by Jay Posey
Three shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. He wanted to believe the Weir would’ve attacked whether he’d been here or not, but his gut told him otherwise. And Dagon. Would he bring Asher here, to these people? The only hope Three had now was to get Wren to his father in Morningside, the hope that this man Underdown would have the will and the means to protect his own son. And then… well, Three didn’t know what then, except that he’d be back in control of his own life, and maybe then he’d be able to figure out how to become the man he’d once been, able to forget all the calamity he’d endured and created because of one simple decision to help a woman and a boy in distress.
“How soon will you go?” Chapel asked.
“First light. How far to Morningside from here?”
“Twenty-five miles or so, if you know the way.”
“And if you don’t?”
“We’ll make sure you do.”
They ate in silence for a time, and then Chapel excused himself to attend to the wounded. Three finished his meal alone, dreading having to break the news to Wren. He spent an hour or so preparing his gear for the journey, though it didn’t really take more than fifteen minutes to do so. As evening was coming on, he trekked over to the central building, where he knew Wren was keeping close to Lil.
Sure enough, he found them together, sitting on the floor, playing a game of some kind. Three watched them from the door for a moment, watched their easy interaction, the obvious comfort they provided one another. He’d wondered before, but now he was certain that she’d lost a child of her own. She’d been a mother once, to some fortunate son or daughter. Maybe to many children. Three couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed an opportunity with Lil, if nothing more than to get to know her. But the wounds Cass had left him with were too fresh, and Lil stirred the memories too strongly. He’d encouraged Wren to spend time with her, while he’d kept his own distance. Now he wondered if that’d been a mistake.
He entered, and knelt down beside the two.
“Hey, kiddo. Ma’am.”
“Hi, Three.”
“You really shouldn’t still be calling me ma’am,” Lil said, her eyes wrinkled at the corners with a hint of a smile. She looked exhausted, but genuinely glad to see him.
“Hey, Lil,” Three answered. “Can I interrupt for minute? I need to talk to Wren.”
“Sure, of course,” Lil said. She started to get up, but Wren stopped her.
“Can you stay?” he asked quietly. “Please?”
Lil hovered between staying and leaving, looked to Three for a cue. He shrugged and nodded. He’d have to tell her at some point anyway. Might as well get it over with. Lil sank back to the floor. Three drew a breath to explain, but it was Wren who broke the news.
“We’re going away, Lil.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked to Three for confirmation. He nodded again.
“But… what? Why?” The tears were already welling in her pale blue eyes.
“It’s not safe,” Wren said.
“I know last night was scary, but there’s no reason to think it’s going to happen again–”
“It’s not safe for you.” Hearing the words come from Wren’s mouth, in his tiny voice, made them sound all the more terrible. Three had expected Wren to scream and cry and fight. Watching the boy now, calmly delivering the message himself, Three wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or frightened.
“I don’t understand,” said Lil.
“And we can’t explain,” Three answered. “Just know that we’d stay if we could.”
Lil blinked back at him, searching for words she wouldn’t find. A tear dropped and splashed on her cheek.
“Is it OK if I stay with Lil tonight?” Wren asked.
“Sure, kiddo. If it’s OK with her.”
Lil wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded. “Of course. Of course it’s OK. I’d like that.”
“Can Three come too?”
Her eyes flicked to his then, and he saw the flash of unspoken hope, the slight reddening of her cheeks. Then she looked quickly at the floor, afraid she’d given herself away.
“That’d be nice,” Three said. “But I’ve got a lot to do to prep for tomorrow. And you need a good night’s sleep.”
“OK.”
Lil nodded and smiled at him, but he could see the lines of disappointment, despite her efforts to conceal them. She was a good woman. Maybe a great one. But not for him.
Three tousled Wren’s hair and stood up.
“Early morning tomorrow. Don’t stay up late.”
“OK.”
“Night, kiddo.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, Three,” Lil said, looking up at him from the floor. She had a sad smile on her face.
“Ma’am.”
Three was up before the first hint of daybreak, and he spent the final hour of darkness sitting on the steps of the central building. He found himself shivering in the cold, sharp air. He was filled with a nervous energy that nagged at his mind. Three needed focus now, needed clarity. He needed to move.
As the sky was brightening to pale purple, Lil appeared with Wren in tow, flanked by Chapel. A small but sincere send-off. Wren slid in next to Three, stoic but not quite awake.
Three extended his hand.
“Chapel.”
“Three,” he said, taking Three’s hand in a firm, warm handshake. “You’re a good man. We hate to lose you.”
“Wish I could do more to thank you.”
“Come back some time. That will be enough.”
Three nodded, and turned his attention to Lil. “Lil. Take care of yourself.”
She smiled weakly and nodded. Wren took his cue and approached her. She knelt to his level, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, then kissed her on the cheek.
“You always kiss the lady goodbye,” he said. “So she remembers you.”
“I could never forget you, Wren,” she replied, with a broad genuine smile. “Not even if I tried.”
She kissed the top of his head, and sent him back to Three. As the two turned to go, though, Three saw a third person crossing the courtyard.
