Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

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 had 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.”