Текст книги "Monsters of Men"

Автор книги: Patrick Ness

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

{VIOLA}

We ride out of the last edge of town and through a field of burnt bodies, still here after the burning arrow attacks, scattered everywhere like felled trees.

“In a place of all this beauty and potential,” Bradley says, looking around, “we just repeat the same mistakes. Do we hate paradise so much we have to be sure it becomes a trash heap?”

“Is that your idea of a pep talk?” I ask.

He laughs. “Think of it as a vow to do better.”

“Look,” I say. “They’ve cleared a path for us.”

We near the bottom of the hill that leads up to the Spackle camp. Boulders and stones have been moved out of the way, along with Spackle bodies and the remains of their mounts, remains put there by artillery from the Mayor, a missile from me, and a bomb from Mistress Coyle, so we’ve all had a hand in it.

“It can only be a good sign,” Bradley says. “A small welcome, making our path easier.”

“Easier to walk into a trap?” I say, nervously gripping Acorn’s reins.

Bradley makes to go up the path first, but Acorn puts himself in front of Angharrad, feeling her hesitation, trying to make her more comfortable by appearing confident. Follow, his Noise says, almost gently, Follow.

And she does. And up we go.

As we climb, we hear the hum of engines in the valley behind us as Simone pilots the ship into the air, where it’ll watch us like a hawk hovering on an updraft, ready to swoop down with weapons if anything goes astray.

My comm beeps. I take it out of my pocket and see Todd looking back at me. “You all right?” he asks.

“I only just left,” I say. “And Simone’s already on her way.”

“Yeah,” he says. “We can see you, bigger than life. Like yer the star of yer own vid.”

I try to laugh but it only comes out as coughing.

“Any sign of danger,” he says, more serious, “any sign at all you get yerself outta there.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. And then I say, “Todd?”

He looks at me through the comm, guessing what I’m about to say. “You’ll be okay,” he says.

“If something happens to me–”

“It won’t.”

“But if it does–”

“It won’t.” He says it almost angrily. “I ain’t saying goodbye to you, Viola, so don’t even try. You get up there, you get peace, and you get back down here so we can make you well again.” He leans in closer to the comm. “I’ll see you soon, all right?”

I swallow a little. “All right,” I say.

He clicks off.

“Everything okay?” Bradley asks.

I nod. “Let’s get this over with.”

We climb up the makeshift path, getting closer to the summit of the hill. The ship’s high enough to see what’s waiting for us. “It looks like a welcoming party,” Simone calls over Bradley’s comm. “Open ground with what has to be their leader sitting on one of their battlemore things.”

“Anything threatening?” Bradley asks.

“Nothing obvious. But there are an awful lot of them.”

We ride on and, in the wreckage of the hill, I see we must be at about the point where Todd and I ran to get away from Aaron, leaping across to the ledge under the waterfall, the same ledge where the Spackle lined up and shot their fiery arrows, the same ledge that’s not there any more, not after I blasted it away–

We keep on past the place where I got shot and where Todd beat back Davy Prentiss Jr–

And we near the last rise, only bits of it still there in its original shape, but close enough to the last place Todd and I thought we were safe, looking out onto what we thought was Haven.

But instead, it led us to this.

“Viola?” Bradley says, his voice low. “You all right?”

“I think the fever’s rising again,” I say. “I was drifting off there a little.”

“Nearly there,” he says gently. “I’ll greet them. I’m sure they’ll greet us back.”

And then we’ll see what happens, says his Noise.

We climb the last bit of the ruined zigzag road, climb over the top of the hill.

And into the camp of the Spackle.

[TODD]

“They’re nearly there,” I say.

Me and Wilf and the Mayor and everybody else in the square are watching the big projeckshun above the ruins of the cathedral, watching as Viola and Bradley and two horses that suddenly look real small walk up into a waiting half-circle of Spackle.

“That has to be their leader,” the Mayor says, pointing to the one standing on the biggest battlemore in the row of ’em waiting there. We watch him as he sees Viola and Bradley crest the hill on the horses, that half-circle of Spackle giving ’em nowhere to run except back the way they came.

“First they’ll exchange greetings,” the Mayor says, his eyes not leaving the picture. “That’s how these things start. And then both sides will declare how strong they are and then finally they’ll give an indication of intentions. It’s all very formal.”

We watch Bradley in the projeckshun, who seems to be doing exactly what the Mayor predicted.

“The Spackle’s getting down,” I say.

The leader of the Spackle slowly but gracefully swings a leg back over the animal. He gets down and takes off this helmet thing he was wearing, handing it to a Spackle next to him.

Then he starts walking cross the clearing.

