by Jay Posey
As the night wore on, Painter grew drowsy, and after a time, he scooted back on the roof so that his legs were no longer over the edge, out of fear that he might doze off and fall. He dragged his pack in close behind him and leaned back against it. He was still looking up at the sky when sleep overtook him.
Soon afterward, Painter began to dream that there was a shadow on his rooftop. Only it was darker than a shadow, and there wasn’t anything there to cast it. As he watched, it began to spread towards him, like oil pooling in only one direction. The closer it drew, the more it rippled and seethed, as if the shadow were actually a living thing. Painter was frightened and tried to crawl back away from it, but found he couldn’t move, couldn’t even cry out.
Something seemed to grow from the middle of the inky surface, a bubble, which became a horn, which became a pillar twisting itself towards the sky. And then it was neither pillar nor shadow at all, but just a man in a long black coat. The man was young, no older than Painter, and perhaps even younger. His features were sharp, handsome, and he had a wide smile. But Painter saw the smile was not in the young man’s eyes. Those were dark; dark and cold and full of malice. He came and sat next to Painter.
“I’m looking for someone,” the young man said. “I wonder if you are him.”
Everything within Painter told him that there was danger, but the young man’s demeanor was patient and calm. Disarming.
“I need someone to go before me. To tell of my coming.” He leaned forward, as if revealing a secret in confidence. “I need someone to be my voice.”
Painter found that he could speak, could move freely. And while part of him cried out to flee, there was something engaging about this young man that made him want to linger. Surely it couldn’t hurt to sit and talk.
“I d-d-don’t think that’s mmmm, that’s me,” he said.
The young man smiled.
“I can help you,” he said. “I will help you. And your sister. If you’ll allow me.”
The young man held up his hand between them, and his expression was one of waiting for permission. How the young man knew about Snow and what he intended to do, Painter didn’t know. But he felt in his heart that a crucial decision lay before him, one that once made he could never unmake. An opportunity once missed, that would never come again. For a moment, he struggled against himself.
But what, in reality, would he be giving up? Here was someone who had need of him. Someone who could help him. Someone who could help Snow. Looking at the young man, still patiently waiting for his decision, Painter felt reluctance. But he couldn’t find a reason for it. Fear, unfounded. And Painter was tired of being afraid.
He nodded, and the young man extended his hand to touch Painter’s mouth. And then he smiled again and stood, and walked to the edge of the roof. He turned back to face Painter.
“When the sun rises, tell them,” he said. “Tell them I’m coming.”
And then he stepped backwards off the roof and instead of falling, he shattered into a hundred fragments, which in turn became some kind of winged creatures, black like crows or ravens. They scattered in every direction, and Painter awoke with a start, his hands shooting out reflexively.
It took a moment for him to recognize where he was. And when he did, he quickly turned this way and that, searching for the young man. But there was no one to be seen on the rooftop. He rubbed his eyes to ensure he had actually awoken from his dream. The words still echoed in his mind.
Tell them I’m coming.
Painter touched his mouth, ran his hands over his face. And then he became aware of a strange sound, like a quiet popping or soft crackling. Or like the flapping of leathery wings. Painter glanced around again to look for the source of the noise. And when it occurred to him to look over the edge of the building, his breath caught in his throat.
The streets below were teeming with Weir.
Moving through the city after dark had become more dangerous than Cass had anticipated. The curfew was still in effect, and it seemed like the number of city guards had swelled in her short absence. On top of that, there were here and there pockets of rough-looking men and women skulking in the shadows. Whether they were working in league with the guards, or just out on their own accord, they certainly weren’t operating in any official capacity. Cass wondered if these were the same kinds of people that had slain Luck and the others. But there was no time for questions now, and fortunately moving unseen had become almost second nature to her, particularly when she was on her own. The fatigue from the day’s journey slowed her some, but not as much as she would’ve expected.
Cass found her way to Aron’s shop on the eastern side of the city, in the outer ring of buildings set closest to the wall. His was one of the larger establishments in Morningside and had actually been two separate buildings at one time. The lower floors were dark, but light shone around the edges of the curtains pulled across the upstairs windows.
There was no one out front that she could see, but given what she’d seen at Mister Sun’s, Cass had every reason to expect there were guards at every door. She had no idea what kind of reception she might get, she didn’t want to risk a violent confrontation. She crept around the building looking for alternate ways in.
On the backside of the building, there was a balcony on the second floor. There were no obvious ways to gain access to it from ground, but the building next door had a decorative trellis that was easy to scale. Cass gained the roof of that building and paused there, watching for patrols. She saw only one guard on the wall. Too many in the city, too few on the walls.
When she was sure it was clear, she ran and leapt the gap between the two buildings and landed lightly on Aron’s roof. She crept to the edge and lowered herself down to the balcony. Inside, she could hear voices. She tried the handle to the door, but of course it was locked. That made her think of Wren, and she paused for a moment, wondering where he was and what was happening with him. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
She couldn’t imagine that anyone on the Council would do him any harm. Not now. Not when he had returned so peacefully.
