The Canticle of Whispers (44 page)

“I don't care!” Lily blurted out, obviously shaken. “They're his private thoughts. Everyone has stupid thoughts they don't really mean.”

“And even if he does, maybe it's a good thing,” Mark added. Lily looked at him incredulously, and Mark shrugged. “He thinks you're something unique that needs to be protected. I'd say from Laud, that's a pretty big compliment.”

“But how many can you excuse?” Snutworth said, his tone darker. “How many nasty little thoughts can you stand?”

And suddenly, the air was full of them. Cajoling, cringing voices, all around—mocking and sneering, and all of them full of doubt and pain.

We'll never do this, never cure this sickness. I should never have tried to help. They don't deserve my help.

That was Dr. Theophilus, his voice weary and resigned.

“Such a pity that your reliable healer breaks so easily…” Snutworth laughed.

It's Lily's fault. Her fault my sister is dead. Her fault my brother abandoned us. Her fault we're all about to die in a stupid revolution.

Benedicta spoke, full of bitterness. Mark saw Lily screw shut her eyes, as though she had been physically struck.

“What a shame Miss Benedicta didn't hold the faith when you were away,” Snutworth proclaimed with undisguised glee.

Mark should have stayed in prison. Then he couldn't have caused any more trouble.

That was Pete. Mark tried to block it out, only to hear Verity's voice ring loud and clear.

My brother died waiting for her. And now she's gone. What was the point? Why should she live and he die…?

“How many do you have to hear?” Snutworth shouted. His voice seemed to buzz with the Canticle now, as a thousand known and unknown voices blended with his own. Mark could feel the vibrations beneath his feet—the room shook with the force of Snutworth's passion.

Why are we allied with Mark? He was one of the elite once, and he'd still be if he hadn't been stopped … he's just like the rest of them …

What's the point of fighting when my children are starving? Who cares about others? I need to look after my own …

I won't follow … they're just children …

What's the use?

What's the point?

“Stop it! Stop it now!” Lily yelled, clamping her hands over her ears. Mark felt cold and empty inside. He wished he could deny what they had heard, but somehow, he knew that the Canticle could never lie.

“I thought so,” Snutworth said. “The great Judges are just as willfully blind as any other. Truth stings you. But
this
is the Truth. When you strip away the self-deception, all of the little tricks that you all use to make yourselves respectable, this is all that remains—banal, selfish little creatures that don't deserve control over their own lives.”

“I didn't mean stop
them
,” Lily said.

Mark looked over at her. She was looking up again now, and her eyes had a kind of fire to them that Mark had seen before. She wasn't defeated.

For the first time, Mark saw Snutworth hesitate, and Lily leapt in.

“Stop your foul commentary on it all!” she shouted. “What are you trying to prove? That our friends had a moment of weakness? Haven't we all? But that doesn't mean they really believe it.”

“Only in their worst moments will you find the truth,” Snutworth said, with a flourish.

Suddenly, the air was filled with a voice that was all too familiar. Mark listened, dumbfounded, as Lily's echoes resonated through the throne room.

She's wrong! Can't they see the Speaker's wrong and I'm right! No, what are you doing … I don't have time now, Gloria. I'll see you tomorrow … Mark might never see his father again, but mine are out there, somewhere, and he has to come with me … I don't care … I have to know everything!… have to do anything to know …

Every time she had caused suffering, every time she had been too weak, or too stupid, to stop another's pain—the Canticle summoned them all. Lily stood absolutely still, an expression of horror fixed on her face as the darkest moments of her life returned in mocking, rushing echoes. The air was split again by the memory of Wolfram's dying scream.

“See yourself, children,” Snutworth said, his voice resonating around the cavern. “See yourself as you are. Liars, murderers, destroyers…”

Mark knew what was coming, but even so, as Lily's voice was replaced by his own, he couldn't help gritting his teeth.

