my kind should accompany you.”
“Fantastic!” The young warrior’s voice practically dripped sarcasm. “I suppose it’s useless to protest; you’d probably just follow me anyway. When can we leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
***
Dean bit back a sigh of frustration and began reviewing the runes inscribed on his weapons again. He’d lost count of the number of times he had done so already. He continued even though he knew he would find no flaws, just as he had not the last time. At this rate, their group would not be leaving today, possibly not even the next.
He had not expected Haplo to be attached; it was very rare amongst their people and even more so for Runners. The woman, Marit, he had learned from overhearing parts of their argument, objected to Haplo leaving with their group. Dean had never understood the impulse for permanent relationships outside of family, and lately that didn’t seem to be so permanent either.
“You told me we would go together!” Marit fumed, making at least some slight effort to keep the volume of her voice low.
“We will go together.” Haplo was much better at maintaining his calm. “When I return, we’ll go look for Rue. I have to help stop this.”
“Then I’m going, too!” She declared adamantly. “We’re not walking away from each other again. Never again.”
“I’m not taking you with me this time, Dean.” He recalled his father’s words from not so long ago. “Not for this. Don’t follow me.” He wondered what might have been different if he had listened. He wondered how likely it was that Marit would.
“Marit-” Haplo began, but Dean cut him off by clearing his throat. He was too irritated to feel badly about interrupting the not so private conversation. They were wasting daylight.
“Why not?” Dean grumbled. “Unless you think she’ll be distracting or can’t hold her own in a battle?”
Marit bristled at the insulting suggestion, but Haplo calmed her with a hand on her shoulder. “She’s capable.” Of course she was. She wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise. At least the fight was effectively over.
“Let’s go then.” What was one more person on top the other three he wished weren’t coming?
***
Sam was awakened by a rustling in the underbrush near where he had bedded down for the night. Slowly and silently he moved his hand down to wrap around the hilt of his hunting knife, relaxing only slightly as the noise moved further away. It was probably some small animal.
He had slept fitfully, but at least he was no longer visibly jumping at every small sound. How his brother would have taunted him! He frowned at the thought of his family, fully awake now. He wondered absently where they were, whether they were even still alive. His father was probably too stubborn to die, and Dean always managed to escape death in one way or another.
Pushing them from his mind, Sam sat up and considered the direction he would travel today. He chose to follow the direction of a clear path he had found without traveling directly on it. He was a bit out of practice with this nomadic lifestyle, but he was confident enough that he was not leaving an obvious trail in his wake.
Even so, he couldn’t help but feel that he was being watched, followed. There was no physical evidence of this, nor had he actually seen anyone, it was just a prickling sensation on the back of his neck. He knew better than to question his instincts or let on that he knew was being tracked, so he carried on as though nothing was amiss. There wasn’t anything he could do until his stalker, provided they truly existed, made a move.
The going had been disturbingly smooth, once he’d finally made his way back into the deadly prison. He felt a fleeting pride in being the first of his people since Xar to manage to bring himself to reenter this place. Never mind that he had wavered for an interminable seeming time staring at the final gate, rooted to the spot where he stood. He’d finally forced himself to cross that deadly threshold, limbs trembling violently and not daring to breath. He’d been forced to practically throw himself the last few feet, but he had done it.
Perhaps the dark magic of the Labyrinth somehow knew that he was not planning to immediately turn tail and attempt to exit again. Maybe it was relishing how his paranoia steadily built. He was ready to fight, he had not grown weak. It was an inner mantra. Last evening before he slept, he had trained his body, running it through paces burned into his brain as a child.
He hadn’t really used his magic in years, but it was always there, a part of him. Sometimes he found himself tracing the runes tattooed on his arms as he walked, reviewing their names and meanings, running through possibilities. Dean had always told him part of his problem was that he thought too much. It wasn’t as though it was something he could just stop, but he resolved to focus for at least a while on nothing but the way ahead of him, moving deeper into the heart of the Labyrinth.
