There’s blood everywhere.
Across the grass in the front garden, on the small path leading up to the house, all over the floor inside, way more blood than you’d think coulda come outta actual people.
“Todd?” the Mayor says. “Are you all right?”
“No,” I say, staring at all the blood. “What kinda person would be all right?”
I am the Circle and the Circle is me, I think.
The Spackle attacks keep coming. Every day since the first one on the power stayshun, eight days in a row, no let up. They attack and kill the soldiers who are out trying to drill wells to get us much-needed water. They attack and kill sentries at night at random points on the edge of town. They even burnt down a whole street of houses. No one died, but they set another street alight while the Mayor’s men were trying to put out the first one.
And all this time, there still ain’t no reports from the squadrons to the north and south, both of ’em just sitting there twiddling their thumbs, no sound of Spackle passing ’em to make it into town or on the way back from another successful attack. Nothing from Viola’s probes neither, like everywhere you look, they’re somewhere else.
And now they’ve done something new.
Parties of townsfolk, usually accompanied by a soldier or two, have been going thru the outlying houses one by one, scrounging whatever food they can find for the storehouse.
This party got met by Spackle.
In broad daylight.
“They’re testing us, Todd,” the Mayor says, frowning, as we stand at the doorway of the house, some way east of the cathedral ruins. “This is all leading up to something. You mark my words.”
The bodies of thirteen Spackle are strewn about the house and the yard. On our side, there’s a dead soldier in the front room and I can see the remains of two dead townsfolk, both older men, thru the door of the pantry, and a woman and a boy who died hiding in the bathtub. A second soldier lies in the garden, being worked on by a doctor, but he ain’t got one of his legs no more and there’s no way he’s long for this world.
The Mayor walks over to him and kneels down. “What did you see, Private?” he asks, his voice low and almost tender in a way I know myself. “Tell me what happened.”
The private’s breath is all in gasps and his eyes are wide and his Noise is a thing you just can’t bear looking at, filled with Spackle coming at him, filled with soldiers and townsfolk dying, filled most of all with how he ain’t got one of his legs no more and how there ain’t no going back from that, not never ever ever–
“Calm yourself,” says the Mayor.
And I hear the low buzz. Twisting into the private’s Noise, trying to settle him down, trying to get him to focus.
“They just kept coming,” the private says, still pretty much gasping twixt each word but at least he’s talking. “We’d fire. And they’d fall. And here’d come another one.”
“But surely you must have had warning, Private,” the Mayor says. “Surely you heard them.”
“Everywhere,” the private gasps, arching his head back at some new invisible pain.
“Everywhere?” the Mayor says, voice still calm but the buzz getting louder. “What do you mean?”
“Everywhere,” the soldier says, his throat really grabbing for air now, like he’s talking against his will. Which he probably is. “They came. From everywhere. Too fast. Running for us. Full speed. Firing their sticks. My leg. My LEG!”
“Private,” the Mayor says again, working harder on the buzz–
“They just kept coming! They just kept–”
And then he’s gone, his Noise fading fast before stopping altogether. He dies, right there in front of us.
(I am the Circle–)
The Mayor stands up, his face all annoyed. He takes a long last look at the scene, at the bodies, at the attacks he don’t seem able to predict or stop. He’s got men around him, waiting for him to give ’em orders, men who look increasingly nervous as the days go on and there ain’t a battle in front of ’em they can fight.
“Come, Todd!” the Mayor finally snaps and off he stomps to where our horses are tied and I’m running after him before I even stop to think that he’s got no right to command me.
“You sure you ain’t got nothing?” Todd asks over the comm. He’s riding Angharrad behind the Mayor, away from an attack on a house outside of town, the eighth in a row, and I can see the worry and weariness on his face even in the little screen.
“They’re hard to track,” I say, lying on the bed in the healing room again, my fever up again, so consistently I haven’t even been able to visit Todd. “Sometimes we see little glimpses of them, but nothing useful, nothing we can follow.” I lower my voice. “Plus, Simone and Bradley are keeping the probes closer to the hilltop now. The townsfolk are sort of demanding it.”
And they are. It’s so crowded up here now there’s almost no room to move. Very poor-looking tents, made of everything from blankets to rubbish bags, stretch all the way down to the main road by the empty riverbed. Plus, things are growing scarce. There are streams near here, and Wilf brings up vats of water twice a day so our water supply problems are less than what Todd says they’re facing in the city. But we’ve only got the food the Answer was keeping for itself, supply for 200 that’s now got to feed 1500. Lee and Magnus keep leading hunting parties, but it’s nothing compared to the stored food in New Prentisstown, guarded heavily by soldiers.
They’ve got enough food but not enough water.
We’ve got enough water but not enough food.
But neither the Mayor nor Mistress Coyle would even consider leaving the places where they’re strongest.
Worse, rumour spreads almost instantly in a group of people this close together, and after the attacks began on the town, people started thinking the Spackle would attack us next, that they were already surrounding the hilltop, ready to close in and kill us all. They weren’t, there’s been no sign of them near us, but the townsfolk keep asking what we’re doing to keep them safe, saying it’s our responsibility to protect everyone on the hill first, before the town below.
Some of them have even started sitting in a sort of half-circle near the bay doors of the scout ship, not saying anything, just watching what we do and reporting it back along the hilltop.
Ivan’s usually sitting right up front. He’s even started calling Bradley “The Humanitarian”.
And he doesn’t mean it in a nice way.
“I know what you mean,” Todd says. “The feeling ain’t any better down here.”
“I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“Likewise.”
“Any news?” Mistress Coyle says, coming into the healing room as Todd hangs up.
“You shouldn’t be listening to people’s private conversations.”
