The Broken Isles

Like an invasion force, several of them penetrated the streets of Saltwater, Althing, Scarhouse, Deeping, the Ancient Quarter, what was left of Port Nostalgia and throughout dribs and drabs of the Wastelands, wherever there might be people who would listen.

In a bright-red doublet, black breeches and black tricorne hat, which Brynd had commissioned for their newly formed role as official information distributors, they marched forth bringing news. While last night those who were interested in the wider world had gathered to see the Night Guard’s return, there were still tens of thousands of people who had not turned up, who were either too busy or uninterested in things beyond their streets. Brynd left the Citadel, to follow the criers’ progress and gauge public reaction from the corner of road junctions. At the back of his mind, he wondered if he’d witness the Empress gorging herself on some poor unsuspecting soul. .

It was a chilly, sharp morning, and a sea mist had drifted onshore, leaving its ghostly impression upon the streets. The criers’ voices seemed to come from nowhere and gained greater significance in these conditions. They rang their bells, and issued forth the news that Brynd had scripted for them.

Villjamur had been destroyed. Tens of thousands of people had fled. The Imperial forces came to their rescue and were victorious. There was a roll call of some of the few senior military names who died. There was a reiteration of the victory, that the enemy had not just been defeated but comprehensively beaten. The first message was simple and repeated itself from street to street, verbatim. People seemed to acknowledge the words and perhaps mutter a comment or two to someone nearby, but otherwise citizens seemed utterly uninterested or unimpressed.

Good, Brynd thought, they don’t feel threatened or concerned. It’s business as usual for them.

A little later on in the morning came the second wave of messages: the man who called himself Emperor is dead. All Imperial powers have henceforth transferred to Villiren. The Jamur lineage is to be reinstated. Military law continues from the aftermath of the siege.

Then the third and final message of the day: good news. We have powerful new allies to the south of the city. They supported us in the war. They bring prosperity to our lands. Our friends will help us keep the vicious enemies, who have destroyed Villjamur, at bay. Only with our new friends can we succeed. Together we will create a new, wealthy, safer world for our children. It is important we welcome them. The Empress extends her hand of friendship.

It occurred to Brynd how people barely reacted to Rika’s name, and he hoped — when the time was right — she could continue making public appearances. He felt it was important for people to buy into a stable leader.

He walked down one of the main thoroughfares to Scarhouse, and into an iren, as this last piece of news was absorbed into the city. Traders looked up, customers paused in their browsing. A weird silence fell here.

Together, prosperity, important, welcome, safer, wealthy, all words that Brynd had agonized over. Their tone was right, he felt, and it should plant a positive seed in people’s minds. He could never predict just how people would react. People could not care about the most important matters, issues that directly affected their lives, and yet something exceptionally mundane could spark riots. The criers might not be enough, however. It occurred to him that, yet again, he would also need to get the Jorsalir Church on board, much as he loathed to do so. Their help had been crucial in mustering volunteers for the war effort; their help would also be a necessary evil in getting the message across that a transition to a new culture would be harmonious. How helpful would they be in the face of new cultures coming to these islands?

Brynd made a safe assumption that there would be plenty of trouble to come. What would be the consequences of integrating their two worlds? Humans and rumels did, generally, get along — though that took centuries to happen. Perhaps they should settle on different islands altogether, and build separate communities, in peace.

Nothing like this had ever been attempted, and his inexperience was showing. The only thing that was right in both his head and heart was for there to be acceptance of each other’s culture.

And that required sound propaganda.

Whilst continuing with his morning patrols, and keen to see some of the city after his brief mission on Jokull, Brynd decided to pay a visit to the youths at the factory. He wanted to give them the good news regarding the success of their armour in battle, to tell them he would be ordering plenty more, and to see what else they could do.

The fog began to clear, and he could see the streets around the factory were quiet as always. Few people seemed to want to travel here, and why would they? There were few irens, few stores, few taverns. The place needed renovation; the streets should be thronging with activity. What happened to these factories and why had they mostly stopped working?

Since he had helped to organize a successful defence of the city, Brynd wanted to improve Villiren vastly. He could see so much untapped potential in the city. Here was an area that needed injecting with money to get production going again, to get people moving in and spending money and creating jobs. So much could be done — there was no reason this area couldn’t become an engine room of the future city, a trade hub.

He eventually reached the factory where the youths were. There, he banged on the door loudly and waited. Very distantly he thought he could hear something inside, like a grumbling.

Or a droning noise. Or was that growling?

Then there were loud footsteps running over a metal frame, and someone calling from one corner of the warehouse to another, before silence fell. Then, nothing.

He thumped on the door again, then regarded the street as a few flakes of snow fell to the ground before melting away. He waited a little longer.

Eventually someone came to let him in and the bolts slid free.

‘Commander!’ Jeza stood in the doorway, covered in muck and looking totally flustered. Her red hair was tied back, and strands of it flitted across her face in the morning breeze. ‘Oh, we weren’t expecting you back just yet.’

‘Have I come at a bad time?’ Brynd asked, curious as to what was going on.

‘No, no, it’s that, I. . Look, you’d better come in.’ Jeza skipped aside from him to enter. He plunged into the semi-darkness behind her and waited for her to lead the way again.

‘How was your business out of town?’ she asked. ‘Did you get everything sorted?’

‘It was a battle.’

‘Literally or figuratively?’

‘Literally.’

‘Oh my,’ she replied. ‘You should have said.’

‘I didn’t want anyone to know at the time,’ Brynd replied. ‘Though you could have guessed with my recent orders. So has the team been keeping well?’

‘We’ve certainly been a bit busy,’ she said, leading him through the dreary corridors. ‘You said you were in battle then — so, does that mean you were testing the armour?’

‘That’s correct, yes.’

‘And. .’

Brynd laughed. ‘It stood up exceptionally well, Jeza. None of us who were wearing it bore any injuries where we were protected by it. What’s more everyone reported back on the weight and mobility improvements. We’re going to want a lot more of it — as much as you can manufacture.’

‘Oh that’s great!’ she replied. ‘I’ll show you how we’ve improved our production methods.’

‘Very efficient of you,’ Brynd said.

Jeza directed him towards their seating area, but before she did she paused and her expression changed to one of concern. ‘Now, I know I said you didn’t come at a bad time, but just to warn you, things are. . OK, I’ll not shit you — they’re a little bit lively in there at the moment. Things have gone wrong.’

‘Should I be worried?’

A sudden clamour erupted the other side of the door, and it sounded as if quite a few things had been knocked over with an enormous clatter. Jeza cringed. ‘No, no,’ she said, and shook her head vigorously. ‘Not at all. It’s just that. . an experiment or two is underway, and I think maybe it’s getting a little out of hand. .’

‘I understand,’ Brynd said. ‘Do you want me to stand to one side until you sort it out?’