Chapter 1: The blood.

“WITCH! WITCH! SPAWN OF BAAL! W***E OF SULFUR!” The townspeople used to yell such things when people such as I passed by them. The iridescent glow of our eyes lent us no such reprieve as anonymity. No, we were spurned, cursed things, damned to walk amongst men with our heads bowed and backs broken. Well, that was then. This is now: they hurl rocks at us and let us not forget the ever delightful rotten vegetable baths. Life hasn’t improved much, but at least now, they admit that they need us. Grudgingly, but still they admit it…most of the time anyway.

Most runers still hide their faces and their eyes when within town lines though. I don’t. I’ve found that the best deterrent to dissuade such ignorant, stupendously childish behavior is to scare the living s**t of them. Really, it works and more importantly, it’s fun!

How do you do this, you ask? Good reflexes are the key. Apparently nothing is more frightening to the average country bumpkin than someone who can catch. Honestly! Hear me out here: Imagine the terror you can inflict on your neighbors when instead of stumbling and rubbing the back of your now aching head after a nice large hunk of stone found purchase in the back of your beloved noodle, you snatch the rock from the air instead. Not only do they not get to laugh at you for your shortcomings (like not having eyes in the back of your head!) but they get to witness an unholy event: catching a rock! The atrocity! The blasphemy! The….the unforgiveableness of it all!

Yes, this sounds ridiculous, I know. But it works. Catch one rock and all the villagers who were murmuring black curses at your blood shut their ignorant inbred traps and quickly find shelter behind locked doors and barred windows. Honestly though, if catching is so ungodly, is it any wonder sorcery is considered a sin? Oh, I almost forgot to mention, with aforementioned morons safely behind locked doors, the threat of a rotten tomato rain greatly decreases, just so you know, so you can even put away the ponchos early. Life’s looking up a little now, isn’t it?

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Valencia Valecai. Don’t ever call me Vivi. I’ll rune you into oblivion…seriously. Anyway, if you haven’t gathered as much, I’m a runer. That is, I’m one of the unholy heathens who harbors the dark blood of a demon in my veins. It was my great-great-great-great-great grandfather just so you know how small the amount of demonic genetic material I carry is. But no matter how far back the blood was, its reach seems endless, and I’m as despised as he was. Nice, huh? Talk about bad genes, damn.

Anyway, I’m a runer. I can make, break, and see runes. For those of you who have been hiding under a rock or in the netherworld for the last few millennia, a rune is a like a magical knot that binds energy to a specific person or place. Everyone knows that much. What everyone doesn’t know or understand because they’re too damned stupid and backwards to actually study anything deemed unholy by the omniscient ‘them,’ is that every rune has at its center a soul.

Yes, you heard me. Runes have souls, but not in the way you’d think. I can guarantee you that. They need at their center something that is both physical and spiritual. And while you can’t touch a soul, it does have physical properties. If you remove the soul from someone, that person dies regardless of bodily health, period. Not all souls are equal, mind you. The soul of an animal has less potential than the soul of a man. The more complex or intelligent the life form, the more complex the rune can be and the more energy it can hold. The more energy the rune has, the greater effect it can have and the greater the range of effect it will have.

Beginning to see the problem yet? If it’s not quite clear, let me continue to ramble for a while longer. Runes have been made and broken since before man existed. The demons made them at their whim and some still remain. Now trying to convince a demon to break a rune is nearly impossible. They like to make life difficult for us humans. They think our suffering is funny, and Sulfur, truth be told: I find it hilarious at times. But maybe that’s just the demon blood laughing. Anyway, so demons like to make runes in order to pester the wee little “mightier-than-thou” humans, but they won’t break them. So what’s a good little gods-fearing mortal to do?

Enter runers. The normies hate us. They loathe us. They want to see us writhe in eternal agony because of the blood in our veins, but they know that we’re the only ones that can break the runes. Thus, they tolerate us, grudgingly. It’s gotten a little better in the last few years. The demonic blood is finally beginning to thin out, and now there are only three runers in the world. So the base humans know they can’t treat us too badly unless they want to suffer the effects of the runes for eternity. (Believe me, I’m tempted. I really am.) But the pay is just too damned good considering that everyone already believes I’m evil. They expect me to cheat them wherever I go. And they’ll hate me no matter how good I may be. How can I not gouge them? I mean material wealth isn’t everything, but it’s pretty damn nice considering.

“VA-LEN-CI-A!!!”

