Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 (26 page)

And now Wren was completely confused. After that raw, unambiguous, and vicious account of all of Wren’s faults, had the old man just implied that he might actually be considering taking Wren under his teaching?

“You have sensitivity, but no discipline,” continued the old man. “Determination without focus. Instinct and will, perhaps. And I will concede that you appear to have some natural talent, however small. In times of great stress or emotion, maybe you have noticed certain abilities manifest or become enhanced?”

Wren almost didn’t catch the question, and wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to answer. But the words certainly rang true. He remembered how he’d resisted Asher, or first turned back the Weir the night they killed Mama. The feeling that something was growing in his chest that threatened to make him explode.

“Yes, sir,” Wren said, when the old man didn’t continue. The old man nodded.

“I’ve spoken at length with Haiku. And though I believe he’s overstated a few things, I would never lightly disregard the recommendation of one of my children. I cannot make you all that you might have been, but I can fashion you to a specific purpose, if you are willing to submit to the training.”

It took a moment for Wren to realize what the man was saying. But when he did, his heart surged.

“You mean... you mean you’re willing to teach me?”

Again the old man held up his hand, cutting Wren off.

“Don’t think for a moment this had anything to do with your little outburst. I appreciate determination, not rash behavior where calculated patience is required. And I have no tolerance for tricks suitable for a circus. None of this will be easy for you. You are already far behind, and you will find that much of what you consider your strength is in fact a snare for you. The only way forward is through pain, struggle, and trial. I
will
teach you, boy. But I will teach you as fire teaches flesh.”

“I understand,” Wren said. The old man smiled at that.

“Not yet.”

Wren held the man’s gaze. “Whatever it takes.”

“Take the day to consider,” the old man said. “Eat, sleep, gather yourself. This is not a decision for you to make lightly.”

“Sir,” Wren said. “I made my decision before I left Greenstone.”

“Wren,” Haiku said. “To be clear, this isn’t something you can begin and then walk away from. You must be willing to give up everything from your previous life.”

“I’ll do anything to stop Asher.”

“It’s more than that. Much more,” Haiku said. “Father is inviting you to become part of House Eight.”

Wren felt the gravity in Haiku’s voice, and knew there was more to them than he understood. “I don’t know what that means,” he said.

“This isn’t merely a commitment you would make to me,” said the old man. “You would be making it to Haiku as well. To Three. To all those who came before you. There is legacy and lineage here. If you accept entrance, then forever afterward you will belong to House Eight. Even if you were to run to the other side of the world, that would not absolve you of your responsibility to the House.”

The world tilted as Wren’s entire perspective transformed. All this time he had been looking at the whole experience through a single focus; how this old man could help him overcome his brother. He’d thought all of this was about solving a problem that they were all facing, one he was uniquely positioned to handle. It had never entered his mind that he would have to make any lasting commitment to these people.

“This is why you must count the cost,” the old man continued. “The price is your life. Nothing less.” He waited a beat while that thought sank in. And then–

“If your mother showed up today and told you to go with her, would you turn her away?”

The question struck Wren like an icy cascade. The old man had found his greatest weakness and struck it precisely, a knife-blade between the ribs.

“I...” Wren said, and then trailed off. The magnitude of the decision was on him with razor-edged clarity. His mind swirled with contrary thoughts. There was a weight of history here that he hadn’t anticipated, a world unimagined unfolding itself before him. It was too much to ask of him. He was only a boy. Was it truly worth giving up everything he had known before to cross into a new life he knew nothing about? How could he possibly know that now? And yet, how could he turn away from what was being offered to him? And while his thoughts raced and collided, and his heart pounded with the enormity of the moment, a hidden part of his spirit revealed itself in stillness.

None of what was going on in his mind or body truly mattered. He knew in his spirit there was no real choice here. Whatever else lay ahead, the man was offering ultimate victory at the end. Now that it had been laid before him, as frightening as it was, Wren could not willingly refuse to take it.

“I would have to, sir,” he said. And as the words left his mouth, he knew they were true. Some part of him let go, then. Let go of Mama. “The thing you’re promising me is the thing I would already give my life for.”

“I promise you nothing,” the old man said. “Nothing beyond instruction. When the time comes, I cannot guarantee you will succeed.”

Mol’s words floated back to Wren, the ones that had convinced him to take this journey. Or rather, the words that had given him the courage to do what he knew he should.

“If I die trying,” he said, “then at least when the end comes, I’ll know I gave all I could.”

“Mm,” the old man replied. “We’ll see.” He looked at Wren for a moment and something had shifted in his dark eyes. Still they pierced, though they seemed to search less. Maybe he was at last seeing the strength of Wren’s conviction, a conviction that had been absent until moments ago.

The old man stood and Haiku followed suit. Wren likewise got to his feet.

