"She was bitten by a Banded Red, on her heel, as she cooled her feet in a stream." She's rubbing her hands again. "It's fatal, red snake venom, but slow."
"Oh, Corinne," I say, under my breath.
She stands suddenly, as if my sympathy is almost rude. She walks over to my window. "It took her seventeen hours to die," she says, still not looking at me. "And they were awful and painful and when she went blind, she grabbed onto me and begged me to save her, begged me over and over to save her life."
I remain silent.
"What we know now, what the healers have discovered, is that I could have saved her life just by boiling up some Xanthus root." She crosses her arms. "Which was all around us. In abundance."
The ROAR of New Prentisstown is only just starting to rise with the sun. Light shoots in from the far horizon, but we stay silent for a moment longer.
"I'm sorry, Corinne," I finally say. "But why-?"
"Everyone here is someone's daughter," she says quietly. "Every soldier out there is someone's son. The only crime, the only crime is to take a life. There is nothing else."
"And that's why you don't fight," I say.
She turns to me sharply. "To live is to fight," she snaps. "To preserve life is to fight everything that man stands for."
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She takes an angry huff of air. "And now her, too, with all the bombs. I fight them every time I bandage the blackened eye of a woman, every time I remove shrapnel from a bomb victim."
Her voice has risen but she lowers it again. "That's my war," she says. "That's the war I'm fighting."
She walks back to her chair and picks up a bundle of cloth next to it. "And to that end," she says, "I need you to put these on."
She doesn't give me time to argue or even ask about her plan. She takes my apprentice robes and my own few much-washed clothes and has me put on poorer rags, a long-sleeved blouse, a long skirt, and a headscarf that completely covers my hair.
"Corinne," I say, tying up the scarf.
"Shut up and hurry."
When I'm dressed, she takes me down to the end of the long hallway leading out to the riverside by the house of healing. There's a heavy canvas bag of medicines and bandages loaded up by the door. She hands it to me and says, "Wait for the sound. You'll know it when you hear it."
"Corinne-"
"Your chances aren't very good, you have to know that." She's looking me in the eye now. "But if you get to wherever they're hiding, you put these supplies to use as a healer, do you hear me? You've got it in you whether you know it or not."
My breathing is heavy, nervous, but I look at her and I say, "Yes, Mistress."
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"Mistress is right," she says and looks out of the window in the door. We can see a single bored soldier at the corner of the building, picking his nose. Corinne turns to me. "Now. Strike me, please."
I blink. "What?"
"Strike me," she says again. "I'll need a bloody nose or a split lip at least."
"Corinne-"
"Quickly or the streets will grow too crowded with soldiers."
"I'm not going to hit you!"
She grabs me by the arm, so fiercely I flinch back. "If the President comes for you, do you honestly think you'll return? He's tried to get the truth from you by asking and then by trapping your friend. Do you honestly think the patience of a man like that lasts forever?"
"Corinne-"
"He will eventually hurt you," she says. "If you refuse to help him, he will kill you."
"But I don't know-"
"He doesn't care what you don't know!" she hisses through her teeth. "If I can prevent the taking of a life, I will do so, even one as irritating as yours."
"You're hurting me," I say quietly, as her fingers dig into my arm.
"Good," she says. "Get angry enough to strike me."
"But why-"
"lust do it!" she shouts.
I take in a breath, then another, then I hit her across the face as hard as I can.
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***
I wait, crouched by the window in the door, watching the soldier. Corinne's footsteps fade down the corridor as she runs to the reception room. I wait some more. The soldier is one of the many now who have had the cure taken from them and in the relative quiet of the morning I can hear what he thinks. Thoughts of boredom, thoughts of the village he lived in before the army invaded, thoughts of the army he was forced to join.
Thoughts of a girl he knew who died.
And then I hear the faint shout of Corinne coming from the front. She'll be screaming that the Answer snuck in during the night, beat her senseless, and kidnapped me under their very noses but that she saw us all flee in the opposite direction I'm going to be running.
It's a poor story; there's no way it's going to work. How could anyone sneak in with guards everywhere?
But I know what she's counting on. A legend that's been rising, a legend about the Answer.
How can the bombs be planted with no one seeing?
With no one being caught?
If the Answer can do that, could they sneak past armed guards?
Are they invisible?
I hear thoughts just like this as soon as I see the soldier's head snap up when he hears the ruckus. It grows louder in his Noise as he runs around the corner and out of view.
And as fast as that, it's time.
I hoist the bag of medicines up onto my shoulder.
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I open the door. I run.
I run toward a line of trees and down to the river. There's a path along the riverbank but I stick to the trees beside it and as the bag bashes my shoulders and back with heavy corners, I can't help but think of me and Todd running down this same river, this same riverbank, running from the army, running and running and running. I have to get to the ocean.
As much as I want to save Todd, my only chance is to find her first.
And then I'll come back for him.
I will.
