The attack comes from nowhere. The leader of the Spackle, the Sky, as he calls himself, approaches us with greetings–
But suddenly there’s another running towards him, a brutal stone blade in his hand, polished and heavy–
And he’s going to kill the Sky–
He’s going to kill his own leader–
At the peace talks, this is going to happen–
The Sky is turning, seeing the one with the sword come and he reaches out to stop him–
But the one with the sword ducks past him easily–
Ducks past him and runs towards me and Bradley–
Runs towards me–
“Viola!” I hear Bradley shout–
And he’s turning Angharrad to come between us but they’re two steps behind at least–
And the ground is empty between me and the one running–
And I’m stumbling back into Acorn’s legs–
Girl colt! Acorn says–
And I’m falling back to the ground–
And there’s no time–
The Spackle’s on me–
The blade’s in the air–
And I raise my arm in a hopeless attempt to protect myself–
And–
The blade doesn’t fall.
The blade doesn’t fall.
I glance back up.
The Spackle is staring at my arm.
My sleeve has dropped back and my bandage has come off as I’ve fallen and he’s staring at the band on my arm–
The red, infected, sick-looking band with the number 1391 etched onto it–
And then I see it–
Halfway up his own forearm, as scarred and messy as mine–
A band reading 1017–
And this is Todd’s Spackle, the one he set free from the Mayor’s genocide at the monastery with a band all his own that’s clearly infected him, too–
He’s frozen his swing, the blade in the air, ready to fall but not falling, as he stares at my arm–
And then a pair of hooves strike him hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards across the clear ground–
“VIOLA!”
I’m screaming my head off, looking for a horse to ride, a fissioncar, anything to get me up that hill–
“It’s okay, Todd!” the Mayor shouts, looking at the projeckshun. “It’s all right! Your horse kicked him away.”
I look back to the projeckshun just in time to see 1017 hit the ground a buncha metres from where he was just standing, tumbling down in a heap, and Angharrad’s hind legs coming back to the ground–
“Oh, good girl!” I yell. “Good horse!” And I grab my comm, shouting, “Viola! Viola, are you there?”
And now I see Bradley kneeling down to Viola and the Spackle leader grabbing up 1017 and pretty much throwing him back to the other Spackle, who drag him away, and I see Viola digging in her pocket for her comm–
“Todd?” she says.
“Are you okay?” I say.
“That was your Spackle, Todd!” she says. “The one you let go!”
“I know,” I say, “if I ever see him again, I’m gonna–”
“He stopped when he saw the band on my arm.”
“Viola?” Simone breaks in from the scout ship.
“Don’t fire!” Viola says quickly. “Don’t fire!”
“We’re going to get you out of there,” Simone says.
“NO!” Viola snaps. “Can’t you see they didn’t expect that?”
“Let her get you outta there, Viola!” I yell. “It’s not safe. I knew I never shoulda let you–”
“Listen to me, both of you,” she says. “It’s stopping, can’t you–?”
She breaks off and in the projeckshun the leader of the Spackle has come near ’em again, his hands out in a peaceful way.
“He’s saying he’s sorry,” Viola says. “He’s saying it’s not what they wanted . . .” She breaks off for a second. “His Noise is more pictures than words, but I think he’s saying that one is crazy or something.”
I feel a little stab at this. 1017 crazy. 1017 driven crazy.
Course he would be. Who wouldn’t be after what happened to him?
But that don’t mean he gets to attack Viola–
“He’s saying he wants the peace talks to continue,” Viola says, “and oh–”
In the projeckshun, the leader of the Spackle takes her hand and helps her to her feet. He gestures to the Spackle in the half-circle and they part and some more Spackle bring out these thin strips of wood woven into chairs, one for each of ’em.
“What’s going on?” I say into the comm.
“I think he’s–” she stops and the half-circle parts once more and another Spackle comes thru, his arms full of fruits and fish and a Spackle next to him carries a woven-wood table. “They’re offering us food,” Viola says and at the same time I hear Bradley say, “Thank you” in the background.
“I think the peace talks are back on,” Viola says.
“Viola–”
“No, I mean it, Todd. How many chances are we going to get?”
I fume for a second but she’s got a stubborn sound in her voice. “Well, you leave the comm open, you hear?”
