Act 4: Alliance
The night before the defence, the castle is quiet in a way that isn't peaceful.
People move through the corridors with purpose. Sharpening blades. Checking crossbows. Filling water containers. The sounds of preparation. Methodical. The work of people who know tomorrow might be the day everything changes.
I'm in the warehouse, going over the supply allocation for the third time. Food for three days in the east storeroom. Medical supplies in the north tower. Ammunition distributed to the wall positions. Everything accounted for. Everything in its place.
The numbers are clean. The situation isn't.
Intelligence from Killin suggests MacLeod's forces are massing to the northwest. Sixty, maybe seventy fighters. More than we've ever faced. The alliance can muster maybe ninety. Including people who've never held a weapon outside of practice.
The maths works. Barely. It depends on everything going right.
The maths always works until it doesn't."You're still here?"
I turn. Zoe's standing in the doorway. She's wearing the canvas jacket she uses in the medical bay. Her hands are clean. For now.
"Someone has to count the bandages."
"Dr. Fraser has the medical supplies organised. She's been doing this longer than either of us."
"I know. I just needed something to do with my hands."
She walks in. Leans against a crate. We're in the same space we were in weeks ago, when she told me she didn't know how to be my friend yet. The distance between us is smaller now. Still there.
"You're not going to be on the walls, are you?" she asks.
"Coordination. Radio room. Making sure the left hand knows what the right hand is doing."
"Good." She says it simply. That's the whole of it.
"You?"
"Medical bay. Wound care. Dr. Fraser's got me on triage duty."
"You'll be good at that."
"I'll be adequate at that." Almost a smile. "The animals I treated never tried to bleed out on me while screaming about how they're fine."
"Some things are universal."
She reaches into her jacket pocket. Pulls out something small. A leather cord, braided, with a simple knot at the centre.
"Found it in the supplies. Someone had started making these and never finished." She holds it out. "It's not anything. Just something to hold."
I take it. The leather is rough. The knot is solid. She thought to bring it on the night before everything might go wrong.
She's not trying to fix me. She's just here."Thanks."
"Don't read into it."
"I won't."
She leaves. I put the cord in my pocket. My hand finds it later, in the quiet moments. Just something to hold.
Anya finds me on the wall. Not the wall where I used to count exits. A different one. The one that looks out over the northwest approach. The direction the attack will come from, if it comes.
"You should sleep," she says.
"I've been told."
"By who?"
"Hugh. Zoe. Now you. Everyone's very concerned about my sleep schedule."
"Because you look like you haven't had a good night's rest in about eight months." She leans against the stone next to me. The wind catches her hair. "I'm not going to tell you it's going to be fine. I don't know if it is."
"I know."
"I'm going to tell you that you've done more in the past month than most people do in a year. You've built something. Connections. Trust. Logistics. That doesn't disappear because tomorrow is hard."
She's not wrong. But tomorrow might be harder than anything I've faced."What about you? Ready for tomorrow?"
"I'm going to be in the medical bay with Dr. Fraser. Wrapping bandages and holding hands and trying not to think about whether the people I'm treating are going to make it." She shrugs. "Same thing I did at the Braes. Different ending, hopefully."
"The Braes."
"I know. Not the most reassuring comparison."
"You got twelve people out."
"Twelve out of sixty." She looks at the dark hills. "I'm not telling you this to be reassuring. I'm telling you because tomorrow is going to be bad, and the day after might be worse, and the thing that gets you through is not hoping it'll be okay. It's knowing that you did everything you could."
The wind picks up. Cold. Sharp. The kind of cold that reminds you how fragile warmth is.
"Anya."
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you're here too."
She looks at me. A long, steady look. Just seeing.
"I know," she says. "I've known for a while."
She doesn't move closer. I don't move closer. We stand on the wall until the cold drives us both inside.
The last person I talk to before I go to the radio room is Hugh.
He's in the courtyard, checking the wall positions one more time. Methodical. Thorough.
"You should sleep," I say.
"You should stop telling me that."
"I'll stop when you start."
He almost laughs. The closest I've seen him come to genuine amusement in weeks.
"Jamie." He stops walking. Turns to face me. "You don't have to be in the radio room tomorrow. You could be on the walls. You could be in the thick of it. Your aim is better than most of the people we'll have up there."
"I know."
"You're choosing the radio room."
"I'm choosing where I'm most useful."
He studies me for a moment. That same assessing look. The one that sees past what I'm saying to what I mean.
"That's growth," he says finally.
He's right. Eight months ago, I would have been on the wall with a rifle. Looking for something to shoot. Eight months ago, I would have thought that was the only way to help."I had a good teacher."
"Don't be sentimental. It doesn't suit you." He claps me on the shoulder. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be long."
I go to my room. Lie on the bed. Stare at the ceiling.
The leather cord is still in my pocket. I take it out. Turn it over in my fingers. The knot is simple. Solid.
Something to hold.I close my eyes. Tomorrow will come whether I sleep or not. I might as well sleep.
It takes longer than it should. But eventually, it comes.