Blood Runes: Chapter 3
Chapter 3
After a few days, it occurred to Sam that as he had no particular destination in mind, he had no reason to hurry. He’d already managed to travel a respectable distance back into the Labyrinth, and if he was careful, he would draw no further attention other than Ruby, and she did not appear to be making any effort to report back to the other dragon-snakes about his location or activities. In fact, she scarcely left his side at all.
At first, Sam found her constant presence grating, but then he began to ignore her. She was not interfering in any way, and so far as he knew, she was posing no obvious threat.
He began to devote the first half of each day to travel, using the remaining daylight hours after a small midday meal to train himself in physical combat and renew his familiarity with combat magic.
Sam had always been sufficient in battle, if not as proficient as his father and older brother. However, years spent studying in the library of the Nexus with no real need to defend his own life had made him rusty. The skills were coming back to him slowly but surely, but he did not have the leisure of time! Every day brought forth challenges and battles that he barely survived, often only through Ruby’s intervention on his behalf. He had to be better.
Lord Xar had been able to use Sartan magic, proving it was possible for any Patryn with the determination. Sam certainly had the knowledge, having gleaned the basics of Sartan runes and spell structures in the course of his studies. He practiced all that he could manage of that as well, hoping that the crude Sartan magic might surprise the Labyrinth’s monsters, buying him more time to react. Brief diversions were about all his constructs were good for at his current level of skill, but practice could only improve his power.
He pushed himself as much as he dared, sometimes waking himself in the middle of the night for more practice before allowing himself a few more hours of rest before dawn, the cycle beginning again.
This particular evening, he was trying to conjure a ball of fire using Sartan runes. Producing light was now easy, if useless, and the runes for fire were closely related and a logical progression from that point.
Sam took a deep breath to gather his focus. Sartan spell casting was still awkward and seemed to take entirely too long. He needed his feet to trace the runes on the ground as he created them in the air with his hands and sang them, all at once. He began, his movements more slow and halting than he would like, but a spark glimmered before him. He smiled triumphantly, moving on to a construct to increase the size and heat of the flame only to see it wink out of existence like a blown out candle. He realized he had stopped moving his feet as he focused on the names of the runes coming next, breaking the simultaneous action required for the spell. Sam cursed and kicked at the ground, feeling like a petulant child.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Ruby remarked lazily from where was seated off to Sam’s right. He had forgotten she was there. “The fire was there--you did it.”
Sam snorted. “That was scarcely enough to ignite dry kindling. Useless!”
“It’s actually quite impressive progress,” Ruby insisted. “Especially doing it without any amplification like you are.”
“Amplification?” Sam knew this was likely a trap, his instincts screaming at him to be wary. “What are you talking about?”
“Blood magic.” Sam blinked at the dragon-snake in shock. He hadn’t expected her to come straight out with a blunt answer, and he was even more surprised by what it was.
He was reminded of the stories he’d been told as a child. Blood magic could amplify one’s magic manyfold, but it required sacrifice and was very difficult to control. The caster was just as likely to be consumed by the magic as he or she was to emerge triumphant. The blood must be fresh, still body-warm when used, and it had to be utilized within as well as without, and even hardened warriors balked a bit at the idea of drinking blood in the quantities required. If the caster tried to use their own blood, they risked weakening themselves beyond the point of the focus needed to direct the magnified power, and using the blood of another put that person in equal peril. Some blood was rumored to be more potent, but there was no way to know. He thought of how exhausted he was at the end of each day and laughed at the very idea of sapping himself even more.
“You must be joking. I barely have the energy to move forward as it is! Why would I even consider attempting blood magic?”
“I never said you had to use your own blood.” Ruby rolled her eyes.
“Animal blood isn’t very powerful,” Sam argued, “and the game here is small. The quantity gathered would hardly be worth the effort.”
“Obviously.” The dragon-snake was looking at him like he was being deliberately dense. “Use mine.”
“What?” Even as the automatic response left his lips, Sam considered how powerful the dragon-snakes were in magic. Ruby’s blood was without doubt at least as potent as his own. “You’d really risk that?”
