The Western Tradition
I found them with Julian at the bar, attracting stares. The dogs ran to Black at once, leaving me trailing behind their tails, blackened with a fall of ash from the fire. I pushed my palm down over my face as I walked. It, too, was black when I took it away.
"Dempsey," Black said urgently, coming to full height from his stool. Charlie stood a moment later, his eyes wide. I saw Blue stretch his nose up gingerly, and watched Charlie's pale fingers stretch toward his muzzle.
"Black," I said, finally in front of him. Once I was there I had nothing else to say. I stood with my hands shaking at my sides. I could feel people in the bar turning to stare; the scratch of furniture against the floor told me some were doing so openly. "I—I need to talk to you."
"Talk, then." Black crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back to rest on his barstool again. Charlie darted a perplexed look at him. Lupin's face shifted more subtly, but it did shift.
"Not here, sister." Julian cut in, his diction clipped. He cast his eyes behind me as he spoke, and I could feel Delphine move to stand between my back and the rest of the bar. "Come."
"Please, Black." I said, grabbing a handful of Delphine's fur as I started to turn away. Julian beckoned from the opposite end of the bar. "Please." I felt tears start to sting at the back of my eyes; I swallowed, annoyed. "I need to talk to you," I repeated. My voice wavered, and Black stood.
"All right," he said at last. "You can say it to all of us, whatever it is." He tossed his head in the direction of Charlie and Lupin, who'd stood behind him.
"Fine, fine," I said quickly, casting a look toward Julian. He gestured again. "Delphine, Blue," I called. The dogs formed a wall between us and the bar as we walked toward Julian. He led us down a service hallway to a small door.
"It's the storeroom, sister. I know it's not much," Julian began. I caught his eye and shook my head. "You understand."
"I know. Tell them I won't stay, brother." He looked hard at me before turning to head back down the hallway.
"I thought you were fine where you were," Black smirked, leaning against the far wall of the storage room.
"It's on fire." I said quickly. Delphine sat next to me; I wove my fingers through her fur and she leaned her massive head against my thigh. Black stood straight again.
"Fire," Black echoed quietly, his eyes narrowing. Lupin watched us talk; Charlie sat on a crate with Blue's head on his knee. I looked around at all of them, and thought about what I was there to do. Then I did it.
I told them about the lights, the fire, and the dead pack. I told them about the story of the lost, and the corpses driven into the ground. As I spoke they exchanged glances and shifted guiltily. Black took to flicking his hair out of his eyes in a regular nervous rhythm. I told them about the lights over London and Sydney, and the men on the news claiming the lights would shift over the entire globe. All of them tensed at that.
"So you're saying there's a rain of corpses in London, Dempsey?" Black flicked at his hair again. His voice was teasing, but the smirk didn't reach his eyes.
"I'm saying it wasn't supposed to be true, Black." I snapped. "I'm saying it is, and I don't know what that means. But it might mean not all of them are dead. Understand? Not all of them are dead, Black."
"I do understand." He said quietly. I stared at him, suddenly understanding.
"You…" I breathed. He nodded. Black had come from the veil. He had been lost. Not dead; lost.
"None of that tells us what to do about it." Charlie spoke up. I started at the sound of his voice. He looked at me for a response.
"I don't know. I told you what I know." I said, shaking my head.
"Where will you go?" Lupin asked. Black and Charlie looked toward him, and then at me.
"Can't stay here," I said. "My cabin," I paused to swallow hard, "is probably gone."
"Why can't you stay here?" Charlie asked. I looked down and scraped the ball of my foot against the floor.
"I can't." I said shortly. "I'll find somewhere." Lupin turned his gaze on me again. I had the feeling he understood something about the situation though I knew he couldn't. Charlie looked at me like I was just being stubborn. We stood glaring at each other for a long moment. Blue got to his feet and stretched, then shook.
"Dempsey," Black said sharply. "What does 'truce breaker' mean to you?" I could feel the blood leave my face. My head snapped toward him.
"Don't ask about that." I said forcefully. "You can't ask about that. You can't talk about it here."
"Can't be that bad," Charlie began.
"It is." I cut him off. "I don't care if you think I'm crazy. Just don't talk about it. Especially not in there." I gestured toward the bar. "Don't even say it."
"Here." Black unfolded a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to me. Puzzled, I took it and tilted it toward the light. It was a letter—run of the mill, nothing special. Then, at the end, in a child's hand: the symbol that had a hand in running my family out of Juneau all those years ago. The mark of the truce breaker. Beside it a rank of rough figures, all brandishing wands, stood in a set of rays issuing from the mark. I raised my head; all three watched for my reaction.
"Who did this?" I said sharply. I pushed the drawing back at Black, who took it and folded it away into his pocket again. "Who?"
"Artie, my brother's son." Charlie said at last. I frowned, trying to call a memory to mind. There it was: the child.
"The little kid?" I asked, perplexed. "Blue eyes?" Charlie nodded with a tentative look on his face. I let my shoulders slump as I leaned against the shelf behind me. "He sees."
"We're not sure about that," Charlie began.
"He might," Black cut in. "He said there was an army and a truce breaker. We have to know who or what that is. You know, Dempsey, I know you do." He strode across the small room and stood close to me, his unusual eyes boring into mine.
"It's me." I said quietly. Black gave an almost imperceptible flinch.
"Sister," Julian's voice cut through the closed door. "Sister?" He asked, his tone urgent.
"Here," I said, putting my hand to the doorknob. Before I could turn it Julian opened the door. I could hear rustling and voices behind him.
"You've got to go now," he said quietly. His face looked older than I'd ever seen it. I extended my hand to him; we clasped wrists.
"Brother," I said quietly. I patted my thigh to bring the dogs to my side. From the corner of my eye I could see Blue lick Charlie's hand once before joining me. I looked back to them. "Please, just let it be. Don't ask any more," I said. Black looked as though he was about to speak. I pressed on. "Goodbye, Black," I said, stepping into the dark hall to grab the dogs and apparate.
In the blackness of the outskirts of town I hid my hands in my jacket pockets, wrapping my fingers around my wand. The dogs trotted quietly at my sides as I walked toward the store front. I was tired. My limbs were heavy from my earlier panic and the draining conversation with Black, but my mind was in worse shape.
I unlocked the front door and stepped as quietly as I could over the board floor. The pricing signs behind the desk glared in the low light. No dogs. No teams. How was I supposed to do this? No cabin, no dogs, nothing. I walked to the counter and set my elbows down, then let my face fall into my hands.
There were those in my family—and nearly all the people at the Golden Spike—who'd say this was nothing more than I deserved, being what I am. A truce breaker: that's what I am. I replayed the story in my mind. We were a band that split from the tribe to aid the light, according to my mother. We were a dangerous breed that failed follow the counsel of wiser heads, according to everyone else. Either way, we were hated. We had aided the light instead of staying out of the old conflicts, and we would pay. All of us.
And no, I'd never thought it was true. I never thought it was any more believable than the story about the veil of light and the lost returning, but there was Black. There was Black, plain as day, and there were all those bodies where my cabin used to be. And I was sure, all of a sudden, that these centuries-old stories mattered in my life. I picked my face up from my hands and took a deep breath. I could feel Delphine edge closer to my side.
"I don't know, girl," I said quietly. I lowered myself to the floor, where the dogs edged close to me in the slight chill of the night. "I don't see any other way," I said, putting my head against Delphine to go to sleep.