You know your way out, Gloria … It's not my fault … I'm not going to ruin my reputation to make you feel better … Stupid old man, what does he know…?

“That isn't the truth!” Mark shouted, trying to drown out his own voice. “That's me at my worst. I've been better than that, we all have. You say you understand people, but all you can see is their failings.”

Lily opened her eyes wide, a new confidence spreading across her face.

“That's it! Don't you see, Mark, that's how
he
sees the world.” She looked straight at Snutworth. “That's why the Canticle sounds so angry. You can't hear it properly, can you? All you can hear is what you believe in. You think you're showing us the Truth about ourselves, but all you're revealing is the truth about
you
. You're empty, Snutworth. You don't see people—all you see are their weaknesses, their strings that you can use to manipulate them. But the rest of us are so much more than that.”

Snutworth straightened on his throne.

“I don't need to listen to this,” he said, his calm starting to fray. “You know nothing of the world, nothing of my design…”

“We know more than you,” Mark said, defiantly, moving to the edge of the causeway, so Snutworth couldn't avoid his gaze. “We see people as they are, not as a set of weaknesses to exploit.”

“Try it, Snutworth,” Lily continued, pointedly. “Try listening to everything.”

Snutworth hesitated.

“Do you think to surprise me with love, or kindness, or friendship? I know of these things—how else would I have known how you would react when I took Mr. Mark's emotions.” He leaned forward, intensely. “Can you never admit when you've lost?”

“Maybe there's something you don't know,” Lily whispered, her voice nearly blending with the Canticle. “Maybe you need to listen.”

Mark barely dared to breathe. As long as Snutworth saw the Canticle as a tool, as something he could use to his own ends, he could control it. But if he really opened up to it, if he really tried to listen to everything, then maybe their plan could work.

For a moment, Mark thought Snutworth wouldn't take the bait, that he would laugh and banish them from his presence, that this last, tiny chance would vanish forever.

But once, Snutworth had been Mark's servant—Mark had known him better than anyone else in the world. And if there was one thing he had learned, it was that Snutworth never wanted anyone else to know more than him.

Snutworth closed his eyes.

The volume and power of the Canticle began to increase. Snutworth clenched his jaw, concentrating, as it thrummed through the air. The whole chamber was beginning to shake, the ground rolling beneath them.

“There is nothing here I do not know,” Snutworth said, triumphantly, his voice splitting into a hundred, buzzing echoes. “Just the same old banalities, the same petty concerns, a million times over.”

“Exactly,” Mark shouted over the noise, staggering to maintain his balance. “The same. A million people, all as complex as the next, each with good points and bad, and so much in between…”

“Or are they all different?” Lily picked up the argument, dropping to her hands and knees as the chamber rocked, and dust fell from new cracks in the ceiling. “All filled with a thousand thoughts that pull them every way, until you can't tell which one will carry the day?”

“You want to know why the Librans wanted two Judges?” Mark called out, everything falling into place in his mind. “Because there're always two sides to everything. Always a hundred different ways to see. And that's why you'll never control the Canticle. Because you think too
small
. You hear all these people?” He shouted. “Listen—every one of them is wonderful.”

“Every one of them is terrible,” Lily added.

“We're devils,” Mark said.

“We're angels,” Lily said.

“We're simply human…” Mark screamed as the Canticle rose into a wail.

“… and that's the most complex thing of all,” Lily concluded. Snutworth's breathing became ragged. Mark could feel the vibrations in the air; the throne began to hum with a deep tone.

“No…” Snutworth exclaimed, his calm tone trying to reassert itself. “I am apart from this. I am pure. I see … everything … I understand … all…”

“You could have had a life, Snutworth,” Mark said, almost pitying him. “You could have made your own way, but instead, you're just everyone's shadow. An empty man whose whole life is based on controlling others. It doesn't matter how many times you pull the strings, you're not part of our world. And you never will be, now.”