“I agree,” Simone says on the other channel. “And you be sure to tell their leader how close they came to being vapours and rubble just now.”
There’s a pause and in the projeckshun, the leader of the Spackle pulls up straight in his chair.
“He says he knows,” Viola says, “and that–”
And then we hear it, the words coming thru, and it’s our language, in a voice that sounds kinda like us but like it’s made of a million voices saying the exact same thing.
The Land regrets the actions of the Return, it says.
I look at the Mayor. “What’s that sposed to mean?”
“The honest truth,” Bradley says, “is that we can’t leave. It was a one-way trip, decades long. Our forefathers saw this planet as a prime candidate for settlement, and the deep space probes–” he clears his throat in discomfort, though you can already see what he’s going to say in his Noise “–the deep space probes didn’t show any signs of intelligent life here, so–”
So the Clearing cannot leave, the Sky says, looking beyond us at the scout ship hovering there. The Clearing cannot leave.
“I’m sorry?” Bradley says. “The what?”
But the Clearing has much to answer for, the Sky says, and his Noise shows us a picture of the one who ran at us with a blade, the one with the band on his arm, the one that Todd knew–
And there’s feeling behind it, communicated directly as feeling, outside of language, feelings of terrible sadness, not for us, not for the interruption to the peace talks, but for the one who attacked us, sadness coming now with images of the Spackle genocide, images of 1017 surviving it and finding the rest of the Spackle, feelings of how damaged he is, how damaged we made him–
“I’m not excusing that,” I interrupt, “but that wasn’t us.”
The Sky stops his Noise and looks at me. And it feels as if every Spackle on the face of this planet is looking at me, too.
I choose my words carefully.
“Bradley and I are new here,” I say. “And we’re very eager not to repeat the mistakes of the first settlers.”
Mistakes? says the Sky, and his Noise opens again with images of what can only be the first Spackle War–
Pictures of death on a scale I hadn’t even imagined–
Pictures of Spackle dying by the thousands–
Pictures of atrocities at the hands of men–
Pictures of children, babies–
“We can’t do anything about what’s happened,” I say, trying to look away but his Noise is everywhere, “but we can do something to keep it from happening again.”
“Starting with an immediate ceasefire,” Bradley adds, looking stricken under the weight of the pictures. “That’s the first thing we can agree on. We’ll make no further attacks on you, and you’ll make no further attacks on us.”
The Sky merely opens his Noise again, showing a wall of water ten times as tall as a man, rushing down the riverbed where we sit, wiping out all before it as it slams into the valley below, erasing New Prentisstown from the map.
Bradley sighs and then opens his own Noise with missiles from the scout ship incinerating this hilltop and then more missiles falling from orbit, falling from a height the Spackle couldn’t hope to retaliate against, destroying the entire Spackle race in a cloud of fire.
The Sky’s Noise gets a satisfied feeling, like we were just confirming what he already knew.
“So that’s where we stand,” I say, coughing. “Now what are we going to do about it?”
There’s a longer pause and then the Sky’s Noise opens again.
And we begin to talk.
“They’ve been at it for hours,” I say, watching the projeckshun from the campfire. “What’s taking ’em so long?”
“Quiet, please, Todd,” the Mayor says, trying to catch every word over my comm. “It’s important we know everything that’s discussed.”
“What’s there to discuss?” I say. “We all stop fighting and live in peace.”
The Mayor gives me a look.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, “but she ain’t well. She can’t just sit up there in the cold all day.”
We’re around our campfire now, me and the Mayor, with Mr Tate and Mr O’Hare watching with us. Everyone in town’s watching the projeckshuns, too, tho with less interest as time goes on cuz watching people talk for hours ain’t that interesting, no matter how important. Wilf eventually said he needed to get back to Jane and took Mistress Coyle’s ox-cart back to the hilltop.
“Viola?” we hear over the comm. It’s Simone.
“Yes?” Viola answers.
“Just an update on our fuel, sweetheart,” Simone says. “The cells can keep us hovering here through the early part of the evening, but after that you’re going to need to start thinking about coming back tomorrow.”
I press a button on my comm. “Don’t you leave her there,” I say. I see the Spackle leader and Bradley both look surprised in the projeckshun. “Don’t you let her outta yer sight.”
