Author's Note: First, a heartfelt thank you to all my readers, reviewers, and especially to all those who found the story since I updated it last. Your favourite/alert notifications in my inbox kept me moving forward.


Only Cowards Stay While Traitors Run


When Last We Met: For weeks, Cain has followed after DG, searching for the guardian, Glinneth, an ancient witch the girl had hoped might yet have the power to save her mother. Now, in the shelter of a ruined palace at the very southern edge of the Outer Zone, DG readies herself to face her deeply secret fears, and Cain...


Chapter Twenty Nine: When the Wind Blows

He was behind her, he could say that much at least. As she ran up those stairs, he was right behind her. When she froze solid on the landing at the top of the stairs, his hand was on her shoulder, the only comfort he could offer. For Wyatt knew with a single glance that his presence was unwarranted, and for the first time since leaving Central City together, his place was not to be at her side.

On the long, curved stretch of balcony at the far end of the hall, the red woman stood waiting. She was crowned in tumbling auburn curls, her gown of crimson hanging loosely from thin, pale shoulders, bare arms wrapped with metal bands of gold and copper, studded with jewels.

Behind her, where the five-panelled painting had watched over them not ten minutes before, there was nothing but cracked, yellowing plaster. Sunslight spilled in the windows behind her, and for a moment, Cain found himself without thought, or word, or breath.

Then the woman beckoned, and the spell was broken. His head filled with questions, with doubts, every one loud, crass, and demanding; his body tensed with anger and fear, his heart beating thunderously in his chest.

DG hadn't moved. She looked back at him, eyes wide and no longer wondering; the heavy reminder of what curiosity killed had fallen hard on her. If she'd wanted something from him, confidence, assurance, he had nothing for her. Only a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, his hand then sliding down to rest on the small of her back; there it lingered as she gathered herself, a deep breath and a half-smile at him. He gave her a nudge, just the slightest pressure on her back with the tips of his fingers, and she started walking forward. The exchange between them was no more than mere moments, all before the eyes of this red woman, whose name, even in his mind, he could not bring himself to voice.

He followed DG at a good five paces behind, never taking his eyes off the imposing figure that watched their approach with a benign smile. It crossed his mind how many times he had walked the circuit of the balcony in the last few days, how many times he'd passed each of these ruined rooms. Each step, each glimpse was becoming distinctly familiar. The sight at the end of the hall, however, was not. The painting gone, subject made real to see.

DG didn't rush, but it mattered little. Within minutes, the girl came to a cautious stop ten feet away from where the balcony began to curve around; he halted a respectful distance behind her. She clutched her sketchbook to her chest, a familiar talisman to ward off harm – it took a good deal of restraint to keep his fingers from reaching to his side and touching upon the cool metal of his own.

Closer now, he could see the lines etched in the woman's face, the wear of her faded gown, a visage as weathered as the shell of a palace that surrounded them. The shine of her hair was like burnished copper, despite only indirect afternoon sun falling upon it, the only thing about her that seemed real and alive, everything else a trick of the light, a shifting shadow at the mercy of day.

Behind her, the wall was empty and cold, hard to look upon.

"I've been watching you, child." Her voice was faint, words spoken through the dust of ages.

"Who –" DG began, but she stopped herself. She shook her head. "Are you the guardian? The witch of the south?"

The smile faded from the woman's lips. "What are those titles to a girl such as you? You, who moves between shadow and light; child of two worlds, blood of a slipper."

The girl raised her chin; he fought off a smile at her small defiance. There was steel in her voice as she spoke, a strength that belied her age, her uncertainties. "I know who I am, and I know who you are. You're her. I don't understand. It's been two days –"

"I do not bend to mere appearance, your coming is naught to me. I have seen long centuries marked ever by the rise and fall of the suns. I have known the lives and deaths of your forebears. I have known you. But you, child, you've much to learn. You devour your Gale queen's false writ history, pages of pretty fabrication for prettier eyes to read and learn. Sent into this world fighting, you make your demands, and all bows before you, but you do not move me. You know nothing."

"I know enough," DG said, and Cain could almost be certain that she believed the words as she was saying them, but as they fell flat, and broke at her feet into so many little pieces, she began to doubt herself, and with good reason. The witch – guardian, goddess, Glinneth – scarcely moved, her face an impassive mask that put his princess to shame. He watched the girl bristle at the empty silence. "I came –"

"You've come seeking power."