Sigh. Allow me to introduce my deadweight. Ahem, I mean my partner. Yes, solitary thing that I am, I was cursed with this scrawny whiny knave. Why? Because Gaea hates me. She hates the blood in my veins as much as the humans do. Seriously, though, the reason I have to haul his useless carcass around with me is the fact that the Institute does not allow sorcerers of any type to travel alone. I mean I understand the reasoning behind this. Most sorcerers are weak, slow little things that take all day chanting before they can fire off a spell, and bladers would be fried crispy or riddled with holes fifty feet before they could engage the enemy if not enshrouded with a good protection spell. Pairing the two makes sense, but I am not your average sorcerer! One: I am a runer, the most powerful type of sorcerer around. Which is kind of strange since runers can’t cast spells. They can only work runes, but anyway… Two: I double-majored in runes and blades. I can take care of myself. Yeah, that turned around and bit me in the a*s!

And before you give me some confuddled, stupefied look and start blathering about how the schools of sorcery and swordplay should be separate, think about the facts for a moment. I just told you why neither can (normally) stand a chance alone in battle, so why would they separate them? They will have to work together eventually and the sooner they learn to do so, the easier the partnerships will be. It may be a nice plot device to introduce two totally incompatible people and let them verbally (or physically) assault one another, but in reality, it’s just not all that bright of an idea. So we have one big school, the Institute, with two divisions. The sorcerers are stationed the east wing and the bladers stick to the west, but there are classes with both types of fighters in attendance. It’s just more practical.

Now, as I said, I can take care of myself. So why did they curse me? Does the Headmaster hate me? Did I piss off the Master Mage? No, they actually like me since I bring in as much money for the school as all the others combined. No, they don’t hate me; they just couldn’t let me break the cardinal rule: Thou shalt have a headache (partner) at all times after graduation. So, since I can take care of myself, they partnered me with the weakest, scrawniest, whiniest, most pathetic blader ever to have existed since I was the only sorcerer whom he wouldn’t cause to be killed instantaneously. So, here I am, bad-a*s that I am, glued to this five foot seven, one-hundred twenty four pound piece of wasted flesh and blood: Shadroch.

He’s built more like a woman than I am! He’s willowy and weak. He’s thinner than should be legal and has big bright green eyes that just look misplaced in a boy’s head. In a woman, they would have been wide, pretty, bedroom eyes. In his face, they’re confused, unfocused, and constantly watering. Some days, I swear, he has a hole in his head. I’ve told him this. His reply was: “Yep, I have two. They’re called ears!”

No, I didn’t kill him. I wanted to, oh gods, did I want to! But I refrained. I would not be charged with murder when there were so many other (funner) crimes to be committed. I just rubbed my temples and walked away muttering. I do that a lot.

Now, I could try to duck into a room and pray that he wouldn’t notice which one; he does have the brain capacity of a gnat after all, but I’m cursed. I’d walk into the one room with a class still in session at this hour and end up in detention again. Nope, and besides, he’s already seen me. If I run now, I would have to dodge him all day. I’m just not that energetic.

“Hey, where were you? We were supposed to be briefed about our first mission today. Did you eat breakfast? I had cereal and toast and bacon and oh, the Headmaster wanted me to give you something….but I forgot what it was. All well, I’ll find it later. Anyway, where is our first mission? They had jello at lunch today. It was kind of rubbery though. What are we supposed to do? Where will we sleep along the way? I hope I can find my brush before we leave. What will we eat? How will we do our laundry?”

Yes, that’s the sound of my teeth grinding. Unfortunately, the boy has enough energy for us both. I’m going to kill him one day; I have resigned myself to this fact. He has the brain capacity of a four-year-old and the attention span of a newt! A newt, damn it! Why me? Gaea, why?

When he finally breaks for air, I slip a few words in. Normally, I would just beat someone this annoying into terrified silence, but he doesn’t do silence, even when terrified. He just cries. He CRIES! I hate him so much. So I can’t hit him unless I want to put up with his whimpering, simpering, screeching howls all day. Gods, that’s such an unfair defense. Not quite as bad as a skunk, but just as annoying and it can linger as long. Not to mention that whenever I make my partner cry, the Headmaster docks my pay. My wallet in tears concerns me much more than him.

“I told you that I spoke with him yesterday,” I remind the hyperactive monkey as I rub the bridge of my nose in aggravation. I will not kill him. I will not kill him. I will not kill him. I keep telling myself this, but every repetition makes it harder for me to believe.

“Oh, I forgot. Did he give you the assignment? He said something about passes. Maybe that was what I was supposed to give you. Oh well, no wait, that can’t be right. It wasn’t that small. Passes are small, right? I wonder what they’re serving for dinner tonight. You should go eat too since this is the last night we’ll be able to eat here. We leave tomorrow, right? Or is tomorrow Saturday? I can’t remember. We leave Friday, right? So is it tomorrow or a week from today? I’m so confused.”