But it’s Mistress Coyle who answers. “Don’t you worry, Todd,” she says. “They’re going to know how strong and committed we are if we have to run this ship dry.”
I look baffled at the Mayor for a minute.
“Broadcasting for the folks on the hilltop, are we, Mistress?” he says raising his voice so the comm can hear.
“Would everyone shut up, please?” Viola says. “Or I’m going to turn this thing off.”
This sets off another chain of coughing in her and I see how pale and thin and small she looks in the projeckshun. It’s the smallness that hurts. Sizewise, she’s always been just smaller than me.
But I think of her and I feel like she’s as big as the world.
“You call me if you need anything,” I say to her. “Anything at all.”
“I will,” she says.
And then there’s a beep and we don’t hear nothing more.
The Mayor looks surprised up into the projeckshun. Bradley and Viola are talking to the Spackle leader again but we can’t hear nothing anyone’s saying. She’s cut off all sound.
“Thank you very much, Todd,” Mistress Coyle says, all annoyed thru the comm.
“She wasn’t shutting me up,” I say. “It’s you all trying to butt in.”
“Stupid little bint,” I hear Mr O’Hare mutter from the other side of the campfire.
“WHAT did you say?” I shout, getting to my feet and staring bullets at him.
Mr O’Hare stands, too, breathing heavy, looking for a fight. “Now we can’t hear what’s going on, can we? That’s what you get for sending a little girl to–”
“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.
“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.”
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 effort 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,” 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!”
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?” 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.”
“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.”
“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.”
“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?”
“None of the Spackle are bothering us, but we haven’t seen their leader for a bit.” She lowers her voice. “Simone’s readying the ship to get back up in the air and prepping the weapons, too.” I hear disappointment creep into her voice. “Looks like it won’t be peace after all.”
I’m about to say something back when I hear the Mayor say, “Now, Captain,” to Mr Tate, who’s been waiting patiently.
Mr Tate picks up a burning torch from the campfire.
“Now what?” I say.
Mr Tate raises the torch high above his head.
“Now what?”
And the world splits itself in two.
An explosion rings across the valley, echoing back on itself again and again, rumbling like thunder. Bradley helps me to my feet, and we look out. The moons are thin slivers in the night sky and it’s hard to see anything but the campfires of the city.
“What happened?” Bradley’s demanding. “What was that?”
I hear a surge of Noise and I look behind us. The half-circle of Spackle is wide awake now, getting to their feet, coming closer to us, pressing towards the edge of the hill as they look into the valley, too–
Where we all see smoke rising.
“But–” Bradley starts to say–
The Sky bursts through the line of Spackle behind us. We hear him before we see him, his Noise a rush of sound and images and–
And surprise–
He’s surprised–
He storms past us to the edge of the hill, looking into the city below–
“Viola?” I hear Simone say on the comm.
“Was that you?” I say.
“No, we weren’t ready yet–”
“Who fired then?” Mistress Coyle cuts in.
“And where?” Bradley says.
Because the smoke isn’t coming from the south, where even now we can see lights in the trees and another set of lights heading out from the city to meet them.
The smoke and the explosion came from north of the river, up on the hillside in the abandoned orchards.
And then there’s another.
The second is as loud as the first and it lights up the night just north and west of town and the soldiers are getting outta their tents at the sound of it and staring as the smoke starts to rise.
“I think one more should do it, Captain,” says the Mayor.
Mr Tate nods and raises the torch again. There’s another man up in the rickety cathedral bell tower I can see now, who lit his torch when Mr Tate raised his for the first time, passing the message on to men down the riverbank–
Men at the controls of the artillery the Mayor still commands–
The artillery taken outta use when we suddenly had a scout ship to protect us with bigger and better weapons–
But artillery that still works just fine, thank you very much–
I lift my comm again, which is squawking all over the place with voices, including Viola’s, trying to figure out what’s happened–
“It’s the Mayor,” I say into it.
“Where’s he firing?” she says. “That’s not where the lights were coming from–”
And then the comm is nicked right outta my hand by the Mayor, triumph all over his face, just glowing in the firelight–
“Yes, but that’s where the Spackle actually are, dear girl,” he says, spinning to keep me from taking the comm back. “Just ask your friend the Sky, why don’t you? He’ll tell you.”
