‘This is good. .’ Artemisia said. She whispered to the elders in their exotic language, and eventually they nodded their agreement, and seemed sadly satisfied with the notion.
‘Which is the best route inside?’ Brynd enquired. ‘If possible, we should commit it to memory.’
‘I had previously anticipated,’ Artemisia said, spinning one of the maps towards Brynd with a huge hand, ‘that we would take this road here.’ It was marked red on the map, a complex, almost spiral circuit that led towards the centre of the structure.
‘How many miles is that — in our equivalent terms?’
‘It is. .’ Artemisia said, ‘about five miles. It is not, admittedly, the most direct route, but it is one that provides the most secrecy and shelter.’
‘This is a big structure indeed,’ Brynd breathed. ‘But surely if we breach their defences, they’ll be aware of our presence, and there won’t be much shelter at all? We’ll be hunted.’
‘This may be so. We are calculating they will be distracted sufficiently by events on the ground.’
‘That’s too much of a risk,’ Brynd said. ‘We have the Mourning Wasps. We have speed on our side. Surely there’s a more direct route that doesn’t involve us dicking around waiting to be killed?’
Artemisia appeared confused by his choice of words before regarding the maps once again. ‘You could be correct in your statement, if I understand it. You wish for us to simply strike quickly, deploy Frater Mercury and get out?’
‘It makes more sense, don’t you think?’ Brynd asked despairingly. How could such an advanced culture have such weak military ideas?
Brynd’s mind was flitting with last-minute logic at such a rate that he didn’t recognize time passing by. The Night Guard soldiers remained at the periphery of his vision, of his mind, committing the route to memory. He had to take a step back and breathe quietly to himself to regain composure. Don’t let the pressure get to you, he warned himself. Think how far you’ve come. To lose control now would be catastrophic.
The plan was simple. Artemisia’s people would provide cover in the sky while the Night Guard and a few other creatures would bust their way into the enemy complex.
Dragons and garudas would patrol the skies outside the city, acting as decoys, distractions, eliminating whatever enemies came their way. There would, Artemisia explained, be aerial combat, so the Mourning Wasps would have to travel over great heights to retreat, something he had not yet tried out. Despite the awkward stares of his regiment, he dismissed the point — he had to put his faith in them. There was no other choice in the matter.
Out on the landing platform, Brynd stood gripping one of the ornate rails, looking down on the scene below. The structure was drifting lower, through the cloud base, and towards their enemy — now he could see the swarms on the island of Folke.
Everything appeared abstract from this height. Breathtaking numbers drifted across the landscape, dark tides changing the face of the island permanently. Further out to sea, the ships still lined up to pummel the island.
‘Normally I couldn’t wait to get into a scrap,’ Brug muttered, appearing at Brynd’s side. ‘We feel invincible, with our augmentations, don’t we? Almost immortal, dare I say it. Seeing that down there, I’ve never felt more humbled. It was frustrating in there, too, going over things again and again. Don’t they ever just fancy a good fight instead of being so aloof?’
Brynd said: ‘I nearly lost it. I didn’t say anything, I didn’t let on — but sometimes I wish there was just one person making the decisions.’
‘You mean like a dictator?’
Brynd laughed. ‘Not exactly what I had in mind, but it would certainly get the job done a lot quicker. I gave them good plans down on Y’iren; I thought it was all decided. Yet, every time I have a question or we make a refinement, Artemisia consults with the bloody elders. Meanwhile, down there, people are having their heads split open.’
‘At least they’re not our own people dying down there,’ Brug said, ‘not yet anyway.’
‘We’ll eventually need to stop thinking in those terms.’
‘They’re not our responsibility though, are they?’
‘They soon might be. Besides, they’re sacrificing themselves in huge numbers so both our races can survive into the future — I’d much rather chuck some of those scumbags in Villiren into another dimension to make room for people who are willing to shed their blood in such a way.’
Other Night Guard soldiers approached and most of them remained in companionable silence. There seemed to be nothing left to say any more. Everything had been decided. All that was left was to find Frater Mercury. They milled about for a few minutes, agitated, anxious, eager to get into battle.
Brynd headed back into the wooden cages to tend to the Mourning Wasps. They had been fed some liquid prepared by Jeza, though he was not sure what it was exactly. It seemed to satisfy their appetites. He felt a strange affinity to them; and though he might have been convincing himself of the fact, he felt they responded to him positively as time went on. He took the unusual step of placing his hand affectionately on one of their skulls; it was smooth to the touch, and through it he could feel the minute vibrations from their powerful wing muscles.
It seemed inherently obvious to Brynd why he was drawn to creatures that were so different. No, not different — unique. He could never escape the company of others, but he felt consistently isolated. Facing battles never bothered him for this very reason, and at the back of his mind was the niggling sensation that if he did die in battle, it would be no bad thing. Even before the arrival of other cultures, his faith in Bohr had been long eroded, so there was solace to be found in the fact that he might die and nothing would happen. Nothing, other than the fact that his corpse would burn, his ashes would be scattered, and the very fabric of his body go back to the earth. There was something comforting about that fact, especially when confronted with such uniqueness as the Mourning Wasps.
The Boreal Archipelago was full of weird wonders. It was about to receive even more.
There was a hubbub outside the cage so Brynd left the wasps, strode down the platform onto the landing bay. Artemisia was approaching, with Frater Mercury, half his face glistening, his expression as always hidden and out of reach. He was wearing a rich blue cloak and tunic with a fine gold stitching of bold shapes; around all of this were strapped thick metal objects.
‘Are those relics?’ Brynd asked Artemisia.
‘I still do not know what you mean by relics,’ she replied. ‘They are devices that Frater Mercury will use to terminate his life.’
‘And the lives of those around him, presumably,’ Brynd replied.
‘As confirmed earlier, yes.’
‘Is he still comfortable with killing himself for the greater good?’ Brynd asked.
I am, came the thunderous reply in Brynd’s mind. Frater Mercury seemed furious with those two words, a gesture that hinted at far greater powers — and dangerous powers, too.
‘My apologies,’ Brynd replied, to strange looks from his comrades, who must not have heard the comment. ‘Your suicide is a noble one, a gesture that will last for generations to come.’
I want it over now. No more. I have seen all I need to see. I am more than ever disappointed in the results of the experiment.
Brynd felt as though he’d let the man down, though it seemed irrational to think so.
They all prepared for the mission. Brynd guided down the Mourning Wasps one by one, until they lined up in a neat row. For creatures who could manoeuvre so well in the air, they seemed to cope awkwardly walking down the platform, their movements stuttering and clumsy. They were to be deployed into smaller cages, on the backs of smaller, more agile dragons — lithe, green creatures that appeared more like lizards — so that the intention of a smaller force heading into the sky-city would be disguised as best as possible. Their stance was crouched and alert, their wings massive and venous. As the last few Mourning Wasps were taken to their new transport, Frater Mercury moved towards one of them, his hands aloft. Brynd ordered to halt the movement of the wasps. Three of them stood there as Frater Mercury walked around them.