Actually, she could imagine it. But she refused to let herself do so. She would find Aron and, with him, answers.
Cass looked around on the balcony to see if there was anything she could use to open the door; a hidden key, or secret panel. And while she searched, the door clicked and swung open. She whirled to face the door and found herself staring into the radiant blue eyes of one of her kindred.
“What… Lady Cass?” she said, surprise evident in her voice and on her face. It was Kit. “Lady Cass, what are you doing here?”
Kit came forward and embraced her in strong arms, and then stepped back quickly, as if remembering her place. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lady,” she said. “I was just so surprised…”
Cass smiled in spite of herself and hugged Kit in return.
“Kit, it’s so good to see you. I feared you were dead.”
“No, ma’am, not yet,” she answered. “Though not for lack of trying. But really, what are you doing out here? How did you get out here?”
“I climbed. I need to see Aron.”
“OK,” Kit said. “OK, sure. He’s inside.”
Kit led her inside, through a large open room with wooden floors and a number of chairs. It was warm and comfortable, dusky with its lights turned low. There were several Awakened throughout the room, and others besides. The conversation all but stopped as Kit escorted Cass through.
They found Aron sitting in a small upstairs room in what looked like a workshop. He was sitting on a stool and had something on a workbench in front of him. He was hunched over it intently when Kit tapped on the door. There was a long wide bandage across the back of his head.
“Yep?” Aron said, without turning.
“Sorry to bother you, Aron, but someone’s here to see you.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” he said, swiveling on his stool. He blinked a couple of times as his old eyes adjusted, and th
en his eyes opened wide and he shot to his feet.
“Easy, Aron,” Cass said. “I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk.”
His shoulders relaxed, and his eyes went a little sad.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Kit said. She squeezed Cass’s arm as she passed by, and disappeared down the hall.
After she left, Cass and Aron just stood staring at one another for a time, neither sure of what to say or where to start. Finally, Aron just shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Lady. I know it don’t make any difference now, but I am sorry.” He held out his hand, offering her a seat in the chair tucked in the corner of the room. Cass nodded and moved towards it, but she stopped when she saw what was lying on the workbench. It was a rifle. Long-barreled, old but well-cared for; well-worn, well-used. A deadly thing.
Aron followed her gaze, and then looked back up at her.
“It’s OK, she’s safe,” he said, and picked up a piece that looked like the trigger mechanism from his workbench. “Puttin’ her back together. After a long time away.”
Cass went to the chair and sat, and Aron returned to his perch on the stool.
“If it hadn’t been for Mister Sun,” Cass said, “you would have been first on my list to find and string up.”
Aron nodded.
“But he seems to think there’s been a change of heart. And from what I see here, I have to admit I could be persuaded to believe it.”
“I wish you would,” he said. “But I won’t blame you if you don’t.”
“How did we get here, Aron?”
He shook his head and looked down at his hands with a sigh.
“It’s what happens when people lose their way,” Aron said. “Me, I lost sight of what I came to do. Forgot I was there for the people, not for the Council. Let others convince me that what was good for the Council was good for the city.” He looked up at her then. “We see where that got us. I ain’t tryin’ to make excuses. I’m my own man, I made my own decisions. And I’d undo a bunch if I could. But I think maybe that knock on the head put some things right.”
Hearing him confirm what she’d suspected didn’t immediately upset Cass as much as she’d thought it would. There was anger, of course, but there was a strange sort of relief, too, in knowing that her instincts had been right, that she hadn’t just imagined it all. Still, she hadn’t asked the big question yet.
“Did you try to have my son killed?”
Aron clenched his jaw and squinted, grimacing at the question. But after a moment he answered, “She was never supposed to get that close.”
Cass felt a knot of rage tighten in her chest, but she swallowed her wrath. For now.
“You gotta believe that,” Aron said, holding his hands up. “I would never have gone along with it if I thought for a second he was gonna be in any danger. It was never supposed to go that far. But that girl… that girl was better than any of us ever expected.”
Cass wondered. Aron seemed sincere, genuinely pained by the close call. He’d always loved Wren, in his own gruff way. But Connor. Connor had been in charge of the guard.
She thought back to that night, how long it’d taken the guard to show up, after she and Able had already cornered the girl.
“Was it Connor who assured you that Wren would be safe?”
“Of course,” Aron said. “He was gonna put some of his men in the right spot, make a couple of heroes in the process…” He trailed off, and his eyes widened, only now making the connection. He shook his head again and cursed quietly. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but I shoulda seen that. Even then we were at odds. I was just too blind. It was only supposed to scare you. Get you over on our side.”
“Your side? Your side of what?”
“Forcin’ ’em out. There was just too many people for the city. That’s why Underdown had such strict laws, so little tolerance. Always an excuse to push someone out if ever there was threat of trouble.”
“So all this time,” Cass said, “you’ve been working to undermine Wren as governor, so you could enact your own policies. Why the game then, Aron? Why proclaim him governor, if you were all against him from the start?”
