by Posey, Jay
Something clicked behind him and a moment later, small red-orange lights like bright embers flicked on along either side of the floor, illuminating a path down a short corridor.
“This way,” Haiku said, and he led Wren through the corridor. There was a set of stairs at the end, leading both up and down. They went up, but Wren looked over the railing into the deep darkness below and wondered just how far down the building went.
Three flights up, they left the stairs and after passing through another short hallway, came out into a wide room, bright with natural sunlight. Wren had to squint at first. Apparently there were windows after all. He saw now that there were indeed large windows set in the exterior wall, made of thick flexiglass. Typically that would have made them nearly indestructible on their own, but Wren saw on the outside there were also slats of half-inch thick steel. They’d been opened like blinds to let the light in, but if closed, they would make a shield of overlapping plates. These were probably what Wren had taken to be vents at first.
The room itself was not at all what he’d expected. There was a pair of comfortable-looking chairs in one corner, sitting atop a colorful and intricately woven rug. On the opposite side was a small kitchenette; counter, sink, small cooking surface. Another doorway was there on the left, though there was no door. It just led to another short hall, as far as Wren could tell. In the center of the room, an oval table sat with six chairs arrayed around it. There was a teapot in the middle of the table and next to it sat four round bowl-like cups, each on its own saucer. Two of them steamed with tea freshly made and recently poured. A plate held what appeared to be a large, round loaf of bread along with a few other items of food Wren didn’t immediately recognize. The whole thing was bizarrely out of place, like walking into a refinery and finding someone’s living room. The fact that someone had apparently laid out a light meal for them just made it all the more peculiar.
Haiku removed his pack and laid it aside by the door.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “He’ll be along in his own time. Could be a while.” He walked over to the sink and started washing his hands and face.
Wren took off his pack and set it next to Haiku’s, but remained by the door. He was lightheaded, coming down from the last bits of his miraculous second wind and on his way, he feared, to a hard crash-landing.
“How many people live here?” he asked.
Haiku dried his face on a towel from the counter.
“Just one,” he answered. He walked over and took a seat at the table, tore a hunk off the bread. “You should wash all the road-grime off.”
Wren nodded and followed Haiku’s example. The water came from the faucet already heated and as it splashed over his hands, the warmth crawled its way up from his palms into his forearms, soothing. He lost himself for a time, letting the water warm him to his core and watching it spill through his fingers as he turned his hands over and back again.
“The tea’s better when it’s hot,” Haiku said from behind him. Wren took the hint, splashed some water on his face, and dried off. He took a seat at the table leaving one chair between Haiku and himself. Haiku pushed the other cup of tea over to him. The cup was white with a simple green line around the top, slightly smaller than the typical tea cup, and it had no handle. It reminded Wren of the ones Mr Sun had had in his teahouse back in Morningside.
He took a sip of the tea, happy to find that it was still hot enough to warm him without being too hot to drink. He hadn’t realized how cold he’d been until he’d started washing his hands, and the tea reinforced the point. It was a strong tea with an earthy quality, slightly sweet. He considered the fullness of the flavor; it was stronger, yes, but smoother, rounder somehow, than what he was used to. Briefly he wondered if maybe it was real tea instead of synthetic. Wren looked down at the deep ruby-red liquid in the cup, stared into it as he took another, longer sip. There was something deeply satisfying about the drink, restorative.
When he lowered the cup, there was an old man standing in the doorway. Very, very old, from the looks of him. He was holding a thin vase with a few flowers in it; striking, vibrant red with white accents, simply but dynamically arranged. They gave Wren the impression of sudden movement, like an animal pouncing or the slash of a sword. Haiku stood up, and Wren followed his cue.
“Hello, Haiku,” the man said. His voice had a dry quality to it, sharp-edged though he’d spoken softly.
“Father,” Haiku answered, bowing as he did so.
The man entered the room without even glancing at Wren, and set the vase on the counter as he passed. He was mostly bald except for the long, thin white wisps that ringed his head; he had a white, patchy beard and eyebrows to match. Taken together, they gave the impression that his face was enshrouded in its own personal fog. He was short, maybe shorter even than Mama, and thin, nearly to the point of frailty. But he moved with effortless grace and confidence, with none of the stiffness or trembling that often accompanied the elderly. The effect was magnified by the simple clothes he wore: baggy pants and a long shirt, both pale blue and made of a light, flowing fabric. At the far end of the table, he drew out a chair and then stood in front of it while he poured himself a cup of tea from the pot. This done, he sat down and took a drink while watching Haiku from over the top of the cup. He set the cup back on its saucer in front of him.
“Please,” he said, holding out a hand and inviting them to take their seats again. Haiku sat first and nodded for Wren to do the same. The man still hadn’t looked at Wren, or acknowledged him in any way.
“You look tired, son,” the man said. Haiku had called him father, and now he’d called Haiku son, but there was a formality to the tone that suggested there was something else to the relationship. Whether it was something more or something less, Wren couldn’t tell.
Haiku nodded. “We’ve been traveling hard for several days.”
“And before that?” the man asked.