“I have business with Haiku,” the old man said. “You are welcome to any food or drink here in the parlor, and the room you used previously is yours. For now, restrict yourself to this room and that. You are free for the day, boy, but I encourage you to rest. In the morning, if you are still determined, we will begin.”

“I won’t change my mind,” Wren said. “I’m ready to start now.”

“No, you aren’t,” said the old man. “But you’d better be come morning.”

The old man gestured towards the door that led back downstairs, directing Haiku to head that way. Haiku smiled at Wren and nodded as he passed by, and his face held a strange mix of emotion; a melancholy joy, pride tempered by concern. It was a look meant to reassure, but Wren saw the disquiet underneath. Whether Haiku’s distress was over Wren or himself wasn’t clear, and Wren wondered what “business” the old man had with Haiku. The old man followed Haiku out.

The old man. Wren had just pledged his life to him, and he didn’t even know the old man’s name.

“Sir,” Wren called, just as the old man was exiting the room. The old man stopped at the doorway and turned back. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

“You’ve not earned the right to my name, boy,” the old man said.

“But, if I’m going to be your student, what should I call you?” Wren asked.

“Sir. Teacher. Master,” said the old man. “Whatever you deem appropriate.” He started to turn back towards the door.

“I’d like to call you what
you
think is appropriate, sir.”

The old man stopped again and turned his head to answer over his shoulder, looking at Wren out of the corner of his eye. “In that case,” the old man said, “you may call me Foe.”

He smiled thinly to himself and then exited the room. After a moment, Wren eased himself back into his chair at the table and, with a newborn sense of dreadful wonder, contemplated what fresh terrors and trials he’d invited upon himself.

B
y the time
Cass closed in on Finn’s waypoint, whatever shock had been keeping her from feeling the pain of her fall had worn off. She knew she’d injured more than her arm, but the pain from it blazed so brightly the other hurts were pale and muted behind it, like the last stars at sunrise. Her legs burned, her knees and ankles ached, and not just from the heavy load she was hauling.

The others were waiting for her at street-level, just down the road, thirty yards away. Finn reacted when he saw her, came out a few yards to meet her. She slowed to a jog for the final distance, and slung the rucksacks to the ground at his feet. His face was grim, but stony.

“You OK?” he asked.

Cass nodded. “All but this,” she said, pointing to her unnaturally-angled forearm.

Finn sucked air through his teeth. “That looks bad.”

“It hurts, yeah,” she answered. “But it can wait. What are we doing?”

Finn glanced over his shoulder at the others behind him. Mouse had laid Swoop down and was busy assembling something from his pack. Sky was off to the side, on his knees with his hands in his lap, staring blankly. His rifle lay on the ground next to him, unheeded.

“We gotta get out,” Finn said, turning back. “Obviously. Planning to go straight out the nearest gate, soon as we’re set. You see anything following you?”

“No, nothing. They were all...”

Cass looked over at Sky, and then back at Finn, but neither of them had any words for the moment. He nodded.

“Daylight’s probably making it hard on them,” he said.

He looked down at the rope stuffed in her arm. The cut end was jutting out from the haphazardly coiled mass. Finn took it between his fingers, ran his thumb over the frayed strands.

“She cut you loose,” he said.

Cass nodded. Finn just shook his head.

“Well, no point in you lugging all that around.” He unhooked the carabiner from Cass’s harness and unwound the rope from the straps. She winced as he lifted the rope away. “Mouse,” he called. “Need you to come look at this.”

“Yeah, one sec,” Mouse said. He worked a few more seconds and then stood, and Cass saw he’d been putting his emergency litter together. He came over and instantly saw the problem. After a quick evaluation, Mouse stabilized her forearm with a brace from his kit and followed it with an injection of local anesthetic.

“Sorry,” he said. “Best I can do for now.”

“It’s fine, Mouse,” Cass said.

Somewhere in the dead city, a cry echoed. It was hard to pinpoint, but Cass was almost certain it hadn’t come from the direction of the compound. Mouse and Finn exchanged a look. Cass snatched up one of the rucks again and cinched it tight.

“Gimme a hand with Swoop,” Mouse said to Finn, and the two men withdrew to load their recovered teammate onto the litter.

“What if he wakes up?” Cass asked.

“I dosed him pretty good,” Mouse said. “He’ll be out for a long while.”

“Then what?” she said.

Mouse glanced over at her, and then at Finn, and then back down to the litter where he was strapping Swoop down. “Have to figure that out, won’t we?”

Once Swoop was secured, Mouse was back on his feet and slinging his pack on backwards, so it hung in front of him. He came over and took up one of the rucks and threw it on his back.

Finn unhooked his rifle and handed it over to Cass.

“I gotta help carry Swoop. You good to run this?”

