by Patrick Ness
He’s a little shy of me, I think, after the last time we talked, but he takes my hand. Just that. “You’ll know what to do,” he says.
“How can you be so sure?” I say.
“Cuz you always have. When it’s counted, you’ve always done just the right thing.”
Not when I fired the missile, I think, and he must see it on my face because he squeezes my hand again and suddenly that’s not enough, even though I still hate not hearing his insides, even though it’s like talking to a photograph of the Todd I used to know, I push myself into him and he puts his arms around me. He presses his face into my hair, smelling god knows what awfulness of fever and sweat, but just to be close to him, to feel his arms around me and to be surrounded by all that I know of him, even if I can’t hear him–
I just have to trust that it’s still Todd in there.
And then, somewhere out in the world nearby, the Mayor starts his bloody speech.
[TODD]
The Mayor’s climbed up on a cart near the scout ship, standing above the crowd.
“Today is both a culmination and a new beginning!” he says, his voice booming thru the Noise of the soldiers gathered in the square, of the non-soldiering men of the town gathered there, too, a Noise which amplifies his voice, so there ain’t no one here who can’t hear him, everyone looking back at him, weary but hopeful, even the women, some of ’em at the edges even holding kids, who they usually do their best to keep hidden away, but every face, young and old, wanting what the Mayor says to be true.
“We have fought our enemy with great cunning and bravery,” he says, “and we have brought him to his knees!”
There’s a cheer for this, even tho it ain’t exactly what happened.
Mistress Coyle’s watching him, her arms folded, and then we see her start walking over to the Mayor’s cart.
“What’s she doing?” Bradley says, coming over to me and Viola.
We watch as she pulls herself up on the cart till she’s standing next to the Mayor, who shoots her a glance of death but don’t stop his speech. “This day will be remembered by your children and your children’s children!
“GOOD PEOPLE!” Mistress Coyle shouts right over the top of him. But she’s not looking at the crowd, she’s looking up into the probe broadcasting back to the hill. “TODAY IS A DAY WE WILL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF OUR LIVES!”
The Mayor raises his voice to match hers. “THROUGH YOUR COURAGE AND SACRIFICE–”
“HARD TIMES WHICH YOU MET WITH FORTITUDE–” shouts Mistress Coyle.
“WE HAVE ACHIEVED THE IMPOSSIBLE–” shouts the Mayor.
“THE SETTLERS ON THEIR WAY WILL SEE THE WORLD WE’VE CREATED FOR THEM–”
“WE HAVE FORGED THIS NEW WORLD FROM OUR OWN BLOOD AND DETERMINATION–”
“We should leave,” Viola says.
Me and Bradley look at her, surprised, but then I see a glint of mischief in his Noise. I ask Angharrad and Acorn to both kneel and I help Viola on the back of Acorn. Wilf gives Bradley a hand getting up on Angharrad. He don’t look too sure on her, tho.
“Don’t worry,” I say, “she’ll take good care of you.”
Boy colt, she says.
“Angharrad,” I say back.
“Todd,” Viola says, echoing her.
And I look back at Viola and I say, “Viola.”
That’s all, just her name.
And we realize this is it.
This is it starting.
“A SHINING EXAMPLE OF PEACE IN OUR TIME–”
“I HAVE LED YOU TO A GREAT VICTORY–”
The horses start moving thru the square, past the speech cart, thru soldiers getting outta their way, heading towards the road, the one that leads to the Spackle hill.
The Mayor’s voice falters a little as he sees what’s happening. Mistress Coyle keeps bellering cuz she’s looking up into the probe and don’t see ’em yet, not till the Mayor says quickly, “AND WE SEND OUR AMBASSADORS OF PEACE ON THEIR WAY WITH FULSOME VOICES!”
The crowd cheers on cue, cutting Mistress Coyle off midstream, something she don’t look too happy about.
“Viola’ll be all right,” Wilf says as we keep our eyes on her, shrinking down the road. “She always comes thru.”
The crowd’s still cheering but the Mayor hops off the cart and comes over to me and Wilf. “And they’re off,” he says, his voice a little peeved. “Rather earlier than I expected.”
“You woulda talked all morning,” I say. “And they’ve got danger waiting for ’em up that hill.”
“Mr President,” Mistress Coyle grimaces as she passes by us on her way back up the ramp of the scout ship.
I keep watching Viola and Bradley until they disappear outta the square, then I move my eyes to the big projeckshun Simone set up while everyone was speechifying, hovering huge over the ruins of the cathedral, the same image broadcast back to the hilltop, the image of Viola and Bradley riding down the road, heading into the dead zone of the battlefield.
“I wouldn’t worry, Todd,” the Mayor says.
“I know,” I say. “Any sign of funny business and the scout ship’ll blow the Spackle sky high.”
“Yes, indeed,” the Mayor says but in a way that makes me turn, that way he has like he knows more than he’s saying.
“What?” I say. “What have you done?”
“Why do you always suspect I’ve done something, Todd?” he asks.
But he’s still smiling that smile.
{VIOLA}
We ride out of the last edge of town and through a field of burnt bodies, still here after the burning arrow attacks, scattered everywhere like felled trees.
