by Jay Posey
Chapel remained kneeling as they neared and Cass didn’t seem to have any intention of talking to him. Wren slowed his pace slightly, trailing behind his mother as she moved wordlessly past the old man. Wren stopped walking, but held on to his mother’s hand. She halted a step or two ahead when she felt him pull against her.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do, Chapel?” Wren said.
“I have,” he answered. “In my haste, I deprived your guardian of his weapon. In recompense, I will lend my protection until you reach your destination.”
“And will you stay with us when we get there?”
Chapel stood with such grace and ease it almost looked like he was falling in reverse. “After, I will go where I am led.”
Wren didn’t know what he meant, but he assumed that it was probably a no. Cass tugged Wren forward and they started on again. Chapel stayed in place for a few moments while they moved away, but in his own time he followed after them.
There was no conversation as they walked. Wren was still trying to process everything that had just occurred. It had been an utter whirlwind. Pursued, escaped, attacked, rescued, reunited. And completely confused.
If it had been anyone else, Wren would never have turned his back on the old man who was now following them. And he wasn’t certain how much of the man behind him was still the man he once knew. But one thing that hadn’t changed was the strength of Chapel’s word. Even with the strangeness, and the unbelievable nature of his tale, there was some comfort in knowing Chapel’s sword would be on their side. At least as far as Morningside.
Swoop had started out about ten yards ahead of everyone else, but he slowed his pace and let them close the gap to five yards or so before he picked it up again. The heavy cloud cover made the day seem later than it actually was. The degree of the bridge’s ascent hadn’t seemed too severe when Wren had just been looking at it, but as they continued upwards, he was surprised by the toll it took. And the Windspan was aptly named. The higher they climbed, the harsher the wind grew. They walked on in silence, hunched against the bite and bitter cold.
The group kept mostly towards the middle of the bridge, though from time to time Wren glanced out to one side or the other. From the Windspan, the city below looked like a circuit board coated in dust, running for miles in every direction. After about half an hour of walking, the snow had disappeared from beneath their feet, and the concrete was merely wet. They were still climbing up, though it was hard to tell if the angle of incline had lessened, or if Wren had just become used to the rise. Another half hour passed and a chilling fog descended upon them. He wondered briefly if they’d actually wandered up into the clouds.
Eventually the bridge seemed to level off, and the journey became a mere test of will; one foot in front of the other, with no end in sight – and cold to the bone. Swoop let them take a brief break, though it didn’t provide much rest.
Wren had thought he couldn’t possibly get any colder. Once they stopped moving, he quickly discovered he could. Cass and Swoop drew aside for a few minutes and spoke in low whispers, but Wren couldn’t make out what they were discussing. They didn’t halt for long, and though Wren’s body screamed with fatigue when they started off again, he was at least thankful for the warmth the effort generated, meager as it was.
“Only about four klicks to go,” Swoop said as they resumed their march.
“Only?” Painter said. “How mmmm-many were there to sss-, to start with?”
“Twelve,” Swoop answered. “Give or take.”
Wren tried to console himself with the thought that they were over two-thirds of the way across, but it wasn’t much use. He knew all too well that the end of the bridge wasn’t the end of their journey. And he didn’t know nearly well enough what the end held in store.
Painter’s whole body ached with the cold. Ache maybe wasn’t quite right. The sensation wasn’t exactly pain. It was more like a deep fatigue. Depletion seemed more accurate. But there was no doubt he was feeling the strain and discomfort of their bitter journey. He wondered now what would have become of him if he had come alone. Though, if he had come alone, he wondered if there would’ve been any need to make the journey in a single day.
He had been out among the Weir on his own before. Not often, but enough. Only once had he been attacked, and though he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone when they’d asked before, he felt certain he had provoked it. He had pushed the boundaries, testing his own limits. Though he hadn’t been bold enough to spend an entire night outside the wall, he felt stronger now than he had before. Stronger than he’d ever felt. And the closer they got to Morningside, the less certain Painter was that he would actually enter the city.
Painter started thinking through the scenarios likely to greet him upon his return. Would they arrest him for traveling with Wren and Cass? Or shoot him on sight? Finn had said Painter hadn’t been named in the order. Maybe if he showed up separately, everything could go back to normal.
But what then? Was there any reason to believe he’d face anything other than persecution? Would he be free to come and go as he pleased? It seemed doubtful that the situation in Morningside had changed for the better in the short time they’d been away. More likely it had worsened. Which meant that the best outcome Painter could reasonably expect was a return to a life of meaningless service to people who despised him.
Why, when you could have power?
The thought rippled through his mind, like rings of water after a stone has disturbed its surface. The thought was his, but what had instigated it seemed to have come from somewhere else. Within his mind, but not of it. And for the first time since that had started happening, he didn’t shy from the question it had stirred up.
What kind of power, he didn’t know. But he felt it within himself. Something else for him, besides a life of lurking – and merely hoping to escape notice. Something more concrete than vaguely wandering the open in search of his sister.
Not just survival.
Purpose.
