The Broken Isles

THIRTEEN

The western coast of Folke was a welcome sight. The sun was rising, illuminating the shoreline. A few birds skittered about the rocky shore before veering out to sea. A thin, flat layer of cloud drifted by above the land. The conditions were as calm as they could possibly be for a landing. Brynd put four of his Night Guard brethren on board, who had acted impressively in getting this hefty yacht cutting through the waters so efficiently. They were not natural sailors, but they had remembered their training manuals to the letter, and now the sails snagged tightly in the wind, and the boat lurched towards the east.

Brynd stood at the bow contemplating the island ahead, waiting to see signs of life.

The military had decided to stay until all civilians were on the sea-vehicles or some reclaimed vessel, and either were now at sea or on the island of Folke. The evacuation had been completed successfully and there had been no more attacks.

Brynd was grateful for that.

‘Sele of the day, commander,’ Investigator Fulcrom said. The rumel then yawned and stretched. ‘Time at sea certainly helps thoughts germinate, doesn’t it?’

‘Indeed, investigator,’ Brynd replied.

‘You seem troubled, commander.’

Brynd gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve been troubled for years; it doesn’t bother me any more.’

Fulcrom smiled. ‘Have you any more thoughts about what we’ll do next?’

‘I’ve done nothing but that. This much is clear to me: while the sky-city remains, I doubt we can form a peaceful future. We can’t build a new multi-racial culture, we can’t decide on how land is to be allocated. We can’t do any of this when we know what it can do. One island was cleansed even without its help, and now Jokull makes two. .’

‘Frater Mercury can pull off a trick or two,’ Fulcrom said optimistically. ‘He could come in handy.’

‘You’re not wrong about him, investigator.’ Brynd now looked towards Folke’s coast. He could just about make out the forms of those enormous horses moving across the fields. They were now unattached to any vehicle and instead tromped about the landscape freely.

‘I noticed you had some assistance from. . well, they were people not of our world. They’ll be useful again, surely?’

‘I’ve no doubts about that,’ Brynd muttered. ‘They’ve not just come here to fight. They want to share our islands with us, too.’

Fulcrom seemed to stare at Brynd for a while, blinking in the morning light. ‘You have doubts?’

‘I have doubts.’ Their ambassador has corrupted our Empress: yes, I have my doubts, Brynd thought. ‘We should prepare to land. Gather your things and,’ he added with a smile, ‘you might want to wake your lady, too.’

He pointed out Lan who was asleep on the deck, under a pile of blankets, the gentle breeze stirring her hair.

‘She’s had a busy few weeks,’ Fulcrom chuckled.

Their boat was forced to navigate through thousands of vessels now abandoned a little offshore and, once through, they sailed the final stretch. Brynd and a handful of his soldiers jumped ashore in the shallow waters and waded the final few feet to land, carrying their weapons and supplies.

Brynd was pleased to see that the military had followed his plans and had everything under control. There were small encampments where names and details were being recorded for any families or friends on other islands, and for official records. Food parcels were being handed out. Tents were being set up in the fields just to the north. Two dragons were flying into the distance, presumably having just dropped off supplies of food or blankets. There hadn’t been much to come from Villiren in the first place — but it showed wonderful altruism that the suffering could find something to give the refugees.

To one side, Lan — the former Knight of Villjamur — landed gracefully. Brynd looked back at the boat where Fulcrom was tentatively disembarking.

‘Did you actually leap from there?’ Brynd called over.

Lan turned to face him. ‘Sure. It’s not that far. When you’ve spent a few weeks clearing the distance between the bridges of Villjamur, this is pretty simple stuff.’

‘And you can fight well?’

‘Well enough,’ she said. ‘Though I was trained more for one-on-one encounters.’

Brynd nodded. ‘We’ll certainly have use of you, miss.’

He turned to watch the shore, where he hoped to see some of Artemisia’s people. Sure enough — and to plan — they were there, carrying supplies and distributing them among the evacuees. To his surprise even Artemisia was helping, lumbering up and down the beach with piles of blankets.

Brynd spotted a shaven head approaching him, fellow Night Guard Brug. ‘Commander,’ he called, ‘everything is running to schedule. Aid is arriving regularly via dragon transport, people are now being treated for serious illnesses or wounds.’

‘What about the plans for resettlement?’

