Including how to hide my thoughts behind other thoughts, how to conceal what I feel and think. How to layer my voice so it is harder to read.
Alone among the Land, I am not fully joined to the Land’s single voice.
Not yet.
I make him wait for a moment more, then I open my voice to show him the light I saw hovering, what I suspect it to be. He understands in an instant.
A smaller version of what flew over the Land as it marched here, he shows.
Yes, I show and I remember. Lights in the sky, one of their machines flying down the road, so high above it was almost nothing but a sound.
Then the Land shall make an answer, he shows, and he takes my arm again to lead me back to the hill’s edge.
As the Sky watches the light hovering out from the hilltop, I look down upon the Clearing as they settle in for the night. I look among their too-small faces on bodies stocky and short in unhealthy shades of pink and sand.
The Sky knows what I am looking for.
You seek him, he shows. You seek the Knife.
I saw him in battle. But I was too far back.
For the Return’s own safety, the Sky shows.
He is mine–
But I stop.
Because I see him.
In the middle of the camp, he is leaning into his pack animal, his horse, in their language, talking to it, no doubt with great feeling, with great anguish at what he has seen.
No doubt with great care and emotion and kindness.
And this, perversely, is why the Return hates the Knife, shows the Sky.
He is worse than the others, I show. He is worst of all of them.
Because–
Because he knew he was doing wrong. He felt the pain of his actions–
But he did not amend them, shows the Sky.
The rest are worth as much as their pack animals, I show, but worst is the one who knows better and does nothing.
The Knife set the Return free, the Sky offers.
He should have killed me. He killed one of the Land before with the knife in his voice that he cannot put down. But he was too cowardly to even do the Return that favour.
If he had killed you as you wished, shows the Sky in a way that pulls my eyes towards his, then the Land would not be here.
Yes, I show. Here where we do nothing. Here where we wait and watch instead of fight.
Waiting and watching is part of fighting. The Clearing has grown stronger in the time of truce. Their men are fiercer, as are their weapons.
But the Land is fierce, too, I show. Is it not?
The Sky holds my gaze for a long moment, and then he turns and speaks in the voice of the Land, starting a message that is passed from one to another until it reaches one of the Land who I now see has prepared a bow with a burning arrow. She takes aim and lets the arrow fly into the night, sailing out from the hilltop.
The entire Land watches it fly, either with their own eyes or through the voices of others, until it hits the hovering light, which spirals and spins and crashes into the river below.
Today was a battle, the Sky shows to me, as a small outcry rises from the Clearing’s camp. But a war is made of many battles.
Then he reaches across and takes my arm, the one on which I keep the sleeve of lichen growing heavily, the one that hurts, the one that will not heal. I pull away from him but he reaches again and this time I let his long white fingers lift it gently from the wrist, let him brush away the sleeve.
And we will not forget why we are here, the Sky shows.
And this spreads, in the language of the Burden, the language that the Land fears for its shame, it spreads among them until I can hear them all, feel them all.
Feel all of the Land saying, We will not forget.
As they all see my arm through the eyes of the Sky.
As they see the metal band, with writing on it in the language of the Clearing.
As they see the permanent mark upon me, the true name that sets me apart from them for ever.
1017.
{VIOLA}
The urgency of Bradley’s Noise is awful.
“You’re not dying,” I say from the bed where Simone is injecting bone-mending into my ankles. “Bradley–”
“No,” he says, holding up his hands to stop me. “I feel . . .” “I can’t tell you how na**d this makes me feel.”
Simone’s turned the sleeping quarters of the scout ship into a makeshift house of healing. I’m on one bed and Bradley’s in the other, his eyes wide open, his hands mostly to his ears, his Noise getting louder and louder–
“You’re sure he’s going to be all right?” Simone whispers close to me as she finishes the injections and starts bandaging my ankles. I can hear the strain in her voice.
“All I know,” I whisper back, “is that men here got used to it eventually and that–”
“There was a cure,” she interrupts. “Which this Mayor person burnt every last bit of.”
“Yes,” I say, “but at least that means one is possible.”
Quit whispering about me, Bradley’s Noise says.
“Sorry,” I say.
“For what?” he says, looking over, and then he realizes. “Could you both possibly leave me be for a while, please?”
And his Noise says, For Chrissakes get the hell out of here and give me some peace!
“Just let me finish up with Viola,” Simone says, voice still shaky and trying not to look at him. She ties the last bandage around my left ankle.
“Could you grab another one?” I ask her quietly.
“What for?”
“I’ll tell you outside. I don’t want to upset him any more.”
She looks at me suspiciously for a second but then grabs another bandage out of a drawer and we make our way to the door, Bradley’s Noise filling the little room from wall to wall.
“I still don’t understand it,” Simone says as we go. “I’m hearing it with my ears, but I’m hearing it inside my head, too. Words–” she looks at Bradley, her eyes growing wide “–and pictures.”
She’s right, pictures are starting to come from him, pictures that could be in your head or hanging in the air in front of you–
Pictures of us standing here watching him, pictures of himself on the bed–
Then pictures of what we saw in the probe projection, of what happened when a flaming Spackle arrow hit it and the signal gave out–
And then pictures of the scout ship coming down from orbit, pictures of this planet far below as they flew in, a vast bluish green ocean next to miles of forest, not even thinking to look for a Spackle army blending into the riverbank as the ship circled over New Prentisstown–