It's an hour since they last spoke. The sun is sinking into a pink sky, now, latticed by leafless trees and spreading a blood-red trail across the lake
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She's thinking of Lud again; Lud and Fedic and Castle Town of Le Casse Roi Russe.
She was right when she thought Roland had his own lethal glammer. How many dead cities did he walk away from? It was never his fault, only his grisly ka--to survive.
To survive them all, every city, every friend. Every person around this fire.
"The next three or four years, we never stayed in one place very long. Wasn't any place we found worth staying in." Among the red guns, in the hearts of soldiers Cuthbert is calmer now, composed--though it seems as though mayhap it wouldn't take much to break his composure. Running free blood in the long, long campaign "The Tower was never far from our minds, those of us who knew of the truth of it, but--we didn't know where to go. What direction to strike out in." No man in black to follow, in those days. "And there were the survivors--the men who still naturally looked to us to lead them--and folk who were still trying to live as best they could in the wake of the Affiliation's destruction, with Farson's men still preying on them." Dreams, dreams go on."If our remaining force was smaller, we were at least united--Farson's army was in chaos by then. We heard a rumor that he was killed not long after he took Gilead--poisoned by an ambitious general. Whether that's true or not, I can't say, but alive or dead, he was gone from the scene
( ... )
"Twenty-five of us left, eventually." Alain picks up the thread of the tale. His face is carved in grim lines, and his eyes glitter. "Six gunslingers."
"There was another column of Gilead men, most of a day's journey away. Hostile territory between us, but everywhere was by then. It was passable for a careful messenger. We'd been in contact -- we planned to meet at a place called Jericho Hill. Make our stand there."
"It was a long ridge, with caves riddling the base of it, and the ocean to our backs. High ground, and some cover."
"We were in the hills nearby, a few days off, when Giles came to us. To Roland." One hand rests lightly on a gun butt, remembering. His face is hard, and his voice harder. The words fall like chips of flint. "He said he'd betrayed us. A gunslinger. Given maps, fortress plans -- they'd know where DeMullet would fall back to. They'd know the likeliest targets. Said he repented of it all, would be straight and honest with us, and such shit." Alain's voice is flat with loathing.
"When we were young, we had to spend the night in the forest behind the castle, and come back to meet Cort at exactly the time he'd said. Taught us to keep time in our heads. You failed, you had to do it again the next night, and again 'til you got it right."
Cuthbert's voice holds none of the nostalgic fondness that's there when he talks about his childhood.
"It was hard--and harder for some than others. Giles had a difficult time of it. And when he confessed, he told us that Marten--Walter--had come to him in the woods, disguised as a shepherd. And we all know the bastard could be...persuasive. Especially when there was already fear for him to work with."
If Cuthbert's not thinking of Giles alone--it doesn't show.
"From then on, Giles was in his pocket. For years, waiting until Walter had some use for him."
"Giles wasn't two hours dead when we were attacked. We rose up, and killed them all." Grim satisfaction. Dreams, More subdued, "But Des fell -- Desmond Blackburn, he the last other of our ka-tel. He took an arrow to the throat. We made for the nearest shelter -- it was coming on nightfall. Camped on a ridge. It was there we buried him. By then, we'd no time for proper graves, and the ground was a stone-heap anyro'. A cairn was all we could spare him, and that more than some got." Dreams go on, He breathes in, and out, and glances around the circle. Quietly, "We shared khef that night." Out of the dead on their backs, They know what that means, Susannah and Eddie and Susan. O Discordia, they know it well. Ka-shume. The imminent breaking of the tet. Broken and no use any more: "We sang. We were brothers." Dreams of the way and the end go on.There's a hotness behind his eyes
( ... )
He doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want anyone else to hear it.
And he doesn't want--doesn't--
--Doesn't want Alain to have to tell the tale of his own death.
"We shot him."
Barely more than a whisper, but the sound carries in the silence that falls over the small group.
"Roland and I. Heard the rider coming and--and it was dark and we didn't know how close the enemy was and we should have called out, should have held off 'til we could see, should've--something--but--but we just drew without thinking, and--and we shot him."
He doesn't realize he's going to say any of it until it's out. For a moment, he's absolutely still--and then his face twists, just before he brings his hands up to cover it.
There's no thought, no hesitation -- just his hands rising, his arms going around Cuthbert and pulling him into a tight embrace even as Cuthbert hides his face.