My hand lashes out of its own accord and starts drawing the pattern for a silencing rune around his head. He looks at me kind of strangely for a moment, almost like he’s afraid before I realize what I’m doing. Damn my subconscious. It knows what I need to do! Too bad I can’t actually do it. I hadn’t even cut my finger to work the rune so I’d just been waving my hand around like an idiot. Oh gods, tell me stupidity isn’t contagious! Really though, what would be the harm of working a small rune on my partner? It would help him understand the nature of the person he’s working with, right? If only I could convince the Headmaster or even the Master Mage to believe that. Sigh.

He tilts his head to the side as though that would help him understand what I was attempting to do. Who knows, maybe if he shakes it just right he can make the two brain cells up there collide and form an actual thought! I should be so lucky. Maybe if I shake him really hard!

“What are you doing?” he asks still looking for all the world like a confused bobble-eye newt. Or maybe I’m the only one who sees him as such.

“Nothing,” I mutter despondently as my hand falls back to my side. “Go find whatever it was the Headmaster gave you for me and slide it under my door.”

“But I don’t remember what it was!” he argues seemingly on the verge of tears in the face of his own stupidity.

Yes, my teeth are still grinding. I’m going to need a really good dentist when this partnership ends. “Go look through you possessions for something with my name on it!” I moan trying to keep my hands from either going for his throat or my blades. Gods, does he stretch my patience and self-control to their limits! Maybe this is a test and only a test. Maybe it’s some kind of joke the Headmaster is playing on me. I did pull a few pranks in my time here like drawing an engorging rune on his desk chair so that whenever he sat down he got a hard-on. But that was just innocent fun, right? So okay, maybe it wasn’t that funny when he got charged with sexual harassment, and I had to confess and break the rune later that week, but no harm really came from it! Honest! And the Headmaster’s wife really liked me after that.

So maybe this is revenge and tomorrow, when we ship out, he’ll stop me and show me my real partner. Someone competent, someone talented, someone hot---hey a girl can dream, can’t she? Okay, so I’m resigning myself to this torture now. Excuse me for a moment while another piece of my soul dies. Okay, I’ve accepted it: I’m partnered up with a newt, it can’t be that bad, can it?

“I FO~UND ITTTTTT!” The screech resounds throughout the halls of the Institute, and all who hear look first to its source, then to me and double over laughing. It sends tremors down my spine with its sheer shrillness. Oh, I am so going to kill him.

He comes bounding down the hall beaming with a small envelope clutched in his hand. I can guess from the size and shape of it what it contains, but I wait for him to hand it over anyway. I know my face is beet-red now. He is such an embarrassment, and it’s all I can do not to pass out from the humiliation. I think I’ll be leaving some parting gifts for my classmates this evening: maybe an impotence rune in the boys’ locker room and a chronic retardation rune in the cafeteria. Hmmm, a school full of dumb impotent blades and drooling sorcerers… Yep, I think I like the idea. The Headmaster will have a cow of course, but the Master Mage will think it’s a riot.

We get along pretty well, for the most part. He’ll keep the Headmaster from killing me or sending someone else to do it, but I know he’ll demand we return as soon as the mission is over to undo the runes. No vacation after this mission and probably fifty or so detentions but hey, at least the place will be interesting for a while. And I wonder why people don’t like me much!

He hands over the envelope without a word for once since he’s gasping, having run all the way from the dorm wing to the classroom wing down three flights of stairs. Ah, blissful almost silence…

“H-here, it was in my c-coat,” he blathers between gasps. How fleeting thou art. Sigh.

I open it and out falls our badges. I’m a fully-fledged sorceress now. Oh, the joy, really. It’s no big deal; I’ve been doing “training” missions for the Institute for years. There just aren’t enough runers in the world to keep them strictly in school for so long. Once I had gotten the hang of breaking runes, they had started sending me out to do so for towns around the nation. The Institute chose the clients and the fees and sent me and a two person team out to the destination. The team was just there to make sure no one tried to kill me on the way or while I was breaking the rune. They were just body guards, and they hated me for it, but that never bothered me. People have always hated me without ever coming to know me. It’s the fate of a runer.

Anyway, as a training mission, I had only gotten half pay, which was good for the Institute because they made more money off me, but I didn’t like it one bit. I was doing all the work, and they were making all the money. Uh-uh, not happening. So I finished my training and now this shiny little disk in my palm means that my pay has just doubled if not tripled. Not only do I get to set the prices for the runes I break, but I also keep more of the money and as a blader (remember, I’m both!) I get a salary too. Oh, happy day! The Institute does keep a rather large percentage of the rune-breaking fee since they trained me though, but it’s not half anymore. I think it’s about thirty or twenty-five percent. As I said, happy day! Maybe in a few years, I’ll have enough saved up to buy the Institute and run it my way. No more detentions for me then!

