Kurt nodded grimly. “That's the truth. At least Jen’s going to stay for the funeral. She’s leaving after that, though. Apparently it's out of some grand sense of self-persecuting insufficiency. She also said she'd set a few things up the way Ric’d have wanted it.”
Mory nodded to him wordlessly, and Kurt shook his head with a heavy sigh.
“Where do we go from here, Mor? We backed his play, but this was Ric’s dream, Ric's mission. Now Jen’s going, and your brother's gone too. We’ve lost a good few people all around, though not nearly as many as we might have had you not stepped in when you did. “
Kurt's childhood friend shook her head, placing a pale, thin hand on his own. “You shouldn’t discount the effect you had either, Kurt.”
The one-eyed man sighed, turning his hand to hold Mory's firmly. “The question’s still there, Mor. What do we do? Without Ric, we have no leader to guide us. No great visionary idealist to make the speeches and rally the people in the darkest hours. This place got hit hard, and despite Aces going behind his back I don’t know how it’ll shake out with Big Jerry. Or what the Sixes might try for next. We dealt them a harder hit than they gave us, but they're still out there.”
Mory smiled sadly as she gave Kurt's hand a squeeze. “No man knoweth.”
“Reassuring.”
The pale woman nodded quietly, and for the first time in two days Mory's spirits seemed improved. She smiled a sad but genuine smile, giving Kurt’s hand another squeeze.
“We don’t know what the future’s got in store for us Kurt, save that it won’t be easy. But I do know this: we’ve been put through the fire before.”
“Literally in my case. Scar to prove it and everything.”
Mory smiled again, shaking her head. “I wish you’d let me try to fix it Fix your eye.”
“Save your energy, Mor, honest.” Kurt ran his fingers over the scarred side of his face with a slight wince. Then he chuckled. “It kind of works for me. And chicks dig scars, right?”
Mory nodded. “Well, certain members of the fairer sex do find them dashing and bad boy-like. Yours has a weird sort of elegance too, I think. Almost like a flower? A rose, maybe?”
“Well now doesn’t that just make it sound so tough and macho?” Kurt's hand lowered from his face. “But go on. You were saying something about 'fire,' before?”
Mory took a deep breath before gesturing to their surroundings. “Look around us, Kurt. These people just went through an attack intended to wipe them out to the last, but I don’t see any despair, or see any of them fleeing and giving up. Ric believed, believed with all his heart, that if people had something to believe in, to truly believe in, they’d rally to it and become something more than they were. A certain carpenter I tend to put a lot of stock and trust in was of a similar belief.”
“Those beliefs got both of them killed.”
“Nothing worthwhile is gained without sacrifice. Freedom isn’t free. The suspicion that we’ll lose a lot more innocent blood before it's ended tears me up inside in ways even those bullets didn’t. It tears me up in ways they never could. I couldn’t save my brother, Kurt. I couldn’t save the man I love, either,” she shook her head, fighting down her sorrows defiantly. “But these people still might be saved, and I'm not going to give in to this world, Kurt. I have great power. And you know what that brings with it?”
Kurt shook his head, smiling wearily. “Great responsibility.”
Mory nodded. Though there was no great display of psionic energy blazing about her, looking on his childhood friend in that moment Kurt saw something just as awesome in its power. The young Irish woman’s jaw was set, and her eyes determined. Her expression showed the sort of defiance that would reshape the world before it took its rest. After a moment, Mory reached across the table they sat at to pull up the candle at its center into her hand. When she spoke next, her voice was shed of its weariness and bereft of its sorrow.
“The night is long, and it is dark and it is cold, Kurt. I know that, but this place?” Mory sat the candle onto the table in front of herself, picking up the book of matches that had rested beside it. She struck one carefully, her other hand sheltering the small and guttering flame, “This place may have seemed fragile. A tiny matchstick in the dark and the cold. But now?” she smiled and lit the candle in its sheltering holder, her smile growing brighter as the warm light glowed within it. “It’s still fragile, but it has survived a powerful storm. The glass may have been cracked, the metal's been bent, but it's still standing. And it's shining brighter than ever for its defiance against that which would have snuffed it out.”