DG shook her head. "No! I wanted –"

"That you want is more than sufficient," said the woman; her faded crimson gown flowed like water about her body, a grace of movement unlike anything he'd ever seen as she came closer, her feet making no sound. DG, however unconsciously, took the smallest of steps backward – back toward him, and the scrape of her shoe was deafening. "That you've sought all ends to sate your wanting is a mark of strength and ability, child, but the test of your true courage is yet to come."

DG was wary; Cain, more so. "Test," he said slowly. To hear his own voice seemed wrong to his ears. He didn't belong there.

The red woman's eyes settled on him as if seeing him for the first time, dark and piercing eyes, void of emotion yet alive with – what exactly, he couldn't say. "Your concern for the child runs deep. It is... commendable, to stand with her now in the face of such great uncertainty."

Cain wasn't swayed. "The girl asked you a question."

"As she must, lawman, as she must," Glinneth said, her eyes flicking to DG. "This world is still strange to you, and yet you chase after the ghosts of history, the sentinels who guard a past that haunts you still. You do not move forward. Ever you run from the dawn. You shield yourself behind your questions, cowering."

DG stayed quiet, any argument knocked clean out of her, something he couldn't recall ever accomplishing himself, but the sentiment seemed familiar enough. As he thought back on it, he wondered just how many times he'd stood at her back like this, watching through his own eyes as her life unfolded before them. A few flashes at first, then a dozen or more, mounting in his mind, one after another, scenes so clear, so real, but they weren't his memories, places he'd never been, faces he'd never seen, but always it was the two of them, always together, no matter –

The woman was smiling at him. Smiling. "You see into the truth of it, lawman. This story is one told before. You know the way of it." Cain could barely manage a nod before the woman had waved a dismissive hand at him. "Leave us."

Though he'd been expecting it, the words jarred him nonetheless. Old habits, by no leave but hers.

"DG," he said quietly, and she turned to him. Meekly, she gave her ascent.

"It's okay," she said, and he could almost have believed her. "I'll be fine."

He searched her face, taking all the time in the world to seek out the truth in her, but there was nothing to see that he hadn't seen before, those same sky eyes and that faint smile on sweet, pale lips. Over her shoulder, Glinneth waited silently. He paid her no mind. Truly, what were these moments to her, this witch who'd known centuries?

"Are you sure about this?"

She smiled a little wider, an attempt at reassurance. "Yes, I'm sure."

Cain frowned, not about to be so easily set aside. Another wary glance cast toward the red witch did little to settle him into letting her – no, that wasn't right. Her choices were her own, as far as they'd come, everything that had happened hadn't done so because he'd let it happen. No, he was not so arrogant in that belief; DG had always done as she would, and he followed, skeptical until the end. There was no precedence to set this apart. Still –

"Promise me," he said, watching her carefully, "that you aren't gonna make me regret doing this."

Not for the first time, that pretty smile faltered, and for the most fleeting of moments, he saw clearly her weakness, a cold, empty vulnerability that could break the heart. A shiver went straight through him, sudden and unwelcome.

"No promises," were the words on her lips, whispering quietly past that paper-thin smile.

No promises. He'd said that to himself, once upon. Seemed a promise in and of itself, by his way of thinking, and he cursed himself a coward and a fool as he gave in to one last look at DG before walking away. He didn't waste as much on the witch, Glinneth. It was to her he turned his back, obeying her command for the girl's sake only.

His boots echoed angrily off the high ceiling as he descended the stairs. The sunslight streaming in through the tall windows near blinded him, and he tipped his hat down against the glare. As he reached the last few steps down from the landing, he caught a glimpse of DG watching him, leaning out over the balcony. Her sketchbook lay forgotten to one side on the balustrade. She was a vision above him, dark hair framing her sad face, but a vision lasts only seconds before it slips away, and the moment was no different than all the others of his lifetime, quietly passing away. What else could he offer, so far below?

Nothing.

He lowered his head and walked from the hall. No distance they'd travelled in all the time they'd known each other compared to the long, weary path to the door. The sand under his feet scoured the chipped tile and crumbling grout. The gap-toothed floor was streaked and dirty, illusion gone. Whatever sense had belonged to the tiles laid out on the floor had long since been abandoned to age and decay. Without magic, there was no beauty.

He expected her to call after him; she didn't. There was nothing but the final, hollow scrape of wood on wood as he closed the doors behind him.

Sitting on the edge of the broken fountain, Glitch was waiting for him. The creases of worry in his forehead were deep, and the knit of his dark brows had a look of permanence to it. The courtyard had gone completely silent, and the wind had died; not a ripple in the long grass. For all it mattered, the world had come to a stop.

