“More runes? You just said there aren’t.”

  “Not if you ask the guild, the Crown, the academics, or even the historians.”

  He was speaking fast now, looking around to make sure no one was walking near enough to hear his very audible whispering. “I believe they’re all wrong. Either that, or they’re hiding their knowledge. I don’t know which is the greater sin.”

  Vidar snorted. “Sin. What do the church and the fallen angels care of lies?”

  Alvarn looked crestfallen, so Vidar relented. “Go on, then, tell me.”

  “It’s about the sewers. That’s why I begged my father to send me to the guild chapter in Halmstadt and not Stalheim, like he wanted. The capital might be more prestigious, but it lacks that one thing.”

  “Sewers?” Vidar guessed.

  Alvarn nodded excitedly, gesticulating wildly in the air as he walked. “The sewers. No other city in the world has them!”

  “Really?”

  “Well, maybe. I don’t know. There are no ones quite like the one here, that’s for sure.”

  “What’s so special about this one?”

  “The sea.”

  “Huh?”

  He nodded again, then stopped dead in his tracks, looked around where they were walking, and promptly turned around again. “We walked past the place.”

  As they walked, before Alvarn had time to start up his talk about the sea again, Vidar thought of something. “The three runes. Can any of them form a barrier?”

  “A what?”

  “Like a shield you can’t see.”

  Alvarn frowned. “No. Nothing like that. Why do you ask?”

  “There was this padlock at the church, the door with all the dead bodies.”

  “Dead bodies?”

  Vidar looked up at Alvarn. The young man looked more alert again, if a little pale from the mention of dead bodies. “Never mind that now. It’s like we’re talking around each other. You were supposed to teach me how to craft runes.”

  “You’re right. One thing at a time. First of all, I have to go in here,” he said, stopping by another door. This time it was a modern brick house, small but well kept.

  “Do I have to wait outside? It’s freezing.”

  Alvarn looked in through the window at what sounded like a family with a bunch of children, judging by the laughing shrieks and playful arguing. “Sorry,” he said. “Can’t have you in there with me. Hold on a moment.”

  He rummaged around his clothes, then pulled hard on something, producing a sound of fabric ripping. Alvarn held out his hand to Vidar. “Here. Take this and place it somewhere on you. Keep the symbol from your skin, mind you. It’ll help keep you warm while I’m in there. You won’t get to keep it, though.”

  Vidar reverently accepted the wooden disc. This one was much smaller than the light rune, and the runic symbol upon it was different. Heat, sowilo, consisted of four connected, downward lines. It radiated a gentle warmth. Unlike what Vidar expected, the wood itself was not warm in the least. The symbol itself though, or the area right in front of the symbol, was, though not enough to burn him.

  “In your clothes,” Vidar murmured. “Genius.”

  Vidar slipped it into the chest pocket of his shirt and closed his coat again as Alvarn knocked on the door. A round-faced woman with blond locks escaping from under a white bonnet threw open the door, laughing while saying something to the noisy family behind her. Her face, along with her apron and the dark gray dress under it, were all dotted with what looked like white flour.

  “Alvarn!” she said, a happy look on her face at first that then fell. “I’m really sorry, love, but we don’t need rejuvenation this week.”

  Alvarn pursed his lips and bent down to scoop up a handful of snow before letting it fall through his fingers. “Still mighty cold out here, miss.”

  The woman ran her hands across her apron, smoothing out the wrinkles while glancing to the side. “We are having some difficulties at the moment. The fee…”

  “Say no more,” Alvarn said, stepping forward and squeezing between the woman and the frame of the door. “I’ll waive the fee this time.”

  “No. You don’t have to do that,” the woman said, turning around to face the interior of the house. She looked back to Vidar, then subtly wrinkled her nose. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  Vidar shook his head and ignored the relief on the woman’s face as he declined the invite.

  This time, Alvarn was only gone for a few minutes. When he exited back into the street, he held out a whole loaf of bread to Vidar, his hand trembling a little. It was still warm, the air around it rippling in the cold.

  “For me?” Vidar asked, reaching hesitantly to take it.

  Alvarn handed it over. “I’m fed well enough at the guild.”

  “Won’t you get in trouble if they don’t pay?” Vidar asked around a huge mouthful of bread.

  “Perhaps. You still wish to accompany me to my next destination? It is quite a walk and I’m running behind.”

  “Of course. You still haven’t taught me a thing.”

  They set to walking again. Vidar was already hopelessly lost, so he just followed beside Alvarn.

  “Well, listen up, then. It is deceptively easy and difficult to trigger runes.”

  Vidar immediately interrupted him. “What about crafting them?”

  “The crafting aspect is art. With a few strokes, you must embody the concept of the rune. Neither material nor the shape of the object on which the rune is inscribed matters to its function. The rune and only the rune is what lets us touch truth.”

  If the subject wasn’t so interesting, Vidar would have immediately drifted off from the dry, lecturing tone of voice and the use of unnecessarily vague language.