“You forget that this form is an illusion.” Ruby gestured to her fake Patryn body, her eyes glowing red. “My true form has more blood than you could possibly consume.”
If he were capable of controlling the blood magic, Sam was almost certain he could bring himself to the same level as Azazel or any other dragon-snake. He wouldn’t need to fear them--he could stop running and stand his ground. It was a temptation more enticing that any other he’d ever faced.
“I’ll think about it.”
As he walked away, back toward their camp, Sam told himself that Ruby’s smile was more friendly than predatory. He felt her eyes burning into his back the entire way.
***
Sam glared at the spot in front of him where he’d again managed only a tiny, brief flicker of flame.
“All right,” he addressed the ever hovering Ruby, “I’ll try it, but only a little.”
“It’s entirely up to you, of course.”
Sam watched as she drew a suddenly razor sharp nail across one wrist, holding the dripping wound out toward him. He hesitated a moment before sealing his mouth around the wound. The heavy iron taste made him want to gag, but he persevered, allowing himself a few swallows before collecting some more of Ruby’s blood on his fingers and spreading it across his palms.
This time he conjured a ball of flame the size of his fist that he could move easily around the area in front of him. What had been so hard for him to concentrate on mere moments before came to him as easily as breathing, magical potential singing through his own veins like lightning. Just this tiny amount of the dragon-snake’s blood had increased his capabilities in Sartan magic to a level that might have taken him weeks on his own!
Suddenly, the fire ball winked out of existence. Sam looked at his hands and saw that the blood had gone cold, beginning to dry in places. A voice in his mind screamed for more as the heady rush of power seeped away, leaving him feeling weak and vulnerable at his normal level of ability. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that coated his tongue.
“So,” Ruby asked with a knowing smile, “what did you think of your little taste?” She moved closer and stopped just shy of touching him.
“I can understand why it’s easy to lose control of it,” Sam confessed. He was a bit afraid of the power, but his mind was already considering how he could make the external part of the spell last longer, visualizing the runes he could inscribe on a pair of gloves to keep the blood warm and liquid. Then, the only limiting factor would be the amount he drank, and Ruby was offering as much as he could take.
“Your mind and will are strong. I’m sure you can manage.” She stood on her toes and leaned forward to lick a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth, and the offer in her eyes was clear.
Sam knew this body of hers was only a magical construct, but it felt real beneath his hands. Ruby eagerly closed the slight gap between them. She was offering him more than he’d expected, and if this was the only price expected of him, it was one that Sam was happy to pay.
***
There were no maps of the Labyrinth. It followed a basic structural pattern in that the beginning was eventually connected to the end, the space between broken apart haphazardly by the Gates. The Vortex and the Nexus remained constant, as did the Gates themselves, but everything between was subject to change, either gradual or violent and sudden. The way forward could always be seen, but there was no way to determine how long it would take them to reach their destination. Sam was supposedly heading for the same goal, and Dean wanted to reach it first.
He kept their small party moving at a punishing pace. He almost hoped someone would complain and give him an excuse to tell them to leave if they couldn’t handle it, but no one ever said a word.
There was a strained tension between Haplo and Marit, but as long as their silent feud didn’t cause any delays, Dean was happy to stay well out of it. The Runners took to the journey better than the others. Travel through the Labyrinth was something one could never truly forget, and even though the regions they passed through were not familiar to any of the three Patryns, they knew the common pitfalls and tricks of which the magical prison was most fond. They were both surprised when Dean let it slip that he was a Hunter and not a Runner as they had supposed, but they didn’t look down on him like he was crazy as many others had in the past.
Though he could hardly be said to be doing well, Dean was most impressed with Alfred. Every time Dean spared a glance in his direction, the Sartan seemed to have managed to put himself in mortal peril, whether the Labyrinth itself was involved or not! Haplo insisted that the man had improved from when he’d first made his acquaintance. He somehow never slowed them down, and Dean marveled at his continued survival each day.
