Three (33 page)

W
hen morning came, the damage was somewhat less severe than had been feared. Three learned there had in fact been three attacks: two simultaneously from the north and the east, and a third coming from the southwest after most of the men had already engaged. Chapel alone had defended the central building from that attack, though he was quick to downplay the numbers that he had faced and to give credit to the valor of the other men.

All told, they counted over sixty dead Weir, though Three knew the number slain could easily have been more than twice that. The Weir rarely left their dead behind, though no one knew why. Most stories suggested they ate their own. Three had never met anyone who had any evidence for that explanation. For their part, the compound had seven dead, and twelve wounded.

Had it been a legend, the story would have read as a heroic victory, for so few to stand against so many. In reality, it was a heavy blow for such a small community to bear. Seven husbands, seven fathers, seven guardians, all lowered into the ground. Even Three had shed tears during the simple ceremony they’d held. He himself had dug the grave for the man who had fallen by his side just hours before. Kirin had been his name, though Three hadn’t learned it until he’d heard the man’s wife crying out.

And all the while, while he’d carried the wounded, and dug the grave, and done what he could to help, Three couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow it had all been his fault.

“Strange that they would choose now,” Chapel said, late that afternoon, as they ate together. “We’ve been attacked before, of course, but never by so many. Never like this.”

Three hadn’t told anyone of Dagon’s appearance, wasn’t sure if there was a reason to do so. There couldn’t be any connection between Dagon and the Weir, of course, but there was no doubt that whatever had happened, they couldn’t stay. He and Wren had to leave.

“Chapel, I don’t really know how to say this,” he started.

“You’re leaving.”

Three nodded.

“I understand,” Chapel said.

“No. You don’t,” Three answered. He stared down at the food in front of him, knowing he needed the nourishment, but having no appetite for it. “But I made a promise. And I’ve brought far too much trouble on you here.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been a great help to us.”

“It was selfish to stay. You and your people paid for it.”

“By all accounts, we would’ve paid much more without you. Everyone agrees it was your actions that prevented complete tragedy. Even Mr Carter.”

Three shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. He wanted to believe the Weir would’ve attacked whether he’d been here or not, but his gut told him otherwise. And Dagon. Would he bring Asher here, to these people? The only hope Three had now was to get Wren to his father in Morningside, the hope that this man Underdown would have the will and the means to protect his own son. And then… well, Three didn’t know what then, except that he’d be back in control of his own life, and maybe then he’d be able to figure out how to become the man he’d once been, able to forget all the calamity he’d endured and created because of one simple decision to help a woman and a boy in distress.

“How soon will you go?” Chapel asked.

“First light. How far to Morningside from here?”

“Twenty-five miles or so, if you know the way.”

“And if you don’t?”

“We’ll make sure you do.”

They ate in silence for a time, and then Chapel excused himself to attend to the wounded. Three finished his meal alone, dreading having to break the news to Wren. He spent an hour or so preparing his gear for the journey, though it didn’t really take more than fifteen minutes to do so. As evening was coming on, he trekked over to the central building, where he knew Wren was keeping close to Lil.

Sure enough, he found them together, sitting on the floor, playing a game of some kind. Three watched them from the door for a moment, watched their easy interaction, the obvious comfort they provided one another. He’d wondered before, but now he was certain that she’d lost a child of her own. She’d been a mother once, to some fortunate son or daughter. Maybe to many children. Three couldn’t help but feel that he’d missed an opportunity with Lil, if nothing more than to get to know her. But the wounds Cass had left him with were too fresh, and Lil stirred the memories too strongly. He’d encouraged Wren to spend time with her, while he’d kept his own distance. Now he wondered if that’d been a mistake.

He entered, and knelt down beside the two.

“Hey, kiddo. Ma’am.”

“Hi, Three.”

“You really shouldn’t still be calling me ma’am,” Lil said, her eyes wrinkled at the corners with a hint of a smile. She looked exhausted, but genuinely glad to see him.

“Hey, Lil,” Three answered. “Can I interrupt for minute? I need to talk to Wren.”

