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There is a war inside Paige.
It is the starving cries of her godchild, driving its barbs under her skin and shrieking in rage and denial. It is the knowledge that she cannot win this war, that sacrifice and bloodshed will continue onward despite all her efforts. It is grief for all those who have died, for all those who have yet to die. In every spare moment that Paige gets alone, she sobs and silently screams that Hayward is dead.
Perhaps this is the love spoken about in stories. A driving force that pushes you onwards in the darkest of times. And when that love is gone, you too are gone. There is nothing left to live for.
It’s as if every streetlight flickered out at once, and now Paige stands on an unfamiliar street with not a single light to show her the way. A permanent lump sits in Paige’s throat, impossible to speak around.
Her title as the Widow of Wounds has never been more true.
Paige sits alone and listens to the radio. She thinks about her people. About Elgin. Hayward. She runs a hand over her shaved head, prickly hairs pressing into her skin. Her stomach grumbles. She can’t remember the last time she’s eaten.
She knows in her head that Hayward and Carpenter are dead. She knows that they drowned in Glottage with the rest of them. And yet she cannot stop expecting Hayward to walk through the door. She expects him to take a pair of tweezers to the barbs in her skin, to pull them out with an aching tenderness. She wants the feeling of his rough and calloused hands against her skin, holding her like she is precious.
Tears brim at Paige’s eyes and she just wants.
She doesn’t want to leave this place. Her home. She knows that there are peaceful lands waiting for them, the Cairn Maiden promised her this. She also knows she will never see them, that her godchild will consume her whole before then. She will walk behind her people, so that they do not catch on her thorns. And she will have to watch them go on without her.
A pit of aching loss has opened itself up, and it grows wider at that thought. Paige swallows, and she wipes at the tears on her eyelashes.
When Elgin comes in, Paige is overwhelmed by the amount of feelings sitting on her throat. She swallows and tries to summon up the words, the reasons.
“I can’t go with you.”
Elgin stops in her tracks, her sentence lying unfinished between them. “Paige-”
“I-” Paige starts and stops, desperately trying to put everything in order, “I will buy you some time. I can slow the government forces down.”
“The baggage trains are all ready, we can leave right now. We don’t have to buy time if we leave now.”
“I will never see the promised lands, Elgin,” Paige says in a defeated voice, “You have to go on without me. I can protect our people here. I can stand as a last line of defense.”
When Elgin doesn’t look convinced, Paige presses onward. “I can be the martyr for our people. I can be the reason they press onward. They need that. They need a reason to keep going. I can be that for them.”
“Paige. Is that…is that really why you want to stay behind?”
Paige thinks of Hayward’s sodden body in the streets of Glottage. She looks away. “My reasons don’t matter.”
“They do to me.”
Paige does not know how to be loved. She knows how to be worshiped. That was a skill that needed to be practiced. She knows how to be cared for, to be doted on. Paige does not know how to face real love. The kind of love that would have friends confiding in each other like this.
Paige sighs. “I don’t know if I have the strength to go with you. I…I know that makes me sound weak. I am weak. I’m no Widow of Wounds. I am Paige Duplass. I’ve lost almost everyone I cared about, and if things don’t go right I could lose my people and my cause. I want- if there’s one thing left for me to do, I want it to be in the name of protecting my people. I have one act of bravery left in me. But I can’t keep walking.”
Elgin nods. There is a deep sadness in her eyes. She doesn’t understand Paige. But she sympathizes, and that is close enough.
“I will tell them about your courage. Your last act as our Widow of Wounds. They will tell stories about you in chapel.”
Paige shakes her head. “It was never about the stories they tell or the scriptures they write. I really just want them to be safe.”
“You are an incredible woman.”
Paige is no different from the rest of these people. She’s had that argument lots of times, in lots of ways. But she doesn’t have the energy to argue again. She offers a small smile.
“Go. Be safe.”
“You as well.”
And then Elgin is gone, and Paige is alone. Within an hour, there is silence. The sounds of the followers of the faith are gone, leaving dust to settle on their homes and the birds to build their nests on the power lines.
In Carson’s home, VAL takes action. She moves the god winds east, and pushes the soldiers away before they ever had any chance of seeing the Grace. She performs her last act with trembling hands, and then she grabs a match.
On the border of the polluted lands, Hayward drives. He presses on the accelerator as hard as he can and he blinks past the black spots in his vision. He can hear the stupid border PA for a few brief seconds, and then he is gone.