I hand the boy his since it only has a sword engraved on the cold silver disk. Mine has a sword crossed with a staff, not that sorcerers use staves anymore, but you get the point. It tells anyone who sees it that I’m a double threat. Actually, looking closer, it has a rune drawn faintly in the background encircling both. I smile; the Master Mage had remembered my suggestion. So now I’m a triple threat!

The kid stares at his in reverence for a few moments before trying to fumble it onto his shirt. I stop what I’m doing and shake my head for a moment.

“Stop,” I tell him and take it from him. He looks like he’s about to cry again, but he realizes soon enough what I’m doing as I straighten out his shirt and attach the badge correctly. He is such a screw-up.

“Thanks,” he mumbles quietly for once.

“I don’t want you to look like a complete fool since I will have to be seen with you so much,” I explain coldly.

“Oh.”

I ignore the obviously hurt feelings there and attach my own badge to the lapel of my coat. I’m not all that big on things hanging off my b***s, which is what it would do if I put it where it was supposed to go. It’s still plenty noticeable, and I know that the instructors, the Headmaster, and Master Mage will all expect me to do something slightly different with it than all the others. They know I’m strange. I think some of them even respect that. Maybe that’s why we get along even though I have a rather crass sense of humor.

“We leave tomorrow,” I tell him remembering a bit of his previous blathering. “Go eat and pack up. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep. If you pass out, I’ll let the dragons eat you!” I warn him rather generously, in my mind at least. He gapes at me for a moment, trying to decide if I’m serious or not. I take the moment of silence to excuse myself and get as far away from that f**k-up as possible for a few blissful hours before the real torture begins.

They can’t expect me to protect him for long though. They know he’s a screw-up as much as I do. I wonder how long they’ve given him. I wonder if they told him I’m his death sentence. I wonder if he would care… I wonder if they’re taking bets on it and how I can get in on them. Hmmm, no they wouldn’t let me in on them because I can control when he dies too easily. I’d rig the game if there was enough money involved, and they know it. At least they think they do. Doesn’t matter, I can’t get in on that action. So preparations it is. Time to go see the sword smith one last time. He always gets a good laugh at the condition of my blades. He’s never seen someone who can kill a sword as adeptly as I can.

He’s often asked me if I ever hit my target since he can’t imagine so much damage being amassed by someone using their sword correctly. Obviously, he hasn’t encountered many studious bladers before. If he had, he would know that dragon hide dulls blades quickly. And why would I waste my time trying to kill something weak? But, eh, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt me! So I’ll go line his pockets again. Oooh, with the raise, maybe I can even afford an upgrade! I have been drooling over the black dragon blades for a long time. Hmmm, I wonder if this would be a bad time to request an advance. Ah, Sulfur, I can always charge it!

The sword smith has a quaint little place in the basement of the building. He uses the huge furnace which heats the entire structure of the Institute as his forge. He’s quite happy about that. The bad thing of course, is the fact that that means it’s hotter than Sulfur in the basement at all times of year. There have actually been bladers who had to wait until winter to get their blades repaired because they would pass out in the heat of summer, spring, or even fall down here. I don’t have that much of a problem. I just draw a quick heat absorption barrier around me; it's the same one I use to keep the dragon’s fiery breath at bay while in training. Ah, the perks of being a runer.

I open the door to the forge and a wall of air knocks me back a step. He’s got it cranked up high tonight! A normal person would’ve been scorched by the heat and retreated to more temperate venues, but since my barrier eats the heat from it, it’s just a gust of air to me�"nothing more than a strong wind. It would give me a chill if I didn’t dress like a gothic bondage queen, but hey, black leather is not only fashionable, it offers a good deal of protection when runed properly. Of course, you can’t just place a thousand runes on something.

As I said, each needs a soul to bind to and no other runes can be worked within its span of effect. So I can only place one rune per article of clothing. I use small souls too�"rats and spiders are good. They give the rune enough power to do what I need it to and have a small enough range that I can have more than one on my person. Of course for the other runes, like my fire eating field, I just draw them onto the last shell of my aura. While one is placed there, the runes on my clothes are rendered useless, but it’s a chance I have to take sometimes.

The smith is laughing maniacally somewhere in the furthest reaches of the place. Some days, I know more certainly than others that he must be part demon just to survive down here. Of course, his eyes don’t have the characteristic glow of the cursed, so I have to just scratch my brain space for ways that he can do what he does where he does it.

