by Patrick Ness
“You shut up!” I say.
His nostrils flare and his fists clench. “And what are you gonna do about it, boy?”
And I see the Mayor move to intervene–
But, “Step forward,” I say–
And my voice is calm, my Noise is light–
I am the Circle–
And Mr O’Hare steps forward without hesitating–
Right into the campfire.
He just stands there for a second, not noticing anything. Then he gives a yelp of pain and leaps straight into the air, the cuffs of his trousers on fire, already running to find water to put ’em out and I hear the Mayor and Mr Tate laughing and laughing.
“Well, Todd,” the Mayor says, “very impressive.”
I blink. I’m shaking all over.
I coulda really hurt him.
I coulda, just by thinking it.
(and it kinda feels good–)
(shut up–)
“Now that we’ve obviously got some time to kill while the negotiations continue,” the Mayor says, still laughing, “what do you say we engage in some light reading?”
And I’m only just recovering my breath, so it takes another long minute before I realize what he means.
{VIOLA}
“No,” Bradley says, shaking his head again, his breath clouding up as the sun gets closer to setting. “We can’t start with punishment. How we start sets the tone for everything that follows.”
I close my eyes and remember him saying the exact same thing to me what seems like for ever ago. And he was right. We started with disaster and it was pretty much disaster straight on through.
I put my head in my hands. I’m so tired. I know my fever’s come up again, no matter how much medicine we might have brought, and even though the Spackle built a fire near us as the day got colder, I’m still shivering and coughing.
The day’s gone really well, though, better than we expected. We’ve agreed all kinds of things: a complete ceasefire on both sides while we talk, the setting up of a council to talk through all disputes, maybe even the beginnings to an agreement on land where the settlers can live.
But all day, there’s been one stumbling block.
Crimes, the Sky says in our language. Crimes is the word in the Clearing’s language. Crimes against the Land.
We’ve figured out that the Land is them and the Clearing is us, and that to them, even our name is a crime. But it’s more specific than that. They want us to hand over the Mayor and his top soldiers to be punished for their crimes against a part of the Spackle they call the Burden.
“But you killed men, too,” I say. “You killed hundreds of them.”
The Clearing began this war, he says.
“But the Spackle aren’t guiltless,” I say. “There’s been wrongdoing on both sides.”
And immediately images of the Mayor’s genocide reappear in the Sky’s Noise–
Including one of Todd walking through piles of bodies towards 1017–
“NO!” I shout and the Sky sits back, surprised. “He had nothing to do with that. You don’t know–”
“Okay, okay,” Bradley says, his hands up. “It’s getting late. Can we all just agree that this has been a very productive first day? Look how far we’ve come. Sitting at the same table, eating the same food, working toward the same purpose.”
The Sky’s Noise quiets down a bit, but I get that feeling again, that feeling of every eye of the Spackle on us.
“We’ll meet again tomorrow,” Bradley continues. “We’ll talk to our people, you talk to yours. We’ll all have a fresh perspective.”
The Sky remains thoughtful for a moment. The Clearing and the Sky will stay here tonight, he says. The Clearing will be our guests.
“What?” I say, alarmed. “No, we can’t–” But more Spackle have already started bringing out three tents, so clearly this was planned from the start.
Bradley puts his hand on my arm. “Maybe we should,” he says, his voice low. “Maybe it’s a show of trust.”
“But the ship–”
“The ship doesn’t have to be in the air to fire its weapons,” he says, a bit louder so the Sky can hear it, and we can tell from his Noise that he does.
I look into Bradley’s eyes, into his Noise, see the kindness and hope that have always been there, that haven’t been bashed out of him by this planet or the Noise or the war or anything that’s happened so far. It’s really more to keep that kindness in him rather than actually agreeing that I say, “Okay.”
The tents, made of what looks like closely-woven moss, are up in a matter of moments, and the Sky says a long formal good night to us before disappearing into his. Bradley and I get up and tend to the horses, who greet us with warm nickering.
“That actually went pretty okay,” I say.
“I think the attack on you might have worked in our favour,” Bradley says. “Made them more willing to show agreement.” He lowers his voice. “Did you get that feeling though? Like you were being watched by every living Spackle?”
“Yes,” I whisper back. “I’ve been thinking that all day.”
“I think their Noise is more than just communication,” Bradley says, his whisper full of marvel. “I think it’s who they are. I think they are their voice. And if we could learn to speak it the way they do, if we could really learn to join their voice . . .”
He trails off, his Noise vibrant and shimmering.
“What?” I say.
“Well,” he says, “I wonder if we wouldn’t be halfway to becoming one people.”
[TODD]
I watch Viola sleep in the projeckshun. I said no to her staying the night up there, so did Simone and Mistress Coyle. She stayed anyway, and the scout ship flew back at nightfall. She’s left the front of her tent open to the fire and I can see her in there, coughing, tossing and turning, and my heart reaches out again for her, reaches out and wants to be there.