“There’s nothing on this planet that’s private, my girl. That’s the whole problem.” She gives me a lookover as I lie on the bed. “How’s your arm?”
My arm hurts. The antibiotics have stopped working, and the red streaking is spreading again. Mistress Lawson left me here with a new combination bandage, but even I could see she was worried.
“Never you mind,” I say. “Mistress Lawson’s doing a great job.”
Mistress Coyle looks at her feet. “You know, I’ve had some success on the infections with a set of timed–”
“I’m sure Mistress Lawson will do that when she’s ready,” I interrupt. “Did you want something?”
She lets out a long sigh, as if I’ve disappointed her.
This is how the past eight days have all gone, too. Mistress Coyle refusing to do anything other than what Mistress Coyle wants to do. She keeps herself so busy with the running of the camp – sorting out food, treating the women, spending an awful lot of time with Simone – that there never seems to be a chance to talk about peace. When I do pin her down on the rare occasions I’m not stuck in this stupid bed, she says she’s waiting, that peace can only come at the right moment, that the Spackle will make their move and the Mayor will make his and then and only then can we move in and make peace.
But somehow, it always sounds like peace for some of us and not necessarily everybody else.
“I wanted to talk to you, my girl,” she says, looking me in the eye, maybe seeing if I’ll look away.
I don’t. “I want to talk to you, too.”
“Then let me go first, my girl,” she says.
And then she says something I never expected in a million years.
“Fires, sir,” Mr O’Hare says, not a minute after I hang up with Viola.
“I am not in fact blind, Captain,” the Mayor says, “but thank you once again for pointing out the obvious.”
We’ve stopped on the road back into town from the bloody house cuz there are fires on the horizon. Some of the abandoned farmhouses on the north hill of the valley are burning.
At least I hope they’re abandoned.
Mr O’Hare’s caught up to us with a group of about twenty soldiers, who look as tired as I feel. I watch ’em, reading their Noise. They’re all ages, old and young, but all old in the eyes now. Hardly any of this group wanted to be soldiers but were forced into it by the Mayor, forced from families, from farms and shops and schools.
And then they started seeing death every day.
I am the Circle and the Circle is me, I think again.
I do it all the time now, reaching for the silence, making the thoughts and memories go away, and most of the time it works on the outside, too. People can’t hear my Noise, I can hear ’em not hearing me, just like Mr Tate and Mr O’Hare, and I gotta think that’s part of the reason the Mayor showed me, thinking to make me one of his men.
Like that’s ever gonna happen.
I ain’t told Viola bout it, tho. I don’t know why.
Maybe cuz I ain’t seen her, which is something I’ve hated about the past eight days. She’s stayed up on the hilltop to keep tabs on Mistress Coyle but every time I call she’s in that bed and looking paler and weaker and I know she’s sick and getting sicker and she ain’t telling me about it, probably so I don’t worry, which only makes me worry more cuz if something’s wrong with her, if something happens to her–
I am the Circle and the Circle is me.
And everything calms down a bit.
I ain’t told her. I don’t want her to worry. I got it under control.
Boy colt? Angharrad asks nervously under me.
“It’s okay, girl,” I say. “We’ll be home soon.” I wouldn’t have taken her out if I’d known how bad the scene at the house was gonna be. She only let me back up on her two days ago and she still starts at the slightest snap of a twig.
“I can send men up to fight the fires,” Mr O’Hare says.
“There’d be no point,” the Mayor says. “Let them burn.”
Submit! Juliet’s Joy screeches underneath him at no one in particular.
“I’ve got to get a new horse,” the Mayor mutters.
And then he lifts his head in a way that makes me notice.
“What?” I say.
But he’s looking round, first to the path back to the bloody house, then to the road into town. Nothing’s changed.
Except the look on the Mayor’s face.
“What?” I say again.
“Can you not hear–?”
He stops again.
And then I do hear it–
Noise–
Noise that ain’t human–
Coming from all sides–
Everywhere, like the soldier said–
“They wouldn’t,” the Mayor says, his face pinching with anger. “They wouldn’t dare.”
But I can hear it clearly now–
We’re surrounded, as quickly as that.
Spackle are coming straight for us.
What Mistress Coyle says to me is, “I never apologized to you for the bomb at the cathedral.”
I don’t say anything back.
I’m too astonished.
“It wasn’t an attempt to murder you,” she says. “Nor did I think your life was worth less than anyone else’s.”
I swallow hard. “Get out,” I say and I’m surprised at myself. It must be the fever talking. “Right now.”
“I was hoping the President would look through your bag,” she says. “He’d take out the bomb and that would be the end of our problems. But I also thought it would only come into play if you were captured. And if you were captured, you were already likely dead.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“It was, my girl.”
“If you’d asked me, I might have even said–”
“You’d do nothing that might harm your boy.” She waits for me to contradict her. I don’t. “Leaders must sometimes make monstrous decisions,” she says, “and my monstrous decision was that if your life was likely to be lost on an errand you insisted on taking, then I would at least take the chance, however slim, to make your death worth it.”
I can feel how red my face is getting and I begin to shake from both fever and pure hot anger. “That’s only one way it could have worked out. There are a whole bunch of other things that could have happened, all of which end up with me and Lee blown to bits.”
“Then you would have been a martyr for the cause,” Mistress Coyle says, “and we would have fought in your name.” She looks at me hard. “You’d be surprised at how powerful a martyr can be.”
“Those are words a terrorist would use–”
“Nevertheless, Viola, I wanted to say to you that you were right.”
“I’ve had just about enough–”
“Let me finish,” she says. “It was a mistake, the bomb. Though I may have had good reasons in my desperation to get to him, that’s still not enough to take such a heavy risk with a life that isn’t my own.”
