Monsters of Men

And that he was separated from the voice to become so.

I see how happy he was before, happy in his co

Than the Return is now, he shows. He looms over me, his armour baked hard in the sun, his headpiece weighing heavily on his broad neck and shoulders, but held high by those same muscles. The Land looks deep inside itself to find the new Sky and there is no refusal for the one chosen. The past life is over and must be left behind, for the Land needs its Sky to watch over it and the Sky can have no other than the Land.

And there he is in his voice, assuming the garments of the role as he took the name “the Sky” and moved apart from those he ruled.

You rule alone, I show, feeling the weight of it.

But I was not always alone, he shows. Nor was the Return.

His voice reaches out to me suddenly, and before I am even aware of it–

I am back with––my one in particular in the shed where we live, locked in at night by our master from the Clearing, the master whose lawn we keep tidy, her flowers blooming, her vegetables growing. I have never known those who parented me, having been given to our master before I had any memories, and I have only ever really known my one in particular, not much older than me, but who shows me how to do our job well enough so that the beatings are infrequent, who shows me now how to start a cookfire, striking the flint shards together to make our only source of warmth––my one in particular letting me stay silent when we take our master’s vegetables to market and meet other members of the Burden whose voices reach forward in friendly greetings that push me into myself in embarrassment, my one in particular drawing their attention and letting me be shy as long as I need to––my one in particular curled against my stomach, coughing with illness from an infection, filled with the fever that is the worst sign of sickness in the Burden, one that will have us dragged off to Clearing veterinarians and never seen again. I press my body into my one in particular, begging the mud, the rocks, the shed, begging them all please to let the temperature fall, please, let it fall––my one in particular and I on a summer’s night after a young lifetime together, washing ourselves in the bucket of water our master provides once a week, washing ourselves, washing one another, and making the surprising discovery that another kind of closeness is possible––my one in particular silently with me after our voices are stolen by the Clearing, after we are cut off from each other and placed on separate shores, as if calling across a chasm too far to hear, my one in particular slowly, gently, through clicks and gestures, trying to make me understand––my one in particular rising when the shed door is opened and the Clearing are there with their guns and their blades, my one in particular standing before me again, protecting me for the final time–

The Sky lets me go as I call out, the horror alive again in my voice, alive like it is happening just now, all over again–

You miss him, the Sky shows. You loved him.

They killed my one in particular, I show, burning and dying and burning again. They took him from me.

This is why I recognized you the first day I saw you, the Sky shows. We are the same, the Sky and the Return. The Sky speaks for the Land, and the Return speaks for the Burden. And to do this, we both have to be alone.

I am still breathing heavy. Why do you make me remember this now?

Because it is important you understand who the Sky is, he shows. Because it is important to remember.

I raise my head. Why?

But all he shows is, Follow me.

We carry on through the camp until we reach a small, unremarkable path through some trees. Shortly inside, there are two Pathway guards, who bow their heads out of respect for the Sky and let us pass. The path leads up at a sharp, sudden angle, into overgrowth that hides us almost immediately. We climb up and up, to what must be the highest point of this upper valley, along a path wide enough only for one of us at a time.

It is a necessary difficulty that the Land must sometimes keep secrets from itself, the Sky shows as we walk. It is the only way to make hope possible.

Is that why they make the Sky? I show back, following him up a staircase of rocks. To bear the weight of what needs to be done?

Yes. That is precisely why. And another way in which we are alike. He glances back at me. The secrets we have learned to keep.

We reach a curtain of ivy hanging from the branches above. The Sky uses his long arm to pull it back and reveal the opening beyond.

A circle of Pathways stand in a clearing. The Pathways are members of the Land with especially open voices, chosen while young to be the Sky’s fastest messengers throughout the vast body of the Land, speeding the voice along. But these are all facing inward, concentrating their voices towards one another, each creating a link in the closed circle.

The Pathways’ End, the Sky shows to me. They live their entire lives here, their voices trained from birth to this one purpose. Once inside, a secret may be taken from a voice and kept safely here until needed again. It is where the Sky leaves thoughts that are too dangerous to be widely known.

He turns to me. And other things besides.

He raises his voice towards the Pathways’ End, and the circle shifts slightly, creating an opening.

And I see what is inside.

In the centre of the circle is a stone bed.

And on the stone bed lies a man.

A man of the Clearing, unconscious.

And dreaming.

Your Source, I show quietly as we step into the circle and it closes around us again.

A soldier, the Sky shows. Found by the side of the road, dead from his wounds, we thought. But then came his voice, unguarded and open at the very, very edge of silence. We stopped it from disappearing completely.

Stopped it? I show, staring at the man, his voice covered over by the voices of the Pathways, removing it from the larger voice so its secrets never leave this circle.

Any voice that can be heard can be healed, the Sky shows, even if it is far away from the body. And he was very far away indeed. We treated his wounds and began calling to his voice, bringing it back to himself.

Bringing him back to life, I show.

Yes. And all the while his voice told us things, things that have given us great advantage over the Clearing, things that became even more valuable after the Return came back to the Land.

I glance up. You were already thinking of an attack on the Clearing before I returned?

It is a duty of the Sky to prepare for any potential threat to the Land.

I look back down at the Source. And this is why you said we will win.

The Source’s voice tells us the leader of the Clearing is a man who forms no real alliances. That he will only rule alone no matter what temporary measures he takes with the far hilltop. That he will, if pressed, betray the other side without hesitation. This is their weakness, and one the Land can exploit. Our attacks begin again at daybreak. We shall see how their alliance stands up to pressure.

I glare at him. But you would still make peace with them. I see that in you.

If that would save the Land, yes, the Sky would. And so would the Return.

He is not asking me. He is telling me I would do it.

But that is why I bring you here, he shows, directing my voice back to the man. If peace comes, if that is how matters are settled, then I will give you the Source entire. To do with as you will.

I look up to him, puzzled. Give him to me?