I wonder what she’s thinking. I wonder if she’s thinking of me. I wonder how long this is all gonna take so we can start living peaceful lives and get her well and I can take care of her and hear her talk to me in person and not just over a comm and she could read my ma’s book to me again.
Or I could read it to her.
“Todd?” the Mayor says. “I’m ready if you are.”
I nod at him and go into my tent. I take my ma’s book outta my rucksack and run my hands over the cover like I always do, over where Aaron’s knife sliced into it on the night it saved my life. I open up the pages to look at the writing, the writing of my ma’s own hand, written in the days after I was born and before she was killed in the Spackle War or by the Mayor himself or by the suicide lie he’s been trying to say is true and I boil a little at him again, boil at the anthill of letters spilling cross the pages, dense and skittery, already changing my mind about having him do this and–
My dearest son, I read, the words suddenly there on the page, clear as anything, Not a month old and already life is readying its challenges for you!
I swallow, my heart beating fast, my throat clenching shut, but I don’t take my eyes off the page, cuz there she is, there she is–
The corn crop failed, son. Second year in a row, which is a bad blow, since the corn feeds Ben and Cillian’s sheep and Ben and Cillian’s sheep feed all of us–
I can feel the low hum, feel the Mayor behind me at the opening of my tent, putting his learning inside my head, sharing it with me–
– and if that weren’t bad enough, son, Preacher Aaron has started to blame the Spackle, the shy little creachers who never look like they eat enough. We’ve been hearing reports from Haven about Spackle problems there, too, but our military man, David Prentiss, says we should respect them, that we shouldn’t look for scapegoats for a simple crop failure–
“You said that?” I say, not taking my eyes off the page.
“If your mother says I did,” he says, his voice straining. “I can’t keep this up for ever, Todd. I’m sorry, but the eff
ort it takes–”
“Just another second,” I say.
But that’s you waking up again in the next room. How funny that it’s always you calling me from over there that stops me talking to you right here. But that means I always get to talk to you, son, so how could I be any happier? As always, my strong little man, you have–
And then the words slide off the page, outta my head, and I gasp from the shock of it and tho I can see what’s coming next (all my love, she says, she says I have all her love), it gets harder, knottier and thicker, the forest of words closing up in front of me.
I turn to the Mayor. He’s got sweat across his brow and I realize I do, too.
(and again, there’s that faint hum still in the air–)
(but it ain’t bothering me, it ain’t–)
“Sorry, Todd,” he says, “I can only do it for so long.” He smiles. “But I’m getting better.”
I don’t say nothing. My breath is heavy and so is my chest and my ma’s words are crashing round my head like a waterfall and there she was, there she was talking to me, talking to me, saying her hopes for me, saying her love–
I swallow.
I swallow it away again.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
“Well, that’s fine, Todd,” the Mayor says, keeping his voice low. “That’s just fine.”
And I’m realizing, as we’re standing there in my tent, how tall I’ve been getting–
I can see nearly straight into his eyes–
And once more I’m seeing the man in front of me–
(the tiniest hum, almost pleasant–)
Not the monster.
He coughs. “You know, Todd, I could–”
“Mr President?” we hear.
The Mayor backs outta my tent and I follow him quick in case something’s happening.
“It’s time,” Mr Tate says, standing there at attenshun. I look back at the projeckshun but nothing’s changed. Viola’s still asleep in her tent, everything else is like it was before.
“Time for what?” I say.
“Time,” the Mayor says, pulling himself up straighter, “to win the argument.”
“What?” I say. “What do you mean, win the argument? If Viola’s in danger–”
“She is, Todd,” he says, smiling. “But I’m going to save her.”
{VIOLA}
“Viola,” I hear, and I open my eyes and wonder for a moment where I am.
There’s firelight coming from past my feet, warming me in the loveliest way, and I’m lying on a bed which seems to be made of woven shavings of wood but that doesn’t even begin to describe how soft it is–
“Viola,” Bradley whispers again. “Something’s going on.”
I sit up too fast, and my head spins. I have to lean forward with my eyes closed to catch my breath again.
“The Sky got up about ten minutes ago,” he whispers. “He hasn’t come back.”
“Maybe he just had to go to the toilet,” I say, my head starting to throb. “I’m assuming they do.”
The fire is blinding us a little to the half-circle of Spackle beyond it, most of them bedded down for the night. I pull the blankets around me tighter. They seem to be made of lichen, like the kind they grow on themselves for clothing, but it’s different up close than I expected, much more like cloth, heavier and very warm.
“There’s more,” Bradley says. “I saw something in their Noise. Not much more than an image. Fleeting and fast, but clear.”
“What was it?”
“A group of Spackle,” he says, “armed to the teeth and sneaking into town.”
“Bradley,” I say. “Noise doesn’t really work that way. It’s fantasies and memories and wishes and real things next to fake things. It takes a lot of practice to figure out what even might be true and not something the person wants to be true. It’s mainly just mess.”
He doesn’t say anything, but the image he saw repeats in his own Noise. It’s everything he said. It’s also going out into the world, out across the half-circle, over to the Spackle.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say. “There was that one who attacked us, wasn’t there? Maybe he wasn’t the only one who didn’t vote for peace–”
A loud beep from my comm makes both of us jump. I reach for it, under the blankets.