“Sure, of course,” Lil said. She started to get up, but Wren stopped her.

“Can you stay?” he asked quietly. “Please?”

Lil hovered between staying and leaving, looked to Three for a cue. He shrugged and nodded. He’d have to tell her at some point anyway. Might as well get it over with. Lil sank back to the floor. Three drew a breath to explain, but it was Wren who broke the news.

“We’re going away, Lil.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she looked to Three for confirmation. He nodded again.

“But… what? Why?” The tears were already welling in her pale blue eyes.

“It’s not safe,” Wren said.

“I know last night was scary, but there’s no reason to think it’s going to happen again–”

“It’s not safe for you.” Hearing the words come from Wren’s mouth, in his tiny voice, made them sound all the more terrible. Three had expected Wren to scream and cry and fight. Watching the boy now, calmly delivering the message himself, Three wasn’t sure if he should feel proud or frightened.

“I don’t understand,” said Lil.

“And we can’t explain,” Three answered. “Just know that we’d stay if we could.”

Lil blinked back at him, searching for words she wouldn’t find. A tear dropped and splashed on her cheek.

“Is it OK if I stay with Lil tonight?” Wren asked.

“Sure, kiddo. If it’s OK with her.”

Lil wiped the tears from her eyes, and nodded. “Of course. Of course it’s OK. I’d like that.”

“Can Three come too?”

Her eyes flicked to his then, and he saw the flash of unspoken hope, the slight reddening of her cheeks. Then she looked quickly at the floor, afraid she’d given herself away.

“That’d be nice,” Three said. “But I’ve got a lot to do to prep for tomorrow. And you need a good night’s sleep.”

“OK.”

Lil nodded and smiled at him, but he could see the lines of disappointment, despite her efforts to conceal them. She was a good woman. Maybe a great one. But not for him.

Three tousled Wren’s hair and stood up.

“Early morning tomorrow. Don’t stay up late.”

“OK.”

“Night, kiddo.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Three,” Lil said, looking up at him from the floor. She had a sad smile on her face.

“Ma’am.”

T
hree was up before the first hint of daybreak, and he spent the final hour of darkness sitting on the steps of the central building. He found himself shivering in the cold, sharp air. He was filled with a nervous energy that nagged at his mind. Three needed focus now, needed clarity. He needed to move.

As the sky was brightening to pale purple, Lil appeared with Wren in tow, flanked by Chapel. A small but sincere send-off. Wren slid in next to Three, stoic but not quite awake.

Three extended his hand.

“Chapel.”

“Three,” he said, taking Three’s hand in a firm, warm handshake. “You’re a good man. We hate to lose you.”

“Wish I could do more to thank you.”

“Come back some time. That will be enough.”

Three nodded, and turned his attention to Lil. “Lil. Take care of yourself.”

She smiled weakly and nodded. Wren took his cue and approached her. She knelt to his level, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, then kissed her on the cheek.

“You always kiss the lady goodbye,” he said. “So she remembers you.”

“I could never forget you, Wren,” she replied, with a broad genuine smile. “Not even if I tried.”

She kissed the top of his head, and sent him back to Three. As the two turned to go, though, Three saw a third person crossing the courtyard.

“Mr Carter,” Chapel said, “has insisted on taking you to Morningside.”

Sure enough, as Mr Carter drew closer Three could see he was outfitted to travel, despite the fact that he was heavily bandaged.

“That’s not necessary,” Three said.

“He insists. You can try to refuse him if you like, but he’ll follow you anyway.”

There was a brief exchange between the men, but in the end Three relented, and as the first rays of sunlight began to crest the horizon, Three and Wren set out once more, each knowing full well that danger lay about them on all sides.

F
or the first hour, they walked mostly in silence, and Three was uncomfortably aware of an ethereal dullness that seemed to surround and follow him like a personal fog. Whether he hadn’t fully recovered from his wounds or instead had lived in comfort for too long, he wasn’t sure. But out here in the open, he knew in his gut that he’d lost his razor-edge. He hoped it’d come back quickly.

