Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 (49 page)

Cass forced herself up, got back on the move. Her boy was alive, and apparently safe. For a time she had to work to convince herself that she hadn’t hallucinated it. But whether it was a dream or not, it renewed her hope. She would make it back to Greenstone. She
would
.

W
ren came
out to the parlor to find Foe sitting at the table, looking at him expectantly. As if he was waiting for Wren to tell him something.

“I talked to Painter,” Wren said. “And my Mama.”

“I know,” Foe said. “I saw you.”

Wren wondered if he should apologize, if he should beg Foe for his forgiveness, for violating his promise not to contact anyone. But then, Wren wasn’t truly sorry. He’d gained information he’d needed, and maybe even set his plan in motion, even though that hadn’t been his original goal.

“Then you know I have to leave,” he said.

“Mm,” Foe said.

“I’m sorry, Foe,” Wren said. “But I’m out of time.”

“By what reckoning?”

“Asher’s found my mom,” Wren answered. “If I don’t do something now, he’ll get her back.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

“She’s my mom, Foe.”

“When you came to me, you swore to lay down your past. To count your old life as lost. Are you so eager to take it back up again?”

“But... I can save her.”

“Can you?” Foe asked. “What good will it be for you to go unprepared? For you to stand in harm’s way, incapable of withstanding it? All that you have worked for will be lost.”

“You’ve taught me well, Foe. I’m ready.”

He didn’t respond then, and somehow that was even more terrible than any of his questions had been.

“I understand my purpose,” Wren continued. “Life, my charge. Service, my strength. To give of myself, that others may live. I understand that now.”

Still, Foe made no answer.

“Will you let me go?” Wren asked.

“You are not a slave, boy,” Foe said. “You are not my property. I have not held you here against your will, nor shall I do so now.”

“So you think I’m ready?”

“That is yours alone to know.”

Wren nodded, disappointed not to receive Foe’s encouragement, but grateful that the old man hadn’t spoken against him either.

“If you are determined to go, I ask only one more thing of you.”

“I am.”

“Then come with me,” Foe said, rising from his seat. He called to Haiku, who appeared almost immediately, and held a quiet conference. Haiku dipped his head and disappeared again without acknowledging Wren.

“I need to get moving soon,” Wren said. “I don’t have much time.”

“So you mentioned.” Foe turned and left the room, not waiting to see if Wren would follow. “This will not take long,” he added just as he exited.

Wren caught up to Foe on the stairs, and followed the old man to a room he’d never seen before. It, like so many others in the tower, was small, and sparsely furnished. A narrow workbench, a stool, a chair, an oddly-shaped table that looked like it was meant for people to lie on.

“Sit in the chair,” Foe said, while he went to the bench and gathered tools. Wren hadn’t seen the tools before, but one looked like a small paintbrush, with just a few stiff bristles. Foe’s back was to Wren and blocked the view of what he was doing. After a few moments, he said, “Remove your shirt.”

“What are we doing?” Wren asked.

Foe turned, holding two instruments, both of which looked like brushes. The one in Foe’s left hand was definitely a brush. In his right hand Wren saw now that what he’d thought was a brush with bristles was actually a wooden handle with a narrow grouping of needles.

“I don’t like needles,” Wren said.

“It is the tradition of this House,” Foe said, “that when one has reached a sufficient level of training, before being sent out on a test, one receives a mark. It is both a distinction and a commemoration. I will not force you.”

Wren sat in the chair, looking at those needles. Then he took off his shirt.

The process was simple, if a bit painful. Wren tried not to watch while Foe did his expert work. Foe worked quickly but when he was finished, the symbol he left behind was so elegantly executed, it almost looked like it had been painted on with a few simple strokes. Foe cleaned it, coated it with some kind of salve. Wren didn’t recognize the mark.

“What does it mean?” Wren asked as he slipped his shirt back on, tried to ignore the soreness of the fresh tattoo.

“It means you are being sent out,” Foe answered. He left his tools soaking in a solution, and opened the door, motioning for Wren to exit. “And,” he added, “it means you are a son of this House.”

Wren had expected to be taken back to his room, so he could gather his belongings. Instead, Foe led him downstairs to the exit. The door was already open, and outside they found Haiku waiting, with all of Wren’s belongings already packed. When they were all outside, Foe turned to Wren and addressed him.

“Failure will likely mean death,” Foe said, bluntly stating what Wren had not wanted to consider. “But death is never the final word in the life of a righteous woman or man.”

Wren nodded. “People live on, as long as we remember them.”