"And I didn't call out, nor give sign nor mind-touch," he says, low and fierce. "We were all on edge, and none's to blame but ka."
He's looking only at Cuthbert, at his bent neck and the brown tangle of his hair, and his jaw is set as if daring anyone -- including Cuthbert -- to disagree.
She keeps thinking she must have heard wrong, and she knows she didn't.
Grim silence reigns in the halls of her mind; none of them want to be the first to speak.
Just so here, on the outside.
It's Odetta who breaks the silence first, internal and external, with cold hard good sense. "Of course not, and none of us would ever think otherwise."
And then, in quite a different voice, "We love thee, dear. It's--all right."
It's a long time before Cuthbert's able to go on with the tale.
Eventually, he straightens, though he doesn't pull away from Alain and Susan this time. He takes a deep breath--and then goes on.
"We were still with Alain when they caught up to us. We--we knew we likely didn't have time to bury him, but we didn't want to just--leave him there. And then the enemy was on us, and we didn't have a choice."
He's not looking at any of them, still. Not avoiding, really, it's just--he told the last part, to spare Alain having to. But no one can tell this part for him.
"Roland ran to rally the enlisted men we had left. I ran to where our gunna was. Got the horn. And then we fell back, up the slope to Jericho Hill itself."
"I got hit in a couple of places--" his hand hovers vaguely around his arm, his ribs, "--and we lost some men. Made it to the top with ten left. Ro' and I made a dozen." Through these feilds of destruction "The army coming up the slope after us must've had somewhere around two thousand." Baptisms of fireThey never had a
( ... )
He never knew the ending of Jericho Hill. Oh, he could guess the gist, but never details.
It's painful, and bloody, and horrible; and right. It's how he always knew Cuthbert would die. As he lived. Deadly and suicidally brave and laughing, laughing, laughing under the hot sun.
Ah, Bert.
"Thank you," Alain says softly, to Susannah and Eddie.
He still has an arm around Cuthbert, tightly; now he reaches out to the Deans, too.
He's thanking them for listening. He's thanking them for a whole lot more.
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She was right when she thought Roland had his own lethal glammer. How many dead cities did he walk away from? It was never his fault, only his grisly ka--to survive.
To survive them all, every city, every friend. Every person around this fire.
Reply
Exiles.
Eddie knows he'll never see his city again, but at least he knows it's still there. He's a city boy at heart, and he always will be.
He always thought of the old-school gunslingers as creatures of the prairies and deserts. Now he wonders, and he sympathizes, and he hurts.
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Among the red guns, in the hearts of soldiers
Cuthbert is calmer now, composed--though it seems as though mayhap it wouldn't take much to break his composure.
Running free blood in the long, long campaign
"The Tower was never far from our minds, those of us who knew of the truth of it, but--we didn't know where to go. What direction to strike out in." No man in black to follow, in those days. "And there were the survivors--the men who still naturally looked to us to lead them--and folk who were still trying to live as best they could in the wake of the Affiliation's destruction, with Farson's men still preying on them."
Dreams, dreams go on."If our remaining force was smaller, we were at least united--Farson's army was in chaos by then. We heard a rumor that he was killed not long after he took Gilead--poisoned by an ambitious general. Whether that's true or not, I can't say, but alive or dead, he was gone from the scene ( ... )
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(this is what you get)
He nods to Cuthbert, a savage light in his own eyes.
(when you fuck with the Dean brothers)
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(I carved it - thorns - his eyes)
Susan knows all too well what the man who'd killed Deborah might have been capable of, even if no one's said it aloud.
(get mounted before I decide to change your face with my knife)
(if you want to make use of her be my guest)
"I'm glad thee found him." Low and fierce. "I'm glad."
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She looks away from Cuthbert a moment to watch the fire light dance on Susan's rage-haunted face.
Like Margaret Eisenhart; a gentle soul roused. How people do grow.
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"There was another column of Gilead men, most of a day's journey away. Hostile territory between us, but everywhere was by then. It was passable for a careful messenger. We'd been in contact -- we planned to meet at a place called Jericho Hill. Make our stand there."
"It was a long ridge, with caves riddling the base of it, and the ocean to our backs. High ground, and some cover."
"We were in the hills nearby, a few days off, when Giles came to us. To Roland." One hand rests lightly on a gun butt, remembering. His face is hard, and his voice harder. The words fall like chips of flint. "He said he'd betrayed us. A gunslinger. Given maps, fortress plans -- they'd know where DeMullet would fall back to. They'd know the likeliest targets. Said he repented of it all, would be straight and honest with us, and such shit." Alain's voice is flat with loathing.