Haiku smiled to himself, just a little. “Traveling even harder.”
“Mm,” said the man, something between a grunt and a short hum. He took the teapot again and, to Wren’s surprise, refilled Wren’s cup. Thus far it’d seemed like he hadn’t even noticed Wren sitting there. “And after?”
“After depends on you, Father.”
“Mm.” The man sipped his own tea again. When he set it down, he tipped his head sideways, towards Wren. “You’ve brought a friend.”
Haiku looked over at Wren, and then back at the old man. “His name is Wren. I met him in Greenstone.”
Finally, for the first time, the man looked at Wren. His eyes were dark, keen, and clear, and when they settled on Wren the boy felt very much how he imagined a mouse might feel when first trapped by the gaze of a hawk. He stood and bowed without any conscious thought.
“Hello, sir,” Wren said. The old man dipped his head in a bare hint of acknowledgment. And then, because he felt like he should say something more but didn’t know what else to say, Wren added, “Thank you for the tea.”
“You’re welcome, boy,” the man said, and then turned his attention back to Haiku. Wren stood there feeling awkward for a few moments, and then quietly eased himself back into his chair. There was a strange tension in the room, like the old man was waiting for Haiku to ask him a question, and Haiku was too afraid to ask. Wren’s palms got sweaty. Finally, after a long, uncomfortable span, Haiku spoke.
“Wren was with Three, Father. He traveled with him for a long time.”
“Yes,” the man said, and Wren couldn’t tell from the tone whether that meant he wanted Haiku to continue, or if that was something he’d already known.
“And,” Haiku continued, “he carried out the proper rites for Three, according to custom.”
Haiku’s gentle way of breaking the news of Three’s death. The old man simply inclined his head again in a nod.
“Wren very graciously told me all he could about the end of Three’s life, in great detail. I’ve recorded it all.”
&nb
sp; “Then you are satisfied?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Haiku said.
“Mm,” said the old man. He took another sip of his tea. When he set his cup down again, he sighed heavily. The formality fell away, as if he’d blown it out of the room. “What do you want, Haiku?”
Haiku looked genuinely nervous, and Wren took that as a bad sign.
“I’m not sure where to begin, Father.”
“Well it’s too late for that anyway,” said the old man. “You’ve completed your history? You want me to applaud you for it? I assume there’s something more, else there’s no need for this boy here to be drinking my tea.”
Haiku nodded. “There is more, Father. Much more.” He paused to inhale. “Something has changed.”
“As it has ever been. Life is change, Haiku.”
“With the Weir, Father.”
Haiku explained briefly, without glossing over the important points. He told of Asher, and of Underdown’s machine, and of Painter’s awful pronouncement, and the fall of Morningside. When he’d finished, the old man poured himself some more tea. He took a sip, wrinkled his nose at it, and replaced the cup on its saucer. Maybe it was starting to get bitter.
“You’ve been very diligent, Haiku,” he said. “But I fail to see how any of this is relevant to me.”
“He’s using the Weir as a weapon, Father,” said Haiku.
“Yes, I understand. And it’s an intriguing idea, hijacking them. Highly unlikely, but not completely outside the realm of possibility, given the right tools and skill set.”
“But on this scale... think of it. A single mind, directing them all; he’s massing them, driving them. If Morningside has fallen, there are few cities indeed that could withstand such a thing.”
“What of it? Are you here looking for refuge?”
“I’m here to ask you to stop him,” Haiku said.
“Why?” asked the old man. The question threw Haiku for a loop.
“Why... stop him?” Haiku asked.
“Why ask me? Why would you think I’d care, Haiku? I’ve already given all I had to this world. You know the good it did.”
“He’s already killed hundreds of people,” Wren said. “Maybe thousands.”
“Thousands?” said the old man. He leaned towards Wren and looked him straight in the eye. “Boy, how many people’s worth of ashes do you think you walked through to get here?”
He said it so casually; hadn’t raised his voice, hadn’t changed his expression. They could very well have been discussing whether or not it might rain the next day. He sat back and returned his attention to Haiku.
“So why’d you drag the boy along?”
“Because he knows Asher,” Haiku said.
“He’s my brother,” Wren added. “Well, half-brother.”
“But it’s more than that,” Haiku said. “Wren tried to stop it. He fought Asher, through the machine.”
“And what was that like,” the old man asked Wren. “To fight him, through the machine.”
Wren thought back to that terrible struggle, the infinite complexity that had threatened to swallow him, the arctic bolt that had pierced through the center of his mind.
“I... He... he was too... big, I guess,” Wren said. “I don’t really know how to explain it.”
“Mm,” the old man made his little noise again.
“I brought him so you could hear of his experience firsthand,” Haiku said.
“Perhaps you should’ve gotten more detail before you brought him all this way,” said the old man.
“And,” Haiku continued. “And... to ask you to train him.”
A single chuckle escaped the old man’s lips, a sharp, rasping exhale that almost sounded like a cough.
“Train him?” he said. “Train him.” He tipped his tea cup and looked into it, then set it back. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said. Then he looked at Wren with a kindly smile. “I’m retired, you see.”