“Remember them?” Foe said, scoffing. “I am not talking about platitudes. If someone’s death does not provoke you to meaningful action, then why bother to remember? Would you not rather forget?”

Wren didn’t respond, and felt somewhat foolish for having said anything at all. He’d just repeated what so many people had told him so many times before.

“I mean,” Foe continued, “that a life well-spent is not ended in death, but rather planted. You thought Three was a man. You were mistaken. He was a seed.” Foe let the words hang there for a moment. “Honor him with your actions, son.”

“Thank you, Foe,” Wren said, and the words felt less than inadequate. Almost empty. “Thank you for everything.”

Foe dipped his head in his slow nod.

Haiku stepped forward with Wren’s pack.

“Food, water, a few supplies,” he said. “Your weapon is in the top. Ammunition...”

“... is in my pocket,” Wren finished. Haiku nodded, and placed his hand on Wren’s shoulder.

“Good luck, Wren,” he said. “Remember your oath. Hold to your code. Trust your training.”

“Thanks, Haiku. I will.” Wren lingered for a moment, wishing there was something more he could do or say.

“I’ll come back if I can,” he said.

“Mm,” Foe responded.

Wren slung his pack on, adjusted the straps. The end had come so suddenly, he hadn’t really had time to prepare. He knew he had to go, but leaving felt surreal. He gave the two men a little wave, and then turned and started out. It wasn’t until he was fifty yards away or so that he realized what Foe had called him.

Not “boy”
.

Son.

He stopped then, turned to look back, but both Foe and Haiku were gone. He remained for a few long seconds, taking in that final image. The tower looming in the afternoon sun. Much like when he’d first seen it. Then it had filled him with fear. Now, it looked like home. He took a settling breath. Turned around.

And with that, Wren set off into the open, and into the arms of his mortal enemy.

“
T
hey’re coming
,” Gamble said.

“What?” jCharles asked. “But we’re not ready. We’re not even close to ready.”

“I don’t think that’s going to matter to them at all.”

“How long?”

“Wick?” Gamble said.

Wick was sitting with Mr 850 at the table in jCharles’s apartment, drawing up plans together on a hastily sketched layout of Greenstone.

“Yeah, huh?” Wick said.

“ETA on Cass?”

He didn’t look up from his work. “Three days, give or take. Depends on how much static she gets between here and there. And how much she stops.”

Gamble looked back at jCharles.

“Gonna be a long three days,” jCharles said.

Gamble gave a curt nod. “Better get to it then.”

“
Get
to it?” jCharles said with a chuckle. “I’ve
been
at it. Seems like I’ve been living there.”

“Well,” Gamble said. “It’ll all be over in three days, one way or the other.”

“Gonna be a long three days,” jCharles said again. “I’ll go talk to Hollander.”

“All right, check,” Gamble said. “I’ll make the rounds. Might have to scrap some plans. Better to have a few completed ones than a bunch half-done.”

“That’s your call, G,” jCharles said.

She nodded again, and headed for the door. jCharles checked in on Mol, but she’d fallen asleep on the bed in the back room with Gracie in the crib next to her. He stood for a moment, looking at them both, soaking in the peace that emanated from that scene. Treasured it. He needed it. After blowing them each a silent kiss, he backed out and closed the door quietly, and then made his way out of the Samurai McGann to go see Hollander.

As he walked, he thought about the past few weeks; about how Kyth and Bonefolder had become strange allies, about how things had gone ever since Gamble and her team had showed up.

Hollander’s folks had stopped them at the gate for obvious reasons. They came in ready for war. It had taken jCharles almost two hours to convince Hollander that they were The Good Guys, even though he hadn’t ever met them before and most certainly hadn’t called them in. By the end of it, it hadn’t seemed like Hollander believed any of it, but he agreed to let them all stay in Greenstone as long as jCharles assumed all consequences if anything should go wrong.

And that had been the easy conversation. Shortly after, he’d had to break the news about Wren leaving with Haiku. Even after jCharles had explained all he could about the circumstances, Gamble and her team had been none too happy to hear that he’d let Wren go off with a stranger. Much less so when he told them he had no idea where the man had taken him, or when he’d come back.

There had been some discussion of them going out and trying to track him down, but in the end, in great part due to Mol’s patient and gentle intervention, the two of them managed to convince the team to stay in Greenstone. They resisted at first but after the first day or so, they got involved in the preparations for the city. Once that had happened, things had smoothed out dramatically. They’d all come to get along pretty well, though the roughest one of them, the Awakened one – Swoop was it? – kept calling him “Knucklehead” like it was his name.