Kurt nodded, and Mory slowly rose from her bench, taking the candleholder with her. She moved to the table beside theirs, using the candle within to light the wick of the candle that sat on it.
“And even more precious, more important than that? If we’re willing to shelter and fight for that light, that light can give of itself to spread and grow. To light more and more of the darkness. From that one fragile, beautiful spark, this fragile, beautiful spark? The darkness might be driven back. The cold kept at bay, and the long road to morning seen to its bright and golden ending,” Mory returned the candle to its place at their table, reclaiming her seat, “But I’m not foolish, Kurt. I don’t know if I could do the things that keeping this place safe will take. I’m not a fighter, and even though it was to protect my family, to protect you and the others, I’m still sick to my heart over having done what I did during that fight. I mean, good intentions are the asphalt on the highway to Hell, right?”
Mory sighed, huddled into herself against a sudden midday chill. Kurt shook his head, reaching to take her hand.
“My religious stance on the existence of Hell aside, I won’t let you face that, Mor. The world needs you, so much it needs you. And I don’t mean for the miracles you’re able to work over life and death.”
The pale woman shook her head, looking to Kurt in confusion. He gave her the most reassuring smile he could manage.
“Anyone with a gun has power over life and death, Mor. Anyone with a heavy bit of equipment can move the earth about, or lift a heavy burden. A charismatic speaker or spiteful zealot can turn men’s minds against themselves or against others, regardless of what sort of men they were before. A skilled sneak can be as good as invisible to the eyes of others,” Kurt kept smiling, squeezing her soft hand firmly. “Grant you we can do it a bit easier than most people can, sure. But still the powers aren't why we're so important. They're not why you’re so important. You matter because you still have hope, because you still care."
Mory smiled quietly and nodded at that. She leaned in to kiss him, her pale lips soft upon his cheek. Her long curls brushed across his face as she rose up to her feet, and Kurt saw the heavy sorrow she bore so stoically begin to lift away. Mory slowly drifted back toward the heart of the Zero, and in that moment, Kurt saw their place in the world.
Morgan Whitechapel was the flame of the candle, and he was the lantern that would shelter her light from all those who would come seeking to snuff it out.
35
Dusk had begun to cast a hazy shroud over the snow and stone of the city, and the Heirs of Babylon had begun gathering in the heart of the Zero. Standing in their numbers with their wounds and their scars, they looked to the small stage where their founder laid upon his bier. In repose, it seemed that Richard Lee had found some measure of peace. His arms were folded over his chest and his eyes were closed, but his were lips frozen in his last, defiant smile. Jennifer Motosuwa pondered that smile as she forced herself through the parting crowd. Ric's death had been a brutal one, but according to T.J. and the others, he had been found with that smile etched on his lifeless face. It seemed like Richard Lee had managed one last act of rebellion against the world that had taken him too soon. Jen stood there in silence for a long moment, until a firm hand was laid upon her shoulder.
"I'm here with you, Jen. We all are."
The punk turned to face Kurt, nodding and
moving forward when he gave her a gentle push forward. It was a bit of momentum she found herself surprisingly grateful for, and soon she reached the front of the crowd. Worn chairs had been placed there for the leaders of the camp, for those who had known its fallen hero best, and Jen wordlessly. Kurt did not follow, returning to the back of the crowd. The gathering parted for him as he returned with Mory. She was dressed in black, with a timeworn mourning veil over her pale face. The veil did nothing to conceal the sorrow that she was fighting to contain, and she wordlessly let Kurt lead her to a chair as he had done for Jen. Mory hugged Kurt in thanks before taking her seat, her pale hands folded in supplication and eyes downcast. Having seen to Mory’s arrival, Kurt slipped toward the stage and took a place standing behind Ric’s body. T.J. and Jo joined the two young women soon after, and their arrival served as signal for Kurt to begin.
