Monsters of Men

by Patrick Ness

  “If we must,” Mistress Coyle says.

  Wilf has joined us and we’re gathered in front of the ruins of the cathedral, back from a cart with a microphone on top for Mistress Coyle to be heard. Projections of it are being sent back to the hilltop, shown on the two building-sides again and hovering above the rubble behind us.

  The crowds are already cheering.

  “Viola?” the Mayor asks, reaching out to take my hand to lead me to the stage. Todd gets up to follow me.

  “If no one else minds,” Mistress Coyle says, “I wonder if this might just be very short addresses by President Prentiss and myself this morning?”

  The Mayor looks surprised, but I speak first. “That’s a good idea,” I say. “It’ll make it go a lot quicker.”

  “Viola–” the Mayor says.

  “And I’d like to sit for a minute and let the cure work some more, too.”

  “Thank you,” Mistress Coyle says, weight in her voice. “You’ll make a very good leader, Viola Eade.” And then, as if to herself. “Yes, you will.”

  The Mayor’s still looking for a way to get what he wants but Simone and Bradley aren’t moving and he finally agrees. “All right, then,” he says, holding his elbow out to Mistress Coyle. “Shall we address the populace?”

  Mistress Coyle ignores the elbow and starts walking towards the stage. The Mayor follows quickly so he can get in front of her and have the crowds see him let her go up first.

  “What was that all about?” Todd says, watching them go.

  “Yeah,” Bradley says, his Noise quizzical. “When did you start letting her get her way?”

  “A little nicer to Mistress Coyle, please,” Simone says. “I think I see what Viola’s doing.”

  “And what’s that?” Todd says.

  “Good people of New World,” we hear Mistress Coyle’s voice start to boom over the speakers. “How far we’ve all come.”

  “Mistress Coyle thinks her days as leader are coming to an end,” Simone says. “This is her way of saying goodbye.”

  Wilf gets a funny look on his face. “Goodbye?”

  “How far President Prentiss has taken us,” Mistress Coyle is saying. “To places we never even knew existed.”

  “But she’s still leader,” Lee says, sitting behind us. “There are a lot of people, a lot of women–”

  “The world’s changing, though,” I say. “And she wasn’t the one who changed it.”

  “And so she’s going out on her own terms,” Simone says, some emotion in her voice. “I admire her for it. Knowing when to leave the stage.”

  “Taken us from the edge of one abyss,” Mistress Coyle says, “and right to the edge of another.”

  “Goodbye?” Wilf says again, more strongly.

  I turn to him, hearing the concern in his Noise. “What is it, Wilf?”

  But now Todd’s figuring it out, too, his eyes opening wider.

  “Who has killed to protect us,” Mistress Coyle says. “Killed and killed and killed.”

  And there’s uncomfortable murmuring from the crowd, rising higher.

  “She thinks this is the end, Viola,” Todd says, alarm entering his voice. “She thinks this is the end.”

  And I turn back to the stage.

  And I understand, too late, what Mistress Coyle has done.

  [TODD]

  I’m running before I even know exactly why, just knowing that I gotta get to the stage, gotta get there before–

  “Todd!” I hear Viola call out behind me and I turn as I’m running to see Bradley grabbing her shoulder to hold her back and Simone and Wilf are running after me, running towards the stage–

  Running to where Mistress Coyle’s speech ain’t going down too well with the crowd–

  “A peace bathed in blood,” she’s saying into the microphone. “A peace paved with the corpses of women–”

  The crowd’s booing now and I reach the back edge of the platform–

  The Mayor’s smiling at Mistress Coyle and it’s a dangerous smile, a smile I know all too well, a smile that’s gonna let her go ahead and make things worse and worse for herself–

  But that ain’t the idea that’s dawning in me–

  And I’m leaping onto the back of the platform, Mistress Coyle on my right, the Mayor on my left–

  And Simone’s jumping up after me on my right, Wilf behind her–

  “A peace,” Mistress Coyle says, “that he’s seized with two bloody fists–”

  And the Mayor looks to see what I’m doing–

  Just as Mistress Coyle is turning towards him–

  Saying, “But there are still those of us who care too much for this world to let that happen–”

  And she’s opening the buttons of her coat–

  Exposing the bomb she’s got strapped round her waist–

  {VIOLA}

  “Let me go!” I yell, still trying to twist away from Bradley as Todd leaps onto the platform, Simone and Wilf right behind him.

  Because I’m getting it, too–

  You’d be surprised at how powerful a martyr can be, Mistress Coyle once told me–

  How strongly people will fight in the name of the dead–

  And I hear the gasp of the crowd as they see the projection–

  As Bradley and I see it, too–

  Mistress Coyle, large as life, face as calm as a saucer of milk, opening her coat to show the bomb she’s wearing, draped around her torso like a corset, enough explosives to kill her, kill the Mayor–

  Kill Todd–

  “TODD!” I scream–

  [TODD]

  “TODD!” I hear Viola scream from behind us–

  But we’re too far from Mistress Coyle–

  There’s too many steps across the platform to stop her–

  As her hand moves to a button on the bomb–

  “JUMP!” I scream. “GET OFF THE CART!”