‘We’ve the three encampments here, with three more planned further inland. The Dragoons are heading there right now to set them up.’

‘We shouldn’t remain here for too long. I imagine this could become a front for another battle. The camps should be dispersed as soon as people are recovered enough to press on. Do we have any estimates of numbers?’

‘Somewhere between fifty-five and sixty thousand, at the last survey, but it’s hard to tell with so many small children.’

Brynd cringed.

‘That’s good, surely, commander?’

‘Good that we saved so many; bad that so many must have been killed in Villjamur or are still somewhere on the island, destined to join the dead. There were a good few hundred thousand in Villjamur and the caves alone, plus the refugees outside — not to mention the rest of the island. How many of those died, we’ll never know.’

‘Aye, sir. It’s saddening. We have a few large funeral pyres planned for those bodies that made it over with us. Out of respect, at least, we will get them out of the way tonight.’

‘Do it while it’s still light — you don’t want the people seeing the pyres at night or families will be wailing non-stop. I’d also like riders sent to all the settlements on this side of Folke — they should know what is happening.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘How are Artemisia’s soldiers coping?’

‘Reasonably well as it happens. Your idea for them to deliver and dispatch food aid was a good one — it seems the refugees have accepted their presence, even if they might fear them on first sight.’

‘The way people react to their fear will ultimately define our future,’ Brynd replied grimly. ‘It’s important that, at every given moment, someone from their world is seen to be standing alongside our military or is involved in medical or social assistance.’

‘You’re fully committed to the partnership then?’

‘I’m fully committed to peace,’ Brynd said. ‘You’ve seen the other option available to us.’

‘I wasn’t doubting your orders, sir. We’re all right behind the scheme.’

Brynd glanced at Brug. ‘Do I dictate too much?’

‘Pardon, commander?’

‘I’m no longer just making military decisions,’ Brynd replied. ‘I’m interfering with the matters of an emperor or empress. It is one of the key tenets of the Night Guard not to assist in creating a military ruler. And here I am, acting like one. .’

‘You have the people’s interests at heart, sir,’ Brug said.

So do some tribal dictators, Brynd thought. Even if I consult the Night Guard, that’s a military ruling force making decisions. If Brynd felt awkward making decisions, there was a reason for it — people should indeed be deciding matters for themselves. Just not yet.

‘See to it that the Night Guard muck in with the aid until nightfall, and then we’ll head back to Villiren in the morning. It will do the people’s morale some good to mix with the regiment. And make sure you raise their spirits — just don’t let things get out of hand.’

‘With the poor wine brewed on this island, sir, I seriously doubt they will.’

Brynd made his way up towards the abandoned farmyard, which the military had commandeered as their local headquarters. It was a large, nearly decrepit, whitewashed building, positioned at the edge of an enclosure surrounded by high, dry-stone walls. Old farming implements had been left scattered around the place, tools that looked more as if they were used for torture than agriculture. Troughs were upturned or on their sides; the door of the vast barn had been discarded and, judging by the charring, long set upon by local youths.

A light shower came and went, but brought no snow. Perhaps it was the coastal breeze but the weather seemed less and less like that of an ice age. There were much warmer spells of late and, though it was not necessarily anything more than a hunch, the signs of nature suggested it was more than that: buds were starting to show on dead-looking plants; new shoots had started to form. It made Brynd contemplate yet again whether the astrologers who made their predictions about the long ice age were simply wrong.

He continued along the muddied road that, thanks to the military, had already become well-trodden and slippery. Gloops of mud were thrown up at his black uniform, and he was forced to step up onto the grassier verge, clinging to the stone wall, so that he did not fall in the quagmire.

In the field opposite, cream and brown tents stretched as far as he could see, with little spires of smoke rising from inside them and out. Brynd paused to watch: it reminded him so much of the refugee camps outside Villjamur. There was so much activity here that it seemed some primitive city had been set up overnight. People milled about in between the rows. A priestess was holding her sermon against a small outbuilding. From the look of it, there were even a few people who had begun businesses — upturned crates and made temporary market stalls, and they were selling whatever bits and pieces they had managed to bring along with them.

Brynd continued on his way, until the muddied road went through a zone that had been sealed off, and was for military personnel only. To one side two young soldiers were slouched by a low, dry-stone wall, sitting on two barrels, muttering to each other. For a moment he tried to glean what they were saying about the refugees, and was soon disgusted at the subject.