“Damn right–”
“And for that, I’m sorry.”
There’s a silence now as she says the actual words, a heavy silence which lasts, and then lasts some more, and then she makes to leave.
“What do you want here?” I say, stopping her. “Do you really want peace or do you just want to beat the Mayor?”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Surely one is required for the other.”
“But what if trying for both means you don’t get either?”
“It has to be a peace worth living for, Viola,” she says. “If it just goes back to the way it was before, then what’s the point? Why have any of us died?”
“There’s a convoy of almost 5000 people on the way. It won’t be at all like it was before.”
“I know that, my girl–”
“And think what a powerful position you could be in if you’re the one who helps us make a new truce? Who helps make the world peaceful for them?
She looks thoughtful for a moment, then she runs her hand up the side of the door frame as a way of not looking at me. “I told you once how impressed I was with you. Do you remember that?”
I swallow, because that memory involves Maddy, who was shot while helping me to be impressive. “I do.”
“I still am. Even more than before.” She’s still not looking at me. “I was never a girl here, you know. I was already grown when we landed, and I tried to help found the fishing village with some others.” She purses her lips. “And we failed. The fish ate more of us than we ate of them.”
“You could try again,” I say. “With the new settlers. You said the ocean wasn’t all that far, two days’ ride–”
“One day, really,” she says. “A couple hours on a fast horse. I told you two days because I didn’t want you following me there.”
I frown. “Yet another lie–”
“But I was wrong about that, too, my girl. You would have come if it had taken a month. That’s how impressed I am with you. How you’ve survived, how you’ve kept yourself in a position to make a real impact, how you’re singlehandedly trying to win your peace.”
“Then help me,” I say.
She taps the door frame with the flat of her hand once or twice, as if still thinking.
“I’m just wondering, my girl,” she finally says. “Wondering if you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
But then she turns and leaves without another word.
“Ready for what?” I call after her, and then I swing myself out of bed, getting my feet to the floor and standing up–
And immediately falling right onto the other bed out of sheer dizziness.
I take a few deep breaths to make the world stop spinning–
Then I stand back up and set out after her.
The soldiers raise their rifles and start looking all round but the Spackle ROAR seems to be coming from everywhere, closing in fast from all direkshuns–
The Mayor’s got his own rifle up. I got mine, too, one hand on Angharrad to steady her, but there’s nothing to see, not yet–
And then a soldier down the road from us falls to the ground, screaming and grabbing at his chest–
“There!” shouts the Mayor–
As suddenly a whole platoon of Spackle, dozens of ’em, come blazing outta the woods down the road, shooting their white sticks at the soldiers, who start falling even as they’re firing back–
And the Mayor’s riding past me, shooting his gun and ducking under an arrow coming at him–
Boy colt! Angharrad is screaming and I’m wanting to ride her away, to get her outta this–
And there are Spackle falling everywhere under the firing of the rifles–
But as soon as one falls, there’s another right behind him–
FALL BACK! I hear in my Noise–
The Mayor, sending it out–
FALL BACK TO ME!
Not even yelling it, not even buzzing, just there, right in yer head–
And I see it–
Not believing it for a second–
All the soldiers left alive, about twelve now, move all together–
FALL BACK TO ME!
Like a herd of sheep moving from the bark of a dog–
EVERY MAN!
They move, still firing their guns, but coming backwards toward the Mayor, too, their feet even walking in the same rhythm, all those different men suddenly looking like the same man, like one man, climbing over the bodies of other soldiers like they ain’t even there–
TO ME!
TO ME!
And even I can feel my hands turning Angharrad’s reins to line up behind the Mayor–
Moving with the rest of ’em–
Boy colt!?
I curse myself and turn her away from the main fight–
But the soldiers are still coming, even as one and then another of ’em falls, here they come, now in two short rows, firing in unison–
And Spackle are dying in the gunfire, dropping to the ground–
And the men move back–
And Mr O’Hare’s come up next to me on his own horse, firing, too, in exact timing with the rest of ’em and I see a Spackle coming outta the woods nearest us, raising a white stick right at Mr O’Hare and–
GET DOWN! I think–
Think but don’t say–
And there’s a buzz from me to him, fast as anything–
And he gets down and the Spackle fires right over the top of him–
Mr O’Hare rises again and shoots the Spackle, then he turns back to me–
But instead of saying thanks, his eyes are full of white fury–
And then suddenly there’s silence–
The Spackle are gone. Not even so you can see ’em running away, just gone, and the attack’s over and there are dead soldiers and dead Spackle and the whole thing took less than a minute–
And here are two rows of surviving soldiers standing in perfectly straight lines, rifles all held up exactly the same, all looking to the spot where the Spackle first came from, all waiting to shoot again–
All waiting for their next order from the Mayor.
I see his face, burning with concentrayshun and a fierceness it’s hard to even look at.
And I know what it means.
It means his control’s getting better.
Getting quicker and stronger and sharper.
(But so’s mine, I think, so’s mine)
“Indeed,” the Mayor says. “Indeed it is, Todd.”
And it takes me a second to realize that even tho my Noise was silent, he still heard me–
“Let’s get back to town, Todd,” he says, smiling for the first time in ages. “I think maybe it’s time I tried something new.”
“That’s terrific, Wilf,” I hear Bradley say as I exit the scout ship, looking all around for Mistress Coyle. Wilf is moving a cart with huge vats of fresh water into place near the ship, ready for distribution.
“Tain’t nothin,” Wilf says to Bradley. “Just doin what needs doin.”
“Glad someone is,” I hear behind me. It’s Lee, returning early from the day’s hunting party.
