Mark Newton - The Broken Isles

‘We will keep her here, under observation, for now,’ Eir replied, and fell silent for a moment. ‘I won’t have her killed, if that’s what you’re implying?’

‘I wouldn’t have suggested such a thing,’ Brynd replied. ‘Hardly seems fitting, does it?’ Only then did he notice the irony of the statement — this gaol cell wasn’t exactly fitting either, with its damp stone walls, lack of light, and musty stench. ‘No, it is appropriate that, as her sole family member and guardian, you should have the final word in how she’s treated. She’s dangerous, I’ll say that much. She has killed people.’

‘I know you say it, but it just seems so hard to believe.’

‘Believe it,’ came another voice. It was Randur Estevu, approaching quietly. Guards doing their jobs well , Brynd thought. ‘Evening, commander.’

‘It was Randur who first saw her acting strangely,’ Brynd announced.

Eir glanced at him, wide-eyed. ‘Why didn’t you say anything to me?’

‘Well, I didn’t think you’d really want to know your sister had starting munching people,’ Randur replied. ‘Besides, I was scared shitless she’d do something.’

Randur related the incident outside his window.

‘So I told the commander, which was shortly before she climbed the Citadel. What else could I do?’

He moved close to Eir and tried to put his arms around her softly, but she shrugged him off and peered back through the doorway to her imprisoned sister. Randur looked as if he wanted to say something to her, but then thought better of it.

‘I’ll leave you two to it,’ Brynd announced. ‘You know where I am, Eir, if you need to find me. You two probably have a bit of catching up to do about your new role.’

‘What does he mean by that?’ Randur asked, but Brynd was already walking out of the room.

The next thing on Brynd’s list that night was to head to Factory 54 to check on developments there. He rode across town without a guard; this time he noticed more civilian patrols on the streets.

If they’re that keen on playing soldiers, perhaps they should have enlisted in the

army with everyone else. .

He knocked on the door, banging four times as he always did, the sound echoing through the cavernous rooms of the factory. It was with a sense of excitement that Jeza opened the door for him.

‘I got your message,’ he grunted. ‘Is tonight really going to be of use?’

‘As I said in the note, it really is,’ she replied. ‘You look anxious.’ She was going to say white as a ghost, but he always was; this time there was a hint in his expression that suggested he was deeply uneasy about something.

‘War will be coming sooner than I thought. If you’ve not noticed already, the last of the soldiers have been leaving the city and the island.’

‘Is that safe?’

‘Yes. Surveillance has confirmed no threats remain to the north, only in the west. You’ll hear news soon enough.’

‘Are you happy with the orders of armour?’ Jeza enquired, leading him down the dreary passageway, deep in the factory.

‘It’s not enough, admittedly, but it would take the better part of a year to supply every soldier. Time is against us, unfortunately.’

‘Don’t be so downbeat!’ she enthused.

‘If only I had your optimism,’ Brynd replied.

‘If I’m your symbol of optimism, you really are in trouble.’

He chuckled, which seemed to diffuse his mood somewhat. ‘Come, show me what you have this time.’

‘We’ve been secretive about this, because we wanted to make sure it would work, and that it was stable,’ she declared, leading him to a door. The droning noise could be heard from outside the room.

‘What have you got in there?’ he asked.

‘You’ll see.’ Grinning, Jeza pushed back the door.

Brynd’s jaw fell in disbelief.

The Mourning Wasp was hovering a few feet above the floor, its wings beating so fast that he could hardly see them — there was a huge downdraught of wind. Standing against the far wall were Coren and Diggsy. They waved to the commander, but he wasn’t paying attention to them.

‘What. .?’ Brynd began. ‘What is it? It has a skull?’

Jeza explained, loudly, above the droning. She told him a shortened version of the events that led to this point. She said it was quite safe and explained why.

‘There’s more,’ she said, walking along the side of the huge room. She took him by his arm and dragged him to follow her. The look on his face was priceless.

‘Here’s a helm we manufactured. If you notice, we’ve included a transparent visor.’

Brynd acknowledged the items and looked back to the wasp still hovering above the floor.

‘I want you to wear it,’ she said, pressing the helm into his stomach.

‘Why?’

‘To keep the wind from your eyes.’

The commander frowned. ‘Why would I want to do that? Do you want me to stand behind it?’

‘Oh no,’ she laughed. ‘It’s much better than that.’

They reconvened outside the rear doors of the factory. It was way past midnight now, there had been a sudden shower, and the streets were glistening in the moonlight. It was cool and clear. Perched on stone slabs was the Mourning Wasp, its legs poised, always on edge, ready to take flight.

There was little or no gang activity in the surrounding districts — you could usually hear their calls or bottles smashing, but there was only the groaning of the wind, or the distant sound of the surf. Tonight the quiet, desolate district was to their advantage.

Jeza slipped on her own helm with the visor sitting perfectly in front of her eyes and she encouraged Brynd to do the same, which he did. They approached the Mourning Wasp, which was inert, like a statue. It was only now that Brynd seemed to notice the modified saddle.

‘Where did you get that from?’ he enquired.

‘Clever, isn’t it? We had to modify the design of a horse saddle, but it does the job remarkably well.’

‘Let me be perfectly clear,’ Brynd said. ‘You expect me to ride this?’

‘I do, yes, and once you do, you’ll realize why. Come on — you’re a big brave soldier, and I’ll be sitting right behind you.’ She half expected him to cuff her around the ear.

She prodded him forward, and he put his foot in the stirrups and levered himself up and onto the creature. She hopped up behind him, peering over his shoulder towards the vacant stretch of road that lay ahead of them. It was perfectly straight, as a lot of the newer parts of the city tended to be, and lined by tall warehouses or factories.

‘The road south of here heads straight towards the Wastelands,’ Jeza said. ‘She knows the way already — we’ve taken her out a few times now.’

‘ She? ’

‘That’s right, she’s a female,’ Jeza replied. ‘Right, now, you see those two leather-looking reins in front? They’re not leather, they’re made of a specific bit of tissue, which connects to nerves within her skull. Now, think of them as like normal reins. You pull to the right, she goes right. You pull to the left, she goes to the left. Both at once, she slows down — release and she’ll go as fast as she can. There’s a middle rein that controls her height, but she tends to make her own judgements for the most part. I haven’t quite worked out how to get a steady pace out of her, so you’ll just have to see how you get on.’

‘OK,’ Brynd replied grimly. He set his gaze forward and they waited, on the back of the wasp, for a minute more. ‘How does it get going?’ They had to speak louder now, their voices muffled by the helms.

‘Tug the reins back firmly.’ Jeza chuckled, reached behind and patted the muscle where the wings met. The wings began to move, the drone commenced and, very slowly, the Mourning Wasp began to lift.