“I hope you all can forgive me. I’m not that great for speeches. But the best orator among us wasn’t available.
He smiled sadly, drawing a deep breath as he glanced out over the small gathering. Many eyes turned his way, eyes set in faces seeking answers and solace. For a stark, singular moment Kurt though he would break under the weight of that expectation. But then, he looked down wordlessly to the body laid in repose before him, and something in the cast of the fallen Boss of the Zero’s eternal smile emboldened him. Even in death it seemed that Richard Lee had inspiration to give, and Kurt quietly mouthed a thanks to his fallen friend as he rallied himself to the task at hand.
“Though in truth I think he may just be here after all.
Kurt straightened his back, casting his hand out over the crowd and across the horizon of the camp.
“Richard Marion Lee believed in something. In a world where it is so much easier to embrace cynicism, or to just try and get by for yourself, Richard Lee believed.
Kurt drew in another deep breath, sweeping his hand over the crowd again.
"Some of you are too young to know it, and some of you may have only heard stories of this, but this place was not always our home, and it was not always simply ‘The Zero.’ Once this place was known as Ground Zero, and it was the site of one of the worst tragedies in the history of the now-fallen United States of America. Some even say it was that tragedy that eventually brought the downfall of the Old World. In the face of the horrors that came in the years of the War and the Collapse, facing the millions of lives lost to the Dust, to the blizzards, to the floods, and the hurricanes? To those of us who survived the city of New York's death, the few thousand lives lost that day may seem trivial. But it was not trivial in the days that followed that attack, and the ruins we found here were testament to glorious plans for rebuilding. That rebirth never came, however. It was abandoned, stillborn, in the fury of a war begun in vengeance.
He shook his head.
“That is that kind of belief that Richard Lee fought against. Pain, anger, vengeance? These were the Old World’s mistakes, and they caused its fall into ruin. But Richard Lee believed in what he held as gospel: that we have been given a chance, and that we must not make the same mistakes this time as have been made so many times before. That nothing in this world is trivial.
Kurt tightened his worn coat against the cool winter air, waiting for the crowd's murmurs of agreement fade. When silence finally returned, he pulled a battered metal lighter from his pocket. Lighting it, he raised the flickering flame aloft in all its bright fragility.
“What Richard Lee stood for, what he died for, was this: a flickering light of hope, so fragile a thing in this city and in this world. Yet Richard Lee believed in the power of that light, and more than that?
He raised his free hand up in a fit, slamming his booted foot down onto the stage.
“He believed in you. In all of you. And he believed in the fact that even if he were gone from us in body, his spirit would be carried on with us. He believed that though he might never see what he dreamed of most dearly, in our hands we would carry his work forward until its completion came to pass. This flame?
He gestured to the flickering fire.
“This flame is a symbol, just as this place is a symbol. We are not conquerors, or gods, or demons! We are the heralds of a new age, a new dawn! With all we have, we will let this flame of hope be spread, one fiery light passing on its power to another, and another!
Kurt thrust his fist into the air again, feeling adrenaline flush into him as the crowd’s growing fervor built. He let the blue fire of his power blaze, burning bright in his sightless left eye.
“We have suffered losses of those we held dear. Our leader has fallen! Our brothers and our sisters have bled at the hands of hateful relics too spiteful to die away into the savagery of the past! We have been betrayed, and tested, and tried!
Kurt turned his gaze to Ric’s smiling body, sweeping a hand over it.
“And we are not broken! We are not bowed! Our devoted youngest Brother, T.J., took up our fallen leader’s memories, so his life would not be forgotten. He bore the pain of witnessing Richard's Lee's death, but also the glory! When the forces of our enemies surrounded him, our fallen brother, our martyred leader, faced them on his feet despite crippling injury, declaring his contempt for their false prophets and their gospel of hatred! He knew he would be remembered, and we will remember him, forever! We will carry the fire of his dream to every dark place we might, and we will burn so bright that it will be as if dawn has come to at last to vanquish this terrible night!