‘. . One of them even offered to suck my cock for a few coins.’ They both laughed. In a heartbeat, Brynd stormed up to the soldier who spoke, gripped him by his throat and pinned him back against the wall. ‘And what was your reply to her then, soldier?’ he snarled.

‘Commander. .’ the man spluttered. His face was covered in dirt, his eyes were wide. ‘I. . Nothing happened, commander, I swear.’

‘Sir,’ the other man said, ‘he’s full of nonsense. Don’t listen to his stories. .’

Brynd released his grip, listened to their measly excuses and took their names.

‘If you hear of anything like that going on, you come to me first,’ Brynd said. ‘These are our own fucking people — we serve them, or have you forgotten that?’

‘No, sir,’ they said in unison.

‘I’ll personally give a dozen lashes to anyone who abuses any of these refugees — in whatever fucking capacity that shows. I’ll cut your cocks off myself if I have to. Have I made myself clear?’

‘Yes, commander,’ they said, both now terrified, and nodding.

‘Good. Get back to your units,’ Brynd ordered, and waved them aside. He watched them gather up their things and shamble into the distance. Of course, such abuse went on in the army — word spread quickly through the ranks — and there was little he could do to stop it, no matter how hard he had tried over the years. Those in power would always use it in inappropriate ways. He didn’t mind at all if the men, or indeed women, visited whores — he had done it himself, of course — but to abuse the Empire’s own people and take advantage of Villjamur’s desperate refugees was a line he would not cross. It was essential that the people trusted the military. Brynd continued into the run-down farmhouse, which was the new hub of operations.

Although it obviously hadn’t been lived in for years, a little military efficiency had helped: a pile of broken furniture had been stacked outside, while other smaller pieces were being burned in a huge firebox against the far wall. There were flagstones for flooring and a large wooden table, at which Artemisia was seated. Three Dragoons paused, as they strode through the room, to salute Brynd and he returned their gesture.

These were all signs of business as usual, that they were on top of everything.

‘Welcome, commander,’ Artemisia said. ‘Were the people who lived here once all, how is it said. . dwarven? These buildings are not fit for children to stand in, let alone one of your human or rumel people.’

‘You help fight in a battle and a low ceiling is what worries you the most?’

‘It was a good skirmish, was it not?’

She continued to examine the maps and various lists that were strewn across it, and he could see that she had been making notes.

Brynd sat alongside her. Somewhere outside, he could hear someone busily chopping wood. The blue sky in the distance prompted his thoughts to the change in weather.

‘Tell me, the gate through which your enemy gained access to this world. How many of them are there?’

‘They are numerous, though many are located above the seas, so were of no practical use until the ice formed as a result of the cold being emitted.’

‘So though the cold weather — all this ice — isn’t natural here it’s far worse in the north. Is that anything to do with the Realm Gates?’

Artemisia remained expressionless. ‘Of course, commander, it brings you the ice from our own world and expels it into yours. You think your world is cold? My comrades can dress lightly here. It is a paradise compared with ours, which has now become an endless winter. This is what it is like at the end of the world. The land there is almost utterly dead: we would perish if we remained there for another of your years. Our people had heard stories about a sun; those who sired me told me about it, many generations ago, and we do have certain texts that depict its path through the sky. But it was never anything like I have experienced here — so bright and red. When I first came through — long before I brought my ship, on a purely investigative quest — I spent the better part of a day watching your sun moving through the sky from one side to the other. There were no clouds that day. Its movements did not tire me. I sat, and I watched, and I marvelled. Then I returned to the gloom from which I came, to face the war that had been fought for generations; I knew then my elders’ plans were correct. We had to leave but, alas, it seemed our enemies were burrowing through time and space in their own way. Those Realm Gates indeed brought the ice from our world. So powerful is their effect it seems they altered your weather patterns, too.’

‘You’ve closed one up — the one on Tineag’l, with your ship, after the war in Villiren — and it became warmer then. We’re not in an ice age here, are we?’

‘Your scholars were all fools,’ Artemisia replied. ‘They would do well instead to open their eyes and observe the world.’

Brynd had learned to look past her bluntness. It’s probably deserved and, if not, then it’s a welcome challenge. ‘Presumably if you’ve shattered one gate, you can shatter some more?’

‘It is possible, yes.’