Hayward needs to warn them. He needs them to run as fast as they can. He knows they will have to leave him behind. His time is numbered, dwindling with every passing minute. If he does nothing else, he wants to warn them.
The car comes screeching into the Grace, skidding to a halt along the gravel. Hayward stumbles out of the car, clutching his side where pain lances like a hot knife pressing through his organs. He falls to ground and stumbles back up, black swarming his vision. He does not stop to get his bearings. He presses onwards and shouts as loud as he can, which does not feel loud enough for how desperate he is.
“Paige? Paige? Elgin? Dan? I made it,” Hayward winces as the growing stitch in his side protests his haste, “made it back. We gotta…we gotta, we gotta get on the road. They’re coming for us!”
There is no answer. Hayward stumbles onwards, towards the chapel. Towards Paige’s house.
“Paige?” Hayward asks, his voice rough with desperation and agony, “They’re coming for us! Paige?”
It is then, as Hayward drags himself into the heart of the Grace, that he realizes the truth of it. That they already left.
They already left.
There are a few moments where Hayward is relieved. He stops in his tracks and glances around, taking in the silence of the town. It’s peaceful. It’s a good place to die.
Hayward’s thoughts are interrupted by a clattering from Paige’s house. Immediately, Hayward straightens as much as he can. Scouts, possibly? He saw no unfamiliar cars or transport vehicles, but there are plenty of ways to get here.
He cannot hope to fight them off, but Hayward can hope to stall them. If he must die, he will do it fighting for his cause.
When Paige throws open the door, it feels like a saving grace.
“Hayward!” Paige screams as she sprints the length of the courtyard. She sounds in agony, racing as she is, her arms pumping.
Hayward has just enough time to feel a mix of relief and dread encompass him before she is in front of him. She slows her pace just as she approaches him. Paige sweeps Hayward into her arms, bundling him up close and tight. She is only a scant inch or two shorter than him, and he is broader than her. But Hayward has never felt so small, here in her arms.
Safety washes over Hayward for the first time all week. He cannot be hurt anymore.
Paige is sobbing, tears racing hot and fast down her cheeks. She clings to him too tightly. Hayward doesn’t care in the slightest. He leaves one hand pressed against his side. He wraps the other around her, bringing a hand up to the back of her head. Their faces are pressed into each other’s necks, their torsos pressed tightly together. The mingled sounds of Hayward’s hot, agonized breathing and Paige’s strangled, relieved sobs fill the air.
“I thought you died,” Paige says, still weeping, “I thought you died.”
Hayward does not say that he is very much dying. “I’m here,” he grunts through the pain of Paige clinging so hard, “I’m here, I’m here.”
Paige sobs, a small and anguished cry. “You’re here. You’re alive.”
“I’m alive.”
“I was so alone,” Paige babbles, fisting her hands into Hayward’s bloodied shirt, “I was so alone and afraid and I didn’t know what to do and I just had to hope that we could get everyone out in time and I couldn’t stop thinking about you and-,” Paige’s stream of consciousness dissolves again into sobs and she buries her face again in Hayward’s neck, “You’re here.”
Hayward curses himself for ever leaving. He knows it was the right thing to do. He doesn’t regret it. But still, he curses himself.
“You should have gone with them,” Hayward says, trying to be angry with her, “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“I couldn’t,” Paige sniffs, “I couldn’t go. I couldn’t do it without you.”
Hayward uses what remains of his strength to squeeze Paige tightly. Gods. Hayward wishes that he had the words to say what she means to him.
“Paige, I-,” Hayward falters at first, because he doesn’t want to be the one to tell her, “I’m not doing so good.”
Paige pulls away and looks down, at once noticing that the blood on Hayward’s shirt is very much his.
“Oh gods,” Paige says, horrified.
Hayward lets out a breath, the ghost of a laugh. “Yeah.”
“We- you- there’s some medical supplies left. Things we couldn’t carry. It won’t be much but maybe-”
A team of monks couldn’t save Hayward. Paige can’t hope to either. He doesn’t say that.
Paige slings Hayward’s arm over her shoulders and grabs him by the waist. She tries to get the two of them over to her house but the distance is far and they are both exhausted.
They stumble, Hayward’s weight too much for Paige to bear alone. Hayward lets out intermittent grunts of pain as he feels blood seep out of his body, making slow, hot trails down his skin.
Paige sets him on a bench in the courtyard, both of them letting out pained grunts.
“I’ll be right back,” Paige says. Hayward can only nod. She darts off towards the house. Hayward tries to breathe in and out. He swears under his breath. He can’t hear any helicopters. The silence feels ominous, like the calm before a storm.