I ain't never leaving you, Todd Hewitt.
My heart aches as I remember saying it.
As I break my promise,
(you hold on, Todd)
(you stay alive)
I run.
I make my way downriver, avoiding patrols, cutting across back gardens, running behind back fences, staying as far clear of houses and housing blocks as I can.
The valley is narrowing again. The hills approach the road and the houses begin to thin out. Once, I hear marching and I have to dive deep into the undergrowth as soldiers pass, holding my breath, crouching as low to the ground as
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I can. I wait until there's only birdcall (Where's my safety?) and the now distant ROAR of the town, wait for a breath or two more, then I raise my head and look down the road.
The river bends in the distance and the road is lost from view behind farther rolling hills and forests. Across the road here, this far from town, there are mostly farms and farmhouses, working their way up sloping hillsides, back toward more forest. Directly across, there's a small drive leading to a farmhouse with a little stand of trees in the front garden. The farming fields spread out to the right, but above and beyond the farmhouse, thicker forest begins again. If I can get up the drive, that'll be the safest place for me. If I have to, I'll hide until nightfall and make my way in the dark.
I look up and down the road again and once more. I listen for marching, for stray Noise, for the rattle of a cart.
I take in a breath.
And I bolt across the road.
I keep my eyes on the farmhouse, the bag banging into my back, my arms pumping the air, my lungs gasping as I run faster and faster and faster-Up the drive-Nearly to the trees-Nearly there-
And a farmer steps out from behind them.
I skid to a stop, sliding in the dirt and nearly falling. He jumps back, obviously surprised to see me appearing suddenly in front of him.
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We stare at each other.
His Noise i
s quiet, disciplined, almost gentlemanly, which is why I didn't hear it from a distance. He's holding a basket under one arm and a red pear in his free hand.
He looks me up and down, sees the bag on my back, sees me alone out on the road in a break of the law, sees from the heaviness of my breath that I've obviously been running.
And it comes in his Noise, fast and clear as morning.
The Answer, he thinks.
"No," I say. "I'm not-"
But he holds a finger up to his lips.
He cocks his head in the direction of the road.
And I hear the distant sound of soldiers marching down it.
"That way," the farmer whispers. He points up a narrow path, a small entrance to the woods above that would be easy to miss if you didn't know it was there. "Quickly now."
I look at him again, trying to see a trap, trying to tell but there's no time. There's no time.
"Thank you," I say and I take off running.
The path leads almost immediately into thicker woods, all uphill. It's narrow and I have to push back vines and branches to make my way. The trees swallow me and I can only go forward and forward, hoping that I'm not being led into a trap. I get to the top of the hill only to find a small slope down and then another hill to climb. I run up that, too. I'm still heading east but I can't see enough over anything to tell where the road is or the river or which way I'm-I nearly stumble out into a clearing.
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Where there's a soldier not ten yards from me.
His back is to me (thank god, thank god) and it's not until my heart has leaped out of my chest and I've caught myself and fallen back into the bushes that I see what he's guarding.
There it is.
In the middle of a clearing cresting the hill, stretching up on three metal legs almost fifty yards into the sky. The trees around it have been felled, and across the clearing underneath it I can see a small building and a road that leads back down the other side of the hill to the river.
I've found the communications tower.
It's here.
And there aren't that many soldiers around it. I count five, no, six.
Just six. With big gaps. My heart rises. And rises. I've found it.
And a BOOM! echoes in the distance beyond the tower.
I flinch, along with the soldiers. Another bomb. Another statement from the Answer. Another-The soldiers are leaving.
They're running, running toward the sound of the explosion, running away from me and down the other side of the hill, toward where I can already see a white pillar of smoke rising.
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The tower stands in front of me.
All of a sudden, it's completely unguarded.
I don't even wait to think how stupid I'm being-I'm just running-Running toward the tower-If this is my chance to save us then-I don't know-I'm just running-Across the open ground-Toward the tower-Toward the building underneath-I can save us-
Somehow I can save all of us-
And out of the corner of my eye, I see someone else break cover from the trees to my left--
Someone running straight toward me-
Someone-
Someone saying my name-
"Viola!" I hear. "Get back!"
"Viola, NO!" Mistress Coyle is screaming at me.
I don't stop-Neither does she-
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"GET BACK!" she's yelling-And she's crossing the clearing in front of me-Running and running and running-And then I realize-Like a blow to the stomach-The reason why she's yelling-No-
Even as I'm skidding to a stop-No, I think-No, you can't-
And Mistress Coyle reaches me- You CAN'T-
And pushes us both to the ground- NO!
And the legs of the tower explode in three blinding flashes of light.
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PART IV NIGHT FALLING
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233
15 WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW
***
(V iola)
"Get off me!"
She slaps her hand over my mouth, holding it there, holding me there with the weight of her body as clouds of dust billow around us from the rubble of the communications tower. "Quit shouting," she hisses.