Mr Carter led them east and south, through squat ruins and gutted shells of structures that may once have been homes, or schools, or shops. If the Strand were the unbroken sand after a recent surge, these were the remnant sandcastles along the fringe, rounded and bowed by the tide, but not completely destroyed. Though Three had passed through the Strand before, he had forgotten how similar the landscape was on either side. It was perhaps a redder brown here in the east, as opposed to the more dominant, cooler blue-grays of the west; some of the faded fonts and markings were rounder. But by and large, taking it all in at once left one with more or less the same impression. Urban. Decayed. The corpse of a once-unbroken cityscape.

As they walked, shadows receded, the air lost its bite, and the landscape gradually grew around them. Buildings stood taller, scattered bits of tech remained intact, signs of other travelers began to reveal themselves. By midday, they were well clear of the borders of the Strand, and on into what would relatively be called civilization proper. They stopped to rest, taking shelter from the sun in a rusted-out kiosk that may once have sold the day’s latest technical fashion, and now stood gaping and gutted. At least there was no broken glass on the floor. They ate from their rations, but before Wren was halfway finished, he began nodding off.

“How much farther to Morningside?” Three asked.

“Three, maybe four hours,” Mr Carter answered. “The child has time to sleep.”

Three nodded and Wren needed little encouragement to curl up with his head on his pack. In short time, the boy’s breathing was deep and regular with heavy sleep.

“You’ve been before?” Mr Carter asked.

“To Morningside? No,” Three said, shaking his head. “Heard the stories, of course, but never had much need.”

Mr Carter nodded.

“Are they true?” Three asked.

Mr Carter stroked his beard along his jawline with the back of his hand, tilted his head slightly from side to side, weighing his response. “Some yes, many no. It is a place of great wonder. And mischief.”

“Have you been often?”

“I lived there for many years. Before I met Chapel. I have not gone back.”

“Too much mischief?”

“It is a safe place, of a sort. But it is also difficult to live life on one’s own terms there. A certain exchange of freedom for security, which I could not continue to pay.”

Three nodded and sipped water. He let his eyes rove the surroundings, scanning for whatever might catch his attention. The fog was still there, but he felt it thinning. His senses were sharpening, focus returning. Being on the move stirred their awakening.

“How will you find the boy’s father?” Mr Carter asked.

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Name’s Underdown.” Mr Carter’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the name. “You know him?”

“If you mean the Governor Underdown, yes, of course.”

“What do you know of him?”

Mr Carter glanced off at his surroundings, took a long pull of water. Shook his head. “A hard man to know.”

He trailed off, as if that were all he had to say, but Three saw the man’s eyes flicking back and forth over the landscape as he again drank from his canister of water. Three waited.

“Things changed when he arrived. Better, in many ways. Order. Safety. He is the reason the city flourishes. Its savior. But in some ways, its captor as well.”

“Savior’s a pretty strong word.”

Mr Carter looked back to Three then.

“The Weir…” he paused, searching for the word, “
fear
him. If they can feel fear. Before he came, Morningside survived because of its size, like Fourover. But now… it’s like a strong light turning back the darkness. Night still comes, but the light keeps it from the city.” He shook his head again. “I’m sorry, I’m not making any sense. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Three glanced at Wren, sleeping peacefully nearby. Memories flashed: how Wren sensed when the Weir were close, how he knew that Three wasn’t wired, or the night Cass fell, when the boy’s cry for his mother seemed to steal the very life from her attackers.

“I know what you mean,” said Three. And for the first time, Three felt a certainty that this was all going to be alright. A man like that, a man like Wren, but who understood and could control his gift… well, surely such a man was better equipped and able to raise and protect this boy than Three would ever be. He felt a pang then, at the thought of leaving Wren. In spite of himself, he’d grown fond of the little guy. But knowing he was safe, with his own real father, that would be enough. Time would heal the rest.

“We’ll move on in an hour,” Mr Carter said, interrupting Three’s thoughts. “Give the child time to rest.”

Three nodded, took another long drink of water. Another hour, and they’d be on the move again. And by tomorrow, he just might have his life back.