"We hung
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He doesn't regret this either.
At the same time, though, there's a jolt of sick fear in him as Alain mentions Jericho Hill.
He knows what they're getting close to.
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"How? A gunslinger--how could he do that?"
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Cuthbert's voice holds none of the nostalgic fondness that's there when he talks about his childhood.
"It was hard--and harder for some than others. Giles had a difficult time of it. And when he confessed, he told us that Marten--Walter--had come to him in the woods, disguised as a shepherd. And we all know the bastard could be...persuasive. Especially when there was already fear for him to work with."
If Cuthbert's not thinking of Giles alone--it doesn't show.
"From then on, Giles was in his pocket. For years, waiting until Walter had some use for him."
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Dreams,
More subdued, "But Des fell -- Desmond Blackburn, he the last other of our ka-tel. He took an arrow to the throat. We made for the nearest shelter -- it was coming on nightfall. Camped on a ridge. It was there we buried him. By then, we'd no time for proper graves, and the ground was a stone-heap anyro'. A cairn was all we could spare him, and that more than some got."
Dreams go on,
He breathes in, and out, and glances around the circle. Quietly, "We shared khef that night."
Out of the dead on their backs,
They know what that means, Susannah and Eddie and Susan. O Discordia, they know it well. Ka-shume. The imminent breaking of the tet.
Broken and no use any more:
"We sang. We were brothers."
Dreams of the way and the end go on.There's a hotness behind his eyes ( ... )
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He doesn't want to be here. Doesn't want to hear this, doesn't want anyone else to hear it.
And he doesn't want--doesn't--
--Doesn't want Alain to have to tell the tale of his own death.
"We shot him."
Barely more than a whisper, but the sound carries in the silence that falls over the small group.
"Roland and I. Heard the rider coming and--and it was dark and we didn't know how close the enemy was and we should have called out, should have held off 'til we could see, should've--something--but--but we just drew without thinking, and--and we shot him."
He doesn't realize he's going to say any of it until it's out. For a moment, he's absolutely still--and then his face twists, just before he brings his hands up to cover it.
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"And I didn't call out, nor give sign nor mind-touch," he says, low and fierce. "We were all on edge, and none's to blame but ka."
He's looking only at Cuthbert, at his bent neck and the brown tangle of his hair, and his jaw is set as if daring anyone -- including Cuthbert -- to disagree.
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It makes sense out of so many things.
She keeps thinking she must have heard wrong, and she knows she didn't.
Grim silence reigns in the halls of her mind; none of them want to be the first to speak.
Just so here, on the outside.
It's Odetta who breaks the silence first, internal and external, with cold hard good sense. "Of course not, and none of us would ever think otherwise."
And then, in quite a different voice, "We love thee, dear. It's--all right."
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Eventually, he straightens, though he doesn't pull away from Alain and Susan this time. He takes a deep breath--and then goes on.
"We were still with Alain when they caught up to us. We--we knew we likely didn't have time to bury him, but we didn't want to just--leave him there. And then the enemy was on us, and we didn't have a choice."
He's not looking at any of them, still. Not avoiding, really, it's just--he told the last part, to spare Alain having to. But no one can tell this part for him.
"Roland ran to rally the enlisted men we had left. I ran to where our gunna was. Got the horn. And then we fell back, up the slope to Jericho Hill itself."
"I got hit in a couple of places--" his hand hovers vaguely around his arm, his ribs, "--and we lost some men. Made it to the top with ten left. Ro' and I made a dozen."
Through these feilds of destruction
"The army coming up the slope after us must've had somewhere around two thousand."
Baptisms of fireThey never had a ( ... )
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From here the road to Jericho Hill is paved in blood and sin
And that's the end of the beginning. Whatever lies between, only Roland knows, and he's---
not here anymore.
"Thank you," she says again. "For the telling."
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It's painful, and bloody, and horrible; and right. It's how he always knew Cuthbert would die. As he lived. Deadly and suicidally brave and laughing, laughing, laughing under the hot sun.
Ah, Bert.
"Thank you," Alain says softly, to Susannah and Eddie.
He still has an arm around Cuthbert, tightly; now he reaches out to the Deans, too.
He's thanking them for listening. He's thanking them for a whole lot more.
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