Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 (5 page)

Cass heard him whispering, but after glancing over at him she saw that he wasn’t talking to her. Calling in to his team, no doubt. Cass settled back and waited. Sky spoke in quiet bursts for a minute or so, though his whispers mingled too fully with the wind for her to listen in. After a few moments of silence, he turned to her and nodded and then, to Cass’s surprise, he turned fully around and sat down, slouching back against the low wall. He drew his knees up slightly and propped his rifle atop them. Cass edged over towards him.

“Now what?” Cass whispered.

“I guess we hang out,” he said.

“For how long?”

“Till my girl gets here.”

“Oh. OK,” Cass said. There was some measure of relief in that, knowing Gamble was still all right. “What do you want me to do until then?”

“Well,” Sky said. “You could get some sleep, if you want. Or if you really want something to do, you could hope nothing bad comes up that hatch.” He lifted the back end of his rifle, raising the stock almost to his shoulder and Cass saw with that simple motion, his weapon was right on target, pointing back the way they’d come. He was using his legs like a bipod. If anything came up that hatch that Sky didn’t like, it wasn’t going to be happy.

Cass sat down next to him and laid Wick’s weapon across her lap. She leaned her head back against the cold concrete wall. There didn’t seem to be much else for her to do but, as tired as she was, the idea of sleeping while Sky kept watch didn’t sit well. She’d already gotten an hour or so of sleep, and she was certain this was the first chance Sky had had to sit down since... now that she thought about it, the man must have been on the move for almost twenty-four hours now. Maybe more.

“You go on and rest, Sky,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

He glanced over and gave her a kind smile, but shook his head.

“Thanks, Cass, but if Ace found out I’d made you stand watch while I took a snooze, she’d chew me out non-stop for a month. I’d rather gut it out now and save my ears, if it’s all the same by you.”

Cass smiled at that. “Fine by me.”

“You should catch some sleep though, if you can,” he said as he returned his gaze back to the hatch. “I’ll wake you if I need you.”

“I think I’m good for now. I dozed off for a bit before you found me.”

“Good,” he said.

“Hey,” said Cass, and he looked back at her. “Thank you, Sky. Thanks for coming to get me.”

Sky shook his head and made a face like he was mildly insulted she’d said it.

“Come on now. If not for you, we’d have all been killed back there. If anybody owes anyone anything, it’s us to you, not the other way around.”

“Still. It means a lot.”

“You’re one of us, Cass. And we don’t leave ours behind. Not ever.”

Cass wanted to say something more, but couldn’t come up with anything appropriate, so she just nodded. They sat in silence again for a minute or so.

“How’d you find me anyway?” Cass asked.

Sky pointed to the weapon laying across her lap. “Wick keeps an eye on her at all times. He sent her signal to me, before he went down.”

Those last four words made Cass’s chest go tight and her heart cold.

“Wick’s gone?”

“Dunno yet. He and Able had to go dark, and Wick didn’t want you getting lost out here on your own.”

“What happened to them?”

“I’m not sure, Cass. Everything happened pretty fast. They were in some trouble, but you know... we all were. Once you started your run, we had to scramble. But we’ll find ’em. Finn and Mouse are out looking for ’em right now.”

“I’m sorry, Sky.”

“We’ll find ’em,” he repeated.

They lapsed into silence again for a time, Sky lost in his own thoughts and Cass keeping a quiet respectfulness. Somewhere in the distance the cry of a Weir sounded, echoed. An answer followed so faintly that Cass couldn’t be sure she hadn’t just imagined it.

Some time later, Sky held up a finger and his eyes got that unfocused look; he was getting an internal message. He answered his caller, “Yeah, check, up top. You want us to come down?... All right, check.” Then he looked back to Cass, talking to her again. “We’ll see.”

He got to his feet and walked over to the hatch. There he knelt, eased the hatch open, and waited in a crouch. A few moments later, Cass saw him smile, broad and genuine, and soon after, Gamble emerged into his waiting embrace. They held each other for a long while, long enough that Cass decided to avert her eyes to avoid intruding on their reunion. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she glanced back towards them and got to her feet. Gamble looked angry.