“Did you see which way Mistress Coyle went?” I ask him.
“Hello to you, too,” he laughs. He holds up the forest hens he’s carrying. “I’m saving the fattest one for us. Simone and the Humanitarian can have the small one.”
“Don’t call him that,” I say, frowning.
Lee looks over at Bradley, who’s heading back into the ship. The half-circle of people who sit by the bay doors and watch – bigger today – just mutter to each other, and in the Noise of the few men there, Ivan included, I hear it again, The Humanitarian.
“He’s trying to save us,” I say to them. “He’s trying to make it so all of the people coming can live here in peace. With the Spackle.”
“Yeah,” Ivan calls over. “And while he’s doing it, he doesn’t seem to notice that his weapons’d bring peace a hell of a lot faster than humanitarian efforts.”
“His humanitarian efforts could guarantee you a long life, Ivan,” I say. “And you should mind your own goddam business.”
“I do believe survival is our business,” Ivan says loudly, and there’s a woman next to him agreeing, a smug smile on her dirty face, and even though she looks ashen from the same fever I’ve got and wears the same band I wear, I still want to smack her and smack her and smack her so she never looks at me that way again.
But Lee’s already taking my arm and leading me away, around the scout ship to the far side by the engines, still off, still cool, but the one place on the hill where no one’s going to make a tent.
“Stupid, small-minded people–” I’m ranting.
“I’m sorry, Viola,” Lee says, “but I kind of agree with them.”
“Lee–”
“President Prentiss killed my mother and sister,” he says. “Anything we could do to help stop the Spackle and him is fine by me.”
“You’re as bad as Mistress Coyle,” I say. “And she tried to kill you.”
“I’m just saying, if we’ve got the weapons, we could show more strength–”
“And guarantee slaughter for years to come!”
He smirks a little, infuriatingly. “You sound like Bradley. He’s the only one around here who talks like that.”
“Yes, because a hilltop full of frightened and hungry people are really going to offer a rational–”
And then I stop because Lee’s just looking at me. Looking at my nose. I can tell, because I can see myself in his Noise, see me shouting and getting angry, see my nose wrinkling like it must do when I’m mad, see the warmth of his feelings around that wrinkle–
And in a flash, there’s a picture of him and me in his Noise, holding each other tight, no clothes anywhere, and I’m seeing the blond hairs on his chest that I’ve never seen in real life, the downy, soft, surprisingly thick hair that trails all the way down to his belly button and below and–
“Oh, crap,” he says, stepping back.
“Lee?” I say, but he’s already turning and walking away fast, his Noise flooding with bright yellow embarrassment and he’s saying, loud, “I’m going back to the hunting party,” and walking away even faster–
And as I head off again in search of Mistress Coyle, I realize my skin feels incredibly hot, like I’m blushing all over–
Boy colt? Angharrad says to me all the way back into town after the Spackle attack, going faster than I’m even asking her to. Boy colt?
“Almost there, girl,” I say.
I ride into camp just behind the Mayor, who’s still practically glowing from how he controlled the men on the road just now. He slides off Juliet’s Joy, handing her to James, who’s waiting for us. I ride over to him, too, jumping off Angharrad’s saddle.
“I need some feed for her,” I say quickly. “Some water, too.”
“I’ve got feed all ready,” he says, as I guide her over to my tent. “But we’re rationing water so–”
“No,” I say, unbuckling the saddle from her as fast as I can. “You don’t unnerstand. She needs water now. We’ve just–”
“Is she bossing you around again?” James says.
And I turn to him, eyes wide open. He’s smiling back at me, not getting what we’ve just been thru at all, thinking that I’m being pushed around by my horse and not that I know how to take care of her, that she needs me–
“She’s a beauty,” he says, pulling a tangle outta Angharrad’s mane. “But you’re still the boss.”
And I can see him thinking, thinking about his farm, thinking about the horses he and his pa used to have, three of ’em, all tan-coloured with white noses, thinking about how they were taken by the army but how he ain’t seen ’em since, which probably means they died in battle–
A thought which makes Angharrad say Boy colt? again all worried-like–
And that makes me even angrier–
“No,” I say to James. “Get some extra water for her now.”
And barely even aware that I’m doing it, I’m staring at him hard, pushing with my Noise, reaching out and grabbing his–
Taking hold of it–
Taking hold of him–
And I am the Circle and the Circle is me–
“What are you doing, Todd?” he says, swatting away at the front of his face like he’s batting back a fly.
“Water,” I say. “Now.”
And I can feel the buzz coming, feel it flailing about in the air–
I’m sweating now, even in the cold–
And I can see him sweating, too–
Sweating and looking confused–
He furrows his brow. “Todd?”
And he says it in such a sad way, a way that sounds, I don’t know, betrayed, like I reached inside him and messed him about, that I almost stop right there. I almost stop concentrating, I almost stop reaching out to him–
But only almost.
“I’ll get her plenty of water,” he says, his eyes dazed. “I’ll get some right now.”
And off he goes, back towards the water tank.
I take a second to catch my breath.
I did it.
I did it again.
And it felt good.
It felt powerful.
“Oh, help,” I whisper under my breath, and I’m shaking so hard I have to sit down.
I find Mistress Coyle in a small group of women near the healing tents, her back to me.
“Hey!” I call, stomping over. My voice is very loud after what just happened with Lee, but I’m also feeling fainter than seems plausible and I wonder if I’m about to fall flat on my face.
Mistress Coyle turns and I see three women with her. Mistress Nadari and Mistress Braithwaite, neither of whom have even bothered to say a word to me since the Answer came to the hilltop, but I’m not looking at them.