"I don't like this," Glitch muttered as Cain approached. "What's going on in there?"

"DG's getting her audience. The whole damned reason we're out here."

Glitch's eyes widened as he looked at the doors Cain had just closed. He let out a low whistle. "You left DG in there alone?"

"Not much say in the matter," Cain said, gritting his teeth against the distinct feeling of helplessness that had settled in his chest, something he hadn't experienced since – well, since the suit, if truth be told. He'd done a great deal in the months following his release to keep in control of what went on about him, but now the sense of security he'd built up around himself had turned into little more than a hollow shell, resembling so much his iron prison that he was hard-pressed to keep himself from pacing just to prove to himself he could still move at all.

Glitch, thankfully, was oblivious to Cain's inner turmoil, and was quite caught up in his own. "She needs to do this on her own," he muttered, shaking his head at the absurdity. "Why, why do they always have to do this kind of stuff on their own? Is there some unwritten rule that says –"

Cain cut him off. "You wanna go in there and try help, go right ahead." To his surprise, his friend looked to be considering it. However, better weighing the odds and thinking of any and every outcome did not change the fact that Glitch had no more of a place at DG's side in this than Cain himself did.

Silence settled then, heavy and unwelcome. Nothing in the courtyard stirred; the world, it seemed, was in no hurry to keep on turning. Raw soon joined them, muttering about the disquietude of the horses, if not in so many words. Raw himself seemed agitated to the point of skittishness, and while he sat stone still, his eyes roamed restlessly, always returning to the entrance to the palace. No questions came from him; Raw was never one to look to others for answers, but Cain couldn't quite decide if the Viewer didn't need them or didn't want them.

To be honest, Cain was close to encroaching on the Viewer's unspoken boundaries. Only DG had ever been able to wheedle insights and answers out of Raw when the need arose; since they'd been on the road together once again, Cain had put it upon himself never to strain his companion with undue interest, but his control over his own tongue was wearing damn thin. In his life before the suit and after, he'd often wondered at the burden borne by Viewers across the Outer Zone and in the lands beyond. He'd encountered few before Raw, as the empaths tended to shy away from human settlements, Central City specially. Cain could only assume that Raw was the only Viewer who'd ever entered the city willingly. The natural magic of his race had never incited curiosity in Cain, and, ever cautious, he'd been wary of even Raw's gifts, though the healer had saved his life more than once.

And now – now, slinking in a slice of shade, hidden from the scorching suns, surrounded by nothing but crumbled stone and dry dust, now he was about ready to put all his reservations behind him and ask Raw if he knew anything, could feel anything, anything that was going on inside that damned, wasted palace. It was only the abject misery on his friend's leonine face stopped him short.

So he waited. Waited, and watched; watched the doors, warped and rusted, watched the courtyard, the clumps of weeds growing through the flagstones, watched through the archway, knee-high sea of sun-crisped grass and the mountains in the distance. Movement caught his eye out there on the plain, but it was only the mutt, nose ever to the ground as he searched for something he was not like to find. Keeping a safe distance, it seemed to Cain.

After a while, with more than half of an hour since he'd left DG behind him, the wind began to pick up. It came up from the north, at first a breeze finding its way into the courtyard, so strong and sudden that it pulled Cain sharply from his reverie; he looked up, around. Nothing had changed, but for the bow and sway of the thick-stalked weeds that grew in and about the fountain. No one else sat up to take notice. Raw, lost in thought, was unstirred by the wind. Glitch kept on sorting through the broken tiles at the base of the fountain, pocketing some with exclamations of delight.

But the dog –

In the middle of the archway, Toto sat on his haunches, still as stone, the wind ruffling his ears and fur. Just when he'd decided to plop himself down there, Cain hadn't noticed. The mutt's nose was high in the air, stretching up to the point where his forepaws were just about off the ground, as if there was something more on that wind gusting from the north, more than just suns and sand and sweat.

It wasn't long before the others took notice of the shift from the early afternoon calm of only moments before. It was Raw who looked up first, his eyes seeking out the dog, who'd begun to pace restlessly in the archway, snout ever in the air as the wind refused to let up. Even Glitch was disturbed when the dust began to fly, clouds of it sending him jumping nimbly to his feet, brushing his hands off on his trousers.

"What in Glinda's name –" But that was as far as he got before pursing his lips shut; the thin, grim line of his mouth so tight that he looked to be clamping down on his tongue with his teeth. His eyes went to the great wooden doors, which rattled on their hinges as another gust hit them.