“Viola’s getting off her horse,” Wilf says.

And she is. Acorn’s kneeling to let her off and she gingerly steps to the ground. She turns from Acorn, readying to meet the leader of the Spackle, who’s still coming towards her slowly, his hand outstretched–

“This is going well, Todd,” the Mayor says. “Very well indeed.”

“Don’t say stuff like that,” I say.

“Hey!” Wilf suddenly shouts, sitting forward–

And I see it–

There’s a rumble thru the crowd of soldiers as they see it, too–

A Spackle is running from the half-circle–

Breaking ranks and running towards the leader of the Spackle–

Heading straight for him–

And the leader of the Spackle is turning–

As if he’s surprised–

And in the cold morning sunlight, we can see–

The Spackle who’s running has got a blade–

“He’s gonna kill the leader–” I say, getting to my feet–

And the ROAR of the crowd rises–

And the running Spackle reaches the leader, blade up–

Reaches him–

And goes past–

Past the leader whose arms move to stop him–

But he avoids ’em–

And keeps on running–

Running towards Viola–

And that’s when I reckernize him–

“No,” I say, “No!”

It’s 1017–

Running flat out at Viola–

Carrying a blade–

He’s gonna kill her–

He’s gonna kill her to punish me–

“Viola!” I shout–

“VIOLA!”

The One In Particular

(THE RETURN)

Dawn is coming, the Sky shows. They will be here soon.

He stands above me in his fullest armour, intricately sculpted clay covering his chest and arms, far too ornate and beautiful to ever be worn in battle. The ceremonial helmet teeters on his head like a spired hut, matched by an equally heavy ceremonial stone blade at his side.

You look ridiculous, I show.

I look like a leader, he shows back, not angry at all.

We do not even know if they will come.

They will come, he shows. They will come.

He heard my vow to defeat the peace. I know he did. I was too angry to try and hide it, though he would have probably heard it anyway. And yet he has kept me by his side, so unafraid of my insignificance he cannot even pretend to see me as a threat.

Do not think I give away peace for nothing, he shows. Do not think they will have free rein to do with this world as they choose. There will be no repeat of the Burden, not while I am the Sky.

And I see something in his voice, something deep down, flickers of something.

You have a plan, I sneer.

Let us say that I do not enter into these talks without preparing for every eventuality.

You only say that to keep me quiet, I show. They will take all they can get and then they will take more by force. They will not stop until they have taken everything from us.

He sighs. The Sky asks again for the Return’s trust. And to prove it, the Sky would very much like the Return by his side when the Clearing comes to us.

I look up to him, surprised. His voice is truthful–

(–and my own voice yearns to touch his, yearns to know that he is doing right by me, by the Burden, by the Land, I want to trust him so badly it is like an ache in my chest–)

My promise to you remains, he shows. The Source will be yours to do with as you please.

I keep watching him, reading his voice, reading everything in it: the terrible and terrific responsibility he feels for the Land weighing on him every moment, awake or asleep; the concern he feels for me, for how I am eating myself alive with hate and revenge; his worry for the days to come and the weeks and months after that, how no matter what happens today, the Land will be for ever changed, is already for ever changing; and I see that, if forced, he will act without me, he will leave me behind if he must for the good of the Land.

But I see, too, how that would grieve him.

And I also see, hidden no doubt along the Pathways’ End, he has a plan.

I will come, I show.

The pinkness of the sun starts to show on the far horizon. The Sky stands in his battlemore’s saddle. His top soldiers, also in ceremonial dress, also with ceremonial stone blades, are arranged in a broad half-circle that encompasses the ragged lip of the hill. The Clearing will be allowed here, but no further.

The voice of the Land is open, all of them watching the edge of the hill through their Sky. We speak as one, shows the Sky, sending it through them. We are the Land and we speak as one.

The Land repeats the chant, tying them together in a single bond, unbreakable as they face the enemy.

We are the Land and we speak as one.

Except for the Return, I think, because the band on my arm is hurting again. I push the lichen away to look at it, the skin around it stretched badly as it attaches itself to the metal, bloated and tight with scarring, painful every moment since it was first put on me.

But the physical pain is nothing compared to what is in my voice.

Because the Clearing did this to me. The Knife did it. It is the thing that marks me as the Return, the thing that keeps me for ever separate from the Land as they chant around me, raising their single voice in a language the Clearing will understand.

We are the Land and we speak as one.

Except for the Return, who speaks alone.

You do not speak alone, the Sky shows, looking down at me from his steed. The Return is the Land and the Land is the Return.

The Land is the Return, comes the chant around us.

Say it, the Sky shows to me. Say it so the Clearing know who they are dealing with. Say it so that we speak together.

