Monsters of Men (43 page)

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.

{VIOLA}

“Listen to them,” Bradley says, as even from this distance, the
ROAR
from the town is loud enough to make him raise his voice. “Finally cheering something
good.
”

“Do you think it’ll snow?” I say, looking up from Acorn’s saddle into the clouds that have rolled in, a rare sight in what’s been a clear and cold winter. “I’ve never seen snow.”

Bradley smiles. “Me neither.” And his Noise is smiling, too, at the randomness of my comment.

“Sorry,” I say. “This fever.”

“We’re nearly there,” he says. “We’ll get you warm and snug.”

We’re heading back from the zigzag hill, heading down the road that leads to the square.

Heading back the morning after last night’s artillery attack.

The morning after we secured peace. For real, this time.

We did it. Even if it was the Mayor’s action that clinched it – something Mistress Coyle won’t be at all happy about – we actually did it. In two days’ time, we’ll have the first meeting of a human–Spackle council to set out all the details. So far, the council’s made of me, Bradley, Simone, Todd, and the Mayor and Mistress Coyle, and the six of us are going to have to somehow work together to make this a new world with the Spackle.

Something that might actually make us work
together
.

I wish I felt better, though. Peace is here, real peace, all that I wanted, but my head throbs so much and my cough is so bad–

“Viola?” Bradley asks, concern in his voice.

And then, down the road, I see Todd running to meet us and my fever is so bad it feels like he’s surfing here on a wave of cheering and the world goes really bright for a second and I have to close my eyes and Todd is next to me, his hands reaching up–

“I can’t hear you,” I say.

And I fall right out of Acorn’s saddle and into his arms–

[T
ODD
]

“This glorious new day,”
the Mayor’s voice booms.
“This day where we have beaten our enemy and begun a new era!”

And the crowd below us cheers.

“I’ve had just about enough of this,” I mutter to Bradley, holding Viola next to me on the bench where we’re sitting. We’re up on a cart, in front of a square filled with people, the Mayor’s face not just in the hovering projeckshun behind us but on the sides of two buildings as well. Another thing he figured out how to do on his own. Bradley’s frowning as the Mayor rabbits on. Mistress Coyle and Simone are on the other side of us, frowning even harder.

I feel Viola turn her head. “Yer awake,” I say.

“Was I sleeping?” she says. “Why didn’t anybody put me to bed?”

“Exactly,”
I say. “The Mayor said you had to be here first, but he’s got about two more seconds before I–”

“Our peacemaker has recovered!”
the Mayor says, looking back at us. He’s got a microphone in front of him, but I’m pretty sure he don’t even need it.
“Let’s give her the thanks she’s owed for saving our lives and ending this war!”