Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 (53 page)

jCharles, Mol, and Grace picked their way back through the city towards their home. When they got there, jCharles wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry so he did some of each. The street was cluttered with debris and there were some scorch marks on the building across from the Samurai McGann, but otherwise the place was intact. It didn’t even look like anyone had tried to open the door.

Mol was the one who pointed out the worst of the damage.

“Oh, Twitch,” she said. “They got him.”

She pointed up at the drawing of the ronin, still red-eyed, still holding his sword aloft, defiant, victorious. There was a hole where a stray round had struck, right in the whisky bottle hanging from his belt. It was so absurd, jCharles burst out laughing.

“Couple of inches either way, and that could’ve been real nasty,” jCharles said. “Think our ol’ friend’s got a new lease on life. How about you?”

“Oh, you know, Twitch. Greenstone’s always been a place for second chances,” Mol said. And she went up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

I
t was
the sound of quiet sobbing that first brought Wren to his senses. A gradual awakening that found him first hearing, then feeling the ground beneath him. He opened his eyes to a dark sky above, dotted with stars. But though his eyes were open, and he could perceive his surroundings, he felt as though he’d gone blind. Deaf, though he could hear crying. Utterly isolated and alone, though there beside him sat another.

Wren had felt this before, though not so intensely.

He looked over at the person who lay doubled over nearby. Recognized him. Painter.

“Painter,” Wren said. And Painter started at the sound of Wren’s voice. He sat up, wild-eyed.

“Wren? Wren... you’re alive?”

“So it would seem,” Wren answered.

A choking sob erupted from Painter’s mouth, and for a time he couldn’t speak for his weeping. Wren waited patiently, too stunned, too spent to offer any consolation. When Painter finally recovered himself enough, he spoke.

“Why?” he asked. “Why didn’t you just kill me?”

“Because,” Wren said, “if I had taken your life, I couldn’t have given it back.”

Painter fell into silence again, staring blankly at Wren. He shook his head once, and then again. Finally, Wren pushed himself up to his knees, struggled up to his feet. He felt hollow, as if his insides had been burned out. Painter remained on the ground, looking up at him.

“Painter, I need you now,” Wren said. “I need you to help me get back to Greenstone.”

“I can’t,” Painter said weakly. “I can’t go there.”

“Please, Painter. I can’t find my way. I need your help.”

“You don’t need me, Wren. I saw you. I saw what you can do. There’s nothing that can hurt you now.”

“I do need you, Painter,” Wren said.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the only one here,” Wren answered. “And I’m disconnected.”

I
t was
mid-morning before Cass got back to Greenstone with Swoop and Kit. They were all suffering multiple wounds, and whatever Swoop had done with his charge on the machine had had a much more substantial effect on the signal in the area. It’d been degraded pretty severely until just a couple of miles outside of Greenstone, and that was the first time they were able to establish firm contact with Gamble and the team. The initial reports were all fairly good, all things considered, but when Cass got to the city itself, she couldn’t believe the news could be good at all. She searched all through the city, through the rubble, amongst the wounded and the dead. It wasn’t until almost noon that she found what she was looking for.

He was standing outside the eastern gate, a little distant from the town, with two others. Cass recognized his silhouette as soon as she saw it and she wasn’t sure if her feet even touched the ground as she flew to him.

“It’s all right, Mama,” he said, as she held him tight. “It’s all right now. We did it.”

P
ainter and Wren
had found Snow as they walked to Greenstone. She’d just been sitting there when they found her, like she’d been waiting for them to catch up.

“Wren?” Painter asked. “Do you think...?” And then he trailed off.

“Not anymore, Painter,” Wren said. “I’m sorry.”

Painter nodded.