And I do get it back from him but the smile on his face is so unnerving I can barely look at it.
It’s a smile like he’s won something. Like he’s won the biggest thing of all.
“What does he mean?” Mistress Coyle says over the comm in a panic. “Viola, what does he mean?!”
The Sky is turning to us now, his Noise swirling so fast with images and feelings it’s impossible to read anything.
But he doesn’t look happy.
“I’ve got the probes where the President fired,” Simone’s voice says. “Oh, my God.”
“Here,” Bradley says, taking the comm from me. He presses a few things and suddenly the comm is flashing up a smaller three-dimensional picture like the larger remote projectors we have down below and there, hovering in the night air, lit up by my small little comm–
Bodies.
Spackle bodies. Carrying all the weapons Bradley saw in the glimpse of Noise. Dozens of them, enough to wreak all kinds of havoc on the town–
Enough to take Todd and the Mayor, kill them both if they couldn’t be taken–
And no lights to be seen anywhere.
“If those bodies are in the northern hills,” I ask, “what are the lights to the south?”
“Nothing!” Mr O’Hare shouts, running back into camp. “There’s nothing there! A few torches left burning in the ground but nothing!”
“Yes, Captain,” says the Mayor. “I know.”
Mr O’Hare pulls up short. “You knew?”
“Of course I did.” The Mayor turns to me. “May I please use the comm again, Todd?”
He holds out his hand. I don’t give it to him.
“I promised to save Viola, didn’t I?” he says. “What do you think would have happened to her if the Spackle had been allowed to win their little victory tonight? What do you think would have happened to us?”
“How did you know they’d attack?” I ask. “How did you know it was a trick?”
“How did I save us all, you mean?” He’s still holding out his hand. “I’ll ask you one more time, Todd. Do you trust me?”
I look at his face, his completely untrustworthy, unredeemable face.
(and I hear the hum, just a little bit–)
(and okay, I know–)
(I know he’s in my head–)
(I ain’t no fool–)
(but he did save us–)
(and he gave me my ma’s words–)
I hand him the comm.
The Sky’s Noise whirls like a storm. We’ve all seen what’s happened in the projection. We can all hear the cheering of the soldiers down in the town. We can all feel the distant rumble of the scout ship as it rises and recrosses the valley.
I wonder what’s going to happen to me and Bradley. I wonder if it’ll be quick.
Bradley’s still arguing, though. “You attacked us,” he says. “We came here in good faith and you–”
The comm beeps, much louder than usual.
“I think it’s time my voice was heard, Bradley.”
It’s the Mayor again, and somehow his face, too, big and gloating and smiling in the hovering picture projected from it. He’s even turned as if he’s facing the Sky.
As if he’s looking him right in the eye.
“You thought you’d learned something, didn’t you?” he asks. “You thought your captured soldier had looked into me and saw that I could read Noise as deeply as you, isn’t that right? So you thought to yourself, here’s something I can use.”
“How’s he doing this?” we hear Mistress Coyle on a voice-only line. “He’s broadcasting out to the hilltop–”
“So you sent him back to us as a peace envoy,” the Mayor goes on, like he didn’t hear her, “and had him show me just enough to make me think I discovered your plan to attack us from the south. But there was another plan below, wasn’t there? Buried far too deep for any . . .” he pauses for effect “. . . Clearing to read.
The Sky’s Noise flares.
“Get that comm away from him!” Mistress Coyle’s voice shouts. “Cut him off!”
“But you didn’t count on my abilities,” the Mayor says. “You didn’t count that I can read deeper perhaps than even any Spackle, deep enough to see the real plan.”
The Sky’s face is expressionless but his Noise is loud and open and stirring with anger.
Stirring with the knowledge that the Mayor’s words are all true.
“I looked into the eyes of your peace envoy,” the Mayor says, “into your eyes and I read everything. I heard the voice speak and I saw you coming.” He brings the comm forward so his face looms larger in the projection. “So know this, and know it well,” he says. “If it comes to battle between us, the victory will be mine.”
Then he’s gone. His face and the image blink out so that the Sky is only staring back at us. We hear the scout ship’s engines, but they’re still half the valley away. The Spackle here are heavily armed, but that hardly matters because the Sky himself could take out me and Bradley on his own if he needed to.