“In a place of all this beauty and potential,” Bradley says, looking around, “we just repeat the same mistakes. Do we hate paradise so much we have to be sure it becomes a trash heap?”
“Is that your idea of a pep talk?” I ask.
He laughs. “Think of it as a vow to do better.”
“Look,” I say. “They’ve cleared a path for us.”
We near the bottom of the hill that leads up to the Spackle camp. Boulders and stones have been moved out of the way, along with Spackle bodies and the remains of their mounts, remains put there by artillery from the Mayor, a missile from me, and a bomb from Mistress Coyle, so we’ve all had a hand in it.
“It can only be a good sign,” Bradley says. “A small welcome, making our path easier.”
“Easier to walk into a trap?” I say, nervously gripping Acorn’s reins.
Bradley makes to go up the path first, but Acorn puts himself in front of Angharrad, feeling her hesitation, trying to make her more comfortable by appearing confident. Follow, his Noise says, almost gently, Follow.
And she does. And up we go.
As we climb, we hear the hum of engines in the valley behind us as Simone pilots the ship into the air, where it’ll watch us like a hawk hovering on an updraft, ready to swoop down with weapons if anything goes astray.
My comm beeps. I take it out of my pocket and see Todd looking back at me. “You all right?” he asks.
“I only just left,” I say. “And Simone’s already on her way.”
“Yeah,” he says. “We can see you, bigger than life. Like yer the star of yer own vid.”
I try to laugh but it only comes out as coughing.
“Any sign of danger,” he says, more serious, “any sign at all you get yerself outta there.”
“Don’t worry,” I say. And then I say, “Todd?”
He looks at me through the comm, guessing what I’m about to say. “You’ll be okay,” he says.
“If something happens to me–”
“It won’t.”
“But if it does–”
“It won’t.” He says it almost angrily. “I ain’t saying goodbye to you, Viola, so don’t even try. You get up there, you get peace, and you get back down here so we can make you well again.” He leans in closer to the comm. “I’ll see you soon, all right?”
I s
wallow a little. “All right,” I say.
He clicks off.
“Everything okay?” Bradley asks.
I nod. “Let’s get this over with.”
We climb up the makeshift path, getting closer to the summit of the hill. The ship’s high enough to see what’s waiting for us. “It looks like a welcoming party,” Simone calls over Bradley’s comm. “Open ground with what has to be their leader sitting on one of their battlemore things.”
“Anything threatening?” Bradley asks.
“Nothing obvious. But there are an awful lot of them.”
We ride on and, in the wreckage of the hill, I see we must be at about the point where Todd and I ran to get away from Aaron, leaping across to the ledge under the waterfall, the same ledge where the Spackle lined up and shot their fiery arrows, the same ledge that’s not there any more, not after I blasted it away–
We keep on past the place where I got shot and where Todd beat back Davy Prentiss Jr–
And we near the last rise, only bits of it still there in its original shape, but close enough to the last place Todd and I thought we were safe, looking out onto what we thought was Haven.
But instead, it led us to this.
“Viola?” Bradley says, his voice low. “You all right?”
“I think the fever’s rising again,” I say. “I was drifting off there a little.”
“Nearly there,” he says gently. “I’ll greet them. I’m sure they’ll greet us back.”
And then we’ll see what happens, says his Noise.
We climb the last bit of the ruined zigzag road, climb over the top of the hill.
And into the camp of the Spackle.
[TODD]
“They’re nearly there,” I say.
Me and Wilf and the Mayor and everybody else in the square are watching the big projeckshun above the ruins of the cathedral, watching as Viola and Bradley and two horses that suddenly look real small walk up into a waiting half-circle of Spackle.
“That has to be their leader,” the Mayor says, pointing to the one standing on the biggest battlemore in the row of ’em waiting there. We watch him as he sees Viola and Bradley crest the hill on the horses, that half-circle of Spackle giving ’em nowhere to run except back the way they came.
“First they’ll exchange greetings,” the Mayor says, his eyes not leaving the picture. “That’s how these things start. And then both sides will declare how strong they are and then finally they’ll give an indication of intentions. It’s all very formal.”
We watch Bradley in the projeckshun, who seems to be doing exactly what the Mayor predicted.
“The Spackle’s getting down,” I say.
The leader of the Spackle slowly but gracefully swings a leg back over the animal. He gets down and takes off this helmet thing he was wearing, handing it to a Spackle next to him.
Then he starts walking cross the clearing.
“Viola’s getting off her horse,” Wilf says.
And she is. Acorn’s kneeling to let her off and she gingerly steps to the ground. She turns from Acorn, readying to meet the leader of the Spackle, who’s still coming towards her slowly, his hand outstretched–
“This is going well, Todd,” the Mayor says. “Very well indeed.”
“Don’t say stuff like that,” I say.