“What are you doing here, Cass?” she said, her voice low but with a hint of a growl.

“Waiting for you, Gamble.”

Gamble didn’t slow her approach and didn’t hesitate. Before Cass knew it, Gamble had her arms around her in a bear hug.

“That was a supremely stupid thing you did,” Gamble said in her ear.

“I know.” Cass hugged her back.

When they separated, Gamble’s eyes were wet. Nothing else about her expression betrayed any great emotion, but those almost-tears told Cass everything she needed to know.

“I’m not going to say I’m sorry,” Cass said.

Gamble grunted; maybe in acknowledgment, maybe in disapproval. Both, probably. Sky walked over and joined them.

“Where’d you stash your boy?” Gamble asked.

“I sent him with Chapel. On to Greenstone.”

“All right,” Gamble said, nodding, and already Cass could see Gamble factoring that into the plan she was undoubtedly forming. “OK. I don’t think we can get you back to the tunnel tonight. But once the sun’s up, we’ll see what we can do.”

Cass shook her head, but Gamble was already looking at Sky. Maybe now wasn’t the time for that conversation.

“I want to hold here ten or fifteen,” Gamble said to Sky. “Make sure I didn’t pick up any tag-alongs.”

“You hear from Finn yet?” Sky asked.

“Yeah, just,” Gamble answered. “Able’s back up. They’re moving to him now.”

“Wick?” said Sky.

“Breathing, for the moment. But...” Gamble shook her head. “Probably be about forty minutes before they can get to him and Mouse can check him out.”

“How’s Finn?” Cass asked.

“Keeping it together. Which is pretty heroic, all things considered.”

There was a pause in the conversation as the weight of the moment settled on them. Then, before anyone had a chance to say anything more, Gamble switched back to go-mode.

“Sky get that hatch buttoned back up, then get eyes front. I came in south-southeast, so if I picked up stragglers they’ll probably be that way.”

“No sweat, Ace,” he said.

“Cass, I need you on that opposite corner, just in case they get sneaky. You see anything moving around, you let me know immediately.”

Cass dipped her head in silent acknowledgment.

“We’ll give it fifteen and if all’s quiet, I’ll take you back to our hole-in-the-wall.”

The three broke up and took up positions around the roof. Cass set herself to keep careful watch, knowing all too well that out here in the open, fifteen minutes was plenty of time for everything to go wrong.

P
ainter stood on a high
, wide balcony of a building outside the city, six stories up, and watched as dawn broke open and spilled its first light over the high wall of Morningside. The once great city, glittering jewel of the east, was now, just as Asher had proclaimed, a horror to gaze upon. No, not as Asher had proclaimed. As he, Painter, had proclaimed on Asher’s behalf. Asher’s words, delivered by his mouth. This was his work, too. He could not separate himself from it, no matter how much his heart might repulse at the thought. This was his work. Painter forced his eyes to take it in, to see fully and truly the destruction that he had brought upon the city.

The scale of the devastation was beyond anything he had imagined possible. Painter recalled the night Asher had come to him in a dream, when he had touched Painter’s mouth and loosened his tongue.

Tell them I’m coming.

Even then, Painter had known Asher’s intent, his thirst for vengeance. It was a thirst Painter had shared, at least in part. But he simply could never have fathomed the full depths of Asher’s power, or his wrath. Painter had proclaimed Morningside’s coming doom with his own mouth. Only now did he see what those words had truly meant.

But he had made his choice. This was his work. In a way, Morningside had brought its ruin upon itself. The way its rulers had treated its people, had assigned value and meted out punishment or reward as they alone saw fit. Even Wren. Painter tried not to think too much about Wren. He had been a friend. But he’d been caught up in the games of power, he’d taken on authority he was too weak to wield, and through him others had worked their corruption. Painter would grieve him. Painter
did
grieve him. But some casualties were inevitable when justice was done, and he couldn’t completely absolve Wren of guilt. He had played his own part. He had made his own choices, just as Painter had. And as horrific as the outcome seemed now, Painter soothed his troubled spirit with the thought that this was the price of his own liberty, his ascension. And more than his own, for Asher had kept his promise.

