“And?”
“I will stand with you.”
“We welcome the help.”
He dipped his head, and something about his expression dispelled the notion that he was doing it out of concern for the people. Perhaps it was a fortunate aligning of purpose. Or maybe he was just going where he felt led. Whatever the case, he moved off again with no further exchange.
“How much help can a blind old man be?” Kit asked, after he’d walked away.
“You’d be surprised.”
The final hour of sunset was the worst, when all the plans that could be made had been made, and all that could be prepared had been prepared. The citizens who had seemed so unconcerned were beginning to grow restless as the reality of their new circumstances closed in with the night. The lower the sun got, the more friendly they became towards the Awakened and the warriors gathered.
Wren had taken some stairs up to the roof of a one-story building, and he sat there now with Chapel, watching as the westering sun slipped slowly towards the horizon. Chapel had found him in the midafternoon and had remained with him since. They hadn’t spoken much, but Wren found it comforting to have the old man around.
“Do you remember your village, Chapel?” he asked.
Chapel nodded. “In part. It is as a faded dream to me now.”
“And Lil? And Mister Carter?”
“The same. But the memories have become clearer with time. Perhaps one day I will remember again. Perhaps not.”
They sat quietly again, both looking out over the city, towards the setting sun. Wren glanced up at Chapel with his blindfold. He’d wanted to ask since he first recognized the man, but he hadn’t had the courage. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get another chance, so he thought it was worth it.
“What happened to your eyes?”
Chapel didn’t turn towards him.
“They were no longer mine,” he said. “I removed them.” He spread his fingers on his lap, showing the dark and cracked nails. “These too I reclaimed.”
“But you can still see?”
“In a way. I have other senses, some which I did not have before. But as I could not expel them, I learned to harness them, and so again became master of myself.”
“I wish you could’ve gone back to the village,” Wren said. “I think it might still be there today if you had.”
“My sins are many,” Chapel said. “I doubt hell has room enough to hold them all. But I could not return there.”
“Why not?”
“It was a mistake. Selfish. I withdrew there. Hid myself away. And darkness grew.” He turned his face towards Wren then. “There is much evil in our world. No longer will I let it rest.”
He turned back towards the sunset, and for a time Wren pondered his words. As the sky deepened from blue to purple above, and the orange disc disappeared at last behind the horizon, Cass called to Wren from below and waved him down.
“I guess it’s time.”
Chapel dipped his head.
“Do you have a new name for today?” Wren asked.
“Today?” Chapel said as he stood. He thought for a moment. “Today, I am War.”
He motioned for Wren to lead the way, and together they descended the steps.
Cass and her small army took their positions. Some of the citizens had chosen to gather at the gate already, knowing from all the plans and preparations that something was about to happen. Others were still setting up in their reclaimed shelters around the area. But all of them seemed to be keeping their heads up, ever watchful for any hint of danger. Cass expected them to panic when the time came. She just hoped they would remember to run towards the city and not away from it.
In the very picture of irony, Wren was now under the care of Aron. Aron was stationed in the rear-most portion of the fighters, on a slight rise in the terrain, which afforded him a view from which to command as well as a perch from which to shoot. Chapel, too, was with Wren, and Cass felt certain that those two would do everything in their power to protect her son.
Her natural instinct had been to keep him near her, of course, but she realized that she could protect him best by leading these people. And she understood something of his heart, now, in his earlier desire to separate himself from her for her own safety.
Cass drew the massive pistol from the holster on her thigh and checked its cylinder. Three rounds, ready to go. She’d only fired the weapon once, long ago, in a moment of utter despair. Well, she’d fired it three times, wasting ammunition far more precious than she had realized at the time. She wondered what Three would have thought of their predicament now, and she smiled in spite of herself. Probably wouldn’t have surprised him much. She snapped the cylinder shut with a flick of her wrist and replaced the pistol. Shooting had never been her greatest strength. But it was nice to have the option, just in case.