“Mr Carter,” Chapel said, “has insisted on taking you to Morningside.”
Sure enough, as Mr Carter drew closer Three could see he was outfitted to travel, despite the fact that he was heavily bandaged.
“That’s not necessary,” Three said.
“He insists. You can try to refuse him if you like, but he’ll follow you anyway.”
There was a brief exchange between the men, but in the end Three relented, and as the first rays of sunlight began to crest the horizon, Three and Wren set out once more, each knowing full well that danger lay about them on all sides.
Twenty-Seven
For the first hour, they walked mostly in silence, and Three was uncomfortably aware of an ethereal dullness that seemed to surround and follow him like a personal fog. Whether he hadn’t fully recovered from his wounds or instead had lived in comfort for too long, he wasn’t sure. But out here in the open, he knew in his gut that he’d lost his razor-edge. He hoped it’d come back quickly.
Mr Carter led them east and south, through squat ruins and gutted shells of structures that may once have been homes, or schools, or shops. If the Strand were the unbroken sand after a recent surge, these were the remnant sandcastles along the fringe, rounded and bowed by the tide, but not completely destroyed. Though Three had passed through the Strand before, he had forgotten how similar the landscape was on either side. It was perhaps a redder brown here in the east, as opposed to the more dominant, cooler blue-grays of the west; some of the faded fonts and markings were rounder. But by and large, taking it all in at once left one with more or less the same impression. Urban. Decayed. The corpse of a once-unbroken cityscape.
As they walked, shadows receded, the air lost its bite, and the landscape gradually grew around them. Buildings stood taller, scattered bits of tech remained intact,
signs of other travelers began to reveal themselves. By midday, they were well clear of the borders of the Strand, and on into what would relatively be called civilization proper. They stopped to rest, taking shelter from the sun in a rusted-out kiosk that may once have sold the day’s latest technical fashion, and now stood gaping and gutted. At least there was no broken glass on the floor. They ate from their rations, but before Wren was halfway finished, he began nodding off.
“How much farther to Morningside?” Three asked.
“Three, maybe four hours,” Mr Carter answered. “The child has time to sleep.”
Three nodded and Wren needed little encouragement to curl up with his head on his pack. In short time, the boy’s breathing was deep and regular with heavy sleep.
“You’ve been before?” Mr Carter asked.
“To Morningside? No,” Three said, shaking his head. “Heard the stories, of course, but never had much need.”
Mr Carter nodded.
“Are they true?” Three asked.
Mr Carter stroked his beard along his jawline with the back of his hand, tilted his head slightly from side to side, weighing his response. “Some yes, many no. It is a place of great wonder. And mischief.”
“Have you been often?”
“I lived there for many years. Before I met Chapel. I have not gone back.”
“Too much mischief?”
“It is a safe place, of a sort. But it is also difficult to live life on one’s own terms there. A certain exchange of freedom for security, which I could not continue to pay.”
Three nodded and sipped water. He let his eyes rove the surroundings, scanning for whatever might catch his attention. The fog was still there, but he felt it thinning. His senses were sharpening, focus returning. Being on the move stirred their awakening.
“How will you find the boy’s father?” Mr Carter asked.
“Shouldn’t be too hard. Name’s Underdown.” Mr Carter’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the name. “You know him?”
“If you mean the Governor Underdown, yes, of course.”
“What do you know of him?”
Mr Carter glanced off at his surroundings, took a long pull of water. Shook his head. “A hard man to know.”
He trailed off, as if that were all he had to say, but Three saw the man’s eyes flicking back and forth over the landscape as he again drank from his canister of water. Three waited.
“Things changed when he arrived. Better, in many ways. Order. Safety. He is the reason the city flourishes. Its savior. But in some ways, its captor as well.”
“Savior’s a pretty strong word.”
Mr Carter looked back to Three then.
“The Weir…” he paused, searching for the word, “fear him. If they can feel fear. Before he came, Morningside survived because of its size, like Fourover. But now… it’s like a strong light turning back the darkness. Night still comes, but the light keeps it from the city.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense. I don’t really know how to explain it.”
Three glanced at Wren, sleeping peacefully nearby. Memories flashed: how Wren sensed when the Weir were close, how he knew that Three wasn’t wired, or the night Cass fell, when the boy’s cry for his mother seemed to steal the very life from her attackers.
“I know what you mean,” said Three. And for the first time, Three felt a certainty that this was all going to be alright. A man like that, a man like Wren, but who understood and could control his gift… well, surely such a man was better equipped and able to raise and protect this boy than Three would ever be. He felt a pang then, at the thought of leaving Wren. In spite of himself, he’d grown fond of the little guy. But knowing he was safe, with his own real father, that would be enough. Time would heal the rest.
“We’ll move on in an hour,” Mr Carter said, interrupting Three’s thoughts. “Give the child time to rest.”
Three nodded, took another long drink of water. Another hour, and they’d be on the move again. And by tomorrow, he just might have his life back.