‘If you want to stop them coming into this world, then it seems like a good place to start,’ Brynd added dryly.

‘We can do that — though it would only make a difference to your climate.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Our enemies have,’ Artemisia said, ‘all arrived anyway.’

‘In the sky-city?’ Brynd asked.

‘A crude term for the Policharos, but it is accurate enough. They are here in vast numbers, in that vehicle. Whatever happens in the near future will settle matters, finally, and it will occur here, in the Boreal Archipelago.’

‘Are you suggesting they’ve put everything in that thing? Their entire culture?’

‘It sounds improbable, commander, does it not? Yet it is truth. They, too, know there is precious little time in our own world. The elements have removed the luxury of choice. Our sources informed us that they had been making arrangements for a large-scale exodus, and that they had sourced a way of transportation for the whole construct, both through space and time, to this world. That action itself removed their biggest threat, Villjamur.’

Brynd fought back his annoyance. He knew that the destruction of Villjamur was a trifling matter to Artemisia, and that she had probably seen more death than he had in his lifetime, but to him — to his people — it was a world-shattering event. ‘I take it this sky-city should be the focus of our plans? That we should somehow disable it.’

‘I can barely begin to describe its complexities.’

‘Try me,’ Brynd said.

‘As you observe, it is a city. It is a vast, complex. . urban structure, well-fortified and containing uncountable numbers of roads, not to mention the housing there, that covers the majority of the surface. There are even structures made from the blackened bones of humans. They have built this for the purpose of redeploying an entire civilization, here on this chain of islands. They are, it seems, a significant step ahead of us. What’s more, they are now perfectly prepared to populate the island of Jokull.’

‘You know this is their plan?’

‘It’s a strategy for survival, commander. It is what you or I would both do. Admit it. Now that it has been cleansed of life, the island is theirs. What may happen is that just a few of the sky-city’s outer structures will commence to fall to ground, at first, whereupon they will form the basis of new cities — only to take the rest so that they can expand elsewhere.’

‘They can’t do that so quickly, can they?’ Brynd asked. ‘They can’t just fucking take an island like that.’

‘You have just witnessed them taking your island, have you not? Now, of course,’ Artemisia continued, ‘there is the matter of further invasions, the systematic eradication of your people. They will strike this island next. Then the next. They will not stop.’

The recent victory suddenly became quite hollow. Indeed, Brynd felt sickened and now stared glumly at the table. He had tried to view the situation as optimistically as possible, but all he was doing was dressing over a severe wound. ‘What do you suggest then?’ Brynd asked.

‘We should have a series of plans commencing with the massing of a combined army and ending with a confrontation against them — and sooner would be better, because then they will not have spread themselves across the various islands. They will be much more difficult to remove, if that is the case.’

‘How big would an army need to be to tackle them?’

‘I can bring the better part of half a million soldiers.’

‘Half a million?’ Brynd exclaimed.

‘It is not enough, I know,’ Artemisia declared.

I was thinking the opposite. . ‘Just how many people will we really need?’

Artemisia raised her hands in a gesture Brynd took for a shrug, though she had not yet learned the subtleties of human interaction in this world. Perhaps it meant more in her own. ‘Twice as many, at least, for that is how many they will have with them.’

‘Is that the entire population you’ve brought with you?’ Brynd asked.

‘No. There are many people who are not born for war, just like in this world — more fragile races. What has arrived will make up the majority, but the others will be of little use just yet.’

Brynd’s mind flitted across various problems. He began to think about where these creatures — no, these people — would reside, and then about how he might locate so many soldiers. There were, perhaps, a hundred thousand potential warriors he could find at the most — and most of them would be civilians. They would need training, armour and weaponry. The youths back in Villiren suddenly came to mind, and he felt a strong desire to see what they were able to provide.

‘You seem distracted, commander,’ Artemisia said. ‘I hope you are still capable of assistance in these matters.’

Brynd’s temper flared, but he wasn’t going to let her see it. ‘I’m simply contemplating the logistics of the operation, Artemisia. Now tell me, you’re a military ambassador, as such, though you’re a fine warrior also. Who will be responsible for planning this operation?’

‘You will be the senior representative from your world, of course.’

‘And from yours?’

‘I will consult with the elders and see who they deem suitable. It may be that they deem it suitable for me to continue as the point of contact, for I am relatively senior. I understand the subtleties of your culture better than they do, and can translate messages to them easily.’

