Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

On that, they eventually came to an agreement.

The cage was deactivated, the light fell away, and there was a sudden stillness in the building, but Frater Mercury showed few signs of acknowledging the change in his situation. The Night Guard soldiers stood to one side next to Artemisia, their arms folded, in respectful silence.

The elders, still illuminated, presented their question in their own language. Artemisia translated for Brynd: ‘Reverend Frater,’ she said, ‘we have entered discussions with the aged races, represented here by the white man. That’s you.’

‘Thanks for pointing that out,’ Brynd muttered.

Artemisia held out her hand, despite the silence that followed. Brynd wondered if Frater Mercury was talking only to the elders.

‘He just asked them if they have let him free. In a manner of speaking, they replied. They continue: “It is clear that you have made your wishes to terminate your existence fully over the recent. . uhm, a unit of time equivalent to three of your years. . If your wish still remains, then so may it be.” ’

Brynd watched Frater Mercury for any signs of a reaction. Suddenly a voice rushed into his head: Did you come here to free me?

He thought his reply back, not wanting to speak it aloud. Yes. But I ask one final act of sacrifice .

Can I die then? Will I be finally left alone?

Your sacrifice will be your death , Brynd replied, if I have my way .

Poetic enough, warrior.

‘He must be contemplating his option,’ Artemisia said. ‘The elders have asked if he requires more time to think on the issue, but he has replied already. They have mentioned you and they have mentioned the way in which his life will be terminated — with sufficient power to cause destruction. They are trying not to use the word suicide. . He will comply.’

Brynd’s relief was genuine. He had his weapon, and the poor man could end his existence now that he had seen his home world.

‘That’s the easy part over,’ Brug whispered. ‘Now how the hell do we plan to get him up in that sky-city?’

As the sun reddened behind the clouds, the Night Guard rode back to Villiren. He noticed the distinct lack of snow in comparison with the first time he approached the camp. The landscape seemed far more desolate because of it, the melting snow revealing broken carts abandoned along the side of the road, or the occasional corpse with an outstretched arm. The soldiers rode in thoughtful silence. They had left discussions with Artemisia’s people in a profoundly positive manner — Brynd had negotiated what he wanted, to use Frater Mercury as a weapon, but the task ahead was now one of planning, strategy, logistics.

During the siege of Villiren he felt he had done enough of that to last a lifetime, but he had already begun ordering more soldiers to move across the island and then by sea to congregate on Folke with the others. That was where the threat was gathering, his garudas were informing him; it was on those shores that an invasion would come, it was where he had to send troops first.

Tundra soon became villages, melding into the southern fringes of Villiren, the Wastelands, where there seemed to be more hastily constructed shelters and crude housing being erected daily. Brynd also noticed there were small groups of people marching around the streets as though on a military drill. They wore no uniforms, but carried crude weapons, machetes or messer blades; and some even seemed to be taking look-out positions.

‘Is this some kind of civilian militia we’re unaware of?’ Brug muttered.

‘They’re probably still afraid the Okun will come back and want to defend themselves,’ Mikill said. ‘It’s quite natural.’

Brynd wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t ever hope to know all of what was going on in Villiren, but this didn’t feel right for some reason. ‘Wait here,’ he called to the others.

He pulled his horse to a slower pace, and nudged her nearer to the patrols. Tugging his woollen cloak around his uniform, he concealed anything that might suggest he was a military man. He even pulled up his hood to put his pale face into shadow.

One of the men looked up at him, a bearded fellow with a scarred face, dressed in little more than a bundle of rags. In his right hand he gripped a blade.

‘What’s all this?’ Brynd gestured to the unit of six other people. ‘Some kind of citizen militia?’

‘Sommat like that, yeah,’ the man muttered. ‘What’s it to you anyway?’

‘I wondered about joining up, that’s all.’

‘We ain’t no military and we don’t trust outsiders. Military don’t care about the likes of us. They make things worse.’

‘Really?’ Brynd said. ‘How so?’

‘Monsters,’ the man muttered. ‘They’re too busy inviting monsters into the city. It’s why we’re here.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Brynd said. ‘You mean the camp to the south.’

‘Aye, that’s right. You seen anything strange, traveller?’

‘Nothing at all out of the ordinary,’ Brynd replied. ‘There’s no reason to be afraid. But I thought they were our allies?’

‘That’s what the military wants you to think, get it? Don’t believe a word of what they’re saying.’

‘Why would the military lie?’ Brynd asked.

‘You ask too many questions. .’ the man replied.

‘Well, I’m not from around here.’

‘The military wants us to believe anything so that we’ll be forced to live with freaks. Make us live in fear so we think it is the best choice. We don’t wanna be sharing our city with the likes of them, is all.’

‘But you’re not actually sharing anything yet,’ Brynd pointed out. ‘Nothing at all has come around here.’

‘You know an awful lot for a traveller,’ the man replied, eyeing Brynd with suspicion. ‘Nothing’s come in yet because there are people like us to stop them coming in.’

‘I’m sure the city’s grateful for your. . protection,’ Brynd replied. ‘How many monsters have you stopped so far?’

The man didn’t seem to like that question, judging by his sour expression. ‘Ain’t the point — it’s about having a presence, like. Having men on the street so things can know not to enter these parts. Makes some of the families feel safer, too.’

Brynd nodded and decided not to press the issue any further. The man had decided to believe there was a threat and act in this way; nothing Brynd could say would change matters. ‘Good luck, then,’ he replied, and turned his horse back.

On getting back to the Night Guard, Brug asked him: ‘Anything the matter?’

‘Yes,’ Brynd replied, ‘we need better propaganda. They’re convinced monsters are going to come into the city and take what’s theirs. It bothers me.’

‘We know better than to believe nonsense like that, though,’ Mikill replied.

‘Sure,’ Brynd replied, ‘but they do believe, and what concerns me is why they believe these things so strongly .’

They headed into the Citadel where Brynd immediately called a meeting, in private, with Jamur Eir. He could put it off no longer.

Within half an hour she was sitting next to him in the obsidian room. She had just returned from the hospital, and there were still a few bloodstains on her clothing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t have time to change.’

Brynd waved her apology away. ‘Quite all right. I’ve seen more than enough blood on uniforms in my time. At least yours is present for a more constructive reason.’

‘Have you seen my sister at all?’ she asked. ‘I’ve spent a lot of time working, but I’ve not noticed her around the Citadel. And when I do ask someone, they put me off with one of your instructed answers.’