The dragon was an unknown quantity. Dean wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, the fact that he was learning nothing from observing Castiel, or that the dragon seemed to be staring holes into Dean’s own skull as though he were finding the secrets of life watching Dean move and speak. He’d been told the human appearance was an illusion, and it was strange to think such a powerful beast was the true form of the intense but solemn man. He rarely spoke, so Dean was surprised when Castiel sat down beside him when they made camp a few weeks into the journey.
“You are an oddity among your people,” the dragon stated baldly. His head was cocked to one side and he was looking at Dean as though he were a puzzle to be solved. It was unsettling.
“Is this about that blood thing again? It’s been mentioned quite few times--I think I have a pretty good understanding of that now.” Dean forced himself not to scoot away. A good Hunter never showed fear or unease. They were important instincts for survival and were not to be ignored, but it was a bad idea to show any weakness.
Castiel looked momentarily perplexed, which at least made it clear this wasn’t about the blood. “You’re not driven by hate.”
“Of course I am.” Dean snorted. “I hate this place and all the creatures in it just as much as the next Patryn.”
“I didn’t say you don’t feel hate,” Castiel explained as though it should be obvious, “I said it doesn’t drive you. You don’t hunt the monsters here simply because you hate them; you do it because your father taught you how, and to protect your people.”
“I have to say, I’m not really seeing the distinction.”
“All creatures are capable of hate, just as they are all capable of love,” Castiel explained. “The Sartan locked your people away because they deemed them to be too driven by the darker emotions, including hate. This prison was intended to change that mindset.”
Dean managed not to roll his eyes. He’d heard all of this before. One of the first things every Patryn child learned was how the Sartan had cast their people into this prison because they were afraid of the Patryn’s power. “That plan sort of had the opposite effect, didn’t it?” Since the dragon didn’t seem to be going anywhere, Dean might as well try to make conversation.
“For most of you, yes.” Castiel stopped speaking then, returning to staring at Dean intently.
The implications of that were clear. Dean was about to retort that he certainly wasn’t driven by something ridiculous like love, but then he remembered the day of his brother’s birth...
***
Dean had followed his mother when she left that morning. Much like wild animals, Patryn women instinctively sought out enclosed, easily defensible places to give birth.
Siblings were rare among their people, most women surviving only long enough to bear a single child, if they had any at all. Dean was excited and curious. He waited outside the small cave his mother had selected until she reemerged with a squirming bundle in her arms. She was surprised to see him, but she didn’t scold him for leaving the Squatter camp alone. She even let Dean carry his new brother part of the way back.
As tradition dictated, John had chosen Samuel’s name. Dean was reluctant to hand the baby over so that his mother could tattoo his name and the rest of his heart rune. The other runes would follow later, but this first was the most important. He felt a surge of inexplicable protectiveness for his brother whom he’d only just met and who couldn’t even talk or protect himself, yet.
“I’m sorry, mother,” Dean mumbled ashamed as he finally gave the baby back to her. “I didn’t mean to show weakness, but I know the marking will hurt him, and he’s so little...”
His mother smiled at him even though she must be annoyed with the delay; she had not yet used magic to help herself recover from the birth, knowing that it would send her into a healing sleep and her work was not yet done.
“You care for your brother. I’m glad.” She reached out a hand and tousled Dean’s unruly hair. “Always remember, my son, even though it may seem to be at times, to love is not a weakness.”
She had even let Dean take his brother’s tiny hands in his own as she tattooed the heart rune. He completed the circle as he’d been taught and shared his brother’s pain. Sam hadn’t cried at all...
***
Dean was pulled from his reverie by a warning call from Marit. A small group was approaching them. In the failing light it was difficult to be certain, but they looked like Patryns.
“Runners?” Marit suggested, though she didn’t sound convinced herself. It was unusual for Runners to travel in a group, but it wasn’t unheard of either. “Or maybe it’s a hunting parting from a Squatter community?”
Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “They’re not Patryns.” He armed himself with a short sword and took a defensive stance without waiting to see if the others would follow suit. He wasn’t sure precisely how he knew the things approaching them were monsters, but he did. His father used to tell him he had strong warrior’s instincts. Whatever it was, he’d learned to trust it to keep himself and his family alive.
He must have sounded convincing enough because when he next glanced at the others, they were all prepared to fight. It was a fortunate thing; as soon as the creatures were close enough to be identified as a true threat, they were racing at the small party with inhuman speed, weapons drawn.
There were five of them, which under normal circumstances would seem a fair fight. Two were armed with large sticks they wielded like clubs or staffs, two had crudely carved spears, and one had a long knife.
Dean focused his attention on the foe with the blade. He should have the advantage of reach, if not speed. He waited for his opponent to make the first move and was almost instantly glad for the decision to be uncharacteristically cautious. Before his eyes, the weapon in the mimic’s hand changed form from the long knife to a two-handed sword. Dean barely had enough time to hop backward to dodge a swipe from the now much longer blade.
Dean waited for his enemy to try an overhead blow, slipping under the attack and catching the blade on his own. The longer blade would have no advantages in close combat. No sooner had he begun to push his foe’s weapon back than the weapon suddenly changed again, this time to a slender stiletto that slipped easily away from his own sword, darting at him almost faster than he could dodge. He backed away and found himself facing a long sword again.
Dean eyed his opponent warily and forced himself to take a few deep breaths and reassess the situation. Clearly, the weapon he faced was capable of changing to whatever would give the one wielding it the advantage. However, it appeared to take the blade a few moments to adjust each time. If he was fast enough, Dean might be able to disarm his enemy, and it would be over soon enough after that.
The hunter feinted an attack and sidestepped his opponent’s countering lunge. He slipped up close and head-butted the creature, stunning it long enough for him to grab the wrist of the sword-hand, squeezing the tendons hard enough to force the mimic to release its grip on the weapon. He quickly kicked it away and rammed a shoulder into the creature’s chest, knocking it to the ground where he finished it off with a blow to the throat.
He looked up to find that the others had finished off the rest of the attackers. He stooped to clean his blade off on his defeated foe’s tunic, then walked over to get a closer look at the strange weapon. Without a hand on it, the weapon had reverted to a long knife similar to what Dean had seen before he engaged his opponent. He reached out a hand slowly, hesitant to touch the strange blade.
“The weapon will not harm you.” Dean silently cursed himself for not noticing Alfred’s approach before the Sartan spoke. “I’ve seen a weapon like this once before, though I never expected to find another in this place.”
Haplo and the other two joined them. “The Labyrinth is adapting to what it learned from Hugh’s Accursed Blade,” Haplo deduced. “It created its own equivalent to counter the threat.”
“Threat?” Marit scoffed. “You make it sound as though the Labyrinth is-”
“It’s afraid,” Dean cut in, completing the thought. The idea seemed insane, but as soon as the words left his lips, Dean knew that they were true.
They all considered the implications in silence for a few moments. Finally, Dean picked up the weapon to examine it further. “What can you tell me about that other blade?” he asked the others.
“The weapon was designed to be used by mensch,” Alfred obligingly explained. “It was meant to provide them an advantage in a fight with opponents using the rune magic, making them more adaptable, stronger. I don’t know how similar this weapon may be, however.”
Dean squinted at the runes etched into the blade. He could see where the constructs used leant the weapon its adaptability, but there was something else as well. He traced a thumb along the blade as he reviewed the runes and hissed as it sliced into the pad. He felt a strange pull and jerked the injured digit away. The blood did not drip from the blade, instead disappearing into the steel followed by a soft glow.
“Blood magic.” The weapon was designed to draw extra power from any blood that touched the metal.
“Hugh’s blade did not incorporate blood magic,” Alfred murmured, his face pale.
“So, if this weapon was developed to be adaptable like Hugh’s Accursed Blade because the Labyrinth learned from watching it in use, then it must have learned the blood magic from someone using it,” Haplo concluded with a frown.
Dean felt an icy hand clench in his gut. “Sam...”
