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
( Read more... )
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 fire They never had a chance. They fought on anyway. I've witnessed your suffering "I--things get kind of hard to remember, towards the end, but--I remember suggesting we charge." Amazingly, a brief hawk's grin flickers across his face. "I mean--we were outnumbered with our backs to the sea, it was more or less charge, or surrender and hope for mercy. So." As the battle raged higher Unconsciously, he draws himself up a bit. And though they did hurt me so bad "I remember standing there with Roland, knowing that we were the last, and this was the end of Gilead. I remember him telling me to blow the horn--" (one last wonder cry) "--and I remember charging." In the fear and alarm Two gunslingers and ten enlisted men, the last living remnant of Gilead and the Affiliation, hurling themselves screaming and shooting down a slope toward a human wall of howling, blue-faced death. You did not desert me No prisoners. My brothers in arms "And then...I remember her."
Sudden sharp pain--and then equally sudden clarity, and her smile, and the sound of her wings.
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.
She'd feared him lost before, felt his blood pouring out under her hands and dimming the brightness of her ring. Hearing him tell of his death now, her arm tightens around him-- but he's well, and here.
The last remaining memories of Gilead are carried now by those who remain here-- and by Roland, wherever he may be.
(the stories are true)
They'd all come here, in their own ways, most of them from their own deaths. Looking around the circle now-- from Cuthbert beside her to Alain to Susannah and Eddie beyond, Susan is deeply, utterly grateful for the chance.
No longer ka-tet; no longer truly one from many. But mayhap, still, more than they were.
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 fire
They never had a chance. They fought on anyway.
I've witnessed your suffering
"I--things get kind of hard to remember, towards the end, but--I remember suggesting we charge." Amazingly, a brief hawk's grin flickers across his face. "I mean--we were outnumbered with our backs to the sea, it was more or less charge, or surrender and hope for mercy. So."
As the battle raged higher
Unconsciously, he draws himself up a bit.
And though they did hurt me so bad
"I remember standing there with Roland, knowing that we were the last, and this was the end of Gilead. I remember him telling me to blow the horn--" (one last wonder cry) "--and I remember charging."
In the fear and alarm
Two gunslingers and ten enlisted men, the last living remnant of Gilead and the Affiliation, hurling themselves screaming and shooting down a slope toward a human wall of howling, blue-faced death.
You did not desert me
No prisoners.
My brothers in arms
"And then...I remember her."
Sudden sharp pain--and then equally sudden clarity, and her smile, and the sound of her wings.
Reply
Reply
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."
Reply
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.
Reply
She'd feared him lost before, felt his blood pouring out under her hands and dimming the brightness of her ring. Hearing him tell of his death now, her arm tightens around him-- but he's well, and here.
The last remaining memories of Gilead are carried now by those who remain here-- and by Roland, wherever he may be.
(the stories are true)
They'd all come here, in their own ways, most of them from their own deaths. Looking around the circle now-- from Cuthbert beside her to Alain to Susannah and Eddie beyond, Susan is deeply, utterly grateful for the chance.
No longer ka-tet; no longer truly one from many. But mayhap, still, more than they were.
Reply
Leave a comment