Cass swept her eyes over the weapon. It had more heft than Wick’s; longer barrel, heavier round. But it was built on the same basic platform, with all the controls in the same place.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Cass said. “What about Sky?”

Finn glanced over at their companion, still on his knees, unresponsive.

“He’s dry,” Finn said, voice lowered and shaking his head. “Emptied on that room. You’re our shooter.”

Finn handed her one magazine.

“Make it count,” he said. Another cry sounded, this one closer and from somewhere ahead of them. Definitely not at the compound. There was more ammo for them all in the rucks, but no time to dig it out.

“We’re not going to shoot our way out anyway,” Mouse said. “Best bet is not to be here.”

“Yeah, check, let’s get to it,” Finn said. “Sky, we’re moving, brother.”

For a long moment, Sky just stayed there on his knees, staring without seeing towards the compound, oblivious to all else but his loss. Cass’s heart wrenched in her chest to see the warrior so completely broken. A Weir cried from behind them, this time in the direction of the compound. They were spreading out in search. Or they were triangulating.

“Sky,” Mouse said.

He didn’t move, didn’t even blink. Mouse and Finn looked at one another, and Cass knew they were going to have to make another terrible decision. They couldn’t carry him out. They didn’t want to leave him behind. But the scattered calls from the Weir were rising up from all directions now, and increasing in number.

Cass was just about to call him again when Sky reached up and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, in a long slow draw. Then, to her astonishment, he grabbed his rifle, got to his feet and strode to Cass.

“I’m on point,” he said. “We’ll go out tight, five meter separation from me, quick pace. Cass, you’re bodyguard. Stay on Mouse like a lover.”

He paused and looked each of them in the eye in turn.

“I’ll get us home,” he said. “And then I’ll go insane. But not till then.”

He gestured for Cass to hand over Finn’s weapon. She glanced at Mouse. He nodded, and Cass exchanged Finn’s rifle for Sky’s. Cass cradled Sky’s rifle in her injured arm, switched back over to the jittergun.

“Don’t drop her,” he said, while he checked the chamber on Finn’s weapon. Then he looked her dead in the eye. “She’s all I’ve got left.”

He turned and started towards the nearest gate. Mouse and Finn took their places at the litter, with Finn in the front, and on a quick three count lifted Swoop. Cass swallowed the lump of emotion in her throat and drew up just behind Mouse, an arm’s length away.

Sky set a hard pace, just shy of reckless. For the first few hundred yards, Cass wondered if the grief was too much for him, if maybe he’d gone suicidal and was just leading them to what he hoped would be a large enough number of Weir to pour out all his rage on before they brought him down. But as they moved further through the ruins of the city, it became apparent that he’d been moving with the only caution they could afford. As many of the Weir as had been hiding in the compound, there were still more scattered throughout the city, and they were becoming active. Their calls and cries were coming one on top of the other now as the creatures spread throughout the area, but even as their desiccated voices drew closer, so too did they seem to be coming more and more from behind. Cass felt almost like they were running on the first broken pieces of earth, with the landslide on their heels.

By the time they came within sight of the gate, the noose seemed to be tightening just behind them, though Cass knew better than to let herself hope they’d made their escape. The last two hundred yards were the most excruciating. Even though they had a straight shot out, Sky kept leading them off the main path, ducking into narrow lanes and alleys, circling buildings, weaving between structures. He probably doubled the amount of time they spent within the city walls.

When they were thirty yards from the gate, Sky stopped and kept them bunched up between two buildings. Mouse and Finn were doing their best to keep their breathing under control, but it was obvious lugging Swoop all that way was already starting to take its toll. That didn’t bode well for the much longer trip they still had ahead of them. Cass moved up beside Sky and crouched next to him to survey the area for herself. She checked the main thoroughfare, nearby alleys, doors, windows. It all looked clear. And though the majority of the Weir cries were towards the city interior, some were still too close for Cass to feel they could afford the break.

She glanced over at Sky. He too was scanning their surroundings, but he must have seen her look out of the corner of his eye because he raised his left hand and extended his pointer finger towards the gate and then rotated it slowly up. Cass looked over at the gate and then followed the line of the wall up. And there she saw what she had missed before: a single Weir, crouched low, keeping watch atop the wall. Any concerns Cass had about Sky’s current mindset were completely dispelled. He was in top form. She didn’t know
how
he was managing it, but she was grateful he was.

Mouse moved in close, just behind them.

“What’s the hold up?” he whispered. Sky looked over his shoulder.

“Sentry on the wall,” he answered. “Might have to take it.”

Cass kept her eyes on the Weir up there, watching it as it dipped down behind the low barrier that ran along the top of the wall only to reappear a few seconds later. There was something odd in its behavior that she couldn’t quite identify.

“Tough shot?” Mouse asked.

“No,” Sky said. “But if I drop it, they’ll know which way we went.”