***
Sam finished etching the last rune into the dirt around his campsite and carefully reviewed the circle of runes in its entirety. Satisfied, he sat down to build a small fire. The runes would keep the fire hidden from outside the circle, but he would be able to see a respectable distance by the light of the flames. He’d purposely chosen a spot without good cover in his field of vision and a sheer rock face at his back. Tonight, he was going to confront whoever or whatever had been following him.
His stalker did not appear to be a threat, having passed up several opportunities, both deliberate and at least one embarrassing accident, to kill Sam, if that was truly the goal. He had a nagging suspicion that the mystery follower may have even been helping from the background. Enemy numbers sometimes seemed to spontaneously decrease, what would have been obstacles were helpfully cleared before he reached them, and small game animals ran across his path with a frequency strongly suggesting they might be driven there.
Sam was extremely reluctant to trust in general, and a mysterious benefactor in the shadows was certainly no exception. Nothing came without a cost, and he wasn’t about to let his debt build up too far. There was no time like the present to bring this out in the open, make the intentions of all parties clear.
It didn’t take long for Sam to notice slight movement in the shadows at the edges of the firelight’s reach. He suspected that he’d only seen anything at all because that was the watcher’s intent.
“Come into the light, where I can see you,” he requested.
A female figure stepped forward, full of confidence. A she drew closer, the stranger stepped over the rune circle. Whoever she was, this woman was powerful in magic. She looked like a Patryn, but Sam was certain, even with no further evidence than a gut feeling, that she was not. The Labyrinth was capable of producing look-alike creatures, but one of them would never have come so close without attacking. When she was almost close enough to reach out and touch, Sam realized why the sense she was not what she seemed was so familiar.
“Dragon-snake!” Sam hissed, reaching for his knife.
“I am,” the creature acknowledged with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder.
“If Azazel thinks he can win me over this way, he’s wrong!”
“Who says he sent me?”
“Please,” Sam scoffed, “don’t treat me like an idiot. Azazel tried to enlist my help, I refused and ran, and now another dragon-snake just coincidentally happens to find me and follow me around ‘helping?’ Excuse me if I find that a little hard to swallow.”
“I’ll admit that I did follow you out of the Nexus,” the woman conceded. She almost sounded hurt, but Sam knew the dragon-snakes were all skilled actors. “I’m surprised at you, though. You’ve spoken to one of us, so now you know exactly what all of us are like?” She clucked her tongue, expression turning mocking. “After all the times you got so angry when everybody tried to fit you into the stereotypical Patryn warrior mold, too.”
“All right,” Sam said. He lowered his blade, but didn’t relax his guard. “Say I believe you came here on your own. What is it you want from me?”
“You have great power within you, Sam, nearly limitless potential. I can sense it just like Azazel.” She leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, eyes gleaming in the fire’s glow. “I want to see you embrace what makes you different, Sam. I want to see how far you can go, how strong you can become. I want to be there the day your potential is finally realized.”
“Why?” Sam knew the dragon-snakes fed off of chaos, fear, hatred, and all the worst aspects of emotion. The fact that he seemed to be drawing the things to him like flies to a corpse was unsettling.
“Sudden rises to power bring upheaval and change--it’s just a fact of life.” Her smile widened and Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. He was surprised to note it wasn’t entirely an unpleasant one. “Yours is going to be glorious.”
“What if I don’t want this hypothetical power?” Sam challenged, trying to ignore the thrill a small part of him got at the idea of using what had brought down the judgment and disdain of his people, his own family, upon him to turn the tables. “What if I decide to ignore this ‘potential?’”
“You can try. Either way, you’re going to be very interesting to...observe.”
If he tired to refuse letting her join him, the dragon-snake would probably continue following him anyway. He held no illusions that he could shake her from his trail, not after she’d been following him so long already.
“Just don’t get in my way.” She only smirked at him some more. “What should I call you?”
“Ruby.” As if in response, her eyes briefly glowed red.
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