  “So all that matters is the symbol?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What is truth?”

  Alvarn wriggled his eyebrows down at him. “Quite the question, that.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” Alvarn sighed. “For all practical purposes, you can ignore that and focus on the symbols.”

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  “The rune symbols are not very complicated,” Vidar said.

  “They are not,” Alvarn agreed. “But you have to get them just right, or triggering the rune can have unforeseen circumstances.”

  “You’re being very mysterious,” Vidar said, taking a long step over a frozen puddle covered in snow. A small sliver of the snow was gone, showing the ice beneath. Judging by the snow strewn all around them, someone had recently slipped and fallen.

  “Sorry. I have a tendency to emulate my teachers when I cite knowledge taught to me.”

  “The gist of it is that I need to copy the rune real well or it will blow up in my face?” Vidar asked.

  “Yes. That is one of the possible consequences of getting it wrong.”

  “So,” Vidar said, thinking. “I could inscribe the runic symbol on a wall if I wanted?”

  “Of course. Many of the guild’s clients choose that route for their homes, as it allows the sowilo rune to spread its warmth better throughout an enclosed space.”

  “That’s all well and good, but how do I actually trigger one? I did it once before, like you said, but I wasn’t exactly sure what I was doing.”

  “You reach into it and impart part of your soul.”

  Vidar stopped dead in his tracks, dumbfounded. “You’re part of the church?”

  Alvarn frowned as he turned. “The soul has always been part of us, since the first man. It has nothing to do with the church, but I can see why some people would think so. Again, though. It matters little in actual rune crafting. It’s equal parts dogma and legend.”

  “Then start telling me the things that do matter!”

  “You felt your arm go numb.”

  “I did,” Vidar confirmed.

  “And you said something squeezed your heart.”

  “That’s right.”

  “The rune scribes’ guild teaches that our heart once provided the necessary essence, but we lost something a long time ago, and now that area is wilting and useless to us.”

  Alvarn held up his hands, forestalling Vidar’s next complaint as he continued. “In the end, the why does not matter. This means, in our case, that we must take from ourselves to rejuvenate the runes. Hence, the numbness. And in extreme cases, such as yours, seizures, unconsciousness, even death.”

  Vidar swallowed hard.

  “So now you understand why you shouldn’t learn? The guild isn’t always a benevolent organization, but in this, they are right. The art of crafting runes is dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m going to learn anyway,” Vidar said with no hesitation.

  “You’re either very brave or incredibly foolhardy,” Alvarn said, his solemn face breaking out into a grin. “I’m glad I met you.”

  “The sentiment is mutual,” Vidar replied, forcing the last bit of bread into his mouth. When he next spoke, crumbs spattered in all directions. “So, you are supposed to push essence from yourself into the rune to trigger it?”

  “That is correct, but only a tiny amount.”

  “How exactly do I do that?” he asked, swallowing. “And why did it drain me so much to trigger the broken one?”

  “You didn’t trigger it. You rejuvenated the kenaz rune. When it broke, the power held within must have leaked away. I don’t know much about broken-down runes, but I don’t see any other way. The more you practice and perfect your art, the less you will have to give of yourself to rejuvenate the rune. The act of triggering one is like tickling it in comparison.”

  “Tickling? Am I supposed to make the symbol giggle?”

  “Not quite. The process of triggering and rejuvenating is the same. First you create the rune and bestow some of your power to rejuvenate it. Then, you trigger it. And when it eventually fades, you rejuvenate it to give it new life.”

  Alvarn’s face was flushed red from all his talking and gesticulating. This young man really loved the subject. That much was clear to Vidar.

  “And that process is?”

  “What?” Alvarn asked.

  “It’s like you’re talking around the actual instruction on how to perform these wondrous tasks because you don’t want me doing them.”

  Alvarn removed his glasses and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt before placing them back upon his nose. “That is not it. Not at all. I’ve already told you how to perform these steps, and besides, you’ve already done it before. The hardest part is already done for you. Did you know it takes most students weeks to trigger their first rune?”

  “You didn’t tell me shit,” Vidar said, eyeing Alvarn’s cloak. The snow touching it melted almost instantly, rather than build like on his own coat. Warmth runes. Vidar needed more of them. “I was half-dead when I did it. Please just tell me what I did so I can repeat it. And please tell it in simple terms so I can understand.”

  “Simple terms,” Alvarn repeated, stopping to think. After scratching his cheek for a bit, his gaze met Vidar’s. “To rejuvenate a rune, you pull essence from yourself and transfer it to the rune using your will. Concentrate and imagine the essence flowing from you and into the symbol. Just a tiny sliver at first, yes? You don’t want to drain yourself to the point you pass out again.”

  “That’s it? I’m supposed to want the rune to receive essence from me?”

  “Use your will to funnel it into the runic symbol. That’s important, you don’t want any going into the materials the rune is inscribed upon, or it will just go to waste.”