He reaches out a hand as if to touch me with it but he is too high, too far up on his battlemore. Say it so that you are the Land.

And his voice is reaching out to me, too, surrounding me, asking me to join him, to join the Land, to allow myself to become part of something bigger, greater, something that might–

The vessel of the Clearing suddenly rises into the air across from us, holding itself there and waiting.

The Sky looks out to it, the chant continuing behind us. It is time, he shows. They come.

I recognize her immediately. My surprise is so sharp the Sky looks down at me for a quick moment.

They have sent her, I show.

They have sent the Knife’s one in particular.

My voice raises. Could he have come with her? Would he–?

But no. It is another of the Clearing, his voice as loud and chaotic as any of them. And it is chaotic with peace. The wish for it is all over him, hope for it, fear for it, courage around it.

They wish for peace, the Sky shows, and there is amusement in the voice of the Land.

But I look up to the Sky. And I see peace there, too.

The Clearing ride their mounts forward into the half-circle but stop a distance away, looking at us nervously, his voice loud and hopeful, hers the silence of the voiceless.

“My name is Bradley Tench,” he says, through his mouth and his voice. “This is Viola Eade.”

He waits to see if we understand his language and after a brief nod from the Sky, he says, “We come to make peace between us, to end this war with no further bloodshed, to see if we can correct the past and make a new future where our two peoples can live side by side.”

The Sky shows nothing for a long moment, a quiet echo of the chant rolling unceasingly behind him.

I am the Sky, the Sky shows, in the language of the Burden.

The man from the Clearing looks surprised but we can tell from his voice that he understands. I watch the Knife’s one in particular. She stares back at us, pale and shivery in the cold of early morning. The first sound she makes is a swarm of coughing into her fist. And then she speaks.

“We have the support of our entire people,” she says, clicking her words only from her mouth and the Sky opens his own voice a little to make sure he understands her. She gestures to the vessel still hovering out from the hill, ready no doubt to fire more weapons at the first sign of trouble from us. “Support to bring back peace,” she says.

Peace, I think bitterly. Peace that requires us to be slaves.

Quiet, shows the Sky down at me. A command, softly shown but real.

And then he climbs down from his battlemore. He swings his leg behind him, stepping to the ground with a solid thud. He removes his helmet, handing it to the soldier nearest him, and he begins to walk towards the Clearing. Towards the man who, now that I can read his voice more closely, is only newly arrived, a forerunner of all those who are still to come. Still to come to push the Land out of its own world. Still to come to make all of us the Burden. And more will no doubt come after. And more after that.

And I think it would be better to die than let that happen.

One of the soldiers next to me turns, shock in his voice, telling me in the language of the Land to quiet myself.

My eyes fall on the ceremonial blade he carries.

The Sky makes his way slowly, ponderously, leaderlike over to the Clearing.

Over to the Knife’s one in particular.

The Knife who, though he no doubt fretted and worried about peace, though he no doubt intended to do the right thing, sent his one in particular instead, too afraid to face us himself–

And I think of him pulling me from the bodies of the Burden–

I think of my vow to strike him down–

And I find myself thinking, No.

I feel the voice of the Land on me, feel it reaching out to quiet me at this most important moment.

And again I think, No.

No, this cannot be.

The one in particular slides down from her mount to greet the Sky.

And I am moving before I even know I mean to.

I grab the ceremonial blade from the soldier next to me so fast he offers no resistance, only a surprised yelp, and I lift it high as I run. My voice is strangely clear, seeing only what is in front of me, the rocks on the path, the dry riverbed, the hand of the Sky reaching out to stop me as I pass him but too slow in his elaborate armour to do so–

I am crossing the ground towards her–

My voice is growing louder, a yell emerging from it, wordless in the languages of the Burden and the Land–

I know we are watched, watched from the vessel, watched from the lights that hover alongside it–

I am hoping that the Knife can see–

See as I race forward to kill his one in particular–

The heavy blade high in my hands–

She sees me coming and stumbles back towards her mount–

The man from the Clearing shouts something, his own mount trying to move between me and the Knife’s one in particular–

But I am too fast, the space too short–

And the Sky is shouting behind me, too–

His voice, the voice of the entire Land booming behind me, reaching out to stop me–

But a voice cannot stop a body–

And she’s falling back farther–

Falling against the legs of her own mount, who is also trying to protect her but is tangled up with her–

And there is no time–

There is only me–

Only my revenge–

The blade is up–

The blade is back–

Ready and heavy and dying to fall–

I take my final steps–

And I put my weight behind the blade to begin the end–

And she raises her arm to protect herself–

{VIOLA}

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–

[TODD]

“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?”