‘And that’s it then?’ Brynd said. ‘You simply ruin the leader of our people and that’s that?’
‘Please, you must forgive me. I did not know this would be the way of things. It very rarely is. I was acting under instructions to bond, to connect, but this is most unfortunate. You have my sincere apologies.’ She seemed quite matter-of-fact about the whole business. ‘But, you mention she is your ruler, yet you, commander, are the one who does most of the organizing. It is you who is more like the Emperor.’
‘Nonsense,’ Brynd scoffed.
‘I do not believe you felt Rika suitable for the task in hand. I could sense such things.’
‘Only because you changed her in the first place.’
‘For that I have apologized. It was an act not from malice but from one of seeking union — that, you must understand. I assure you it was accidental, and please remember that myself and my people are at your service.’
Brynd tried to calm himself. It would do no good to continue the conversation in a fury. He wondered if cultists could help Rika regain her former self? It was probably worth a shot at some point, though for now it seemed he had to find a new ruler — and it would not be himself, he would not become a military dictator.
Brynd mercilessly processed his options. Did Artemisia’s confession change the relationship between their cultures? No. Could he trust Artemisia on the matter? It seemed she was at least telling the truth, for whatever that was worth any more. How important was Rika? He cared for her, of course, from a sense of duty and nostalgia, but the people of Villiren had not exactly taken a shine to her — and they did not so far have the opportunity to do so. There was nothing lost there, at least.
‘Jamur Eir,’ he announced. ‘She will make the transition to being leader of our nations. The blood lineage is there, enough to keep the establishment satisfied.’
Brynd glanced to Mikill and Brug, whose expressions seemed positive. Brug leaned over and whispered, ‘She’ll be compassionate. That’ll come in useful when we need to be hard with regards to rations or taxes.’
‘Besides, I do understand your current pain,’ Artemisia continued.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It may well be that we are experiencing a similar crisis with our creator.’
‘No, it is really best if I show you,’ Artemisia said. ‘It is not the sort of thing that can be explained.’
The level of security around them increased; whereas before there were no more than ten soldiers, now there seemed to be an entire regiment surrounding them. They were escorted down a long, straight avenue between the tents, and one thing that struck Brynd was just how clean and organized everything was. This was military discipline at its finest.
Artemisia walked alongside them, which was to Brynd an important gesture. Orders were given and the military escort separated, allowing a path to open up to the right. It led to yet another wooden structure, this one significantly more sturdy-looking than any of the others. There were yet more guards stationed here, different insignias, a more intimidating air.
‘What’s this place?’ Brynd asked.
‘Our destination,’ Artemisia replied. ‘When you enter, you must not say anything until spoken to; you will not comment on what you see.’
The three Night Guard soldiers nodded and continued behind Artemisia down a small set of stairs to a vast room. Although the building was constructed from wood, the walls appeared blackened and contained specks of light, like some kind of projection of constellations. At the top, to the right, a row of this culture’s elders were seated within a ghostly white light. In the centre of the room, however, Brynd could make out an enormous enclosure — except there were bars of translucent purple light that seemed to shimmer where bars of metal ought to have stood. Every now and then something would crackle and spark off onto the floor a few feet away.
Inside this prison of light sat Frater Mercury. He was perched on a stone slab and the light from the bars reflected on the metallic half of his face.
Brynd tried to remember what Fulcrom said, and communicate via his thoughts, to enquire if the man was OK being treated in this way.
‘Are you here of your own will?’ Brynd muttered, but Frater Mercury did not look up.
‘He cannot communicate with you from within this cage,’ Artemisia declared.
‘He’s your god, right?’ Brynd asked.
‘He is our creator and we respect him as thus,’ Artemisia replied.
‘Why are you keeping him prisoner?’ It seemed absurd for the being who had crafted her civilization to be held behind bars.
‘Our elders would dispute the term “prisoner”,’ she replied.
‘It doesn’t seem an appropriate way to treat your creator — surely he’s too important.’
‘We keep him here, in this way, for precisely that reason. He is too important to our culture for him to wander off like some idle youth. We do not want harm to come to him — and he would be in great danger if our rivals captured him. You have witnessed what he is capable of — so you understand why we wish to keep him safe.’
‘Safe,’ Brynd whispered, glancing at Frater Mercury once again. He tried to understand and respect their culture’s decision, but failed.
‘Besides, he is reluctant to go anywhere. We know he is disappointed with our people — with all his people — for having taken our respective paths, despite his efforts many thousands of years ago to broker peace. He has tried it all, long before you and I were born. He is a tired man.’
‘He could be useful. He could have his chance to help.’
‘You view him as a weapon,’ Artemisia said. ‘I know this. I can see this in the way you regard him.’
‘I think he can help save many lives,’ Brynd confessed. ‘He’s already done so, and yet you keep him here, like a caged bird.’
‘Poetic,’ Artemisia said. ‘But you want to use him to create ways to destroy our enemy, as we did, and this is understandable.’
‘Have you ever asked Frater Mercury what his wishes are?’
‘We know what it is that he wants.’
‘And that is?’ Brynd asked.
‘A release from it all,’ she replied. ‘He is tired of life. He has lived for an unfathomable number of years. His ascension from a life technician to god was merely the beginning of things. He was forced to leave this world and create a new realm, what I call home. He has seen his creations rise up and create mass violence on a scale he did not think possible. And he has done this as someone who had conquered Time itself, having lived on and on without end.’ Artemisia walked along one side of the light cage. ‘Convinced he had no future, he only ever had one dream, and that was to break free of our world to this one, his home, his past, so he might look upon it one last time. Now he has done that, of course, by methods that we were not aware of. Now there is nothing left for him.’
‘This is why you keep him in the cage then,’ Brynd observed. ‘We have a term for something similar in our world — it’s called a suicide watch.’
Artemisia looked to her elders sat within their raised, glowing antechamber, and then back to Brynd. ‘You are most perceptive, commander. We are watching, as you put it, to see if he attempts to end his existence — for we do not entirely know what will happen.’
‘How d’you mean?’ Brynd demanded.
‘Simply that,’ Artemisia replied. ‘He’s an entity of immense power. For him to end his life, our own technicians think that it would mean. . that power would have to be redistributed.’
‘How do you mean? As in, he may explode?’
‘That may well happen,’ Artemisia said. ‘And it could be severe enough to cause great instability to his surroundings.’
Brynd eyed the man behind the light cage for a moment or two longer. It was true Brynd had hoped the man could help them, and now he felt only a deep sense of frustration. A key piece of his military operation had suddenly collapsed.
Brug suddenly approached Brynd’s side. ‘A word, sir.’