  “Simple enough,” Vidar said. “I think.”

  “Not so simple.”

  “What about triggering?” Vidar asked.

  “That’s much easier. Just will the rune to open.”

  Vidar glared. “Just will the rune to open.”

  Alvarn looked up at the sky and then suddenly hurried off. Vidar half ran to catch up to Alvarn’s considerably longer stride.

  “I’m late,” Alvarn said. “I have plenty more stops to make and very little time for them. I’m afraid I’ll have to go at it alone for now to catch up. We must meet again so you can tell me of the sewers.”

  “Right. Sewers,” Vidar said. Alvarn’s interest in those had slipped Vidar’s mind. Talking of runes was far more interesting, after all. “Tomorrow after dark at the steps?”

  “Tomorrow after dark,” Alvarn confirmed.

  Then he held out his hand. Vidar grabbed it and they squeezed.

  Alvarn grinned. “Well met, but I was holding out my hand for you to give me the sowilo rune back.”

  “Are you sure you need it?” Vidar asked, letting go. “Looks like you’ve got quite a few.”

  Alvarn kept his hand out in front of him, palm up. “Work on triggering the kenaz rune before anything else. One step at a time, or you’ll permanently damage yourself.”

  “Fine,” Vidar grumbled.

  He took out the rune and gave it back to Alvarn, who glanced down at the small wooden disc before letting it slide into a pocket.

  “I just hope I won’t freeze to death before tomorrow,” Vidar said, shivering.

  Alvarn grinned, half turned, and made as if to walk. “Tomorrow, then? Don’t forget.”

  “Tomorrow,” Vidar agreed.

  With that, Alvarn was off.

  With still quite a bit of time before Vidar would have to report to Embla, he made it back to a street he recognized and set off toward the church. With Alvarn mentioning how there was only current knowledge of three different runes, Vidar thought he may have stumbled upon something incredible.

  The padlock remained under the pile of snow where he’d hidden it. Initial inspection revealed nothing. A thick layer of rust hid everything and anything beneath. Vidar cursed. He’d hoped to find the runic symbol legible through the rust, but no such luck. Something blocked his shovel when he struck it, an unrecognizable, translucent blur. It was a rune. It had to be.

  Vidar put it in his coat. There might be a way to get past the rust. He’d have to make some inquiries.

  Once back at Embla’s, having had no success at finding a blacksmith who’d even talk to him, he handed over the light rune.

  “What is this?” Embla asked, taking the wooden disc.

  “What do you mean? It’s a new light rune.”

  She handed it back. “It’s not triggered. How are we supposed to use it? Go back and have the scribe student trigger it, or you’ll have to go down there tomorrow in the dark.”

  “Fine,” Vidar grumbled.

  He had no intention of going back to Alvarn already. From the rune scribe’s instruction, it should be simple enough to trigger this one little rune. Vidar already did it once before. How difficult could it be?

  At supper in the barn, Ida immediately approached him. “Ready for adventure, then?”

  “What?” Vidar asked, looking up from his bowl of porridge.

  Ida leaned forward a little and pouted with her lower lip. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?”

  Then he remembered. The break-in. He didn’t have time for it, not if he wanted to get anywhere with the rune. He’d already tried several times while walking from Embla’s to the barn, holding on to the wood and brushing the symbol with his thumb. All his attempts so far had ended in failure. Nothing happened, no matter how much he wanted the rune to light up in his pocket. Perhaps what he needed was something to take his mind off it for a little while.

  “I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “Great. We have to do it tonight, when most of the family and staff are gone.”

  Vidar emptied his bowl. “Where are they going?”

  “Church,” she whispered after leaning in so no one around them would hear. “It’s some special day.”

  He’d learned the different important days for the church during the year at one point when his father copied a book detailing the different known religions in the world, but then promptly forgot them all. Few people belonged to the church these days, and they were no longer the power they’d been way back when the angels actually shared their teachings through the clergy.

  “Where is the house?” Vidar asked.

  “We’ll show you.”

  And just like that, they entered into the late afternoon, with the sun already gone from the sky, to break the law. Like he’d figured, the house was far from Andersburg. Few places in Rat Town would actually be worth breaking into with how little most of the inhabitants owned and how fiercely they protected their meager possessions. While other parts of town were more regularly patrolled by guardsmen, the citizens were far more lax in their own security. They trusted the Crown to keep them and their wealth safe.

  Now that he considered what they were actually about to do and the potential consequences of being caught, perhaps agreeing to this was not such a great decision. Then again, Ida sounded confident. He did need coin, now more than ever. If he wanted to craft runes and sell them, he needed supplies. Making coin required having coin, and he could not rely on finding more silver down in the sewers. Telling Alvarn he wouldn’t sell was a necessary lie to get the scribe to teach him. Vidar liked the awkward merchant’s son, but letting an opportunity such as this slip past his fingers was wholly unacceptable. If Alvarn ever found out, he’d see reason.