But the Sky remains still, his Noise spinning and swirling darkly, again as if every eye of the Spackle is in him, watching us and considering what’s happened–
And deciding his next move.
And then he takes a step forward.
I step back without meaning to, bumping into Bradley, who puts a hand on my shoulder.
So be it, the Sky says.
And then he says, Peace.
Peace, we hear, from the leader of the Spackle’s own Noise, boomed across the square, just like the Mayor’s voice did, his face filling the projeckshun–
And the cheering around us is as loud as the world.
“How did you do that?” I say, looking down at my comm.
“You do have to sleep sometimes, Todd,” he says. “Can you blame me if I’m curious about new technologies?”
“Congratulations, sir,” Mr Tate says, shaking the Mayor’s hand. “That showed ’em.”
“Thank you, Captain,” the Mayor says. He turns to Mr O’Hare, who’s looking way more grudging about being sent running for nothing.
“You did fine work,” the Mayor says. “We had to look convincing. That’s why I couldn’t tell you.”
“Of course, sir,” says Mr O’Hare, not sounding like it’s very fine at all.
And then the soldiers crowd in, each wanting to shake the Mayor’s hand, too, each one telling him how he outsmarted the Spackle, each one saying that the Mayor’s the one who won the peace, that he did it without the help of the scout ship, that he really showed ’em, didn’t he?
And the Mayor just takes it all in, accepting every word of it.
Every word of praise for his victory.
And for a second, just for a second–
I feel a little bit proud.
I raise my knife, the one I stole from the cooking huts on my way here, a knife used for the butchery of game, long and heavy, sharp and brutal.
I raise it over the Source.
I could have made peace impossible, I could have made this war unending, I could have torn the life and heart out of the Knife–
But I did not.
I saw her band.
Saw the pain obvious even in one of the voiceless Clearing.
She had been marked, too, just as they marked the Burden, with what seemed to be the same effect.
And I remembered the pain of the banding, the pain not only in my arm but in the way the band encircled my self as well, took what was me and made it smaller, so that all the Clearing ever saw was the band on my arm, not me, not my face, not my voice which was also taken–
Taken to make us like the Clearing’s own voiceless ones.
And I could not kill her.
She was like me. She was banded like me.
And then the beast reared up its hind legs and kicked me across the ground, probably breaking more than one bone in my chest, bones that ache even now, which did not stop the Sky from grabbing me up and flinging me into the arms of the Land, showing, If you do not speak with the Land, then it is because you have chosen it.
And I understood. I was being properly exiled. The Return would not return.
The Land took me from the peace grounds and deep into the camp, where they roughly sent me on my way.
But I was not going to leave without the Sky’s final promise.
I stole a knife and came here–
Where I stand ready to kill the Source.
I look up as the news of the Sky’s attempts to secretly attack the Clearing flashes through the Pathways’ End. So that was his plan, one that would show the Clearing just how effective an enemy we are, how we could walk into their stronghold during peace talks, take the specific enemies we wanted and give them the justice they deserve. The peace that would flow from that, if peace it was, would be one that we dictated.
That was why he asked me to trust him.
But he has failed. He has admitted defeat. He has called for peace. And the Land will cower under the Clearing and the peace will not be a peace of strength for the Land, it will be a peace of weakness–
And I stand over the Source with my knife. I stand ready to take the revenge long since denied me.
I stand ready to kill him.
I knew this is where you would go, the Sky shows, entering the Pathways’ End behind me.
Have you not a peace to be making? I show back, not moving from where I stand. Have you not a Land to betray?
Have you not a man to be killing? he shows.
You promised me this, I show. You promised he would be mine to do with as I pleased. And so I will do this thing and then I will go.
And then the Return will be lost to us, the Sky shows. Will be lost to himself.
I look back at him, pointing at the band with my knife. I was lost to myself when they put this on me. I was lost to myself when they killed every other member of the Burden. I was lost when the Sky refused to take revenge for my life.
So take it now, the Sky shows. I will not stop you.
I stare into him, into his voice, into his failure.
And I see, here in the Pathways’ End where secrets live, I see that it is a bigger failure than even that.
You were going to give me the Knife, I marvel. That was your surprise. You would have given me the Knife.
My voice begins to burn at the realization. That I could have had the Knife, I could have had the Knife himself–
But you failed at even that, I show, furious.