“But,” Wren continued, “maybe my mom can help.”

j
Charles headed back
to the Samurai McGann after a long talk with Hollander. Gamble and her team had been talking about next steps, and with the loss of so many Greenmen and all the work that needed to be done, it seemed like a natural fit. It hadn’t taken much to sort it out for Gamble to move into an officer’s role, and for the rest of the crew to step in as instructors and senior Greenmen. When word went out, the number of volunteers for the Greenmen jumped to such levels, Hollander had to turn folks away. Why jCharles had even been involved in any of it was kind of a mystery. People had started treating him like his opinion mattered when it came to Official Town Business. He’d helped get the materials together to patch up the east gate until it could be properly repaired, and he’d handled some logistics of getting people temporary housing while the town got put back together. And every time he helped somebody out, it seemed like two more people showed up. It’d been happening ever since the battle, gradually at first, but steadily growing. It was all starting to feel uncomfortably political.

When he came in to his saloon, he was surprised to find Kyth sitting at the bar, nursing a short glass of something amber. Something off the top shelf, he guessed. It was still early, not even midmorning yet. Nimble hadn’t even taken the chairs down off the tables. jCharles went over and plopped down on the stool next to Kyth. 4jack and Mr 850 had both rolled out already, returning to their normal lives, relationships refreshed and some stories to tell that no one would believe. He figured Kyth would be following suit shortly.

“Rough start to the day?” he asked, looking pointedly at the drink.

“Not at all,” she said with a smile. “Had a good, long talk with Mol.”

“Uh oh.”

“All good things, honey,” Kyth said, and she took a sip, rolled it around in her mouth. “Think we both understand each other a little better now.”

“You know she told me to call you?” jCharles asked.

“She did not mention that, no. But it makes sense. She always was the one with the good ideas.”

jCharles sat quietly with her for a bit, waiting to see if she had anything to add. Apparently she didn’t, so he switched topics. “Headed out soon?”

“Nah,” Kyth said. “Think I’m gonna stick around for a while actually. Place has character.”

“How long’s a while?”

“Oh, you know,” she answered with a wink. “A while.”

“Kyth.”

“Fine... I got a job offer, OK? I want to see if it pans out.”

“You did not,” jCharles said. “Kyth, tell me you did not agree to work for the Bonefolder.”

Kyth shrugged, flashed her smile.

“Oh don’t worry so much, Twitch. She’s about ready to retire. And she likes my ideas.”

“Ideas?”

“It’ll be good for you too,” Kyth said. And then she got serious, serious in a way jCharles couldn’t remember ever having seen her. “I mean it, Twitch. I owe you.”

“Kyth–” he said, shaking his head, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“No. I still owe you. I’ll owe you to the day I die and beyond. Bonefolder’s been a thorn in your side a long time, I know. Least I can do is pluck it out.”

jCharles didn’t know what to say in response. Kyth didn’t give him much time anyway.

“And maybe get rich in the process,” she said, and she drained her drink, got up off her seat, and kissed him on the cheek. “See you around, neighbor.”

“Yeah,” jCharles said. Kyth turned and walked towards the front door. “Hey, thanks for not destroying my
whole
town,” he called after her. She waved over her shoulder without turning back, and then disappeared through the door onto the street. jCharles shook his head. His life had become exceedingly strange indeed.

T
hey’d made
the decision on their own, though Wren had been the one to prompt it. Cass had been reluctant at first to leave Greenstone. They had friends there, friends so good they might as well have been family, but Wren had made some good points. They’d both changed so much, so quickly, he said, that he wanted to get away, just the two of them, and work things out together, the way they used to do. And he had someone he wanted her to meet. Someone he thought could help her.

The goodbyes had been easier this time around, since everyone fully expected to see each other again sometime soon. All of them except when she’d gone to see Mouse, and he’d pulled her aside, and laid his heart bare to her.

“Mouse,” she said, blinking back the tears that his gentle words had brought. “Mouse, I do love you. I do. And it might be cruel to say it, but if I made a list of qualities I wanted in a... relationship, like that, well. I think it’d pretty much just describe you. But my heart isn’t in a place where I can love you the way you deserve. Not right now.” She reached up and touched his face. “You deserve better than I can give.”

“Maybe you could let me be the judge of that,” he said. Cass smiled, took her hand away. Shook her head.

“I can’t ask you to wait for me,” she said. “Don’t wait for me.” He smiled sadly when she said it.