And those people were absolute beasts. If they slept at all, it wasn’t much, and after a couple of days, they had divided up tasks and were splitting time between manual labor and training volunteers. jCharles hadn’t called them in, but now that they were here, he didn’t know what he would have done without them.

Materials weren’t coming in as fast as he’d hoped. Volunteers were just that, volunteers, and not necessarily the most skilled of the bunch. jCharles had dug into his own coffers pretty deeply to hire some pros, but as good as they were at their work, half of them didn’t believe what jCharles had told them, so they weren’t exactly
motivated
.

Looking at where they were in preparations, and in numbers of personnel, jCharles gave them about a twenty-five percent chance of survival. Which, was actually pretty good. Which was, of course, depressing. Even if they had six more months, it was still going to be a roll of the dice.

He found Hollander sitting in his office, as expected. Hollander’s head was down as he pored over some reports on a tablet on his desk; his way of keeping something like a work/life balance. jCharles knocked on the door frame.

“Yeah?” Hollander said without looking up.

“Got a sec?”

Hollander glanced up, waved him in, and went back to scanning the feed.

“What’s up?” Hollander asked.

“Bad things,” jCharles said. Hollander continued to read for a span, and then set the tablet to the side, ran a hand over his face and sat back in his chair. He raised his eyebrows expectantly. He looked exhausted.

“We’ve got three days,” jCharles said. “Give or take.”

“You sound pretty sure about that,” Hollander replied.

“I am.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I’ve got a friend headed this way.”

“And he’s seen ’em?”

“No,” jCharles said. “They’re chasing her.”

Hollander’s eyes narrowed. “How many we talkin’?”

“Not sure. Guess we better assume
all
of ’em.”

“You know... I’ve given you a lot of slack lately, jCharles.”

“You have.”

“And I still don’t like you having those two blue-eyes around.”

“I don’t care, Hollander. They’re doing a lot more for this town than you are right now.”

Hollander raised his hand partially up off the desk; a warning.

“You got a lot of eyes around town,” he said, “But you don’t know everything, bud.”

“Well, you know the plan,” jCharles replied.

“I know
your
plan,” Hollander replied. “But like I told you before. Anything comes over that wall, first thing it’s going to see is me.” He let it hang for a moment, and then added. “Whether you’re there or not.”

“We’re after the same thing here, Holl.”

“We’ll see.”

jCharles still hadn’t been able to figure out whether Hollander didn’t trust him, or just didn’t understand the scale of what they were facing. But he knew the officer had a good heart. He hoped it’d be enough to see him through.

“Will you at least get the people moving Downtown? When the time comes?”

Hollander nodded. “As long as you handle the logistics of having all those folks gathered in one spot, we’ll send out the alert. Don’t count on us forcing anybody to do anything they don’t want to, though.”

“Pretty sure you won’t have to,” jCharles said. He gave Hollander a nod, and headed back to find out what Kyth and 4jack were up to. And as he left, he felt like he had to adjust their odds of survival down to a twenty percent chance.

T
he sun was up
, good and strong, and after a long night of running through the Strand, Cass was trying to decide whether she should take an hour of rest, or just push on. Would that hour of rest give the strength to make up the ground she’d lose? The Weir had been following her relentlessly, and the farther she got out into the Strand, the more effective they seemed to be growing. After she’d destroyed the node, they’d been scattered and broken, apparently unable to coordinate as well as they had before. For a time, the tendrils from the Weir’s datastream seemed to have a harder time finding her, too. It was beginning again, now. She could feel it. But it was slower now, easier to shake off.

“Mama?” the pim came in, making it sound like Wren was in Cass’s head. “Are you there?”

“Yeah, baby, I’m here.”

“Sorry I didn’t pim again yesterday. I was afraid to at night.”

“It’s OK. Where are you?”

“I’m coming to help you,” he said. Her baby. He sounded like he really meant it. More. Like he could really do it.

“No, Wren,” she said. “You stay where you are.”

“I’m already on my way. Can you come to me?”

“No, I’m headed to Greenstone. Gamble and the team’s there.”

There was a pause, and when he replied, she could hear the surprise and joy in his voice.

“They’re alive?”

“Yeah, baby, they’re all alive.”

“Well... all except Swoop, you mean.”

It hit her like a thunderbolt. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t know. There was
so much
he didn’t know. She had so many things to tell him, and so little energy to do it.

“Swoop too, baby. There’s a lot to explain.”

“He didn’t die?”

“He’s Awakened, Wren.”

Another pause. This one longer than the first.

“He woke himself?”

“No. I woke him. And another man too. A lot’s changed, baby.”

