Free Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness Page A

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 naked 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–
    And then other pictures–
    Pictures of Simone–
    Pictures of Simone and Bradley–
    “Bradley!” Simone says, shocked and taking a step back.
    “Please!”
he shouts. “Just leave me alone! This is
unbearable
!”
    I’m shocked, too, because the pictures of Bradley and Simone are really clear and the more Bradley tries to cover them, the clearer they get, so I take Simone’s elbow and pull her away,