Jay Posey - Three

Chapel nodded with his subtle smile, but then his mood suddenly darkened, brow furrowed. Deliberating. The first time he seemed uncertain. After a moment, he drew a breath.

“I should tell you,” he said. “After we found you with the boy, we tried to recover her. The boy’s mother.” Chapel paused for a moment, seemed unsure of his words. “Mr Carter went to find her. He found many slain Weir. I’m afraid he was unable to locate the woman.”

He was, in his own way, sharing hard news in a soft manner. Three had of course already known, but hearing it confirmed still had impact. The Weir had taken her. Had taken Cass. He had left her. He clenched his jaw against the raw emotion. Stilled himself.

“Her name is Cass. Was. I appreciate you looking.”

Chapel nodded. Gaze dropped to the bowl. Again, giving Three space.

“How did you find us, anyway?” Three asked.

Chapel looked up, eyebrows raised, momentarily surprised. Three wondered what new information he had just given away.

“You called us.”

Three’s turn for confusion. He definitely didn’t remember crying out for help at any point. “Not sure I follow, considering we didn’t know you were out here.”

“Perhaps ‘called’ isn’t it exactly, though I’m not sure how else to describe it.” He thought for a moment, then shook his head with a slight shrug. “For me, it was like the passing of a wave. For Lil, a cold wind. There are no windows in her room. Mr Carter described it as an urgent pressure in his chest. Somehow we knew you were out there. And we knew we needed to come look for you. Though we didn’t know what we would find.”

“Wren,” Three answered. It must’ve been Wren. “The boy’s something special, Chapel. Not sure anyone knows just how special. Including him.”

“I suspect he’s not the only special one.”

Three ignored the prompt. Kept the conversation focused on Wren. “Just before I blacked out. Before you came, I guess. He said he saw angels. Said you, and Mr Carter, and Lil were angels. When you wanted to be.”

Chapel’s brow furrowed again, puzzled.

“When we go out into the Strand, when we must face the Weir or expect to, we broadcast. A technique I learned long ago. It changes the way the Weir perceive us. Frightens them, in a way. I have taught the others here, but it’s nothing you can see …”

He trailed off as a thought occurred, eyes widening slightly, the first hint of a breaking dawn.

“Told you he was special.”

“I suppose he is.”

Three hated to admit it, but he already felt wiped out. All those days unconscious, and the only thing he wanted to do right then was sleep. Chapel seemed lost in thought. Three interrupted.

“I hate to seem lazy, but I think I’m gonna need to lie down for a bit.”

Chapel snapped back to reality, returning to the role of gracious host. “Yes, yes, of course. More than anything, you need rest.”

Chapel escorted Three back to his room in the large L-shaped building, and promised to bring Wren to visit sometime mid-morning. Back on the mat, Three extinguished the lantern, and as he slipped into darkness, his last thoughts took him to Cass, pale, beautiful, broken. Gone.

The train-line didn’t actually go all the way to Morningside, ending instead about a half-hour’s walk away. As far as the guards at the gate were concerned, there was no reason to refuse entrance to the well-dressed and amiable people that showed up one late afternoon, hoping to stay a few days in the legendary city. And there were always rooms available to respectable-looking folks with well-funded and verified pointcards on hand. The four men and their woman-friend had found a nice second-story, three-bedroom apartment above an upscale clothier, not far from the Governor’s compound. No one had seen much of them since their arrival.

“They should’ve been here by now,” Dagon said. He stood at the window, looking out into the brightly-lit city under the deep night sky. It’d been three days since they’d arrived.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Asher answered. He was sprawled casually on a short couch, his feet resting on the arm. “It’s a long walk. No telling how many more secret hiding places the man knows.”

“Why don’t we see Underdown?” Fedor asked. “Or send word that we are here?”

“Not yet,” Asher said. “I don’t want him to know we’re around. Not until I know what he’s up to.”

“He’s running a city, Ash,” Jez said from the adjoining bedroom. “What more do you need to know?”

“They’re coming,” Ran said. He was sitting on the floor, legs folded in some sort of meditative position.

“Finally.” Asher sat up, swinging his legs off the couch and moving smoothly to standing in a single fluid motion. He grabbed his coat and threw it on as he moved to the door.

“No, not her. The Weir.”

Asher stopped for a moment.

“Here?”

Ran nodded. Asher finished pushing his arms into his coat sleeves.

“Well. This should be interesting. Where are they coming from?”

“The east.”

Asher moved to the door.

“Come on. Let’s go see what happens.”

The five remaining members of RushRuin left the apartment and moved out into the street below. As usual, Asher took the lead at an aggressive pace, with Fedor at his elbow and Jez close behind. Dagon and Ran shadowed the others from a space removed on opposite sides of the thoroughfare. The calls of the Weir were dulled by the great wall of Morningside, but the sound was unmistakable. A force was gathering out there, and the screams of those outside the wall grew in intensity.

Asher led them towards the easternmost gate at a determined pace. A crowd had already formed by the time they arrived, tense little clusters of Morningside’s citizenry waiting in strained silence for someone to rescue them.

They didn’t have to wait long. Dagon spotted him first, moving along the top of the wall.

“There he is,” Dagon said with a quick nod. Moments later a cheer went up from the crowd as Underdown strode the length of the wall. Beyond it, the surge of static voices grew.

“How many?”

“About thirty,” Ran said. Asher raised his eyebrows appreciatively, nodded slightly. Atop the wall, Underdown strode with purpose, flanked by six of his black-clad personal guard. Asher pushed his way through the crowd towards a set of stairs along the wall, followed closely by the rest of his crew. He took the steps two at a time, racing to get a view of the event before it resolved.

By the time Asher reached the top of the wall, Underdown had stopped above the gate and was now facing outwards, arms stretched out to either side. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in painful concentration. Down below a crush of outcasts pressed against the gate and wall, clinging to one another in fear as the electric horde descended upon them.

“That’s going to get messy,” Jez said.

But just before the savage wave crashed upon the helpless, Underdown cried out in a loud voice. In that instant, the Weir halted their advance, as if repelled by some unseen wall. Underdown trembled with the effort, straining like a man lifting a great weight. But as he did so, a remarkable thing happened. The Weir began to fall back. Slowly at first. And then in numbers, they turned and fled back into the night. And at their retreat, a great cry went up from outside the wall, from the outcasts who had moments before been facing certain death, now rescued.

Underdown lowered his arms and stumbled backwards. Two of his guardsmen caught him immediately and steadied him. As they escorted him back towards his compound, the Governor waved weakly at the crowds below on both sides of the wall who were now chanting his name. Extolling him. Worshiping him.