The sky must have been darkening overhead for some time, but the lateness of the day struck Wren suddenly. Now that he’d noticed, he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen it earlier. They’d left the Windspan behind some hours ago and taken only two brief breaks since. Their pace had slowed noticeably. At first, Wren had thought that maybe Swoop was trying not to run them too hard. But now, watching the man ahead of him, he wasn’t so sure.
Swoop’s stride wasn’t as smooth as it usually was, and he seemed to be swaying from time to time. He’d been keeping ahead of them the whole time, saying it was safest to keep some distance between the point man and everyone else. Even when they’d stopped, he’d continued on a little ways to scout ahead, and then waited for them to catch up. But Wren couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he’d seen anything other than Swoop’s back.
Cass had, more than once, asked him if he was alright. His answer was always the same, sometimes over his shoulder, sometimes without even turning his head in their direction… He’d say, “Fine.”
At least there was some comfort in the look of the landscape. Wren didn’t exactly recognize where they were, but he recognized the feel of it. Home couldn’t be too much farther away now. If he could still call it “home”.
He had told Chapel that he was the governor of Morningside. Now he wondered if that had been true at all. Maybe he’d never really been governor because he’d always had the Council. He’d always had Mama. He’d always had Able and Swoop and Gamble. He’d always been surrounded by other people who could do the hard work when he couldn’t, who could make the hard decisions. And though Wren had always tried to do what he thought was right, he realized he could only remember one time that he’d made a decision that put himself in a tough position. Most of the time, he’d just been trying to find the compromise that made everyone happiest, or upset the fewest people.
That wasn’t governing. That was managing. Maybe it was the difficulty of that final stretch that h
ad made Wren recognize the difference. The level of effort it took just to keep moving forward, just to keep pushing one step further. Whatever it was, he realized that more times than not, as governor, he had avoided situations that made him feel this way. He’d quit pushing when there were other options on the table. Like the time he’d overheard the guards at the governor’s compound talking badly about his mama. He’d walked right up to the brink then, and when it had been time to meet the challenge on his own, he’d shrunk back.
But maybe now, for the first time, he was actually doing something worthy of the title. Even if he’d already lost it. Maybe now he was thinking like a governor, and acting like one, whether he was or not.
And strangely, Wren didn’t feel any braver or smarter or wiser than he had before. In fact, he felt very small and afraid. But he knew in his heart that he was doing what needed to be done. He was doing what he had to. And even if he failed, which he thought was probably going to be the case, at least he knew he’d be losing for the right side.
“There,” Swoop said, and he stopped walking. The others caught up to him. There, up ahead, the top of the wall of Morningside peeked up over a rise. “Decision time,” he said. His breathing seemed shallow.
For a time, they all stood next to each other in silence, looking off to the city shining in front of them. Then Wren felt moved and he stepped in front of them and turned to face them.
“I had planned to come back alone. I know now that I could never have done it. So, thank you for bringing me here. But now I think I can finish it on my own.”
Swoop shook his head. “Not what I meant.” He grimaced, and drew a breath before continuing. “Not a decision whether I’m going back. Just wanted to know what the plan was.” Wren noticed now that the front of Swoop’s left pant leg was dark and wet, almost all the way to the top of his boot. His wound was still bleeding.
“Swoop?” Wren said, staring at the stain.
“I’m gonna make it home, little man,” he said. But even as Swoop said it, he swayed. Cass stepped around and looked him over.
“Oh, Swoop,” she said. He just looked at her with that flat expression. “How long have you been bleeding?”
“Little while.”
“When did it start up again?”
“Never stopped.”
“What?” Cass said. “You told me it was fine!”
“Said it would be fine.”
“How is it still bleeding?” Cass asked.
Swoop shrugged. He didn’t look like he cared much. But he didn’t look well either.
“There is a poison,” Chapel said. “It prevents the blood from clotting.”
Swoop looked over at him then. “Poison?”
Chapel nodded once, but he didn’t turn. His face remained angled towards Morningside.
“Any other effects I oughta know about?” Swoop asked.
“There could be a number. Pain. Paralysis. Death.” Chapel paused, but then he added, “Those beings who prey on their fellow man are evil creatures.”
“Well,” Swoop said. He took another deep breath. “Might as well finish the job.” He started off towards the city again. Cass tried to make him stop, but he shrugged her off and kept going.
Whatever lay ahead for Wren, he knew he wasn’t going to let Swoop wander off on his own. He turned and followed, but after a moment turned back. “Chapel?” he said. “Will you stay with us?”
Chapel remained impassive. “I will consider.”
Wren nodded. He had hoped Chapel would remain with them, but he knew it was a long shot. “I hope you’ll stay,” he said. Chapel didn’t reply.
Cass turned and started walking towards Wren. “Come on, Painter,” she said over her shoulder.
“I’m not g-going,” Painter answered. Cass stopped – and both she and Wren looked at him, surprised.
He said, “I’m not going back.”
“Painter, you have to,” Wren said. But Painter shook his head.
“I don’t have to do anything I ch… I choose not to do,” Painter said.
“But where else would you go?” Cass asked. “Why come all this way, if not to go back to the city?”