Previous || Master Post || Next
After a few days, it occurred to Sam that as he had no particular destination in mind, he had no reason to hurry. He’d already managed to travel a respectable distance back into the Labyrinth, and if he was careful, he would draw no further attention other than Ruby, and she did not appear to be making any effort to report back to the other dragon-snakes about his location or activities. In fact, she scarcely left his side at all.
At first, Sam found her constant presence grating, but then he began to ignore her. She was not interfering in any way, and so far as he knew, she was posing no obvious threat.
He began to devote the first half of each day to travel, using the remaining daylight hours after a small midday meal to train himself in physical combat and renew his familiarity with combat magic.
Sam had always been sufficient in battle, if not as proficient as his father and older brother. However, years spent studying in the library of the Nexus with no real need to defend his own life had made him rusty. The skills were coming back to him slowly but surely, but he did not have the leisure of time! Every day brought forth challenges and battles that he barely survived, often only through Ruby’s intervention on his behalf. He had to be better.
Lord Xar had been able to use Sartan magic, proving it was possible for any Patryn with the determination. Sam certainly had the knowledge, having gleaned the basics of Sartan runes and spell structures in the course of his studies. He practiced all that he could manage of that as well, hoping that the crude Sartan magic might surprise the Labyrinth’s monsters, buying him more time to react. Brief diversions were about all his constructs were good for at his current level of skill, but practice could only improve his power.
He pushed himself as much as he dared, sometimes waking himself in the middle of the night for more practice before allowing himself a few more hours of rest before dawn, the cycle beginning again.
This particular evening, he was trying to conjure a ball of fire using Sartan runes. Producing light was now easy, if useless, and the runes for fire were closely related and a logical progression from that point.
Sam took a deep breath to gather his focus. Sartan spell casting was still awkward and seemed to take entirely too long. He needed his feet to trace the runes on the ground as he created them in the air with his hands and sang them, all at once. He began, his movements more slow and halting than he would like, but a spark glimmered before him. He smiled triumphantly, moving on to a construct to increase the size and heat of the flame only to see it wink out of existence like a blown out candle. He realized he had stopped moving his feet as he focused on the names of the runes coming next, breaking the simultaneous action required for the spell. Sam cursed and kicked at the ground, feeling like a petulant child.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” Ruby remarked lazily from where was seated off to Sam’s right. He had forgotten she was there. “The fire was there--you did it.”
Sam snorted. “That was scarcely enough to ignite dry kindling. Useless!”
“It’s actually quite impressive progress,” Ruby insisted. “Especially doing it without any amplification like you are.”
“Amplification?” Sam knew this was likely a trap, his instincts screaming at him to be wary. “What are you talking about?”
“Blood magic.” Sam blinked at the dragon-snake in shock. He hadn’t expected her to come straight out with a blunt answer, and he was even more surprised by what it was.
He was reminded of the stories he’d been told as a child. Blood magic could amplify one’s magic manyfold, but it required sacrifice and was very difficult to control. The caster was just as likely to be consumed by the magic as he or she was to emerge triumphant. The blood must be fresh, still body-warm when used, and it had to be utilized within as well as without, and even hardened warriors balked a bit at the idea of drinking blood in the quantities required. If the caster tried to use their own blood, they risked weakening themselves beyond the point of the focus needed to direct the magnified power, and using the blood of another put that person in equal peril. Some blood was rumored to be more potent, but there was no way to know. He thought of how exhausted he was at the end of each day and laughed at the very idea of sapping himself even more.
“You must be joking. I barely have the energy to move forward as it is! Why would I even consider attempting blood magic?”
“I never said you had to use your own blood.” Ruby rolled her eyes.
“Animal blood isn’t very powerful,” Sam argued, “and the game here is small. The quantity gathered would hardly be worth the effort.”
“Obviously.” The dragon-snake was looking at him like he was being deliberately dense. “Use mine.”
“What?” Even as the automatic response left his lips, Sam considered how powerful the dragon-snakes were in magic. Ruby’s blood was without doubt at least as potent as his own. “You’d really risk that?”