“Our world!” Snutworth spat. Mark saw that Snutworth had thrown off any semblance of his old calm—dredging up these thoughts was taking its toll on him. “A falsehood—a tissue of lies to prove an old argument. Agora, Giseth, Naru—none of it is real, no one can have a real life here. We are nothing but dreams.”

“We might have been like that once…” Lily said, powerfully, the echoes beginning to cluster around her. “But not anymore. No one told us we were supposed to be an experiment; no one said that we were supposed to think a certain way. And now, we don't. We've changed; we're human. We have lives of our own that don't depend upon prophecies or ancient plans. We're our own people, and we always will be.”

“But what are you, Snutworth?” Mark said as the Canticle began to rise again, stronger than ever. “Have you found your place?”

“Is it here, with all these old secrets?” Lily continued, driving her point home as firmly as any knife. “Why do you want all this knowledge? What will you do with it?”

“I … I … control…” Snutworth gasped out, his voice barely seeming his own anymore, it carried so many half-heard echoes.

“Control what?” Lily continued. “What do you get out of it? If everyone is so stupid, out for whatever they can grab, why do you want secret power? Why don't you want the glory? Why hide here?”

“You're nothing,” Mark said, and meant it.

“No…” Snutworth said, his voice barely human.

“At least the Oracle did what she did out of a sense of duty,” Lily shouted. “But you, you're empty. Just a little boy who never knew when playtime was over.”

“All you have left are dead thoughts, Snutworth,” Mark said, his voice filling the chamber. “We're not your playthings anymore. The world's outgrown you.”

The Canticle screamed.

A million echoes filled the air, their whispers frantic and meaningless. The whole cavern was vibrating now. And in the midst of it all, Snutworth stood up from his throne with a jerk, as though it had burned him.

“Help … me…” he said, so softly that Mark could barely hear him. But it was too late.

Great shards of the ceiling crashed down, shearing off more of the walkway. Snutworth looked around him, suddenly clear-eyed, and terrified. Above him, there was a dreadful cracking sound.

“The Hub!” Lily yelled. Mark looked up. The Hub itself was vibrating, faster and faster, until the chamber rang. Any second now, it would fall. Lily and Mark scrambled backward as the walkway crumbled beneath their feet, and Snutworth stared around, looking for any way out.

But there was nothing. The gap that he had made was too wide. Too wide for him to escape, even if he used his rope. Too wide to jump. Mark, standing in the entrance, saw the moment that Snutworth realized this. Saw the understanding in his eyes.

And then, Snutworth turned, and sat back down.

Softly, he rested his hands on the arms of the Resonant Throne.

And he smiled. A smile that would live in Mark's memory for the rest of his life. It looked, at last, as though he were at peace with himself.

The Hub shattered.

The Cavern of the Oracle collapsed.

Darkness fell.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-EIGHT

The Judgment

L
ILY COUGHED DUST
into the air.

She tried to sit up, but there was a crushing weight on her chest, and she hadn't the strength. Still winded, she wriggled her arm, trying to loosen the rubble, and touched something that felt like a hand. She turned her head, blinking to get the grit out of her eyes. She made out Mark, lying on his front, half buried beneath loose pieces of stone. He didn't look too bad, though he was covered in rock dust. They had been lucky; they were standing in the entrance when the Chamber collapsed so they had escaped the worst. But Snutworth …

She had seen the Hub splinter as it fell. Seen the largest shard as it plunged down toward him.

He was gone. And the Canticle had gone with him. For the first time ever in Naru, she heard nothing but the beating of her own heart.

Beside her, Mark stirred. He raised his head, and mustered a smile.

“Well … that worked,” he said, weakly. He heaved himself up onto his elbows, and looked back at the former entrance to the throne room. A small piece of tattered curtain was still visible under the rubble. He frowned. “That's it, then?”

Lily nodded, slowly. She had to admit, it didn't feel much like a victory.

“Do you think we should have … I mean…” Mark hesitated. “Wolfram … Snutworth … Did we just kill them?”