Painter looked off to the side, more avoiding eye contact than looking at anything in particular.
“I need some time,” he said. Then he looked back at Wren.
Wren could tell by his expression that he’d made his decision. Painter didn’t look sad or confused or anything. Wren hated to leave him behind, but Swoop was getting farther away, and Wren couldn’t think of anything he could say that might change Painter’s mind. He’d assumed that Painter had been planning to come back to Morningside to try to get some of his old life back. But he saw now in Painter’s eyes that he had something else in mind.
“You know what I c-c-came to do,” Painter said.
“I don’t think it’ll work, Painter,” Wren said.
Emotion flashed across Painter’s face, sudden anger, but Painter checked himself and merely said, “I have to try.”
He had his own plans. Maybe Painter was expecting to try and track Snow down himself. Maybe he was just having another one of his moments, and he’d come around on his own.
But as much as Wren wanted to tell his friend he had to come with him, it had been only a few hours before that he’d told Chapel that Painter was no one’s slave. Painter was a free man, just like everyone else in Morningside. Free to make his own choices, even if they hurt him.
“Bye, Wren,” Painter said.
“Bye, Painter,” Wren answered.
Cass shook her head, but seemed to sense Painter’s determination as well.
“Take care of yourself, Painter,” she said.
He nodded. Cass turned and walked over to Wren, and together they headed off to catch up with Swoop. It didn’t take long for them to overtake him. He was clearly on weak legs, and when they reached him, Cass took hold of his arm and put it over her shoulder. The fact that Swoop didn’t protest told Wren all he needed to know.
The city loomed before them, growing larger – and more ominous – with each step. As they came into view of the nearest gate, Wren could see there was activity stirred up just beyond it. A crowd had gathered inside. Or, perhaps, had been gathered. There were more guards at the gate than Wren had ever seen posted. And they were mostly facing inwards towards the crowd, rather than outwards.
And now that the moment of his return to Morningside was at hand, Wren felt anxiety. His whole body trembled with nervous energy, and his chest grew tight. But while his body flooded with emotion, Wren found it somehow didn’t touch his mind. In the midst of the swirling chaos, he was able to find peace.
One of the guardsmen finally noticed their approach and, after a flurry of conversation, six of them came forward out of the gate to greet them. Or to bar their way.
The ranking officer held up his hand as they neared. He looked nervous.
“By order of the High Council,” he said in a loud voice, “you may not enter the city of Morningside.”
Cass and Wren stopped where they were, about ten feet away. But Swoop took his arm from Cass’s shoulders and drew himself up.
“I look forward to you keeping me out.”
He didn’t stop, or really even slow his pace. He just kept walking straight towards the officer.
“Sir, we’re authorized to take any necessary action…” the officer said. Swoop was only a few steps away from him.
“Swoop,” Cass said. “Don’t.”
“Sir, please,” the officer said. He put his hand on Swoop’s chest. A mistake. Swoop’s hands flashed up, shoving the officer, but before the officer could fall backwards, Swoop caught the man’s jacket and jerked him. As the officer whipped forward, Swoop tucked his chin, and his victim’s face met the crown of Swoop’s head with an awful sound. The officer flopped awkwardly to the ground. Swoop stepped over him and kept moving through the gate.
The other guards stood stunned for a moment, but then one of them lunged
and caught Swoop by the sleeve. Swoop turned with the motion and buried his fist in the side of the guard’s face. The guard went down to a knee, but that seemed to wake the others from their inaction. They collapsed in on Swoop.
Cass launched forward and threw two of the guards to the ground. The situation erupted into an all-out brawl. If Wren didn’t do something quickly, there was no telling how many of them would end up injured – or dead. He rushed into the writhing knot of people.
“Stop!” he cried. “Stop!”
Swoop had been knocked to the ground, and Wren threw himself on top of him. “By order of the Governor, stop!”
The guards fell back a step, still poised to attack, but apparently reluctant to risk hitting Wren.
“This man is my guardian and protector!” Wren said. “I demand that no harm should come to him.”
“You no longer hold any authority here,” said a voice behind him. Wren glanced back to see the officer getting to his feet. The poor man’s nose was crooked, and blood ran freely and dripped from his chin. Wren stood, and tried to straighten up, to make himself seem as tall as he could.
“I never surrendered that authority. Who claims it now?” Wren asked.
“The High Council,” he answered.
“It was just a Council when I left.”
“Things have changed.”
“Then take me to them,” Wren said. “And see that no one harms this man or my mother.”
“It’s not like that, sir. We’re going to have to arrest you all. It’s orders.”
“Orders given by an invalid authority based on a false accusation. My mother had nothing to do with Connor’s death, and Swoop has only ever loyally protected and obeyed his governor. The only thing either of them are guilty of is remaining faithful where others faltered.”
The officer glanced around at the other guardsmen, clearly uncertain how to handle the situation. And Wren understood his advantage now. While they were unsure, he was certain of his purpose, and that certainty gave him confidence.
“I can’t…” the officer said.
“You will,” Wren answered. He held out his hands. “I’ll allow you to bind my hands, if it will help you.”
