by Jay Posey
Across the room, Ran still fought, though two of the Weir were on the ground now. But every attempt Three made to help him was stifled by Cass.
Wren tried to shrink back further into the wall, to get away. To get away from all the screaming, and the sounds of fighting, and the utter chaos. All the blood. And Asher. Asher sitting on his tall chair, watching it all. Watching.
It was Asher. All of this was Asher’s fault. And without Asher, maybe it would all stop. And that’s all Wren wanted now. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted it all to stop.
“Stop,” he heard himself say. “Stop!” He was standing now. Louder. “STOP!”
Three’s legs were heavy. His steps were off, his kicks missing targets. And Cass was tireless. How fitting, he thought, that after all was said and done, she should be the one.
Amidst her attacks, Three was vaguely aware of Wren yelling something, and Asher got off his throne and strode across the room. But there was nothing Three could do to reach the boy. In between clashes with Cass, Three saw Asher backhand Wren across the face.
“Shut up, Spinner!” Asher yelled.
“My name is Wren!” Wren shouted back.
Asher struck him again, harder this time. Wren tasted blood in his mouth. And then Asher’s hand was around his throat. He had The Look on his face.
“Shut. Your. Mouth,” Asher said, his face an inch from Wren’s. Wren felt his feet go out from under him. Asher was picking him up. He couldn’t breathe. His hands fumbled at his belt.
Wren found it, the grip cool against his palm. Just like Three’d taught him. Wren plunged his knife into Asher’s forearm, and then into his upper arm, and then his shoulder, and then his neck. Asher dropped him, stumbled backwards in shock.
Behind him, four Weir stood over Ran, his body torn. Three, pale, cut, and bleeding, was losing ground. And Mama. Mama.
Asher gathered himself, a dark look on his face. “You stupid little boy.” The four Weir turned and stalked towards Wren. And in his chest, a quiet fury sparked.
“Asher,” Wren said, though he didn’t know why. And then again. “Asher!” he called. The fury was swelling, and Wren felt like he might explode. The Weir were almost on him, and his anger was so great Wren could do nothing but scream.
“AAAASHEEEEEEERRRRRRR!”
And in that moment, something burst inside him. The four Weir collapsed instantly to the ground. Asher’s hands flew up to his head, and Wren could see it now. Could see all of Asher, who he was and what he thought, and what he did, and what he would do. Asher looked up at him now, eyes wide in horror, in true, uncontrolled fear. And from a quiet place within the storm, Wren spoke a whisper.
“Be gone.”
Asher screamed then, a shrill, otherworldly sound, and fell backwards, and was still.
Across the room, Three had fallen to his knees.
“Mama,” Wren said, gently. The Weir that looked like Mama advanced towards Three.
“Mama, stop,” Wren called again, just as gently. He walked towards her. She stopped the second time, turned to face him. He reached out, touched her. “Mama. Come back.”
Three lay on the ground, bleeding from too many wounds to count. Too weak to even sit up. He couldn’t tell if he was hallucinating or not, if what he was seeing was real. Wren stood by him, and the Weir that had been Cass was kneeling next to him. His vision was blurred, dark at the edges.
The Weir peered down at him with its blue-glow eyes. But different now. Clearer. Recognition.
“Three,” she said. “I’m here.”
There was too much to process, too much pain, no words even if he could have spoken.
“Mama, is he going to be OK?” Wren asked.
She looked to Wren. Concerned. Bit her lower lip, just slightly. She was back. Cass was truly back. Three’s heart leapt within him.
“Not this time, buddy,” Three managed. Wren dropped to his knees next to Three. Tears in his eyes. Cass reached down and lifted Three gently into her lap, cradled his head in her arms.
“Three?”
“Hey, girl.”
Tears brimmed in her altered eyes, caught and swirled the light emanating from them, like moonlight on snow. Beautiful. Three’s eyes flicked to Wren.
“You used your knife.”
Wren nodded. “I had to.”
Three managed a smile. “You did good. Real good.”
“Three, I don’t want you to go,” Wren said. Three felt Cass’s arms squeeze him tighter. He nodded, or at least tried, and felt like he did.