Kurt raised the lighter aloft one final time, for with a flare of his savaged left eye it shot into the air, erupting in a blazing ball of fire. He held the flames there, in perfect stasis.
“In the name of Richard Lee and the names of those he held as idols and ideals, in the name of all this nation now fallen once stood for, and in the name of the city that, like her children, was too stubborn to die, we will carry the flame of hope and with it we will set the world on fire!
The crowd roared out in righteous solidarity, fists raised in the air. They were too lost in the fury of the moment that no one noticed as Kurt looked down to his fallen friend.
"Hope you're all right with impersonating a deity one last time."
When at last the uproar ceased, Kurt drew in a deep breath. He gave Ric's body another quiet glance, reassuring himself for what would come next. He willed the fire into his eye again. It burned bright, expanding outward to shroud his form. The crowd gasped as Kurt's body slowly lifted from the ground, hovering mid-air. If the Boss of the Zero noticed his escape from gravity, he gave it no mention as he continued Ric's eulogy.
“We will never again see the like of our brother, our leader who is now at rest. But we must carry on. It has been decided by Boss Lee’s closest associates that I should take up the leadership of the Zero, and the leadership of the Heirs of Babylon. Though I personally feel unworthy of this, I can only ask that you give me your faith in the fact I will do all in my power to live up to the legacy our lost founder has left us. Does anyone challenge this?
When no challenge was offered from the gathering, Kurt lifted his hands high as fiery blue light glowed from his right eye to match the burning radiance of his left. The ground rumbled as three great slabs of pressed stone rose up behind him, flanking the stage. Confusion and fear spread through the already awe-struck the crowd as the ground shifted, but Kurt held his hand outward toward the gathering.
“Peace, my brothers and my sisters.
His other hand reached into his jacket pocket, drawing out a slip of dirty paper.
“These are the names of those of our number who gave their lives in defense of this Sanctuary. The greatest amongst us, who sacrificed all their futures so we might make a better one for us all. We must never forget them, nor the price they paid.
Kurt drew another long breath, holding it briefly as he gazed across the crowd, then he gestured toward Ric's earthly remains.
“Our leader knew me as ‘Killer’, due to the destructive power of my gifts. But in all respect
to him, that is not a name that I wish to bear. We are not killers, and the sad need for violence is not something we ought exalt nor honor. Would that this world would permit I let my hand forget its skill for such grim work! No, what I wish to honor and exalt are these brothers and these sisters, and all the other good men and women who have been lost. All those who yet will be lost in the struggle to honor the dreams of our fallen founder. I will not be a Killer.
Kurt shook his head.
"No, not a Killer. Instead, I will be the Rose upon the graves of the honored lost. A sign of peace and of love and of honor. That is what I wish to embody. Yet a rose one will pierce the hands of those who would defile its garden, rending them with its sharpened thorns should it be given no other choice. That is what I wish to be, and that is what I wish to see you help me become. Will you stand by me, oh Heirs of Babylon?”
A loud roar of support rose from the crowd. Kurt held the list aloft as he hovered above the stage, his entire body still ablaze with power.
“Let us now remember the fallen, and let their names be never forgotten."
With quiet reverence, Kurt read each name on the list aloud. As they were spoken, the names were carved into the first slab of rock by unseen force. Seventeen names were engraved in the stone when Kurt looked from his list to where Ric's body lay.
“And lastly, Richard Marion Lee. Our brother, our founder, and our leader.”
Behind him, the ground split again and a great rock sarcophagus slid forth from the earth. Ric’s body rose into the air before being placed within the tomb. With his head bowed, Kurt gestured again and a heavy stone lid rose from the ground. The slab lowered itself onto the tomb, sealing Ric's body within it. Behind the sarcophagus, the middle wall was invisibly etched with a relief of Ric’s cocky, grinning face. When the monument had been crafted, the Rose turned to face it, saluting the image of his friend and mentor. With no words left to say, the new Boss of the Zero floated down from the stage. He had begun to slip into the slowly-dispersing crowd when a familiar voice called out to him.
Outlaws of Babylon Page 16
