Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

There were so many things that seemed wrong with what had happened. Unjust. But Wren had to remember why he had come back. It wasn’t to reclaim his seat, or even to understand what had occurred.

“I never gave up my authority as governor,” he said. “But I didn’t come back to claim it, either. I came back to try and save the city.”

Hondo let out a laugh. “From what, little boy?”

“My brother.”

“Your brother is dead,” said North.

Wren shook his head. “I don’t know how to explain it, but Asher is alive. I have to try to stop him. I need to use the machine.”

Vye and North exchanged looks, but Hondo sat forward on his throne. “Certainly not,” he said. “We know what your father could do with that machine. You will not touch it again.”

“Hondo, Asher’s gathering an army of Weir. I’ve seen it myself. And I believe he’s going to bring them to Morningside.”

“There is no such army,” Hondo said sharply. “Unless you bring it. There are serious charges against you that must be answered. You can’t escape them by trying to frighten us with children’s stories.”

“Is this supposed to be a trial?” Wren asked.

“It’s not a trial, Wren,” Vye said. “But we do have a decision to make.”

“Connor and Aron attacked me . They attacked my mom.”

“What happened with Connor and Aron was unfortunate. It was a mistake, to be sure,” Hondo said. “But was it a mistake worth their lives?”

Wren was at a loss. He hadn’t really expected the Council to welcome him back, but he had thought that maybe when he’d explained the situation they’d at least have treated it with seriousness, rather than dismissing it outright.

“It’s a difficult time, Wren,” Vye said. “We think it’d be best for everyone if you stay here in the compound.”

“You’re imprisoning me?” Wren asked.

“It’s not prison, no,” North said. “It’s for your good and for the good of Morningside.”

“It will be confusing to the people if you’re out with them,” Hondo added. “And it may not be safe for you. You are to remain within the compound until such time as we deem appropriate to release you.”

Wren stood in stunned silence as two guards came forward. They ushered him towards the doors where Joris was waiting. Joris opened the door, and they joined the two other guards who were still waiting outside. And the five of them escorted Wren away to his prison.

Painter sat on the flat roof of a two-story building, with his legs dangling over the sides, and watched as the final traces of dusk seeped out of the horizon. Night would soon be fully upon them. The air was cold and damp, but the clouds had begun to break apart overhead, and here and there he could glimpse stars flickering and glittering in the heavens above. He was deeply weary from the journey, but his mind was active.

Tonight he would just observe. He knew better than to let himself hope that he might catch a glimpse of his sister on this first night. Instead of going out to hunt for her, he had decided it would be better to watch the Weir first. To get a feel for how many there were, and how they moved. They had rarely shown up in numbers of late, nor did they regularly approach the wall of Morningside. But perhaps here on the outskirts, he would be able to study their movements and discern any patterns.

He didn’t have to wait long. There was an electric cry away to his right, not terribly far away. It sounded mournful and lonely to him, then. After a while he began to see them moving throughout the dark streets and alleyways below. Those were few in number, and if they had any plan or pattern, it was beyond Painter to decipher.

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.