“Hey, Mistress,” he shouts from the depths of his furnace. Is he actually standing in the flames? I need to have my head examined, but that’s beside the point. He always knows when I come in. He doesn’t have to look to know, he just knows.

“Mend my swords, slave,” I reply. We’ve always spoken to each other this way. It amuses us both since it’s so fitting and so wrong. I pay him for his work, and he won’t do a damn thing he doesn’t want regardless of what I could offer. The fact I’m a runer and could freeze his forge doesn’t even bother him, though I’ve threatened numerous times. He’s just a fun old fart with a strong arm and a good eye for sharp edges. He’s one of the few people here I actually like. I guess birds of a feather really do flock together. Everyone in the school believes he’s a fully-fledged demon and that’s why his eyes don’t glow and why he can tolerate the heat. Needless to say, no one else comes down here for social calls.

“Killed ‘em again, eh? What are you going to do when I stop giving you sacrificial lambs?” he teases as he always has. My current swords are so average that he doesn’t care what I do to them. When I tell him what I want now, he may be more insistent in his threats though. Oh well...

“Yeah, I think it’s time I get something better though.”

“Heard your first mission is tomorrow. It ain’t bright to be getting new weapons the day before you ship out. You know those brutes on yer belt now. It’d be stupid of you to trade them in now!”

“You heard right, old man. But you know I’m not all that bright upstairs. ‘The attic don’t light no more,’ as they say. I want a new toy to play with before I leave.”

“Go get ya a bullwhip from town to play with, then. Yer partner might like it!” he says laughing as I blanch to green. Gods, the thought of that newt in a sexual situation leaves me feeling ill. “Don’t tell me the heat’s getting to ya too, girl!”

I shake my head clear of those atrocious thoughts. Great, I’m now in need of a good brain-washing. Anyone know where I can find a good cult? No? Damn, guess I’ll just have to gouge out my third eye for a bit. “Please don’t ever refer to that boy as dating potential again. I’ll vomit; I swear!”

He gives me a big belly laugh while I finish mutilating my metaphysical self. “So what you looking for? Want a mythril blade now?”

I shake my head, “No, I want to play with the big boys.”

“What you got in that head o’ yours, Mistress?”

“Thirteen voices and too much open space,” I tell him. “Oh, and a taco!” Gods, the newt’s brain damage is contagious!

“Got a new one already? What’s her name?” He asks completely ignoring my last comment.

I shrug, “Another one who doesn’t say much. I’m wondering how long it will take my inner sadist to target her and beat her into submission. Or if the inner child will get there to kick her shins bloody first.”

He laughs again. I guess I’m funnier than I think. “I’m votin’ for the domme,” he informs me. He always does.

“I want a pair of black dragon blades,” I tell him staring him right in the eyes. He jokes about how bad I must be with my swords, and I’ve never once corrected him, but I think he sees it in my eyes. One beast recognizes another, perhaps that’s the real reason we get along so well. He knows I’m good. I don’t need to tell him. I’ve got confidence, and I don’t brag. He respects that and just nods.

“Been wondering when you’d come down here for ‘em,” he mutters over the perpetual roar of his forge. “I’ll have ‘em ready when you get back, Mistress.”

I smile a little. We do understand each other. “How much?” I ask waiting to hear the voice of my wallet whimpering like a thrice kicked puppy.

He smirks, and in that instant I see the demon in him: his eyes flash silver in the light of the forge. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light. “Consider it a coming of age gift. Give ‘em Sulfur, girl!”

“I’ll be sure to tell them you sent the invitation when I deliver,” I say, accepting his well wishes.

He smiles again, the dried leather of his face wrinkling in a comforting mixture of mirth and cruelty, “You do that, Mistress. You do that.” Why couldn’t he be my partner? My inner voice sighs. It knows as well as I do that I’m stuck with the newt.

I hang out down there with the creepy old b*****d for a while longer talking about nothing and everything. The moment is gone. He’s acknowledged me as an equal and a friend. We aren’t a couple of old maids though. We aren’t going to dwell on the fact when there’s so much juicy gossip to sift through and old war stories for him to tell and retell. No, nothing had changed though everything had; everything was still the same. So when I left, he still told me not to go looking for any new pets as he was my one and only, and I replied that if he tried to command me one more time, I would flay the skin from his hide. Same old, same old. Sometimes I think it’s funny that the closest thing I have to normal is so very abnormal. Sometimes I think it’s sad, but either way, it’s always comforting.

Author's Note

Any and all comments are welcome.

Thanks for reading!