“Snow,” he said, turning to his sister. She was behind him, sitting on the roof, head lowered and hands folded in her lap. She looked up at him, her Weir-blue eyes glowing faintly in the weak light of the new dawn. His sister, once dead, now returned to him. “Come stand with me,” he said. She stood and crossed to him, and he watched as she came over. She moved with a dancer’s ease and grace, beautiful to behold, and took her place next to him, gazing out over the city.

Painter just looked at her for a while, his heart stirred with overwhelming love. His little sister. Once lost, now found. His truest and impossible hope, realized. The grief he felt over the fall of Morningside was a faint shadow compared to the deep joy in his heart at his sister’s return.

“Snow,” he said, and she turned her head to look at him. She responded to her name, but he could see in her eyes there was no true recognition. Her gaze was dull, mechanical, and when he looked into those eyes, Painter both loved and hated her. No, not hated her. Hated her condition, trapped as she was between life and death, between self and slave. The Weir had done their work. Asher had found her in their midst and had... well, Painter wasn’t sure what he had done. Released her somehow. But he hadn’t Awakened her, not fully. Not the way Wren could. And so, Painter thought as he looked into his sister’s eyes, his impossible hope was perhaps not yet fulfilled. Not yet. But he would find a way.

Long ago, after their father had died and left them alone in the world, there had been many dark and fearful nights when Painter had sworn to Snow that she would never have to worry because he was there, would always be there, would always watch over her. It had cost him much to keep that promise. He looked back over what remained of Morningside. It had cost him and many others. But it seemed a small price to him now. They were together. For the moment, that was all that mattered. She was close, he could watch over her. And in time, he would find a way to bring her back to herself.

The morning light grew stronger as they stood there, not yet strong enough to interfere with Painter’s vision but enough to make him uneasy. There was an aversion to sunlight deep in his makeup now, beyond just the discomfort and difficulty it caused his Weir-modified eyes. Something the Weir had done to him that made it feel unnatural and disquieting. His Awakening had given him mastery over his instincts to flee the daylight, but the anxiety it produced had never fully subsided. He wondered what Snow was feeling – if she was in fact feeling anything, or if she was simply an automaton somehow attached to him now, like some lesser process of a higher control program. The Weir could be made to move in broad daylight, could be provoked to endure it. But they suffered under it, just as normal humans naturally feared the dark.

“Come on,” Painter said. “We’ll find a place for you to rest.” He leaned over and drew his sister’s head to his lips, kissed her forehead. She accepted it without hesitance or warmth. He led her back inside the abandoned building, and she followed obediently. More like a servant than a sister. Too much like. But that was temporary, Painter reminded himself. He’d find a way.

They descended through the darkened building, looking for an inner room without windows or holes where the light could seep in. There were many to choose from, and though Painter knew Snow would accept any one he selected, he kept searching for one that seemed safest and most comfortable. Like most of the buildings this close to Morningside, anything of value had long ago been stripped out, and much of the debris had been cleared away. Still, it was heavy with dust and the damp, stale smell of long disuse.

As he searched, he felt a vibration in his thoughts, a ripple of something Other, an external impulse; the first sign that Asher was reaching out to him. And even though Painter had accepted it, had invited it, it was nevertheless deeply unnerving each time. The door between his thoughts and Asher’s was weak and unlocked. Though Asher had, thus far, always done him the courtesy of requesting access, Painter couldn’t help but wonder what the outcome would be if he declined or, worse, resisted. And he wondered briefly if he was even capable of resisting. It was as if Asher stood at the door of his mind, having already turned the knob and opened it a crack before knocking. Painter was free to say
come in,
but there was little question what the result could be if he didn’t.

He opened the channel and Asher formed in his mind. More than mere thoughts, more than a voice. A presence. Asher couldn’t control Painter directly, but he left no doubt as to his will.

“I have need of you,” Asher said, from deep within the recesses of Painter’s own mind. Painter stopped his search for a room and waited. It was difficult to do much of anything else when Asher was communicating with him. “What are you doing?”