She thought he’d be stunned by it, but he responded quickly.

“Everything’s changed, Mama.”

Her turn to pause. She didn’t recognize the tone in his voice at all, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Wick drew a route up for me,” she said a few moments later. “I’ll send it to you.”

“No, don’t,” Wren said. “Asher might intercept it.”

In the explosion of emotion she’d felt when Wren had contacted her, Cass had completely forgotten that Asher might be monitoring for their signals. Not that it mattered in her case, but was she endangering Wren by talking with him now?

“What about pimming?” she asked.

“It’s OK,” Wren said. “I’m taking care of it. But we should be careful. I’ll see you in Greenstone, OK?”

He sounded so confident.

“OK, baby,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The connection closed, and Cass couldn’t quite make out what her heart was doing. Hearing her son’s voice had flooded her with chaotic feelings. The first time they’d spoken, she’d teetered right on the edge of lapsing into a desperate need to find him, to be with him. Now, though, after hearing how different he sounded she wasn’t sure that he needed her as much. If at all. And instead of the fear she expected, there was an unexpected peace. She couldn’t wait to see him, of course, to pick him up and hold him close. But it was a desire, not a need. And as she pushed herself on, farther into the Strand, closer to Greenstone with each step, she knew what Wren had said was true.

Everything had changed.

And she was at peace.

W
ren squelched
the connection with his mama. Not just disconnected. Closed it and compressed it, just as Foe had taught him. It was still possible for Asher to find him, but not without Wren knowing about it. And to anyone else, he wouldn’t exist. Well, to anyone except a nearby Weir, maybe. He still hadn’t had a chance to test that yet.

Running the open after he’d left Foe’s tower had been an incredible experience. Exhilarating. He’d traveled a lot, and it had always been oppressive and full of constant anxiety; a slow-burning fear that worked on the mind and soul, even if all around seemed safe and secure.

Now, the depth and power of Foe’s training had begun to reveal itself to him. And the farther out he went, the more evident it became that Haiku’s “game” had been more than just a game. Much more. Where before the world of the open had been a grey wash of ruin, now it was vivid and alive with a subtle life of its own. How very much he had missed before. He’d taken to walking that fuzzy border between the Strand and the dead cityscape, and now it seemed like everywhere he looked he saw quiet whispers of stories untold. He’d spent the first night hiding out on the third floor of a five-story structure. But as the sun was slipping below the horizon on the second day, he noticed signs that suggested people had traveled through not all that long ago. And when he followed the trail, it led him to a wayhouse, cleverly concealed. A welcome surprise, not only to sleep in absolute security for a night, but also to have discovered his own ability to perceive the world around him so clearly.

The same skill enabled him to skirt a pair of scrapers that were either pushing their luck traveling so close to the Strand, or had wandered into unfamiliar territory. He saw signs of them before he heard them, and when he heard them, he went quiet, remembering how he’d moved in the Waiting Room. The habits he’d formed in the tower were showing their worth. Now he understood the value of constant practice. And he understood how every moment was an opportunity to practice.

There was another skill that Wren continued to develop all along his journey.

Draw from the holster, sights on target. Finger to trigger; smooth pressure.

Click.

Over and over he rehearsed, with careful attention to each step. As he walked, he picked out different targets, various bits of scrap or marks on the walls of the buildings he passed. At times he would even stop, close his eyes, and draw, just to see if he could get on target by feeling alone. He didn’t quite master that technique, but he could get pretty close. And while he worked, Wren tried not to worry about being fast. He just wanted to be smooth. Oddly enough, as he got smoother, the speed came too.

Unfortunately, the speed of his draw didn’t improve the speed of his travel. He too was running a route laid out for him by Wick, one that was intended to get him to Greenstone, coming in from the opposite side of the Strand. And though Wren had thought it was a good enough plan when he’d first received it, with each hour that passed, it seemed less like the right path to take. He was supposed to branch off westward, but kept delaying transition. Eventually, he made the decision, and committed to it.

If he stuck to Wick’s path, he might make it in time, might be able to stand with Mama, and jCharles, and Gamble and the team. But he wasn’t going to Greenstone. He knew what would happen if Asher reached it. He wouldn’t let that happen.

Wren turned eastward, back out into the Strand, cutting the corner. Asher and his Weir might make it to Greenstone.

But they’d have to pass Wren to do it.

W
hen Cass reached
the gate around noon, coated in dust and exhausted, jCharles and Gamble were both there to meet her. Gamble gave her a rough embrace and then, in typical fashion, got straight to business.

“How far ahead of them are you?”