“Why didn’t you fight?” Cass let the tears fall then, let herself cry. “I was in there, Three. I was in there, trapped. Watching. Why didn’t you just kill me?”
“I promised to protect you,” he said. She bent over him then, pressed her wet cheek to his forehead. Wren started crying, and tiny hands squeezed Three’s. He let himself be held, savored the feel of her arms around him, the rhythm of her breathing, Wren’s warm hands around his fingers. Cass was back. Back with Wren. And for Wren. They were going to be alright now. It was going to be alright. Three felt the life slipping out of him. It was time.
“I’m gonna have to go now,” he said.
“Three,” Wren said through his tears. “You gotta kiss the lady goodbye. So she remembers you.”
Three smiled to hear his words returned to him. They were going to be alright. Cass bent further, brought her lips gently to his. Whispered to him.
“I will always remember you.”
“Be good, girl.”
Three squeezed Wren’s hand. “Take care of your Mama.”
Wren nodded.
And with that, Three closed his eyes, and did not open them again.
Epilogue
They built a great pyre for him on the grounds of the Governor’s compound. Wren remembered the rituals Three had taught him, and had prepared and wrapped Three’s body just as he had been shown. They waited for dusk before he set the pyre ablaze, hoping it would be a fitting tribute to the man who had never feared the night. They sat together for long hours, Wren in Cass’s lap, watching until the last embers died quietly in the night, having taken into the wind the final traces of the man they had both come to love.
It was some time before the people of Morningside understood what had happened within the Governor’s compound. One of the guards inside had regained consciousness in time to witness the events, though few believed the story no matter how accurately retold. But of all the rumors and stories that swirled, one thing was universally agreed upon: Governor Underdown’s son had come to take his place, and things were going to change for the better.
Ran died of his many wounds, and was buried in a cemetery reserved for those who had given their lives to protect the Governor. He was greatly honored by the citizens of Morningside in his death, for the sacrifice he had made to save Wren.
Of all the changes, Cass was the most difficult for the people of Morningside to accept. She rarely left Wren’s side, serving as his counselor and his most trusted bodyguard. Many found her a terrifying reminder of the day that everything had changed. But she was the mother of Underdown’s son, mother to the one who had set things right, and if the people did not love her, they eventually came to accept her. And, after a time, she became known as the First of the Awakened.
Acknowledgments
As anyone who has ever written, well, probably just about anything, will tell you, though writing is often a solitary adventure, it is never truly done alone. Many people have contributed to this work, but here’s a short list of those to whom I owe the most. My most sincere and heartfelt thanks to:
… Jesus, for your calling, equipping, provision, and enduring faithfulness.
… my wife and children, for your constant love, encouragement, support, and for making my every single day a blessing.
… Jeff McGann, for your patience and for being Reader Number One. If not for you, I would never have finished this novel. I’m looking forward to seeing yours in print.
… Richard Dansky, for your long-suffering guidance and genuine friendship, and for giving me a place to practice and grow as a writer.
… Christopher Stout, for your patient instruction, the 80s montage-worthy training sequences, and the Gumby t-shirt.
… Ed and Cindy Bagwell, for your unfailing support and generosity, and for letting me remain part of the family even after I quit my lucrative programming job to become a writer.
… Mom and Dad, for your innumerable sacrifices and constant love.
… Marc Gascoigne, Lee Harris, Mike Underwood, Darren Turpin, and all the Robot Overlords for taking a chance on me and helping this work become more than just a really big text file on my laptop.
About the Author
Jay is a narrative designer, author, and screenwriter by trade. He started working in the video game industry in 1998, and has been writing professionally for over a decade. Currently employed as Senior Narrative Designer at Red Storm Entertainment, he’s spent around eight years writing and designing for Tom Clancy’s award-winning Ghost Recon and Rainbow Six franchises.
A contributing author to the book Professional Techniques for Video Game Writing, Jay has lectured at conferences, colleges, and universities, on topics ranging from basic creative writing skills to advanced material specific to the video game industry.
Jayposey.com
twitter.com/HiJayPosey
Table of Contents
THREE
Contents
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