“Viola!” Todd shouts as I answer. “Yer in danger! You gotta get outta there!”
[TODD]
The Mayor knocks the comm right outta my hand.
“You’ll endanger her worse by doing that,” he says, as I scramble after it. It don’t look broke but it did shut off and I’m already clicking buttons to get her back. “I’m not kidding, Todd,” he says, strong enough to make me stop and look at him. “If they get any hint we know what’s going on, then I can’t guarantee her safety.”
“Tell me what’s going on, then,” I say. “If she’s in danger–”
“She is,” he says. “We all are. But if you trust me, Todd, then I can save us.” He turns to Mr Tate, who’s still hovering there. “Everything ready, Captain?”
“Yes, sir,” Mr Tate says.
“Ready for what?” I say, looking twixt the pair of ’em.
“Now that,” the Mayor says, turning to look at me, “is the interesting thing, Todd.”
The comm beeps back into life in my hand. “Todd?” I hear. “Todd, are you there?”
“Do you trust me, Todd?” the Mayor says.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say.
But he just asks me again. “Do you trust me?”
“Todd?” Viola says.
{VIOLA}
“Viola?” I finally hear again.
“Todd, what’s happening?” I say, looking worried up to Bradley. “What do you mean we’re in danger?”
“Just . . .” and there’s a pause. “Hold tight for a second.” And he clicks off.
“I’ll go get the horses,” Bradley says.
“Wait,” I say. “He said to hold tight.”
“He also said we’re in danger,” Bradley says. “And if what I saw is true–”
“How far do you think we’d get if they wanted to hurt us?”
We can see some faces looking back at us now from the Spackle half-circle, flickering in the firelight. It doesn’t feel threatening, but I’m gripping the comm tight, hoping Todd knows what he’s doing.
“What if this was their plan all along?” Bradley says, keeping his voice low. “To get us into negotiations and then make a demonstration of what they’re capable of?”
“I didn’t get any feeling from the Sky that we were in danger,” I say. “Not once. Why would he do that? Why would he risk it?”
“To have more leverage.”
I pause as I realize what he means. “The punishments.”
Bradley nods. “Maybe they’re going after the President.”
I sit up further, remembering the Sky’s images of the genocide. “Which means they’re going right for Todd.”
[TODD]
“Make the final preparations, Captain.”
“Yes, sir,” Mr Tate salutes.
“And wake Captain O’Hare, please.”
Mr Tate smiles. “Yes, sir,” he says again and leaves.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I say, “or I go up there myself and get her down. I’m trusting you for now but that ain’t gonna last–”
“I’m on top of things, Todd,” the Mayor says. “You’ll be pleased when you find out how much.”
“On top of them how?” I ask. “How can you know anything about what’s happening?”
“Let’s put it this way,” he says, his eyes flashing, “the Spackle we captured told us more than he thought.”
“What?” I say. “What did he tell us?”
He smiles, almost like he can’t believe it. “They’re coming to get us, Todd,” he says, his voice all amused-sounding. “They’re coming to get me and you.”
{VIOLA}
“What are we meant to be
looking for?” Simone asks from the scout ship, still parked on the hilltop.
“Just anything unusual in the probes.” I look at Bradley. “Bradley thinks he saw an attacking party in their Noise.”
“It’s a show of strength,” Mistress Coyle says. “Trying to prove they’ve still got the upper hand.”
“We think they might be going for the Mayor,” I say. “They kept asking us to turn him over so they could punish him for his crimes.”
“And that would be bad?” Mistress Coyle says.
“If they go for the President,” Bradley says, meeting my eye. “Todd’ll be right beside him.”
“Oh,” Mistress Coyle says. “That’s a bit more problematic for everyone, isn’t it?”
“We don’t know any of this for sure,” I say. “This could all be some misunderstanding. Their Noise isn’t like ours, it’s–”
“Wait,” Simone says. “I see something.”
I look out from the hilltop and see one of the probes flying towards the south of the town. I can hear from the Noise of the Spackle behind me that they see it, too. “Simone?”
“Lights,” she says. “Something’s on the march.”
[TODD]
“Sir!” Mr O’Hare says, face all puffy like he just woke up. “Lights have been spotted south of town! The Spackle are marching on us!”
“Are they?” the Mayor says, fake-surprised. “Then you’d better send some troops to meet our enemy, hadn’t you, Captain?”
“I’ve already ordered squadrons to prepare to march, sir,” Mr O’Hare says, looking pleased and directing a sneer right at me.
“Excellent,” the Mayor says. “I eagerly await your report.”
“Yes, sir!” Mr O’Hare salutes and trots away to meet his squadrons, ready to lead ’em into battle.
I frown. Something ain’t right.
Viola’s voice comes over my comm. “Todd! Simone says there are lights on the road to the south! The Spackle are coming!”
“Yeah,” I say, still looking at the Mayor. “The Mayor’s sending men out to fight ’em. You all right?”