There was another strange aspect of this... whatever this was. Communion with Asher. He was somehow fully part of Painter’s mind, and yet completely separate and distinct. He couldn’t read Painter’s thoughts, couldn’t see through his eyes, or hear through his ears. To respond, Painter had to make a conscious effort to direct his thoughts towards Asher. Though he didn’t need to speak aloud, the mechanism felt almost exactly the same.

“I’m with my sister,” Painter responded.

“Yes, obviously,” Asher said. He might not be able to make use of Painter’s senses, but he always seemed to know exactly where he was. Painter wondered if Asher knew the exact location of every single Weir under his power. “But what are you
doing
?”

“Finding a place for her to rest.”

“She doesn’t need it,” Asher said dismissively. “I have a new place for you. I’ll send you the location.”

A moment later, Painter received a locational ping, a virtual marker set in the physical world. It was miles away.

“Get started. The rest will be along in a little while.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until the sun goes down?”

“Why?” Asher said. The impatience was apparent, and Painter decided not to press it.

“What should I do when I get there?”

“Just get moving. I’ll tell you what to do when it’s time.”

“OK.”

Painter waited to see if there was anything more, but Asher wasn’t talking. He wasn’t leaving either, though. Painter looked over at Snow, who was standing dutifully by, staring off at nothing in particular. It would be a strain on her to travel through the daylight. He knew she could endure it, but he didn’t like forcing it on her.

After thirty seconds or so, Asher still hadn’t disconnected.

“We’re going right now,” Painter said. “Come on, Snow.” She turned to him, and he took her hand in his. She would follow him without it of course, but it felt more natural that way. Like when they were kids.

“Painter,” Asher said, and the tone of his voice had changed. Or, rather, the tone of whatever it was Painter was experiencing inside his own head had changed. It was less agitated, less abrasive. Not quite consoling, but there was a note of reassurance in it. “You are my voice. My herald. You’re not like the others. I chose you... I ask more of you because I know you have more to give.”

“I understand,” Painter answered.

“Good,” Asher said, and in the next instant he was gone. That sensation was almost as disruptive as when Asher made his approach; there was, for a moment, what felt like a hole in Painter’s mind. His own thoughts rushed like water to fill the void, collided together, churned. It always left him a little disoriented, as if he had walked in a room with a floor tilted ever so slightly to one side. The feeling subsided in a minute or two.

Painter led Snow down several flights of stairs to the ground floor. They stopped at a side entrance near the front of the building, where sunlight was filtering in underneath the door. Snow squawked once, softly, her voice and words still attuned to the static language of the Weir. Painter had lost whatever part of him could interpret that densely packed burst of communication, but he was becoming more skilled at discerning the different timbre of that which had formerly been pure noise. It had shape now, somehow, in his mind. She was worried about the sunlight. Or, if not worried, at least drawing his attention to it.

“It’s OK,” he reassured his sister. “We need to go out there. We have a long walk to go on, and we have to leave now.” She stood placidly by, still holding his hand, but continuing to look down at the light seeping in under the door.

“Here,” Painter said, and he got his goggles out of his pocket and placed them over her eyes. She reached up and touched them, trying to back away at first, but he held her steady and gently adjusted the straps to secure them in place. Snow kept one hand on them even after he’d fitted them for her. They were too large for her face, and made her look like a little bug. Painter smiled at the image; with the dark lenses he couldn’t see her modified eyes. For a moment, he could almost believe she was wholly herself again. He let the thought linger as long as it would, enjoying the lie even as it fled before him. Finally, he took her hand and then pushed the door open.

She shied away from the burst of sunlight, dazzling in contrast to the dusky stairwell. It made Painter’s head hurt almost immediately, and he squinted against it, even though he knew it was yet weak compared to what was still to come. He stepped out into it, drawing Snow gently along behind him. Maybe they’d get lucky and some cloud cover would blow in. He glanced up at the sky; it was pale purple tinged with yellow, and as clear as it could be. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful, sunny day.

And it would be a long day, and the journey longer. But he could bear the intense headache the day would bring, knowing his sister wouldn’t have to. He sighed and started off towards the distant mark Asher had set for him, with Snow in her too-big goggles in tow.