Morningside Fall(169)

And he was answered.

Asher. There was something of him still within the machine. And he sensed Wren. And he laughed. A cold, mocking laugh.

And a voice came into Wren’s mind.

“You’re too late, Spinner. So, so very late,” Asher said.

“You don’t have to do this, Asher,” Wren said. “You can stop. Call off the Weir.”

“Why would I? I’m enjoying it.”

“Stop it, or I will.”

“Oh, Spinner. I wanted to love you, you know. I really did. But you’re impossible to love. You think you’re special, but you’re not.”

“I’ve fought you before, Asher. I’ve defeated you before.”

“Not this time.”

Wren knew better than to waste much time talking to Asher. And now that he knew Asher was here, Wren bent his whole will towards forcing his brother out of the machine. Out of the Weir’s minds. Back to wherever he’d come from. Anger grew, and Wren invited it. Fed it. All that Asher had done, and all that he’d caused, Wren remembered it, focused on it, and used it to drive him.

And then he unleashed himself within the machine.

And Asher laughed again.

“Even now you don’t understand, do you? Underdown’s toy was a beginning. The first baby step, ten thousand miles ago. I know it seems impressive to you, but it’s nothing to me now. And you shouldn’t be here.”

A sudden pressure came into Wren’s head then, and a searing pain that felt like it was right in the middle of his brain. But he grappled with his brother and pushed him back. Asher was too big – too strong now. He’d changed since Wren had last dealt with him. Wren didn’t know how he was controlling the Weir now, but Wren knew the machine still connected to them somehow. He changed tactics.

He tried to Awaken the Weir through the machine. It was a terrible strain, but he visualized how he had helped Mama, and Painter, and Kit. Wren focused on Kit. She’d been the easiest, because she’d been fighting it on her own. Like Chapel. Wren searched the machine for that same sensation, that feeling of struggle. And when he found one, he touched it, and it sprang free. Quickly he searched for another, and then another.

“Oh, clever. But see how slowly you think, little brother. Already I perceive your mind.”

Wren had no way of knowing what effect it was having, but it had disrupted Asher, and so he kept trying it. And he noticed that once those connections were severed, Asher didn’t seem to have any way to repair them.

“Fine,” Asher said. “I was done with it anyway.”

A blinding white light entered Wren’s mind. Not one seen with his eyes, but no less powerful and painful to his senses. Something was happening. The machine was collapsing. And Wren felt himself thrown violently backwards. He cried out, and all was dark.





“What happened?” Cass screamed. “What happened to him?”



She was cradling Wren in her arms. Finn was holding his head like he was in severe pain.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “It was like… I don’t know, like feedback or something. The connection broke itself. And it hurt.”

Cass put her ear to Wren’s chest. He was still breathing; his heartbeat was still strong. Whatever had happened to him, it wasn’t something she could fix right now. It might be something she could never fix, and that thought terrified her. She held him close.

The sounds of the battle were intensifying, and it was clear that many others had thought to retreat to the governor’s compound. A crowd was gathering, and it wasn’t just frightened citizens. Some guards were there as well. One of the guards on the wall fired a warning shot, but that only made the crowd more frightened and angry, and some started pulling on the gates.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Sky said.

“Where else is there to go?” Finn asked.

“They can’t have surrounded the whole city,” Wick said.

“The train,” Cass said.

“What?” Gamble said.

“There’s a train. To Greenstone. It runs under the Strand.”

“Do you know where it is?”

Cass shook her head. “They wouldn’t let us use it.”

“It’s underground?” Wick said. “Where? Where does it come out?”

“I don’t know.”

“In the city? Close to it? Far away?” he asked.

“Close, I think. I’m not really sure.”

Wick’s eyes went unfocused, but his face was intense. Searching. “How big a train?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Big, small?”

“Small. Just a few passengers. Like an old shuttle.”