I’m looking at Simone.
“You should be in bed, my girl,” Mistress Coyle says.
I glare at her. “You don’t just ask if I’m ready for something then walk off.”
Mistress Coyle looks at the others, including Simone, who nods. “Very well, my girl. If you’re that committed to knowing.”
I’m still breathing heavy and realizing from her tone that I’m probably not going to like this at all when she holds out her hand in a way that asks if she can take my arm. I don’t let her, but I go with her as she walks away from the healing tents, the other two mistresses and Simone walking behind us like bodyguards.
“We’ve been working on a theory,” Mistress Coyle says.
“We?” I say, looking again at Simone, who still says nothing.
“One that makes more sense as the days go by, I’m afraid,” Mistress Coyle says.
“Can you get to the point, please?” I say. “It’s been a long day and I don’t feel good.”
She nods, once. “All right then, my girl.” She stops and faces me. “We’re starting to think that there may be no cure for the bands.”
I put my hand up to my arm without thinking. “What?”
“We’ve had them for decades,” she says. “We had them on Old World, for heaven’s sake, and of course there’ve been instances of cruelty or pranks when humans have been banded. But we couldn’t find a single other case, not even Simone in your very extensive database, of this sort of infection.”
“But how–?”
And then I stop. Because I realize what she’s hinting at.
“You think the Mayor put something extra on them.”
“It’d be a way for him to harm a huge number of women without anyone knowing the real agenda.”
“But we would have heard,” I say. “With all the Noise of the men, there’d have been rumours–”
“Think about it, my girl,” Mistress Coyle says. “Think about his history. Think about the extermination of the women in old Prentisstown.”
“He says it was suicide,” I say, knowing how weak it sounds.
“We’ve found chemicals even I can’t identify, Viola,” Simone says. “There’s real danger here. Real implications.”
I get a sick feeling in my stomach at the way she says implications. “Since when have you been listening to the mistresses so closely?”
“Since I found out you and all the banded women might be in real danger from that man,” she says.
“You be careful,” I say. “She’s got a way of getting people to do what she wants.” I look at Mistress Coyle. “A way of getting people to sit in half-circles of judgment on the rest of us.”
“My girl,” Mistress Coyle says, “I did not–”
“What do you want with me?” I ask. “What do you want me to do about it?”
Mistress Coyle sighs angrily. “We want to know if your Todd knows anything, if there’s something he’s not telling us.”
I’m already shaking my head. “He would have told me. The second he saw it on my arm.”
“But can he find out, my girl?” Her voice is taut. “Would he help us find out?”
And it takes a moment to sink in. But when it does–
“Oh, now I get it.”
“Get what?” Mistress Coyle says.
“You want a spy.” My voice gets stronger as I get madder. “It’s the same old tricks, isn’t it? The same old Mistress Coyle, looking for every edge to give yourself more power.”
“No, my girl,” Mistress Coyle says. “We’ve found chemicals–”
“You’re up to something,” I say. “All this time, refusing to tell me how you made the first truce, waiting for the Mayor to make his move, and now you’re trying to use Todd like you used–”
“It’s fatal, my girl,” she says. “The infection is fatal.”
“The shame disappears, Todd,” the Mayor says, appearing behind me in that way he does as I watch James make his way thru the army camp to get Angharrad’s extra water.
“You did this to me,” I say, still trembling. “You put it in my head and made me–”
“I did no such thing,” he says. “I merely showed you the path. You walked down it all by yourself.”
I don’t say nothing. Cuz I know it’s true.
(but that hum I hear–)
(that hum I pretend ain’t there–)
“I’m not controlling you, Todd,” he says. “That was part of our agreement, which I’m keeping to. All that’s happened is you’ve found the power I’ve repeatedly said was in you. It’s desire, you see. You wanted it to happen. That’s the secret to it all.”
“No, it ain’t,” I say. “Everyone’s got desire, but they don’t go round being able to control folks.”
“That’s because the desire of most folks is to be told what to do.” He looks back across the square, covered in tents and soldiers and townsfolk all huddled together. “People say they want freedom, but what they really want is freedom from worry. If I take care of their problems, they don’t mind being told what to do.”
“Some people,” I say. “Not everyone.”
“No,” he says. “Not you. Which paradoxically makes you all the better at controlling others. There are two kinds of people in this world, Todd. Them.” He gestures at the army. “And us.”
“Don’t you include me in no us.”
But he just grins again. “Are you sure about that? I believe the Spackle are connected by their Noise, all bound up in one voice. What makes you think that men aren’t? What connects me and you, Todd, is that we know how to use that voice.”
“I ain’t gonna be like you,” I say. “I ain’t never gonna be like you.”
“No,” he says, his eyes flashing. “I think you’ll be better.”
And then there’s a sudden pulse of light–
Brighter than any electric light we’ve got anywhere–
Blazing cross the square–
As near the army as you can get without being in the middle of it–
“The water tank,” the Mayor says, already moving. “They’ve attacked the water tank!”
“Fatal?” I say.
“Four women so far,” Mistress Coyle says. “Another seven that won’t last the week. We’re keeping it quiet because we don’t want a panic.”
“That’s only ten or so out of a thousand,” I say. “Ones who were weak and ill anyway–”
“Are you willing to risk that belief on your own life? On the life of every banded woman here? Even amputating their arms didn’t work, Viola. Does that seem like a normal infection to you?”
“If you’re asking me if I believe you’d lie to get me to do exactly what you want, then what do you think my answer’s going to be?”
Mistress Coyle takes a slow deep breath, like she’s trying to keep her temper. “I’m the best healer here, my girl,” she says, her voice fierce with feeling, “and I could not stop those women from dying.” Her eyes fall to the bandages on my arm. “I might not be able to stop it for anyone with a band.”