“I don’t reckon I have much say in that, Miss Cass,” Mouse said. “Been telling my heart not to love you for a long time. Hasn’t listened yet.”

She didn’t know what to say to him then, so she’d just hugged him, and thanked him for all he’d ever done, and then they’d said their goodbyes. They left in the morning, Wren leading the way northward, and eventually eastward. He wouldn’t explain much about where they were headed, but Cass didn’t need many clues. She knew enough about the high level that she didn’t need the details.

They took travel at an easy pace, and Cass was amazed at her son; how perceptive he’d become, how clever, how confident. Over their five days of travel, they talked through all of the experiences they’d been through while they’d been separated. Cass didn’t understand all of it, for either of them. But Wren was able to talk her through a lot of techniques and share insights she didn’t even know he possessed. With Asher gone, she didn’t seem to have to worry about any reintegration with the Weir, but Wren said the man they were going to see would be able to tell them for sure.

Asher was still in him, somehow. His consciousness. His personality. Trapped in some portion of Wren’s mind. But Wren was already learning to control that portion of his brother, or rather, of himself now. Asher still had some power, Wren suffered frequent tormenting nightmares. But even just over the course of the few days they traveled together, these too he began to tame. Even so, his hope was that the man they were going to see could help him too.

They reached their destination just before sunset, but instead of completing the journey, Wren had asked if they could spend one more night out in the open. They lay together there on the roof of a long-abandoned building, side by side, his head on her arm, with the Weir roaming the ground below. But neither of them were concerned. Neither of them had cause to fear the night. Not anymore. The stars above shone brilliant against the sky, a spray of diamonds on a velvet sky. They stayed up late into the night, talking about whatever came to mind. Enjoying each other’s company. Enjoying, for the first time maybe ever, true peace.

Cass smiled to herself.

“He promised me this,” she said. “Did you know that? Did I ever tell you?”

“Tell me what, Mama?”

“The night you went into the Vault, and you fell. When Jackson took you. Three carried me up to the maglev line. And when we got to the top, the sky was full of stars. Just like this. And I said I wished you could see them, and he said you would, one day. He promised.”

“Three was pretty great at keeping promises.”

“He was,” Cass said. They sat together in silence for a time.

“What happens now?” Cass asked.

Wren thought about it, seemed to be weighing his answer carefully. Then he said, “I think I’d just like to be a kid for a little while. If that’s OK.”

“Of course, baby,” Cass said, as the tears welled. “Of course that’s OK.”

“Just for a little while,” he said, and then added. “I still have a lot of work to do.”

“We all do, sweetheart. But there’s time. Time enough to make things right. To make things new.”

“Kind of like a new day,” he said.

She drew him close to her.

“Just like.”

A
s always
, this book could not have appeared in your hands in its current form without the help and support of a great many people. I won’t give you the
entire
lineage, but here’s a pretty good subset of excellent folks that helped me throughout the writing process. My most sincere thanks to:

… Jesus, for your limitless grace and great faithfulness.

… my wife and children, for your constant love and encouragement, for your patient understanding, and for being my most favoritest thing in the whole wide world.

… Marc Gascoigne, Phil Jourdan, Mike Underwood, Caroline Lambe, and everyone else at Angry Robot for all their long-suffering patience, general excellence, and the coolest orbital platform in the known galaxy.

… Lee Harris, for suddenly deciding to take a chance on me.

… Dan S, Z, Legion, and Luke T for being seriously cool fans.

… and all the folks out there who stuck with me to the end of the trilogy.

J
ay Posey is a narrative designer
, author, and screenwriter by trade. He started working in the video game industry in 1998, and has been writing professionally for over a decade. Currently employed as Senior Narrative Designer at Red Storm Entertainment, he’s spent around eight years writing and designing for Tom Clancy’s award-winning
Ghost Recon
and
Rainbow Six
franchises.

A contributing author to the book Professional Techniques for Video Game Writing, Jay has lectured at conferences, colleges, and universities, on topics ranging from basic creative writing skills to advanced material specific to the video game industry.