“You forget that this form is an illusion.” Ruby gestured to her fake Patryn body, her eyes glowing red. “My true form has more blood than you could possibly consume.”
If he were capable of controlling the blood magic, Sam was almost certain he could bring himself to the same level as Azazel or any other dragon-snake. He wouldn’t need to fear them--he could stop running and stand his ground. It was a temptation more enticing that any other he’d ever faced.
“I’ll think about it.”
As he walked away, back toward their camp, Sam told himself that Ruby’s smile was more friendly than predatory. He felt her eyes burning into his back the entire way.
***
Sam glared at the spot in front of him where he’d again managed only a tiny, brief flicker of flame.
“All right,” he addressed the ever hovering Ruby, “I’ll try it, but only a little.”
“It’s entirely up to you, of course.”
Sam watched as she drew a suddenly razor sharp nail across one wrist, holding the dripping wound out toward him. He hesitated a moment before sealing his mouth around the wound. The heavy iron taste made him want to gag, but he persevered, allowing himself a few swallows before collecting some more of Ruby’s blood on his fingers and spreading it across his palms.
This time he conjured a ball of flame the size of his fist that he could move easily around the area in front of him. What had been so hard for him to concentrate on mere moments before came to him as easily as breathing, magical potential singing through his own veins like lightning. Just this tiny amount of the dragon-snake’s blood had increased his capabilities in Sartan magic to a level that might have taken him weeks on his own!
Suddenly, the fire ball winked out of existence. Sam looked at his hands and saw that the blood had gone cold, beginning to dry in places. A voice in his mind screamed for more as the heady rush of power seeped away, leaving him feeling weak and vulnerable at his normal level of ability. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that coated his tongue.
“So,” Ruby asked with a knowing smile, “what did you think of your little taste?” She moved closer and stopped just shy of touching him.
“I can understand why it’s easy to lose control of it,” Sam confessed. He was a bit afraid of the power, but his mind was already considering how he could make the external part of the spell last longer, visualizing the runes he could inscribe on a pair of gloves to keep the blood warm and liquid. Then, the only limiting factor would be the amount he drank, and Ruby was offering as much as he could take.
“Your mind and will are strong. I’m sure you can manage.” She stood on her toes and leaned forward to lick a stray droplet of blood from the corner of his mouth, and the offer in her eyes was clear.
Sam knew this body of hers was only a magical construct, but it felt real beneath his hands. Ruby eagerly closed the slight gap between them. She was offering him more than he’d expected, and if this was the only price expected of him, it was one that Sam was happy to pay.
***
There were no maps of the Labyrinth. It followed a basic structural pattern in that the beginning was eventually connected to the end, the space between broken apart haphazardly by the Gates. The Vortex and the Nexus remained constant, as did the Gates themselves, but everything between was subject to change, either gradual or violent and sudden. The way forward could always be seen, but there was no way to determine how long it would take them to reach their destination. Sam was supposedly heading for the same goal, and Dean wanted to reach it first.
He kept their small party moving at a punishing pace. He almost hoped someone would complain and give him an excuse to tell them to leave if they couldn’t handle it, but no one ever said a word.
There was a strained tension between Haplo and Marit, but as long as their silent feud didn’t cause any delays, Dean was happy to stay well out of it. The Runners took to the journey better than the others. Travel through the Labyrinth was something one could never truly forget, and even though the regions they passed through were not familiar to any of the three Patryns, they knew the common pitfalls and tricks of which the magical prison was most fond. They were both surprised when Dean let it slip that he was a Hunter and not a Runner as they had supposed, but they didn’t look down on him like he was crazy as many others had in the past.
Though he could hardly be said to be doing well, Dean was most impressed with Alfred. Every time Dean spared a glance in his direction, the Sartan seemed to have managed to put himself in mortal peril, whether the Labyrinth itself was involved or not! Haplo insisted that the man had improved from when he’d first made his acquaintance. He somehow never slowed them down, and Dean marveled at his continued survival each day.