And so you will have your revenge on the Source, he shows. Again, I will not stop you.
No, I nearly spit at him. No, you will not.
And I turn back round to the Source–
And I raise my knife–
He lies there, his voice burbling in the way of dreams. It has given up all its secrets here at the Pathways’ End, lying here all these weeks and months, open and useful, returning from the brink of silence, immersed in the voice of the Land.
The Source. The father of the Knife.
How the Knife will weep when he hears. How he will wail and moan and blame himself and hate me, as I take someone beloved from him–
(And I feel the Sky’s voice behind me showing me my own one in particular, but why now–?)
I will have my revenge–
I will make the Knife hurt like I do–
I will–
I will do it now–
And–
And–
And I begin to roar–
Rising up through my voice and out into the world, a roar of my whole self, my whole voice, my every feeling and scar, my every wound and hurt, a roar of my memories and my lostness, a roar for my one in particular–
A roar for myself–
A roar for my weakness–
Because–
I cannot do it–
I cannot do it–
I am as bad as the Knife himself.
I cannot do it.
I collapse to the ground, the roar echoing round the Pathways’ End, echoing in the voice of the Sky, echoing for all I know through the Land outside and back through the emptiness that has opened in me, the emptiness big enough to swallow me whole–
And then I feel the voice of the Sky on me, gently–
I feel him reaching under my arm, raising me to my feet–
I feel warmth around me. I feel understanding.
I feel love.
I shake him off and step away. You knew, I show.
The Sky did not know, he shows back. But the Sky hoped.
You did this to torture me with my own failure.
It is not failure, he shows. It is success.
I look up. Success?
Because now your return is complete, he shows back. Now your name is true at the exact moment it becomes a lie. You have returned to the Land and are no longer the Return.
I look at him, mistrustful. What are you talking about?
It is only the Clearing who kill for hate, who fight wars for personal reasons. If you had done this, you would have become one of them. And you would never have returned to the Land.
You have killed the Clearing, I show. You have killed them in their hundreds.
Never when the lives of the Land were not at stake.
But you agreed to their peace.
I want what is best for the Land, he shows. That is what the Sky must always want. When the Clearing killed us, I fought them, because that was best for the Land. When the Clearing wanted peace, I gave them peace, because that was best for the Land.
You attacked them tonight, I show.
To bring you the Knife and to bring their leader to justice for his crimes against the Burden. These are also in the best interest of the Land.
I look at him, thinking. But the Clearing might still give the leader up. We have seen their disagreements. They might give him to you yet for his crimes.
The Sky wonders what I am asking. Possibly.
But the Knife, I show. They would have fought for him. If you had brought him here–
You would not have killed him. You have just shown this.
But I might have. And then the war would be unending. Why risk so much for me? Why risk everything for me?
Because sparing the Knife would show the Clearing our mercy. It would show we could choose not to kill even when we had reason to do so. It would be a powerful gesture.
I stare at him. But you do not know what I would have done.
The Sky looks over to the Source, still sleeping, still alive. I believed you would not.
Why? I show, pressing. Why is it so important what I do?
Because, he shows, this is knowledge you will need when you are the Sky.
What did you say? I show after a long, heavy moment.
But he is moving now, over to the Source, placing his hands over the Source’s ears and looking down into the Source’s face.
When I am the Sky? I show loudly. What do you mean?
I think the Source has served his function. He looks back to me, a twinkle in his voice. I think the time has come to wake him.
But you are the Sky, I sputter. Where are you going? Are you ill?
No, he shows, looking back to the Source. But I will go one day.
My mouth hangs open. And when you do–
Wake, shows the Sky, sending his voice down into the Source like a stone dropped in water–
Wait! I show–
But already the Source’s eyes begin to blink open as he takes a loud breath. His voice quickens and quickens again, brightening with a thick wakefulness, and he blinks some more, looking at me and the Sky with surprise–
But not fear.
He sits up, falling at first out of weakness, but the Sky helps him rise to his elbows and he looks at us further. He puts a hand to the wound on his chest, his voice singing baffled remembrance and he looks at us again.
I’ve had the strangest dream, he shows.
And though he shows it to us in the language of the Clearing.
He shows it in the perfect, unmistakable voice of the Land.