‘Must it be someone from my family?’ she asked.
‘It would be easier to have a figurehead.’ Brynd stepped over to her side and followed her gaze outside. ‘It could even be symbolic if you like.’
‘I’m not a ruler, Brynd,’ Eir whispered. ‘It isn’t a matter of helping people. I do that at the hospital – that’s helping. Being Stewardess, even for that short while in Villjamur, all I really ended up doing was administering the affairs of the well-off. I’m not interested in doing that again.’
‘I understand that,’ Brynd replied.
‘Besides,’ Eir continued, ‘you’ve done a good enough job running things as they are. Why don’t you become overall ruler?’
Brynd gave a hollow laugh. ‘Me? I’m . . . no. We’ll need a Jamur leader to unite the people and, I suspect, for stability.’
‘You don’t need anyone but yourself and your army. The people love to see strong leaders, and you’re rather well thought of since the defence of Villiren.’
It was true and Brynd knew it. The temptation was great. He was well aware that he could run this operation on his own, and he was even starting to become attached to the idea of leadership. ‘What if I get killed on the next mission? How can I make such promises when I’m about to drop into the dark heart of our enemy? What good would I be as a leader, then, if I’ve been sliced into a thousand pieces—’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ Eir cut in.
‘It could happen. I have to plan for every eventuality. Anyway, I know that people don’t fully respect me because of what I am.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘My skin, Eir. I’ve seen the way people give me a mistrustful gaze across the bargaining table. They wouldn’t stand for someone so unnatural being their leader. They only do as I say because I’ve got some of the best warriors that have ever walked the land by my side. No, these people – bankers and landowners – they respect and trust only good blood. With Jamur blood at the helm, it means the status quo can continue. It means they can relax. You never knew the lengths your father went to protecting their wealth, did you? You never saw the way he’d manipulate things to keep people in their place, to keep them happy – making sure their money went to Villjamur. These people own all the resources you can imagine, and with me – a military man – in charge, they’d panic, and assume it was a dictatorship. They’d keep things away from me, scared I’d send in my soldiers and take it all away.’
‘And would you take it all?’
‘I confess I’d like to, in order to get things done quicker and give more people a job, but no. Even if I did want to do such a thing, now is not the right time. We need to rebuild things first. People in all walks of life need stability. Only you can offer them that, Eir. I need you to do this. Perhaps you would not need to be a nurse . . .’
She took a deep breath and glanced at him with more determination than he had ever seen in her. ‘You won’t stop me doing that in order to hold a banker’s hand.’
That’s the spirit, Brynd thought. He tried not to smile. That she cared about the lives of others would be a good thing. That she held the moneylenders in contempt was a boon. ‘Can I take it that you’ll consider it? You won’t be alone. We’ll stand side by side all the way through it.’
‘I’ll do it,’ Eir said. ‘I know all about duty.’
‘You’ll be popular,’ Brynd continued, his voice with more gravitas now he knew she would do what he asked of her. ‘People are already talking about the royal who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.’
‘Brynd, you don’t need to butter me up. I know people will like that. Any leader who isn’t mad or cruel will be well received. Listen, before we go on, may I please see my sister?’
‘Only if you’re certain you wish to. I’ve told you what state she is in.’
‘I’m positive, Brynd. Please, I would like to see her.’
*
Two soldiers on the door stepped aside as Brynd and Eir approached.
He paused as the men opened it, and two of the Night Guard soldiers on duty filtered out.
‘Commander, would you mind waiting outside momentarily? I would like to spend just a moment with her on my own.’
‘As you wish. I’ll join you in a moment.’
She slowly stepped inside, leaving Brynd in the companionable silence of the soldiers. He turned his back to the door for at least half a minute, then turned to look inside. Eir was standing there, her face impassive, watching through the bars. Rika had approached the bars to almost mirror her pose. By blood rather than magic, these were the two most powerful women in the Boreal Archipelago. He felt a sudden nostalgia, and could remember only too well what they were like as younger girls; they had brought a much-needed light into Balmacara, ridding the place of the darkness of Johynn’s paranoia.
And now look at them, Brynd thought. One altered into some cannibalistic beast; the other preparing to take her sister’s place at the start of an uncertain future.
What would Johynn think of the situation now, if he were still alive and of sound judgement? It was Johynn, after all, who put Brynd in charge of the military; who trusted Brynd with the safety of his family, with the protection of his ancient domain.
Brynd decided, then, that he could not dispose of Rika in some cruel manner; it would be up to Eir to decide her sister’s fate.