“It’s all games, Cass. Always has been. Once Underdown was gone, somethin’ had to be done quick. The people out there, most part they don’t care who’s in charge, as long as someone is. There was a good story there, made it easy for them to believe that nothin’ was really gonna change, and that’s what they wanted. Underdown’s son. Looks just like him. Sure he’s young, but he’s got the Council.
“I think it started right, or close to it. When we started, we all just wanted to keep it all together. But after the big attack, and Wren makin’ that announcement that we were bringin’ everybody in… it didn’t take long for us to start wantin’ other things. Different things.”
“And you were going to murder my little boy for it.”
He shook his head again forcefully. “No, Cass. I don’t blame you for not believin’ me, I know I wouldn’t. But no, I just thought it’d rattle him. Make him see why it was dangerous to have those people around. But then your son, that boy, he went and surprised us all. Said to let it go. Forget about it, move on like it never happened. Well, not a one of us had thought of that. After that, everyone started spinnin’ their own plans.
“And then when we found out it was Painter’s sister. Well, good God, I wanted to hang myself. And I thought maybe when he found us in that room with Wren, I thought maybe he’d found out. And Connor…” He looked over at his rifle. “Well, I guess maybe there’s something to that… reapin’ what you sow.”
His eyes went glassy for a moment, and Cass left him to his own thoughts while she wrestled through her own. Pieces were starting to come together for her, in a broken kind of way that made it seem all the more true. Factions within factions. Plans gone awry, either from sabotage or because the plans themselves were poorly made. Overreactions, overcorrections.
People usually talked about conspiracies like they were so clean-cut, always perfectly executed. The schemes revealed in her mind were a tangled mess. And that made them believable, because they were so utterly human.
“Hondo and Vye, I understand,” she said. “I never felt right around those two. But what about North? Rae?”
Aron came back to himself and looked at her.
“Rae, no, Rae’s too much a straight-shooter, too strong-minded. I don’t think she ever knew much about what the rest of us were up to. And North… well, I never could read North. He’s a power player to be sure, and he looks out for himself. But truth be told, I got the feelin’ he’s careful about stayin’ in the inner circle because he don’t like what might happen if he wasn’t.”
“And what about you, Aron? What now?” Cass asked.
“Now… now I’m trying to do what I should’ve been doin’ all along. Just takin’ care of people with my own hands, the best I know how.”
“Kicked off the Council?”
He made a dismissive sound. “Naw, I quit. Told ’em what I thought they could do with their High Council.” He shook his head. “No, I’m goin’ with ’em. Been talkin’ with the Awakened here, and some others. Once we all move outside, we’re gonna run the patrols, keep these people safe. It’s what I shoulda been doin’ all along. What about you?”
Cass got to her feet. “I think I’ll pay a visit to our High Council in the morning.”
Aron stood and nodded. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight, if you don’t mind sharin’ some space. Might be safer than tryin’ to go somewhere else.”
“I may take you up on that,” Cass said. She wanted to catch up with Kit, and as much as she wanted to stay angry at Aron, she felt his change of heart had been genuine and thorough. There wasn’t much point in harboring hatred for a repentant man when she already felt so short of allies. She wasn’t ready to trust him yet, but she could see maybe doing it again one day. She nodded and started towards the door. Just before she left, Aron cleared his th
roat. Cass stopped and turned in the doorway.
“I know it don’t change nothin’,” he said. “But I am sorry for hurtin’ you, Cass. For all of it.”
She nodded. And for some reason, an old dusty box on the workbench caught her eye. It looked like rifle ammunition. Cass nodded towards the rifle.
“Didn’t know you were much of a shooter.”
“Was, back in the day,” Aron said. “Been a long time.” He smiled and gazed down at the weapon, and rested his hand lovingly on it. “She looks like a sweetheart, but she hits like an angry drunk.”
“What’s she shoot?”
Aron flipped up the lid on the old box, and pulled out a large shell. He held it up for Cass to see.
“Thirty kilojoules,” he said. “You ever seen anything that mean before?”
“I have,” Cass said. “Got any extra?”
Aron looked puzzled and a little taken aback. “I don’t know about extra,” he said, “but how many you need?”
“How about three?”
There were still plenty in the box. He took out two more shells and handed her the three hefty rounds.
“Don’t lose ’em,” he said. “They don’t make ’em much anymore.”
Cass slipped them into a pocket.
“I’ll be sure to keep my eye on where I put them.”
She gave him a parting nod and left him to his work.
Wren’s room was small, but nicely furnished, with a bed, a couple of chairs, a table, a desk, and a small lamp that glowed with a warm orange, almost like firelight. They had brought him dinner, and Joris had stayed with him while he ate. But that had been a couple of hours ago, and no one had come by since.
Outside, night had fallen completely, and Wren had been growing increasingly anxious as darkness closed in, wondering if perhaps tonight would be the night that Asher would make himself known. But now as Wren sat quietly on his bed, he could hear no calls or cries from the Weir. At first he’d wondered if he’d been placed in a room where the windows were too thick to hear any noises of the night. Then he’d heard the low murmur of occasional voices in the courtyard and known that the silence of the Weir was genuine.