‘You do that,’ Brynd said, ‘because-’

There was a knocking at the door. Brynd called out; a soldier opened it and poked his head in. ‘Commander. Investigator Fulcrom is here, and he says he’s got someone rather important. .’

‘Good, send him in,’ Brynd ordered.

A moment later, Fulcrom strolled in and nodded to Brynd and there was a strange-looking individual in tow. Suddenly Artemisia was dropping to her hands and knees. Beside her chair she bowed deeply, her arms out straight, palms to the floor. He could not have imagined a more bizarre transformation of her character.

‘Well,’ Fulcrom said, frowning at Artemisia, ‘being a fan of evidence, I suppose all this might confirm Frater Mercury’s status as a god of sorts.’

Brynd moved across to examine Frater Mercury, and Artemisia made no signs of moving from her position. ‘Frater Mercury,’ Brynd began, ‘welcome to the Boreal Archipelago. I must first thank you for saving many lives.’

There was no sign on the individual’s face, faces, that his words had been registered. Brynd tried not to stare too much at the two perfect halves of his face. Alongside him, Artemisia finally clambered to her feet and stepped cautiously forwards. She began speaking to Frater Mercury in their native language. The noises were guttural and unnerving.

Brynd cleared his throat and addressed Artemisia. ‘Perhaps we should get him back to the outskirts of Villiren. While we’re there, we can bring your elders together with Rika, and we can discuss the immediate future.’

Artemisia paused but ignored him.

Fulcrom moved beside Brynd. ‘I suspect they’ve a few issues,’ he whispered.

Brynd took him to one side, out of Artemisia’s earshot. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, I have a hunch, but it’s no more than that. Who’s the blue person?’

‘A warrior from another world,’ Brynd replied matter-of-factly. ‘One of the ones on our side.’

‘Right.’ Fulcrom seemed bemused and shook his head.

‘Out with it, investigator,’ Brynd pressed. ‘What’s your hunch about the newcomer?’

‘Frater Mercury — if he’s a god to this woman here — which I’m certain he is in a manner of speaking, indeed to all of us — then, in their world, I believe he was something of an imprisoned god. Part of the reason he broke out is to see what’s left of the world he abandoned before it was too late and his creations smashed it all up.’

‘So you think she’s persuading him back perhaps?’

‘He can probably hear what we’re saying, by the way,’ Fulcrom whispered. ‘He’s choosing to ignore all of us. He is, in many ways, like a child who wants simple freedom, out of curiosity more than anything else. I can’t understand much about him — considering he is meant to be connected to us — but I suspect he’s suffering inside. He feels the pressure of it all. Coming here was a release from those burdens.’

‘And yet,’ Brynd ventured, ‘you asking him for help in our world has already put more pressure upon him.’

‘It’s certainly possible.’

‘What state is his mind in?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ Fulcrom replied. ‘I think stable, but I don’t know him well enough, nor do I know what “normal” is for him. What I do know is that he’s almost an omnipotent individual — his involvement could mean you manage to get the future you plan for. If not, it could mean a future that none of us is a part of.’

Brynd breathed deeply, weighing the investigator’s words in his mind. ‘I’ll let Artemisia finish with him, then I may try to get a few words with him — that is, if Artemisia will let me.’

The blue-skinned woman’s voice was pleading, her words tumbling out of her mouth in a torrent he couldn’t understand. Eventually her sentences faded and Frater Mercury remained impassive to what she said. Artemisia sat back down at the table, and for the first time since he had met her she seemed quite disturbed.

‘Is everything all right?’ Brynd enquired.

She looked up at him. ‘We need to get back to the encampment as soon as possible. I will see to it that the dragons are brought here before nightfall.’

‘Are you taking Frater Mercury with you?’ Brynd asked.

‘Of course!’ she said with irritation. She rose up from her chair petulantly. ‘Unless you wish to return to Villiren via foot, Commander Lathraea, I would urge you to set straight your affairs here as soon as possible. Make what arrangements you will.’ With that, she marched back over to Frater Mercury, muttered something in their own tongue, before they both left the building.

Brynd watched through the windows as they made their way along the edge of the wall and out of sight.

‘They may be from a different world,’ Fulcrom said, ‘but they’re certainly as temperamental as people from ours.’

Brynd laughed, and found the thought vaguely comforting.