The sun had just begun to blur the border between late afternoon and early evening by the time the trio reached the outskirts of Morningside. Here, the urban landscape took on a striking contrast to the surrounding sprawl. Order, it seemed, extended even beyond the walls of Morningside. Clearly great pains had been taken to clean, repair, and in some cases even reclaim the remnant city that surrounded the thriving township.
“We’re very close now,” Mr Carter said. “We’ll start seeing people soon. Don’t be alarmed.”
Three just nodded. He felt Wren move closer beside him, and felt the boy’s tiny hand slip into his. Within ten minutes, it was just as Mr Carter had said. Here and there were signs of people living out here, beyond the wall. Soon enough, they saw the people themselves. Those they encountered responded in their own way; some with flat stares, some with a nod of greeting, others with indifference. But none seemed hostile, or even surprised.
“Squatters,” Mr Carter explained. “Most of them have been expelled. Underdown allows them to stay, under his protection.”
“Expelled?”
“As I said. Within Morningside, it can be difficult to live life on one’s own terms. During the day, the gates remain open, these here are free to do trade. But come evening, they return.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Punishment.”
They continued on in silence for another fifteen minutes, until there before them loomed the wall of Morningside. Standing there under its lengthening shadow, even Three couldn’t help but feel the awe the place inspired. He’d been to the largest of towns west of the Strand: Fourover, Swingbridge, Greenstone. Now, even Greenstone’s fortress-like design seemed childish by comparison.
The wall itself ran nearly thirty-feet high, but unlike Greenstone’s prison-inspired structure, Morningside’s wall had been built with an eye for aesthetics. There were no watchtowers, no mounted weapons. At least none that could be seen. Instead, fiberlights ran throughout, enmeshed with the steel fabric of the wall, so that the entire barrier seemed to glow with an internal, vibrant green-blue that shifted like the sea. Like Greenstone, Three could see people moving along the tops of the wall, but they were no guards. He realized they were citizens, walking along as one might expect in a park.
Beside him, Wren stood with his mouth slightly open, eyes wide and drinking in the astonishing display before them. From somewhere atop the wall, there was music, tumbling down with the faint but unmistakable raw emotion of live players, supported by a crowd singing along, nearly in time and almost on key. A large gate stood open, tended by a trio of guardsmen, and a handful of people trickled in or, if they were among the unfortunate, out.
“I trust you can find your way from here,” Mr Carter said abruptly.
“You won’t come in?”
Mr Carter shook his head, but offered no explanation. His eyes were on the wall, but unfocused. Thinking of something beyond, or within. Three noticed a thin, dark shimmer along the front of Mr Carter’s shirt, guessed his bandage had bled through.
“Why don’t we camp together tonight, then? We’ll see you on your way in the morning.”
Mr Carter smiled and turned to face Three and Wren. “A kind thought, but one I must refuse. Talk to the guards at the gate. They should be able to help you.” He knelt and placed a hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Wren, you are fine boy, and you will be a great man. Maybe one day you could come visit us again.”
Wren nodded and surprised Mr Carter by wrapping his arms around the man’s neck. “Thanks, Mr Carter. I’d like that.”
Mr Carter patted Wren firmly on the back, and then stood, and shook hands with Three. “The same stands for you as well, Three. The village is as much a home to you as you choose to make it.”
“I appreciate that, Mr Carter. Just may take you up on it some time.”
“Please do.”
Three looked down at Wren and gently slapped him on the
shoulder with the back of his hand.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s go see if any of these stories about Morningside are true, huh?”
“OK.”
Three looked back up and exchanged final nods with Mr Carter, and the three parted ways.
After they’d walked about halfway to the gate, Wren spoke in his quiet voice. “Why won’t he stay?”
Three glanced back over his shoulder, saw Mr Carter’s silhouette in the fading light, shook his head. “I don’t know, Wren. Every man’s got a story. I’m sure he has his.”
Wren didn’t respond. Just slid his hand into Three’s again. Three tried not to think about how natural it had become, holding that tiny hand in his own. Tried not to think about what it might be like to let go of that hand a final time. Deal with it later. When it’s done. They walked those final steps towards Morningside, together, in silence.
As they drew closer, the sounds of the town grew louder, more distinct. The music became more apparent, bits of conversations became discernible: vendors making last minute deals, friends calling to one another. The atmosphere was pleasant, inviting, and Three wondered if they’d arrived on the night of some festival, or if this was just a typical evening in Morningside.
The guards at the gate stirred as they drew near, and one guard, shorter than the others, casually motioned for Three to stop just outside. The short guard approached with an easy smile. None of the guards looked as grim or hardened as the greenmen of Greenstone, but they all held themselves with the bearing of men of authority.
“Evening,” the guard said.
“Evening,” Three answered. He felt Wren step closer, the boy’s shoulder lightly pressed against his leg.
“Been to Morningside before?”
“No, sir. First time.”
“Where you comin’ in from?”
Three felt a twinge in his chest. The slightest knot of pressure, born of frustration, the first hint that here, even now mere inches from his goal, there was a dangerous game to be played, a chance for misstep. He dare not lie, but how much of the truth was necessary?