A call from a Weir sounded, and the Weir on top of the wall ducked down again. A few moments later it peeked up further down the wall, glancing this way and that. It even looked back behind it, out into the open.

“Think we’re gonna have to risk it,” said Mouse. “We gotta keep moving.”

And then it struck Cass. She’d seen something like it just the night before after she’d launched her ambush, when she’d killed the Weir that had surprised her coming out of the alley. The one whose expression was frozen, perfectly preserved, in her memory; eyes wild, frantic, a thing lost and terrified.

The Weir on the wall didn’t look like it was keeping watch. It looked scared.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t kill it.”

“You think killing it will bring the others?” Mouse asked.

“No,” Cass said. “I don’t think it’s connected to the others.”

Mouse just looked at her.

“Look at it. It’s not watching for
us
,” she said. “It’s hiding from
them
.”

Mouse glanced at Sky, and Sky shook his head and shrugged a shoulder.

“Come on, fellas,” Finn whispered from behind, tension carrying through even in the low tones.

The feeling that the Weir was no threat to them was overwhelming, but Cass didn’t know how to explain it. She didn’t know how to communicate it to the others and they didn’t have time to discuss it. So Cass lifted her veil and stepped out into the open.

Sky cursed as the Weir reacted instantly to the motion. But its reaction wasn’t at all what any of them had expected. Except maybe Cass. Rather than scream a warning to the others, the Weir threw itself down behind the barrier.

“What’re you
doing
?” Sky hissed.

“Come on,” Cass answered, waving them on quickly. “Come on, we can go.”

At that point, the boys didn’t have any reason to argue. The Weir had clearly already seen them. If it was going to alert the rest of its brood, there was no way to stop it now. Might as well make a break for the gate while they still could.

Sky pushed out aggressively, keeping his weapon pointed up at the top of the gate and ready in case the creature reappeared. If he got the opportunity to fire, Cass was pretty sure he wasn’t going to wait this time. Mouse and Finn followed right behind, ignoring the five-meter rule in the final push out of the city. They closed the distance to the gate, passed through it, and into the open beyond. Cass was gratified that the Weir on top of the wall didn’t show itself again. She flipped her veil back down and stuck close to Mouse.

Once the group cleared the gate, Sky led them at the same pace for a good mile or mile and a half, twisting and turning seemingly at random through the dead sprawl outside Morningside’s perimeter. Only when the calls of the Weir had faded completely in the distance did he signal for a halt. They ducked into a low single-story concrete structure for cover. Mouse and Finn lowered Swoop carefully to the ground inside and both men stayed down on their knees, breathing hard. Mouse dropped the rucksack off his back.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Sky said. “We can’t be here long. And
you
,” he said, jabbing a finger at Cass. His eyes smoldered. “Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again. Not ever, you understand me.”

“I knew it wasn’t connected,” Cass said.

“You
said
it,” Sky said, and the words came out hot. “You didn’t
know
it. Are you trying to get us
all
killed? Or was my wife enough?”

If he had punched her square in the face, Sky could not have shocked or hurt her more. Cass was so stunned by the words, so deeply wounded, that for a moment she literally couldn’t breathe.

“Hey, easy,” Mouse said, rising to his feet. He took a couple of steps towards them both, but he angled his body towards Sky. “Easy now.” Sky continued to glower at Cass for a few seconds, then turned away and posted up by the entrance.

“I did... everything...” Cass said, and her words came out broken, heavy with the tortured emotion she’d been trying to suppress. But Mouse looked over at her and held up a hand, shaking his head slightly. Cass couldn’t tell if he meant
not now
or
no need
, but neither of them took any of the sting away. She’d been trying to keep it all contained, to keep the loss separated and distant until they were all somewhere safe. But Sky’s words had cracked the armor plating, and Cass wasn’t sure she could contain the surge.

“I need a couple of minutes to catch my breath,” Mouse said. “Might as well see what we’re lugging around in these packs. Can you give me a hand?”

Cass doubted Mouse really needed the help or the break, but she welcomed the distraction. Sky was standing just inside the entrance to the building, keeping watch. Cass crept to his side and leaned his rifle against the wall next to him, a silent peace offering. He didn’t acknowledge her, but as she withdrew she saw him glance over at the weapon.

She joined Mouse back in the middle of the room and together they worked to empty out the two rucksacks and to organize the pile of supplies. It wasn’t a precise system; medical, ammunition, other. Once it was all out, for a few moments, Cass and Mouse just sat there looking at the supplies arrayed before them. Knowing how little time Gamble had had to get it all assembled, Cass marveled at how thorough she’d been. It was a little glimpse into the heart and mind of the woman who’d led her team so well for so many years. It was like she’d known exactly what they’d need. She’d even packed the other two empty rucksacks so they could share out the gear once they got somewhere safe.