I put my hand lightly to my arm again and feel the throb of it.
“Viola,” Simone says quietly. “The women are really sick.”
But no, I’m thinking. No–
“You don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “This is how she works. She turns a small truth into a bigger lie to get you to do what she wants–”
“Viola,” Mistress Coyle says–
“No,” I say, louder, because I’m thinking more. “I can’t risk you being right, can I? If it’s a lie, it’s a clever one, because if I’m wrong, we all die, so yeah, okay, I’ll see what I can find out from Todd.”
“Thank you,” Mistress Coyle says hotly.
“But,” I say, “I will not ask him to spy for you and you will do something for me in return.”
Mistress Coyle’s eyes light all over my face, seeing how much I mean it.
“Do what?” she finally says.
“You’ll quit putting me off and tell me, step by step, everything you did to make peace with the Spackle,” I say. “And then you’ll help me start the process up again. No more delays, no more waiting. We’ll start tomorrow.”
I can see her brain working, crafting whatever advantage she can get out of this. “I’ll tell you what–”
“No deals,” I say. “You do everything I ask or you get nothing.”
There’s only the smallest of pauses this time. “Agreed.”
And there’s a shout from the scout ship. Bradley’s running down the ramp, his Noise roaring. “Something’s happening in the town!”
We run towards the water tank, the soldiers in front of us parting to make way, even if their backs are turned–
And I can hear the Mayor working in their heads, telling ’em to move, telling ’em to get outta his way–
And as we get there, we can see it–
The water tank is teetering–
One leg has been nearly blown off, maybe even by one of those spinning fire things shot from close range, cuz sticky, white flames are spreading over the wood of the tank almost like liquid itself–
And there are Spackle everywhere–
Rifles are firing in all direkshuns and the Spackle are firing their white sticks and men are falling and Spackle are falling but that ain’t the worst problem–
“THE FIRE!” the Mayor screams, hitting it inside the head of everyone standing round him. “GET THAT FIRE OUT!”
And the men start to move–
But then something goes wrong, something goes really wrong–
Soldiers on the front line start dropping their rifles to get buckets of water–
Soldiers who were in mid-fire, soldiers who were right next to Spackle–
They just turn and leave like they’re suddenly blinded to the battle they were just fighting–
But the Spackle ain’t blinded and men start dying in bigger numbers, not even looking at who’s killing ’em–
WAIT! I hear the Mayor think. KEEP FIGHTING!
But there’s some kind of catch in it now, and some soldiers who dropped their guns pick ’em up again but others just stand there sorta frozen, not knowing which to do–
And then they fall to the ground, too, hit by Spackle weapons–
And I see the Mayor’s face, see it nearly splitting with concentrayshun, trying to get some men to do one thing, other men to do another, and it’s all adding up to no one doing nothing and more men are dying and the water tank is gonna fall–
“Mr President?!” Mr O’Hare yells, storming in with his rifle and almost immediately struck dumb by the Mayor’s messed-up control–
And the Spackle see that the army’s confused, that we’re not doing what we should be doing, that only some soldiers are firing, but others are just standing there and we’re letting the fire spread to the foodstore–
And I can feel it in the Spackle Noise, even if I don’t know the words, they’re smelling a victory bigger than they thought possible, maybe the final victory–
And all the while, I ain’t frozen–
I don’t know why but I’m the only one who don’t seem to be stuck under the Mayor’s control–
Maybe he ain’t in my head after all–
But I can’t stop to think about what that means–
And I grab my rifle by the barrel and swing it hard right into the Mayor’s ear–
He calls out and stumbles sideways–
The soldiers nearby yell, too, as if someone punched ’em–
The Mayor sinks to one knee, hand on his head, blood spilling twixt his fingers, a whine in the air coming from his Noise–
But I’m already turning to Mr O’Hare and yelling, “Get a line of men firing, now, now, NOW!”
And I’m feeling the buzz a bit but I don’t know if it’s my words working or if he sees what needs to be done but he’s already leaping and shouting to the soldiers nearest him to line up, to get their effing rifles in the air, to FIRE–
And as the gunshots start ripping thru the air again and as the Spackle start falling again and moving back, tripping over themselves in the sudden change, I see Mr Tate running up to us and I don’t even let him open his mouth–
“Put that fire OUT!” I yell.
And he looks at the Mayor, still kneeling, still bleeding, and then he gives me a nod, and starts yelling at another group of soldiers to get buckets, to save our water and food–
And the world is taking off all round us, screaming and yelling and tearing itself to pieces and there’s a line of soldiers now pressing forward, pushing the Spackle back from the water tank–
And I’m standing over the Mayor, who’s kneeling there, holding his head, the blood seeping out all thick-like and I ain’t kneeling down next to him, I ain’t seeing if he’s all right, I ain’t doing nothing to help him.
But I find I ain’t leaving him neither.
“You hit me, Todd,” I hear him say, his voice as thick as his blood.
“You needed to be hit, you idiot! You were gonna get everyone killed!”
He looks up at that, his hand still to his head. “I was,” he says. “You were right to stop me.”
“No effing kidding.”
“But you did it, Todd,” the Mayor says, breathing heavy. “For a minute there, when the moment called for it. You were a leader of men.”
And then the water tank collapses.
“There’s been a big attack,” Bradley says as we run towards him.
“How big?” I say, reaching immediately for my comm.
“There was a bright flash on one of the probes and then–”
He stops because we hear another sound.
Screaming at the edge of the forest.
“What now?” Simone says.