‘Commander . . .’ Eir called.
Brynd marched over to Eir’s side. Rika was slumped against the far wall now, her knees drawn up to her chin, her gaze set firmly on Eir as if she was looking right through her. Brynd tried to read Eir’s expression, but if the young woman was emotionally affected by this scene, she wasn’t showing it.
They turned and went back through the door into the corridor.
‘How is she?’ Eir’s question came matter-of-factly, as if this was merely another patient in the hospital.
‘According to the notes left in my room, she has not made any signs of a recovery, if that’s what you mean. She’s lashed out at whoever’s passed and eaten her food in what has been described as an “animalistic” manner.’
Eir nodded and moved to the doorway to look at her sister.
‘Are you all right?’ Brynd asked.
‘She is ill,’ Eir replied. ‘Nothing more. It may be that she cannot be cured, but she remains simply ill – and, importantly, she is not dead.’
‘What do you want done with her?’ Brynd asked.
‘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.
Its legs lightened and drifted behind, the whole beast inched forward, the noise increased. Vibrations rattled through them. Dust and debris skittered away in the wind caused by the rapid wing beats.
Jeza could feel Brynd tensing up. ‘It’s OK, just relax!’ she shouted. ‘You won’t fall off.’
‘How can you be certain?’
‘Well, even if you do, we’ll keep to street level, so you’ll only fall a few feet at the most.’
‘That statement doesn’t fill me with confidence.’
‘We can look at building some kind of attachment to keep people firmly in the saddle at higher altitude, that’s easy – but you should really just enjoy the ride first.’
‘OK. Now what?’ Brynd called back hesitantly. It amused Jeza greatly to see a war hero act so tentatively.
‘Gently ease off the reins, but remember, pull left for left, right for right – you must do that.’
‘I can manage that—’
The Mourning Wasp lurched forward at speed, the buildings began to whip by, and Jeza made the unlikely move of placing her hands on Brynd’s hips. Cobbles and stone walls became a blur at the periphery of her vision, and she could feel the chill wind on her hands. She leaned over to get a better view of what was going on: up ahead a wall seemed to race towards them, her heart beat incredibly fast, then she felt Brynd’s right arm move: the Mourning Wasp tilted and made a right turn, maintaining its height a few feet off the ground, almost skimming the stonework as it completed the manoeuvre, where it levelled off, stabilized, and continued at high speed.
‘You’ve got the hang of it now,’ Jeza called, but Brynd showed no sign of hearing her words.
&
nbsp; *
Street by street, building by blurred building, they raced through the southern neighbourhoods of Villiren, skimming the decrepit roads at phenomenal speed. What few citizens were out at this hour stood and gaped, slack-jawed, at the sight of two figures riding the Mourning Wasp past them. Not that it mattered – not at this speed.
Brynd had soon mastered the basics of controlling the steering: one of the benefits of the wasp was that being a sentient creature, she knew to avoid danger, she would instinctively avoid hitting a wall; the nerve controls simply nudged her where the rider wanted to go. Two minds were involved in the process, working symbiotically. There was one moment as a horse lurched into view at a crossroads, but the wasp’s reactions were quicker than the commander’s own, and the creature simply drifted up and over, steadying herself once again after they had passed.
*
‘Do you want me to take over yet?’ Jeza asked eventually, as the streets became sparser, more barren, devoid of notable buildings until they were at the limits of the city. ‘Do you want to head back?’
‘Not a chance,’ came the reply.
Brynd was clearly enjoying himself. They drifted into open country, past smallholdings and larger farmhouses. Out here there were few walls to avoid, and as a result he simply let go of the reins altogether.
‘Are you crazy?’ Jeza snapped. ‘Pick them up again.’
‘I want to see where she wants to go herself. I want to know what she thinks.’
‘That’s a bad idea!’ Jeza snapped.
‘Now who’s scared?’ came Brynd’s smug response.
The Mourning Wasp began to bank a little higher, at tree level now, gliding above the snow-covered hills. Her speed increased and, at one point, they spotted two pterodettes flying alongside before they fell back, unable to keep up. The wind was stronger here. Jeza’s heart skipped a few beats – she had not been prepared for Brynd letting go. Yet the wasp seemed to enjoy the freedom: she slowed down along the sides of an iced-up river, and drifted lazily along one of the tributaries, until she met the open sea. There, he took the reins again: and steered her back towards the ground, towards the city, whereupon they picked up speed to race the final few streets home.
The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) Page 28