The dragon was an unknown quantity. Dean wasn’t sure what disturbed him more, the fact that he was learning nothing from observing Castiel, or that the dragon seemed to be staring holes into Dean’s own skull as though he were finding the secrets of life watching Dean move and speak. He’d been told the human appearance was an illusion, and it was strange to think such a powerful beast was the true form of the intense but solemn man. He rarely spoke, so Dean was surprised when Castiel sat down beside him when they made camp a few weeks into the journey.
“You are an oddity among your people,” the dragon stated baldly. His head was cocked to one side and he was looking at Dean as though he were a puzzle to be solved. It was unsettling.
“Is this about that blood thing again? It’s been mentioned quite few times--I think I have a pretty good understanding of that now.” Dean forced himself not to scoot away. A good Hunter never showed fear or unease. They were important instincts for survival and were not to be ignored, but it was a bad idea to show any weakness.
Castiel looked momentarily perplexed, which at least made it clear this wasn’t about the blood. “You’re not driven by hate.”
“Of course I am.” Dean snorted. “I hate this place and all the creatures in it just as much as the next Patryn.”
“I didn’t say you don’t feel hate,” Castiel explained as though it should be obvious, “I said it doesn’t drive you. You don’t hunt the monsters here simply because you hate them; you do it because your father taught you how, and to protect your people.”
“I have to say, I’m not really seeing the distinction.”
“All creatures are capable of hate, just as they are all capable of love,” Castiel explained. “The Sartan locked your people away because they deemed them to be too driven by the darker emotions, including hate. This prison was intended to change that mindset.”
Dean managed not to roll his eyes. He’d heard all of this before. One of the first things every Patryn child learned was how the Sartan had cast their people into this prison because they were afraid of the Patryn’s power. “That plan sort of had the opposite effect, didn’t it?” Since the dragon didn’t seem to be going anywhere, Dean might as well try to make conversation.
“For most of you, yes.” Castiel stopped speaking then, returning to staring at Dean intently.
The implications of that were clear. Dean was about to retort that he certainly wasn’t driven by something ridiculous like love, but then he remembered the day of his brother’s birth...
***
Dean had followed his mother when she left that morning. Much like wild animals, Patryn women instinctively sought out enclosed, easily defensible places to give birth.
Siblings were rare among their people, most women surviving only long enough to bear a single child, if they had any at all. Dean was excited and curious. He waited outside the small cave his mother had selected until she reemerged with a squirming bundle in her arms. She was surprised to see him, but she didn’t scold him for leaving the Squatter camp alone. She even let Dean carry his new brother part of the way back.
As tradition dictated, John had chosen Samuel’s name. Dean was reluctant to hand the baby over so that his mother could tattoo his name and the rest of his heart rune. The other runes would follow later, but this first was the most important. He felt a surge of inexplicable protectiveness for his brother whom he’d only just met and who couldn’t even talk or protect himself, yet.
“I’m sorry, mother,” Dean mumbled ashamed as he finally gave the baby back to her. “I didn’t mean to show weakness, but I know the marking will hurt him, and he’s so little...”
His mother smiled at him even though she must be annoyed with the delay; she had not yet used magic to help herself recover from the birth, knowing that it would send her into a healing sleep and her work was not yet done.
“You care for your brother. I’m glad.” She reached out a hand and tousled Dean’s unruly hair. “Always remember, my son, even though it may seem to be at times, to love is not a weakness.”
She had even let Dean take his brother’s tiny hands in his own as she tattooed the heart rune. He completed the circle as he’d been taught and shared his brother’s pain. Sam hadn’t cried at all...
***
Dean was pulled from his reverie by a warning call from Marit. A small group was approaching them. In the failing light it was difficult to be certain, but they looked like Patryns.
“Runners?” Marit suggested, though she didn’t sound convinced herself. It was unusual for Runners to travel in a group, but it wasn’t unheard of either. “Or maybe it’s a hunting parting from a Squatter community?”
Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. “They’re not Patryns.” He armed himself with a short sword and took a defensive stance without waiting to see if the others would follow suit. He wasn’t sure precisely how he knew the things approaching them were monsters, but he did. His father used to tell him he had strong warrior’s instincts. Whatever it was, he’d learned to trust it to keep himself and his family alive.
He must have sounded convincing enough because when he next glanced at the others, they were all prepared to fight. It was a fortunate thing; as soon as the creatures were close enough to be identified as a true threat, they were racing at the small party with inhuman speed, weapons drawn.
There were five of them, which under normal circumstances would seem a fair fight. Two were armed with large sticks they wielded like clubs or staffs, two had crudely carved spears, and one had a long knife.
Dean focused his attention on the foe with the blade. He should have the advantage of reach, if not speed. He waited for his opponent to make the first move and was almost instantly glad for the decision to be uncharacteristically cautious. Before his eyes, the weapon in the mimic’s hand changed form from the long knife to a two-handed sword. Dean barely had enough time to hop backward to dodge a swipe from the now much longer blade.
Dean waited for his enemy to try an overhead blow, slipping under the attack and catching the blade on his own. The longer blade would have no advantages in close combat. No sooner had he begun to push his foe’s weapon back than the weapon suddenly changed again, this time to a slender stiletto that slipped easily away from his own sword, darting at him almost faster than he could dodge. He backed away and found himself facing a long sword again.
Dean eyed his opponent warily and forced himself to take a few deep breaths and reassess the situation. Clearly, the weapon he faced was capable of changing to whatever would give the one wielding it the advantage. However, it appeared to take the blade a few moments to adjust each time. If he was fast enough, Dean might be able to disarm his enemy, and it would be over soon enough after that.
The hunter feinted an attack and sidestepped his opponent’s countering lunge. He slipped up close and head-butted the creature, stunning it long enough for him to grab the wrist of the sword-hand, squeezing the tendons hard enough to force the mimic to release its grip on the weapon. He quickly kicked it away and rammed a shoulder into the creature’s chest, knocking it to the ground where he finished it off with a blow to the throat.
He looked up to find that the others had finished off the rest of the attackers. He stooped to clean his blade off on his defeated foe’s tunic, then walked over to get a closer look at the strange weapon. Without a hand on it, the weapon had reverted to a long knife similar to what Dean had seen before he engaged his opponent. He reached out a hand slowly, hesitant to touch the strange blade.
“The weapon will not harm you.” Dean silently cursed himself for not noticing Alfred’s approach before the Sartan spoke. “I’ve seen a weapon like this once before, though I never expected to find another in this place.”
Haplo and the other two joined them. “The Labyrinth is adapting to what it learned from Hugh’s Accursed Blade,” Haplo deduced. “It created its own equivalent to counter the threat.”
“Threat?” Marit scoffed. “You make it sound as though the Labyrinth is-”
“It’s afraid,” Dean cut in, completing the thought. The idea seemed insane, but as soon as the words left his lips, Dean knew that they were true.
They all considered the implications in silence for a few moments. Finally, Dean picked up the weapon to examine it further. “What can you tell me about that other blade?” he asked the others.
“The weapon was designed to be used by mensch,” Alfred obligingly explained. “It was meant to provide them an advantage in a fight with opponents using the rune magic, making them more adaptable, stronger. I don’t know how similar this weapon may be, however.”
Dean squinted at the runes etched into the blade. He could see where the constructs used leant the weapon its adaptability, but there was something else as well. He traced a thumb along the blade as he reviewed the runes and hissed as it sliced into the pad. He felt a strange pull and jerked the injured digit away. The blood did not drip from the blade, instead disappearing into the steel followed by a soft glow.
“Blood magic.” The weapon was designed to draw extra power from any blood that touched the metal.
“Hugh’s blade did not incorporate blood magic,” Alfred murmured, his face pale.
“So, if this weapon was developed to be adaptable like Hugh’s Accursed Blade because the Labyrinth learned from watching it in use, then it must have learned the blood magic from someone using it,” Haplo concluded with a frown.
Dean felt an icy hand clench in his gut. “Sam...”
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