Voices rise at the line of trees, and we see people standing up from their campfires and more screams–
And Lee–
Lee–
Stumbling out of the crowd–
Covered in blood–
Holding his hands to his face–
“LEE!”
And I’m running as fast as I can, though the fever’s slowing me down and I can’t catch my breath and Bradley and Mistress Coyle are running past me, and they’re grabbing Lee and laying him down on the ground, Mistress Coyle having to forcibly pull his hands away from his bloody face–
And another voice screams in the crowd–
As we see–
Lee’s eyes–
They’re gone–
Just gone–
Burned away in a slash of blood–
Burned away as if by acid–
“Lee!” I say, kneeling down beside him. “Lee, can you hear me?”
“Viola?” he says, reaching out with his bloody hands. “I can’t see you! I can’t see!”
“I’m here!” I grab his hands, holding them tight. “I’m here!”
“What happened, Lee?” Bradley says, low and calm. “Where’s the rest of the hunting party?”
“They’re dead,” Lee says. “Oh, God, they’re dead. Magnus is dead.”
And we know what he’s going to say next, know because we can see it in his Noise–
“The Spackle,” Lee says. “The Spackle are coming.”
The legs of the tank give way and the huge metal container of water comes tumbling down, almost too slow to be real–
It smashes to the ground, crushing at least one soldier underneath it–
And every drop of water we had to drink comes rushing out in a solid wall–
Heading right for us–
The Mayor’s still wobbly on his feet, still woozy–
“RUN!” I shout, sending it out in my Noise while grabbing a handful of the Mayor’s precious uniform and dragging him away–
The wall of water slams up the street and into the square after us, knocking over soldiers and Spackle, sweeping up tents and beds in one great big soup–
And it’s putting out the fire in the foodstore, but it’s putting it out with the last of our water–
And I’m dragging the Mayor nearly on his heels, getting us outta the way, thru soldiers I’m shouting at to “MOVE!” as we near–
And they do move–
And we make it up the front steps of a house–
And the water rushes past us, sloshing up after us to our knees, but rushing by and getting lower every second, sinking into the ground–
Taking our future with it.
And then almost as fast as it came, it’s gone, leaving a sopping square covered in mess and bodies of all sorts–
And I just catch my breath for a second and look out on the chaos, the Mayor recovering beside me–
And then I see–
Oh, no–
There, on the ground, pushed to the side by the water–
No–
James.
James, lying face-up, staring up at the sky above–
A hole through his throat.
I’m faintly aware of dropping my rifle, of running over to him, splashing thru the water and falling to my knees beside him.
James who I controlled. James who I sent over this way for no good reason other than my desire–
James who I sent right to his death.
Oh, no.
Oh, please, no.
“Well, that’s a damn shame,” the Mayor says behind me, sounding true, sounding almost kind. “I’m very sorry about your friend. But you did save me, Todd. Twice. Once from my own foolishness and once from a wall of water.”
I don’t say nothing. I ain’t taking my eyes off James’s face, still innocent, still nice and open and friendly, even when there ain’t no sound coming outta him at all.
The battle’s leaving us now. Mr O’Hare’s guns are blazing on distant streets. But what good will it do?
They got the water tank.
They’ve killed us.
I barely hear the Mayor sigh. “I think it’s time I met these settler friends of yours, Todd,” he says. “And I think it’s finally time I had a nice long talk with Mistress Coyle.”
I use my fingertips to close James’s eyes, remembering when I did it for Davy Prentiss, feeling the same hollowness in my Noise, and I can’t even think I’m sorry cuz it don’t feel like nearly enough, not like nearly enough at all, no matter if I said it for the rest of my life.
“The Spackle have turned terrorist, Todd,” the Mayor says, tho I ain’t much listening. “And maybe it takes a terrorist to fight a terrorist.”
And then we both hear it. Over the chaos in the square, there’s another ROAR, a whole different kind of roar in a world that seems to be made outta roaring.
We look east, up over the ruins of the cathedral, past the rickety brick bell tower, still standing, still looking like it shouldn’t.
In the distance, the scout ship has taken to the air.
I am submerged in the Voice of the Land.
I am attacking the Clearing, feeling the weapons fire in my hands, seeing their soldiers die with my eyes, hearing the roars and screams of battle in my ears. I am up on the hilltop, on the rugged lip of it overlooking the valley below, but I am there in the battle as well, living it through the voices of those fighting, those giving up their lives for the Land.
And I watch as the water tank falls, though the Land close enough to see it fall die rapidly under the hand of the Clearing, each death a terrible tear at the voice of the Land, a sudden absence that pulls and pains–
But is necessary–
Necessary in small numbers only, the Sky shows to me, watching, too. Necessary to save the entire body of the Land.
And necessary to finish this war before the convoy arrives, I show back, hitting the strange word that I did not teach him.
There is time, the Sky shows, his concentration still on the city below, still on the voices that reach us from there, fewer now, more on the run.
There is? I ask, surprised, wondering how he knows for sure–
But I set my concerns aside, because the Sky’s voice opens to remind me of what is still to come tonight, now that the first goal of toppling the water tank is achieved.
One way or another, tonight is where the war will change.
Their water was the first step.
All-out invasion is the second.
The Land has not been idle these past days. The Land’s parties have attacked the Clearing unpredictably, from different directions at different times, hitting them hard in surprising and isolated spots. The Land are far more at one with the ground and the trees than the Clearing and can disguise themselves more easily, and the Clearing’s floating lights dare not get too close or the Land will shoot them down.
The Clearing could fire their larger weapons down the river, of course, hitting even the Sky himself, though they cannot know he watches them from so near.
But if they did fire, the river would come to drown them.