  And I’m jumping as I scream it–

  Jumping outta the way–

  Over the side–

  Grabbing Simone’s jacket to take her with me–

  “For a New World,” Mistress Coyle says, the microphone still booming. “For a better future.”

  And she presses the button–

  {VIOLA}

  Flames explode out from Mistress Coyle in all directions, so fast the heat blows me right back into Bradley who hisses in pain as my skull hits his chin but I’m keeping to my feet and pressing forward into the blast wave, seeing the fire cascading out and I’m screaming, “TODD!” because I saw him jumping off the cart, dragging someone with him, and oh please oh please oh please and the initial blast’s billowing up into the air in smoke and fire and the cart’s burning and people are screaming and the Noise of it all and I’m breaking free from Bradley and I’m running–

  “TODD!”

  [TODD]

  “TODD!” I hear again, my ears ringing, my clothes hot and burning–

  But I’m thinking about Simone–

  I grabbed her and threw us both off the side of the cart as the fire whooshed round us but we spun as we fell and I know she got the brunt of it, the fire hitting her full on and I’m patting her clothes to put ’em out and the smoke’s blinding me and I’m yelling, “Simone! Are you all right? Simone!”

  And a voice, grunting with pain, says, “Todd?”

  And–

  And it ain’t Simone’s voice.

  The smoke starts to clear.

  It ain’t Simone.

  “You saved me, Todd,” says the Mayor, lying there, bad burns all over his face and hands, his clothes smoking like a brush fire. “You saved my life.”

  And his eyes are full of the wonder of it–

  That in the rush of the explozhun the person I chose to save–

  The one I chose without even thinking–

  (without there even being time for him to control me–)

  (no time for him to make me do it–)

  Was the Mayor.

  “TODD!” I hear Viola
shout–

  And I turn round to look–

  Wilf is struggling to his feet from where he jumped off the back of the cart–

  And there’s Viola, still running–

  Looking at me and the Mayor on the ground, the Mayor still breathing, still talking–

  “I think I need a healer, Todd,” he’s saying–

  And Simone’s nowhere to be found–

  Simone who was standing right in front of Mistress Coyle when the bomb went off–

  Simone who was within my reach–

  “Todd?” Viola asks, stopping a bit away from us, Wilf coughing but staring, too, Bradley running up behind ’em–

  Everyone seeing that I saved the Mayor–

  And not Simone–

  And Viola says it again–

  “Todd?”

  And she’s never looked farther away from me.

  The Source

  (THE RETURN)

  Through the circle of the Pathways’ End around us, we see a brief glimpse of pink sun rising in the east before it disappears behind the blanket of grey cloud that has hung over us for the past two days.

  Hung over me and the Source, as we waited for the council of peace.

  This was the Sky’s wish while he prepared for the council meeting, for me to stay here, bringing the Source his food and getting him to his feet again to regain the strength to walk after his long sleep, getting him washed and clothed and shaved in the Clearing fashion, and all the while showing him everything that happened while he served as the Source for the Land.

  While, it seems, he became the Land.

  He opens his voice, showing me other sunrises he has seen, where the fields turned golden and the Source and his one in particular stood up from their early morning labours to watch it rise, a memory as simple as that, yet covered in joy and loss and love and grief–

  And hope.

  All shown perfectly in the voice of the Land and with the same perplexing cheerfulness he has had since waking.

  And then his voice shows why he is hopeful. The Source will be returned to the Clearing today as a surprise gesture of goodwill.

  He is going to see the Knife again.

  He looks at me, the warmth overflowing his voice, warmth I cannot help but feel, too.

  I stand up quickly to get away from it. I will get us breakfast, I show.

  Thank you, he shows as I go to the cookfire.

  I do not show anything back.

  We have listened to his voice these past months, the Sky showed me that first night when we woke the Source. He can only have been listening back, learning to speak our voice, adapting to it, finally embracing it. The Sky’s own voice changed shape around me. Much like the Sky hoped the Return would.

  I have embraced it, I showed back. As much as I can.

  The Source speaks the language of the Land as if it was his own, but you still speak only the language of the Burden.

  It is my first language, I showed and then I looked away. It was the language of my one in particular.

  I was at the cookfire then, too, making the Source’s first proper meal after months of being fed liquids through shunts down his throat. And just because he speaks with our voice, I showed, does not mean he is one of us.

  Does it not? The Sky asked. What is the Land if not its voice?

  I looked back at him. Surely you are not suggesting–?

  I merely suggest that if this one can immerse himself so far into the Land with such obvious understanding and feel himself part of the Land–

  Does that not make him dangerous? I showed. Does that not make him a threat to us?

  Or does it make him an ally? the Sky showed back. Does it provide us more hope for the future than we ever thought possible? If he can do it, can others? Is there more understanding possible?

  I had no answer and he made to leave.

  What did you mean about me becoming the Sky? I showed. Why me of all of the Land?