“Father, there’s something to him,” Haiku said. “Something he can do. Tell him, Wren.”
“I have... I don’t know,” Wren said. “I have a gift.”
“Oh,” the old man said. “A gift, you say?”
Wren felt silly having said it, and he shrugged. “That’s what my mom says, anyway.”
“Ah yes, and Mama knows, does she?”
“Yes,” Wren said. He knew that tone of voice; it was the one grownups used when they weren’t really listening. “She knows it very well. Because I brought her back.”
“From where, boy?”
“The dead,” Wren said. It wasn’t strictly true, of course, but he figured saying it that way might get the old man to take him seriously. The old man tilted his head to one side, and his eyes narrowed.
“And what do you mean by that, exactly?” he asked.
“The Weir took her. And I brought her back. I woke her.”
“Woke her?” the old man said. And for the first time, Wren felt like the man was actually paying attention to him now. It wasn’t a particularly comfortable feeling. “In what way?”
“I mean, she’s herself again, like she used to be,” Wren said. “Except her body. She still looks like a Weir. But she acts like my Mama. She is my Mama. She’s awake.”
“And not just his mother,” Haiku said. “Others, too. Dozens.”
“You can do this to anyone?” the old man asked. “Any Weir?”
Wren shook his head. “No, sir. Sometimes I can’t. Most times. It’s like... I don’t know, like there’s no one there. Inside. But sometimes there is. Sometimes there’s someone, and they’re stuck. And I can help. My friend...” he said, and then trailed off. Maybe it was best not to mention that Painter had been his friend.
The old man pulled at the wispy beard on his chin and seemed to be considering what Wren had said.
“Father, please,” Haiku said. “Will you at least evaluate him before you decide?”
Wren didn’t know what Haiku meant by evaluate, but he didn’t like the sound of it.
“How old are you, boy?” asked the old man.
“Almost nine.”
“Look at him, Haiku,” he said. “Almost nine already. It would take me a year just to teach him to breathe.”
“There’s more to him than you give him credit for,” Haiku said. “I wouldn’t have brought him out here if I didn’t think he was capable.”
“I know, son,” the man said. “But for what purpose? I do not know this boy. Neither do you. You say his brother is the one inflicting such havoc on the world, who is to say this one will not do the same?”
“Me,” Haiku said. “I will. I’ll take the oath, I’ll be his pledge.”
“No, Haiku,” the old man said. “The answer is no. I am an old man now, and I have had the special misery of outliving all but a precious few of my children. I lack the energy to fill another with false hope.”
Wren listened to the two men going back and forth, talking about him like he wasn’t sitting right there in the room with them. And he thought about Asher, and all Asher had done, and what he was doing, and would continue to do until someone found a way to stop him. Maybe it was anger, maybe it was pride. But Wren hadn’t subjected himself to four days of agony just to sit in a room and drink tea while other people discussed his fate like wasn’t even there.
“Please, sir,” Wren said. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“I beg your pardon?” the old man said.
“If there’s a chance, sir, any chance at all, that you can teach me something, or anything really, that could help me stop my brother, I’ll do whatever it takes to learn it.”
“You do not know what you are asking, boy.”
“My name is Wren,” Wren said, a little more forcefully than he’d meant to. The old man’s eyebrows went up a little at that.
“Determined, are you?” he said.
“Yes,” Wren answered.
“Willing to pay any cost?”
“Yes.”
“And why
, boy, do you think I have anything to give that would be worth such a price?”
“Because of Three,” Wren said without hesitation. He hadn’t even thought it before he said it, it just sort of sprang out of his mouth. But once he’d said it, he knew it was true. “He was the greatest man I ever knew. And if you helped him become who he was, then it’s worth anything to me to learn from you too.”
The old man pulled on his beard again for a long moment and just stared into Wren’s eyes. Wren did his best to return the gaze and hoped it wasn’t too obvious just how anxious he felt.
“Well,” the old man said. “How about this? I will give you one, simple task. If you complete it to my satisfaction, then I will evaluate you. Only evaluate you, understand. I make no promise beyond that.”
“OK,” Wren said. “I’ll do it.”
“You haven’t heard the task yet,” the old man said.
“It doesn’t matter,” Wren answered.
“Eager indeed,” the old man said to Haiku. “Not the best of the qualities.” He turned back to Wren. “Then my task is this. Leave.”
The words hit Wren like a block of ice to the gut.
“Leave?” Wren said. “But... where would I go?”
The old man held out a hand towards the windows and slowly swept it across the horizon. “Anywhere you choose,” he said. “All that you see out there is open to you.”
“Father, please,” Haiku said. “I pushed him very hard to get here.”
“Then he should have no problem handling one more night.”
Wren tried to steady himself. They’d already spent three nights out in the open. It hadn’t been that bad. Had it?
“It’s OK, Haiku. I don’t mind, as long as you can find a good place.”
“Oh no, Haiku is not going with you,” the old man said. “This is your task, and yours alone.”
“You can’t do that to him,” Haiku said.