I bite her hand.
She makes a pained face, fierce and angry, but she doesn't let go, just takes the bite and doesn't move.
"You can scream and shout all you want later, my girl," she says, "but in two seconds, this place is going to be swarming with soldiers and do you honestly think they're going to believe you just happened by?"
She waits to see my reaction. I glare at her but finally nod. She takes away her hand.
"Don't you call me my girl," I say, keeping my voice low but just as fierce as hers. "Don't you call me that ever again."
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***
I follow her down a steep slope, heading back toward the road, sliding on fallen leaves and gathered dew but always down and down. I hop over logs and roots, the canvas bag like a stone around my shoulders.
I have no choice but to go with her.
I'd be captured and God knows what else if I went back to town.
And she took my other choice away.
She reaches a stand of bushes at the bottom of a steepening in the slope. She ducks fast under them and beckons for me to follow. I slide down next to her, my breath almost gone, and she says, "Whatever you do, don't scream."
Before I can even open my mouth, she's jumped out through the bushes. They close up behind her and I have to fight my way through leaves and branches to follow. I'm still pushing them back when I practically tumble out the other side.
Onto the road.
Where two soldiers stand by a man with a cart, all of them looking straight at me and Mistress Coyle.
The soldiers look more astonished than angry, but they have no Noise, so there's no way to know.
But they're carrying rifles.
And they're raising them at us.
"And who the hell is this?" one barks, a middle-aged man with a shaved head and a scar down his jaw line.
"Don't shoot!" Mistress Coyle says, hands out and up.
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"We heard the explosion," says the other soldier, a younger one, not much older than me, with blond, shoulder-length hair.
Then the older soldier says something else, something unexpected. "You're late."
"That's enough, Magnus," Mistress Coyle says, lowering her hands and stepping forward to the cart. "And put your rifles down. She's with me."
"What?" I say, still frozen to my spot.
"The tracer malfunctioned completely," the younger soldier says to her. "We're not even sure where it came down."
"I told you they were too old," Magnus says.
"It did its job," Mistress Coyle says, bustling around the cart, "wherever it landed."
"Hey!" I say. "What's going on?"
And then I hear, "Hildy?"
Mistress Coyle stops in her tracks. The two soldiers do, too, and stare at the man driving the cart.
"Iss you, ain it?" he says. "Hildy hoo's also called Viola."
My mind's been racing so fast, so completely focused on the soldiers, that I barely took in the man driving the cart, the nearly expressionless face, the clothes, the hat, the voice, the Noise flat and calm as the far horizon.
The man that once drove me and Todd across a sea of things.
"Wilf," I gasp.
Now everyone looks at me, Mistress Coyle's eyebrows so high it's like they're trying to crawl into her hair. "Hey," Wilf says, in greeting.
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"Hey," I say back, too stunned to say any more.
He touches two fingers to the brim of his hat. "Ah'm glad to see yoo mayde it."
Mistress Coyle's mouth is moving but no sound comes out for a second or two. "There'll be time for that later," she finally says. "We have to go now."
"Will there be room for two?" the younger soldier asks.
"There'll have to be." She ducks down under the
cart and removes a panel from the underside. She motions to me. "Get in."
"In where?" I bend down and see a compartment hidden like a trick of the eye in the width of the cart, narrow and thin as a cot above the rear axle.
"Pack won't fit," Wilf says, pointing at the bag on my back. "Ah'll take it."
I slip it off and hand it to him. "Thank you, Wilf."
"Now, Viola," Mistress Coyle says.
I give Wilf a last nod, duck under the cart and crawl in, forcing my way across the compartment until my head's nearly touching the far side. Mistress Coyle doesn't wait and forces herself in after me. The younger soldier was right. There isn't enough room. She's pressed right up against me, face-to-face, her knees digging into my thighs, our noses less than an inch apart. She's barely drawn her feet inside when the panel is replaced, plunging us into almost complete darkness.
"Where are we-" I start to say but she shushes me harshly.
And outside I hear soldiers marching fast up the road, led by the clopping of horse's hooves.
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***
"Report!" one of them shouts as they stop by the cart. His voice-It's up high and I hear the horse whinnying beneath it-But his voice-
"Heard the explosion, sir," the older of our soldiers replies. "This man says he saw women heading past him down the river road about an hour ago."
We hear the real soldier spit. "Bitches."
I recognize his voice-It's Sergeant Hammar.
"Whose unit you two in?" he says.
"First, sir," says our younger soldier, after the briefest of pauses. "Captain O'Hare."
"That pansy?" Sergeant Hammar spits. "You wanna do some real soldiering, transfer to the Fourth. I'll show you what's what."
"Yes, sir," says our older soldier, sounding more nervous than I'd want him to.
I can hear the Noise of the soldiers in Sergeant Hammar's unit. They're thinking of the cart. They're thinking of the explosions. They're thinking about shooting women.