  At first I thought he would not answer. But he did.

  Because you of all the Land understand the Clearing, he showed. You of all the Land understand most fully what it would mean to invite them into our voice should that day ever come. And of all the Land, you are the one who would choose war most readily. And so when you choose peace, his voice grew stronger, it will mean all the more.

  I take the Source his breakfast, a fish stew unlike anything I have ever seen the Clearing eat, but the Source does not complain.

  He does not complain about anything.

  Not about us holding him as a sleeping prisoner for all this time, instead thanking us, thanking me as if I did it personally, for healing the bullet wound in his chest, a bullet wound put there, to my astonishment, by the loud friend of the Knife, the same one who put the band on my arm.

  He also does not complain that we read his voice for every advantage we could get. Though he is sad that so many of his kind have died in the war, he is happy on the one hand to have done something for victory over the leader of the Clearing and happier on the other that it has led to peace.

  I don’t complain because I’ve been transformed, he shows as I hand him his breakfast. I hear the voice of the Land. It’s very strange, because I’m still me, still an individual, but I’m also many, part of something bigger. He takes a bite of his breakfast. I think I might be the next evolutionary step for my people. Much as you are.

  I sit up, startled. Me?

  You’re one of the Land, he shows, but you can conceal and muddy your thoughts like a man. You’re one of the Land but you speak my language better than I do, better than any man I’ve ever met. We’re the bridges twixt our two peoples, you and I.

  I bristle. There are some bridges which should never be crossed.

  And still he smiles. That’s the thinking that’s kept us so long at war.

  Stop being so happy, I show.

  Ah, yes, but today, he shows, today I’ll see Todd again.

  The Knife. He has shown me the Knife, over and over again, so much so it is often as if the Knife is standing in Pathways’ End with us, a third presence. And how brilliant he looks in the Source’s voice, how young and fresh and strong. How loved.

  I have told the Source every bit of the story up until his waking, including every action the Knife took and did not take, but instead of disappointment, the Source is proud. Proud of how the Knife has come through difficulty. Understanding and grieving over everything the Knife has suffered, every mistake the Knife has made. And every time the Source thinks of the Knife, a strange Clearing melody accompanies it, a song sung to the Knife when he was young, a song that binds the Knife to the Source–

  “Call me Ben, please,” the Source says through his mouth. “And the Knife is called Todd.”

  The Land do not use names, I show back. If you understand us, then you understand that.

  Is that what the Return thinks? he shows, smiling through a mouthful of stew.

  And again, my voice is filled with warmth and humour when I do not want it to be.

  You’re determined to dislike me, aren’t you? he shows.

  My voice hardens. You killed my people. You killed them and enslaved them.

  He reaches out with his voice, in a gentle way I have never felt from the Clearing. Only some of us acted that way. The man you fight killed my one in particular, too, and so I fight him with you.

  I stand up to go but he shows, Please, wait. I pause. We, he shows, my people, have done you a great wrong, I know that, and anyone could argue that your people have done me wrong by keeping me here all this time. But I personally have done you no wrong. And you’ve done no wrong to me.

  I try to keep my voice clear of when I held the knife over him.

  And then I do not. I show him what I could have done to him. What I wanted to do–

  But you stopped, he shows. And surely this here, this understanding between the two of us, one single voice of a man reaching out to one single voice of the Land, surely that’s the beginning of r
eal peace.

  It is indeed, shows the Sky, entering the Pathways’ End. It is the best beginning of all.

  The Source sets down his meal. It’s time? he shows.

  It is time, the Sky agrees.

  The Source lets out a happy sigh and once more his voice is filled with the Knife. “Todd,” he says in the Clearing’s chirps.

  And that is when we hear the explosion in the distance.

  We all turn quickly to face the horizon even though there is no chance of seeing anything with our physical eyes.

  What’s happened? asks the Source. Have we been attacked?

  “We”? I show back to him.

  Wait, shows the Sky. It will come–

  And it does a moment later, the voices of the Pathways’ receiving the voices of the Land from down below, showing us the explosion in the middle of the city, an explosion at the head of a great crowd of the Clearing, though the eyes we are seeing it through are high above the city on the lip of the hill, and all we can really see is a flash of fire and a column of smoke.

  Is that the Land? the Source asks. Has the Land done this?

  It has not, shows the Sky. He steps quickly out of the Pathways’ End, gesturing us to follow. We go to the steep path where I will have to help the still-weak Source climb down, and as we reach it, the Source’s voice is filled with one thing–

  Fear.

  Not for himself, not for the peace process–

  Fear for the Knife. All his voice can show is how much he fears losing the Knife on the very morning they were to be reunited, fear that the worst has happened, that he has lost his son, his most beloved son, and I can feel his heart aching with worry, aching with love and concern–

  An ache I know, an ache I have felt–

  An ache that passes from the Source to me as we climb down–

  The Knife–

  Todd–

  Standing in my voice, as real and fragile and worthy of life as any other–

  And I do not want it.

  I do not want it.