“Hey!” Wilf suddenly shouts, sitting forward–
And I see it–
There’s a rumble thru the crowd of soldiers as they see it, too–
A Spackle is running from the half-circle–
Breaking ranks and running towards the leader of the Spackle–
Heading straight for him–
And the leader of the Spackle is turning–
As if he’s surprised–
And in the cold morning sunlight, we can see–
The Spackle who’s running has got a blade–
“He’s gonna kill the leader–” I say, getting to my feet–
And the ROAR of the crowd rises–
And the running Spackle reaches the leader, blade up–
Reaches him–
And goes past–
Past the leader whose arms move to stop him–
But he avoids ’em–
And keeps on running–
Running towards Viola–
And that’s when I reckernize him–
“No,” I say, “No!”
It’s 1017–
Running flat out at Viola–
Carrying a blade–
He’s gonna kill her–
He’s gonna kill her to punish me–
“Viola!” I shout–
“VIOLA!”
The One In Particular
(THE RETURN)
Dawn is coming, the Sky shows. They will be here soon.
He stands above me in his fullest armour, intricately sculpted clay covering his chest and arms, far too ornate and beautiful to ever be worn in battle. The ceremonial helmet teeters on his head like a spired hut, matched by an equally heavy ceremonial stone blade at his side.
You look ridiculous, I show.
I look like a leader, he shows back, not angry at all.
We do not even know if they will come.
They will come, he shows. They will come.
He heard my vow to defeat the peace. I know he did. I was too angry to try and hide it, though he would have probably heard it anyway. And yet he has kept me by his side, so unafraid of my insignificance he cannot even pretend to see me as a threat.
Do not think I give away peace for nothing, he shows. Do not think they will have free rein to do with this world as they choose. There will be no repeat of the Burden, not while I am the Sky.
And I see something in his voice, something deep down, flickers of something.
You have a plan, I sneer.
Let us say that I do not enter into these talks without preparing for every eventuality.
You only say that to keep me quiet, I show. They will take all they can get and then they will take more by force. They will not stop until they have taken everything from us.
He sighs. The Sky asks again for the Return’s trust. And to prove it, the Sky would very much like the Return by his side when the Clearing comes to us.
I look up to him, surprised. His voice is truthful–
(–and my own voice yearns to touch his, yearns to know that he is doing right by me, by the Burden, by the Land, I want to trust him so badly it is like an ache in my chest–)
My promise to you remains, he shows. The Source will be yours to do with as you please.
I keep watching him, reading his voice, reading everything in it: the terrible and terrific responsibility he feels for the Land weighing on him every moment, awake or asleep; the concern he feels for me, for how I am eating myself alive with hate and revenge; his worry for the days to come and the weeks and months after that, how no matter what happens today, the Land will be for ever changed, is already for ever changing; and I see that, if forced, he will act without me, he will leave me behind if he must for the good of the Land.
But I see, too, how that would grieve him.
And I also see, hidden no doubt along the Pathways’ End, he has a plan.
I will come, I show.
The pinkness of the sun starts to show on the far horizon. The Sky stands in his battlemore’s saddle. His top soldiers, also in ceremonial dress, also with ceremonial stone blades, are arranged in a broad half-circle that encompasses the ragged lip of the hill. The Clearing will be allowed here, but no further.
The voice of the Land is open, all of them watching the edge of the hill through their Sky. We speak as one, shows the Sky, sending it through them. We are the Land and we speak as one.
The Land repeats the chant, tying them together in a single bond, unbreakable as they face the enemy.
We are the Land and we speak as one.
Except for the Return, I think, because the band on my arm is hurting again. I push the lichen away to lo
ok at it, the skin around it stretched badly as it attaches itself to the metal, bloated and tight with scarring, painful every moment since it was first put on me.
But the physical pain is nothing compared to what is in my voice.
Because the Clearing did this to me. The Knife did it. It is the thing that marks me as the Return, the thing that keeps me for ever separate from the Land as they chant around me, raising their single voice in a language the Clearing will understand.
We are the Land and we speak as one.
Except for the Return, who speaks alone.
You do not speak alone, the Sky shows, looking down at me from his steed. The Return is the Land and the Land is the Return.
The Land is the Return, comes the chant around us.
Say it, the Sky shows to me. Say it so the Clearing know who they are dealing with. Say it so that we speak together.
He reaches out a hand as if to touch me with it but he is too high, too far up on his battlemore. Say it so that you are the Land.
And his voice is reaching out to me, too, surrounding me, asking me to join him, to join the Land, to allow myself to become part of something bigger, greater, something that might–
The vessel of the Clearing suddenly rises into the air across from us, holding itself there and waiting.
The Sky looks out to it, the chant continuing behind us. It is time, he shows. They come.
I recognize her immediately. My surprise is so sharp the Sky looks down at me for a quick moment.
They have sent her, I show.
They have sent the Knife’s one in particular.
My voice raises. Could he have come with her? Would he–?
But no. It is another of the Clearing, his voice as loud and chaotic as any of them. And it is chaotic with peace. The wish for it is all over him, hope for it, fear for it, courage around it.
They wish for peace, the Sky shows, and there is amusement in the voice of the Land.
But I look up to the Sky. And I see peace there, too.
The Clearing ride their mounts forward into the half-circle but stop a distance away, looking at us nervously, his voice loud and hopeful, hers the silence of the voiceless.