Throughout their days here, all had grown accustomed to the bluster of the strong crosswinds atop the cliffs, the high walls of the crumbling ruin providing them with shelter, but always the low howl of it as it carved away at the rock face below. The calm, the silence that had fallen upon the courtyard since DG had gone in was unnerving, but this – there were no words, Cain found; he watched quietly as his formerly headcased friend stammered for an explanation as the sky began to darken, as the afternoon blue was overtaken by roiling, round-bellied clouds, shades of deep purple that Cain himself had never seen. Storm clouds; like ink upended into still water, the clouds above swirled low, blotting out the suns, as the wind blew ever fiercer. The sudden chill was no sweet respite from the day's heat as they were again blasted by a gust from the north.

Cain raised an arm in a vain attempt to shield his eyes from the blowing grit, sand and plaster dust and fine slivers of dead grass carried in from the plain, stinging his cheeks and hands. He turned his back to the relentless wind, bracing himself against the push that would have him hurtling toward the doors of the palace, which shivered so strongly now that he had to wonder if the rusted bolts would hold.

Someone shouted his name, then more words that he couldn't make out over the deafening roar that was filling his ears, the power and the fury of the sudden storm tossing every other thought and worry – well, to the wind. All that concerned him was safety, his and theirs and hers.

The doors gave another violent shudder. Damn it, was there any other choice? The dust kicked up around him again, swollen bursts of it for him to close his mouth against. He whistled once, high and quick and shrill, and he caught the attention of the others long enough to sweep an arm towards those rotted, rusted doors. They needed to get to DG –

He grit his teeth at the thought of her, and tasted nothing but sand.

Another hard blast of northern wind was at his back, urging him faster than his feet were wont to go. Glitch was ahead of him, his hand was around the iron handle, he wrenched back even as the wind forced him forward into the door. The doors would not budge, but for the rattle as Glitch's weight was thrown against them.

Cain growled to himself, leaning against the wall where the wind had pressed him. He'd reached up a hand to anchor his hat to his head, his raised arm shielding his face from the worst of the dust. There was no calm between gusts, no breath of relief. On the other side of the doors, Raw huddled, protecting his head with his arms. Dead grass was caught all through his long hair, and in the matted furs that made up his clothing.

And the dog –

He didn't know where the mutt had gotten to. The flurry of dust all but blinded him. All he knew was that the dog was not with them at the doors, nowhere near his feet, or those of the others. Another damned thing to –

He thought he heard his name again, called out somewhere beyond the rush of the wind. He looked up.

There'd been few occasions in Wyatt Cain's life that had given him cause to doubt. He'd known fear, and he'd known it well, and he knew, too, the courage that had tempered that fear into a knowing; an assurance deep within himself that there was nothing in his world he could not overcome. Now, he wasn't about to argue that there hadn't been far-between instances where that confidence in himself, that knowledge of fear and the strength it took to continue on regardless, had almost abandoned him, had abandoned him. He'd known eight long annuals of doubt more crippling than fear, colder, harder, emptier.

And now, he knew more than doubt. He knew regret, sharp and sudden in the back of his throat, worse than the dust coating his tongue, the sand between his teeth. As he swallowed it whole, that regret so reminiscent of another day, place, another life, a different woman.

No promises, she'd told him. He sure as hell hoped she knew what she was doing.

It was then that the wind began to die away, so abruptly that Cain half expected something else to happen then, though what exactly it was he couldn't say, didn't want to even think about what else could possibly follow that storm. He was slow in standing straight once more, slower in pushing himself away from the wall. He looked around the courtyard. The air was still thick with dust, but even as he looked up, the clouds parted, began to dissipate until he was staring at a clear blue ceiling, the suns beating down upon his face as if nothing had blown through at all.

There was a loud crack as the force holding the doors closed released, and Glitch stumbled head-first into the hall. Cain could hear his shoes scrambling for traction on the sand-covered tiled floor. His voice bounced off the high walls. "DG! Where are you? DG!"

Cain coughed, then spat, trying to clear his mouth and throat. Glitch's voice became quieter, echoing through the open door.

"Gone," Raw muttered, shaking dirt and grass from his hair. When he glanced up at Cain, his cheeks were streaked with grime and tears. He said it again, fainter; he stood in the doorway, looking into the dark hall, but refused to go in.

And the dog –

Sitting once more in the archway, dusty and small, the damn dog threw his head back and began to howl.