Paige returns with gauze and bandages. She lifts Hayward’s shirt and examines what the monks have done.
“Did someone treat this for you?”
“Yeah. They - augh! - did the best they could. Didn’t get to finish the job, but they slowed it down.”
Paige swallows. “I-It looks like it was starting to heal. There’s scabs.”
“Whatever got healed probably got opened back up in the crash. I think there’s some internal bleeding. The bullet’s gone though. I watched them pull that fucker from my body.”
Paige nods. “Okay. I-I’m just going to bandage you up then. Hopefully that can slow the bleeding.”
Hayward sits there and lets Paige dress his wounds. He watches a thorn poke up under her skin, burgeoning out of her shoulder. He breathes through the pain. Her ministrations are futile, but Hayward knows better than to talk her out of it.
“Haven’t heard any of the legislatives yet,” Hayward says.
“Me either. I didn’t think they were that far behind. They should have found me by now.”
“What were you going to do?”
“What everyone who takes their last stand with the Woundtree does.” Paige won’t meet Hayward’s eyes. She sits on the couch beside him, tucking the gauze and bandages away.
Hayward’s mouth goes dry. “Paige,” he murmurs, “You…what’s on your shoulder?”
Paige glances at her shoulder. Her jaw tightens. “It’s killing me. It’s starving.”
Their reality sinks onto Hayward’s shoulders like a stone. He laughs dryly. “Just two dying people sitting next to each other, huh?”
Paige laughs. It peters off wetly. “Yeah. I guess so.”
Hayward reaches out with a weak hand and touches Paige’s hairline. For just a brief moment, he wishes she had long hair so he could brush it behind her ear. He offers a weak smile. Paige’s eyes are achingly sad, reddened around the edges from crying. He drops his hand and she grasps it, holding it in hers.
“You know, Paige,” Hayward begins, unsure of how to say what he feels, “You’re…you’re everything to me. You make me a better person. I-I can’t thank you enough for that.”
Paige’s eyes immediately swim with tears again. “Considering I’m the reason you’re here, I think you might want to revise that statement.”
Hayward shakes his head. “I wouldn’t change a single thing. If I die like this, I’ve got no regrets.”
Paige’s lip trembles. “Hayward.”
“I love you.”
Those three words are enough to break Paige again, for her to whimper and for the tears to start rolling. She lets out a small wail, broken with grief. She clasps Hayward’s hand in both of hers and brings it to her bowed head, pressing his knuckles to her forehead.
Hayward’s chest splits in two. Gods. What he would give to love Paige on his own terms. Instead they are here, the last remnants of their cause left in these lands.
As Paige lets out a shuddering breath, Hayward reaches forward with his other hand. It hurts, but he ignores the pain as he gets his arm around her and pulls her into his good side. She clutches his hand like a lifeline and he uses his other one to cradle her close.
“It’s okay,” Hayward murmurs, “It’s okay.”
“Gods,” Paige hisses, “I love you. I love you so much. You made me want to keep living. When I couldn’t go an hour sober and you made me want to keep living anyway. You were always so kind to me.”
“You deserve nothing less.”
“I felt like I deserved so much worse than you,” Paige admits.
Hayward grits his teeth at a wave of pain and squeezes Paige’s hand. “I should have told you I loved you every damned moment of every damned day.”
“I wanted to wait to tell you until you got back,” Paige says into his stained shirt, “I wanted to tell you once we got to safety. Once we won. I couldn’t live with the idea of loving you during a war.”
Hayward understands. He felt the same way. Wishing for a better time to be in love than the present. To fall asleep and dream about a future where he could have Paige.
“Maybe there’s a world out there where we didn’t meet the way we did,” Hayward struggles with his words against the pain but he says it all anyway, “W-where I’m an actor and you’re-”
“I want to be on the film set. The person behind the camera. I don’t want to be a prophet in this other world.”
Hayward turns toward Paige and presses his lips to her head, hoping that she understands everything he wants to convey in that kiss. His apologies, his understanding.
“Okay. You can be the person with the camera. I can be an actor.”
Paige’s weeping has subsided, though tears still crawl slow tracks down her cheeks. She nestles close to Hayward. “What then?”
“I wouldn’t be able to look away from you. I’d get in trouble from the director because I just couldn’t stop trying to get a glimpse of you behind the camera.”
“I’d think you were ridiculous.”
“That’s okay. I would still think you’re beautiful.”
Paige laughs. “So what? You’d romance me?”