And there may be another reason. For why would the Clearing have such a powerful weapon and not use it? Why would they allow themselves to be attacked again and again, in increasing severity, and not answer back?
Unless, as we originally barely dared to hope, they had no more weapons to fire.
I wish I was down there, I show, as we continue to watch through the voice of the Land. I wish I was firing a rifle. Firing it into the Knife.
You do not, the Sky shows, his voice low and thoughtful. They will be desperate now. We have progressed this far because they have not made a coordinated response.
And you want them to, I show.
The Sky wants the Clearing to show itself.
We can attack now, I show, my excitement growing. They are in chaos. If we acted now–
We will wait, the Sky shows, until we hear the voices from the far hilltop.
The far hilltop. Our distant voices, the parts of the Land that go out to gather information, have shown us how the Clearing has divided itself into two camps. One in the city below, another on a hilltop in the distance. We have left the hilltop alone so far because they seem to be those of the Clearing that have fled the battle, those that are not interested in fighting. But we also know that the vessel landed there, and that the larger weapon was more than likely fired from there, too.
We have been unable to get close enough to see if they have more weapons.
But tonight we find out for certain.
The Land is ready, I show, barely able to contain my excitement. The Land is ready to attack.
Yes, shows the Sky. The Land is ready.
And in his voice, I see them.
The massed bodies of the Land to the north of the city and the south of it, too, gathered there slowly these past days, along paths the Clearing is unaware of, kept just distant enough for the Clearing to be unable to hear them.
And in the Sky’s voice I see another massed body, hidden, but ready and waiting near the far hilltop.
Right now, this moment, the Land is ready to march in full force on the Clearing.
And slaughter them all.
We will wait for news from the far hilltop, the Sky shows again, more firmly this time. Patience. The warrior who strikes too early is a warrior lost.
And if the voices show what we want them to show?
He looks at me, a glint in his eye, a glint that expands into his voice, that grows to the size of the world around me, showing what is to come, showing what will happen, showing all that I want to be true.
If, he shows, the voices from the hilltop find that the Clearing have indeed spent all of their big weapons–
Then the war ends tonight, I show. With victory.
He presses a hand on my shoulder, wrapping me in his voice, warming me with it, pulling me into the voice of the entire Land.
If and only if, he shows.
If and only if, I show back.
And in a low voice, maybe even one that only I can hear, the Sky shows, Does the Return now trust the Sky?
I do, I show without hesitation. I am sorry if I doubted you.
And I get a feeling in my stomach, a tingling feeling of prophecy and future, a feeling that it must happen tonight, that it will happen, that all I want for the fate of the Clearing is here and now, in front of me, in front of all of us, that the Burden will be avenged, that my one in particular will be avenged, that I will be avenged–
And then a sudden roaring splits the night in two.
What is it? I show, but I can feel the Sky’s voice searching, too, reaching out into the night, looking with his eyes as well, searching for the sound, feeling the rising terror that it is another weapon, that we were mistaken, that–
There, he shows.
In the distance, far away and small, on the far hilltop–
Their vessel is rising into the air.
We watch as it lumbers up into the night, like a river swan in the first heavy beats of its wings–
Can we not see closer? the Sky shows, sending it out far and wide. Is there not a voice closer?
The vessel, little more than a light in the distance, begins a slow circle over the far hilltop, tilting as it turns, and we see small flashes from its underside, dropping into the forest below, flashes that grow suddenly brighter in the trees, accompanied seconds later by booming sounds rolling across the valley towards us.
And here come the voices from the hilltop–
The Sky cries out, and we are suddenly under the flashes dropping from the ship, under the great booming explosions ripping through the trees, flashes everywhere from every side, impossible to run from, exploding the whole world, the Land’s eyes seeing the flashes and feeling the pain and then snuffing out like a doused fire–
And I hear the Sky send forth the immediate command to pull back.
No! I shout.
The Sky looks at me sharply. You would have them slaughtered?
They are willing to die. And now is our chance–
The Sky strikes me across the face with the back of his hand.
I stagger back, astonished, feeling the pain ring through my entire head.
You said you trusted the Sky, did you not? he shows, the anger in his voice gripping me so hard it hurts.
You hit me.
DID YOU NOT? His voice knocks all thought out of my head.
I stare back at him, my own anger rising. But, Yes, I show.
Then you will trust me now. He turns to the Pathways, waiting in an arc behind him. Bring the Land back from the far hilltop. The Land to the north and the south will await my instructions.
The Pathways immediately set out to deliver the Sky’s orders directly to the Land that waits for them.
Orders given in the language of the Burden so I am sure to understand them.
Orders for retreat.
Not attack.
The Sky will not look at me, keeping his back turned, but once again, I am a better reader of him than any of the Land here, maybe better than the Land is supposed to read its Sky.
You expected this, I show. You expected more weapons.
He still does not look at me, but a change in his voice shows me I am right. The Sky did not lie to the Return, he shows. If there had been no further weapons, we would be overrunning them this very moment.
But you knew there would be weapons. You let me believe–
You believed what you hoped to be true, the Sky shows. Nothing I could have said would have taken that from you.
My voice still rings with the pain from his slap.
I am sorry I struck you, he says.
And in his apology, I see it. For the briefest of seconds, I see it.
Like the sun through the clouds, a flash of unmistakable light.
I see his essentially peaceful nature.
You wish to make peace with them, I show. You wish to make a truce.
His voice hardens. Have I not shown the opposite to be true?
You are keeping the possibility open.
No wise leader would do anything else. And you will learn that. You must.
I blink, baffled. Why?
But he just looks back across the valley, back to the far hilltop where the vessel still flies.
We have awakened the beast, he shows. We shall see how angry it gets.