And there’s a flash of Noise in my head so hard I fall back over a bed and crumple to the floor, the world reduced to nothing but the Noise echoing thru me, YER NOTHING YER NOTHING YER NOTHING and everything shrinks to just that sound–
But then I think Viola–
I think of her out there–
And I push it back–
I feel my hands on the floor–
I use them to rise to my knees–
I lift my head–
To see the Mayor’s surprised face only a metre or so away, coming towards me, something in his hand–
“Goodness,” he says, sounding almost cheerful. “Even stronger than I thought.”
And I know another blast’s coming so I do it the old-fashioned way before he can gather himself–
I jump at him, pushing hard with my feet and leaping out–
He ain’t expecting it and I hit him about waist-height, knocking us back into the screens–
(where the river’s still shooting down the valley–)
(where Viola ain’t nowhere to be seen–)
And he slams into ’em with a grunt, my weight against him, and I pull back my fist to punch him–
And there’s a light tap on my neck–
Just light as a touch–
And there’s something sticking to me and I put my hand to it–
A bandage–
The thing he was carrying–
“Sleep tight,” he grins down at me–
And I fall to the floor and the screens full of water are the last things I see–
{VIOLA}
“Acorn!” I shout into his mane–
But he ignores me, just keeps up his insane run, Angharrad, too, with Bradley up ahead–
And it’s working, we’ve reached a curve in the road and the river behind us is still coming, still full of wreckage and trees–
But it’s slowing more, lowering its height some, keeping more to the riverbed–
And still the horses run–
Down the road and away, a rushing fog reaching out to us, its tendrils licking at the horses’ tails–
And the river still coming–
But getting farther behind–
“We’re doing it!” Bradley shouts back to me–
“A little farther, Acorn,” I say between his ears. “We’re almost out of it.”
He doesn’t say anything back, just keeps running–
The road is becoming thicker with trees, half of them burning, slowing down the river even more, and I recognize where we’re getting to. We’re nearing the old house of healing where I was kept for so long, the house of healing I ran from–
And found the hilltop with the communications tower–
The hilltop where the army’s marching somewhere ahead of us–
Maybe already even there–
“I know a back way!” I shout. I point up the road, to a little farm off to the right, up a hill with a forest above it where the fire hasn’t reached. “Up there!”
Girl colt, I hear Acorn say in acknowledgement and the horses turn for it, skirting the corner and shooting up the drive, heading for the narrow path I know is there through the woods–
There’s a huge crash behind us as the river comes pounding down the road we just left, sloshing water and trees and debris everywhere, dowsing the fire but drowning everything else, surging up the drive behind us, swallowing the little farmhouse–
But we’re in the woods and branches are smacking my face and I hear Bradley cry out once but he doesn’t let go of Angharrad–
And it’s up a hill to a flat–
And then another uphill–
And through some shrubs–
And then we’re sailing into the clearing, hooves thumping into the crowd, scattering screaming people this way and that, taking in the scene in a flash–
Seeing the probe cameras still projected on the sides of tents–
They know what’s been happening–
They know what’s coming–
“Viola!” I hear shouted in surprise as the horses race through the camp.
“Get people off the drive up the hill, Wilf! The river–!”
“There’s an army!” Jane shouts next to him, pointing across the clearing to the entrance–
Where we can see Captain Tate leading what must be nearly the entire army–
Marching up the hill–
Their guns raised, ready to attack–
Cartloads of artillery ready to blow the hilltop to pieces–
(THE SKY)
The Sky hears everything.
I knew that before but I did not really know it until now. He hears every secret hidden in every heart of the Land. He hears every detail, important and nonsensical, loving and murderous. He hears every wish of every child, every memory of every old crone, every desire and feeling and opinion of every voice in the Land.
He is the Land.
I am the Land.
And the Land must survive, the Source continues at me as we ride east over the hills, fast on our battlemores.
The Land is surviving, I show back to him. And will continue to do so under the leadership of the Sky.
I can see what you’re planning and you must not–
I turn round to him sharply. It is not your place to tell the Sky what he must do.
The fog and the falling ice combined have damped down some of the fires in the forests that surround the valley as we continue on. Those to the north still rage and I can see in the voices of the Land that they will continue to rage despite the river. Numbered among the damage the leader of the Clearing has done will be a blackened and scorched country.
But the south is rockier. There are paths through the hills where the trees are thin and the brush is low, and the fires do not burn so hard.
And so we march in the southern hills.
We march east.
All of us. Every member of the Land that has lived through the blaze, every Pathway, every soldier, every mother, father and child.
We march east in pursuit of the Clearing.
We march east to the far hilltop.
Our weapons are ready, weapons that drove them back before, weapons that killed them in their hundreds, weapons that will destroy them now–
Then I hear the voice of a soldier riding up next to me–
He is bringing me a weapon of my own–
For the Sky must not enter battle unarmed.
I thank the soldier as I take it from him. It is an acid rifle of the Land, not unlike the rifle the Knife himself carried.
Not unlike the rifle I promised that I would use one day to–
I open my voice to the Land.
I summon them again.
I summon them all.
We are marching east, I show them. The Land that survives is marching towards the Clearing.