“Try to. Probably make a fool out of myself in the process. I’d never be able to shut up about you. You’d laugh at something funny and I would tell everyone I knew how beautiful your laugh was. I’d talk about your smile, your dark eyes, the way you’d order everyone around. How smart you are.”
Hayward can feel Paige’s smile on his skin. “You’re such a sap.”
Hayward chuckles, and then groans in pain when that causes his stomach to spasm. He presses a hand to his side, breathing through the bolts of fire that lance up his body. After a moment he settles back down and sets his hand back where it was.
“You’d win me over eventually.”
“Of course I would. How could you resist me?”
Paige shakes her head, but he can feel her smile. “Would you want to get married?”
“Yeah. Just a small wedding. We’d invite Carpenter and Elgin and Dan. Anyone you wanted to invite.”
“I want to invite Vaughan,” Paige says quietly.
Hayward’s heart squeezes. “Of course. It would be a cute wedding. I’d write really cheesy vows and you would shove cake in my face. We’d dance to horrible radio songs."
Hayward can feel the tears pooling again on his shirt. He closes his eyes and allows himself to envision it. In the distance, he can hear a bird chirping.
“That sounds nice,” Paige says.
Hayward nods. “I would want kids.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve always wanted kids. Run around and wrestle with them, go to their little recitals, watch them grow up.”
“Boy, girl or child?”
“Doesn’t matter. As long as they’re my kid.”
“You would have been a good dad,” Paige says bittersweetly.
“I guess we’ll never know,” Hayward says as black spots begin to creep into his vision.
Paige lets out a little sob. “This isn’t fair.”
Hayward can’t disagree. “Did I end up telling you the answer to that riddle? ‘What’s the opposite of a sacrifice?’” He can feel the pain grow louder and louder, heart thumping in his ears, “It’s a groaner this one. It’ll…it’ll really make you groan.”
Paige doesn’t respond.
“It’s a gift. It’s a gift that’s given and asks nothing in return. A joy with no conditions,” Hayward runs a hand over Paige’s back, giving her whatever solace he can, “My time with you, that was a gift. Being with you again now when I never thought I would - that’s another gift.”
Hayward clears his throat. “Dying with you in my arms is the greatest gift I could ask for. I wouldn’t ask for anything else.”
Paige is crying again, her shoulders shaking with tears. She keeps mumbling his name, as if that will fix anything. Hayward watches as thorns continue to press up and out of his skin.
“I don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die.”
“I know.”
Paige lifts her head and rips her hand out of his, reaching for his face. She cups his cheek in her palm and reaches up, meeting him in a desperate kiss stained with tears. She is still crying, her sobs muffled against Hayward’s lips. Hayward lets his eyes fall shut, wrapping her up in the best embrace he can. He kisses her like it will bring him back to life. She kisses him like she can keep him on the earth just by the force of her lips.
Hayward thinks that this is better than anything any god could possibly give him. No worship has ever come close to this feeling, this mix of grief and affection and pain. Hayward’s eyes sting with tears of his own.
Paige pulls away when she feels Hayward’s tears on her hand. She brushes it away and her lips thin with the force of keeping it all inside.
“I love you,” Hayward says raggedly.
Paige lets out a soft little noise. “I love you. I love you, I love you. P-please don’t leave me, don’t go. Stay with me. Please. H-hayward, please."
“Paige-”
“Don’t leave me,” Paige begs.
“Paige listen to me,” Hayward implores, because he knows he has but seconds left. Darkness creeps into his vision. “Take my body out to the fields. You know that little clearing? Take my body out, mph, out there.”
“I don’t think I can carry you that far,” Paige admits.
Hayward lets out a groan of pain. “Okay. Okay. That’s fine. Just stay right here then. Become a saint right here. When the legislatives come and you have to become a saint, do it beside me. Protect our people.”
“With you,” Paige says, understanding.
“With me,” Hayward agrees.
Paige kisses Hayward again. Tender, this time.
“I love you,” Paige whispers, more reverent than any prayer.
“I love you.”
It takes only a few more seconds for the light to leave Hayward’s eyes. The sound of Paige’s screams in grief sets the chirping birds into flight.
The legislatives never came. Two days later, Paige succumbed to a starving and vengeful Woundtree. She became a barbed tree, covered in thorns and black bark. At her trunk lay the body of her lover.
A hundred years later, pilgrims of the Many Below would make pilgrimages to the sight where the Widow of Wounds made her last stand, and where her lover was laid to rest at her feet.