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–