clothing in the new culture. And — get this — property. Some are willing to surrender their nomadic ways.’
‘How can they know of the new plans?’ Brynd asked.
‘They’re not stupid,’ Brug replied. ‘They’ve got trackers all over the island reporting back.’
‘How many does that add to the force then?’ Brynd asked.
‘Between twenty to fifty thousand, if the negotiations go well. We’ve promised them the gold, but it’s up to you whether or not we actually do that, or if it goes. . missing.’
‘We’ll keep to our word,’ Brynd replied.
‘Sir?’
‘We will keep to our word,’ he repeated. ‘Just let me know in future before you give away what’s sitting back in those vaults.’
The soldiers arrived at their destination with the sun high above the encampment, casting a red-orange glow across the scene. Rows of tents now stretched to three times as far as when Brynd had seen them first, and it was more than just an awe-inspiring sight: it was a hugely intimidating one. This was a civilization that had just inserted itself alongside his own. Though they had — and would still — fight side by side, the thought struck Brynd that they might one day disagree. And then what?
They were met by a unit of human guards, which — as it was explained to them in crude and broken Jamur — was a gesture of welcome. The men wore red tunics and bright armour, with the sun emblem etched into the surface. Other than that, they wore stout boots, but little to ward off the cold. It didn’t seem to bother them.
‘How many humans live in your world?’ Brynd asked optimistically.
‘Some millions,’ came the reply. ‘Fewer after the fighting.’
The men marched them through to meet with Artemisia. It surprised him, then, just how similar military camps smelled. There were now sturdier, more permanent-looking structures than tents: wooden temples crafted in elaborate designs, with all sorts of banners and insignias across the framework. People drifted in and out of wide lanes; patrols of foot soldiers — humans and rumel and the more exotic shambling creatures — which seemed to enforce a reassuring sense of discipline. There were metalworkers and weapons manufacturers, cooks and priests, in fact there were so many shared similarities between the cultures it was strange to think that they had been separated for so many millennia.
Eventually they met with Artemisia in one of the wooden temples and, as they were sitting on cushions around an ornate brazier, the group partook of sweet-flavoured drinks. Guards surrounded them in a circle, but it didn’t seem at all threatening. Time stretched out. There was patience and consideration to the ceremonies. Artemisia stared into the flames of the brazier before issuing her greetings in full.
‘So the white-skinned commander visits today,’ she said. ‘Welcome. How shall we begin today’s discussion?’
‘What did you do to Rika?’ Brynd demanded.
‘I am not sure that I follow you fully, commander.’
‘Recently we have caught Jamur Rika engaged in very strange behaviour. Not only were there reports of her eating flesh, but we found her scaling the external walls of the Citadel in Villiren. We are now forced to keep her imprisoned — for everyone’s benefit — in a cell, like a common thief.’
Artemisia nodded slowly.
‘She’s insane, now, and we’ve very good reason to believe the origin of the problem was on your ship.’
Artemisia remained silent, her blue face impassive. She lifted her cup in huge hands to drink from it. ‘It is that Randur Estevu who speaks too much.’
‘He told us what we needed to know. Now, could you please share with us what is going on with the woman we supposedly both want to lead our cultures?’
‘It is partially, I believe, my fault. And partially, I believe, her own.’
‘Go on.’
‘When I collected the group, I intended to secure her trust, which I did. But I was also under instruction to make what. . there is no translation, I believe for this, but a comparison would be something like “mind-bond”. It would have made sense for all concerned to be bonded — in our minds. One of instantaneous connection.’
‘You and Rika, this is? Why her?’
‘She was, according to our intelligence, the most important person in your world, someone with whom we could openly negotiate. We had previously tried making connections with her father, though he was. . unreceptive. Rika needed to be mind-bonded to me so that we could secure a peaceful path forward. However, what I did not understand is that she believed me to be a goddess, or something equivalent or related to one of the ones she worshipped. She possessed an improbable amount of faith, a strong — or weak depending on your understanding — mental capacity. I did not realize quite how dangerous it might be to mind-bond with someone of such religious fervour. Whenever someone who is mind-bonded is kept apart from the person to whom he or she is bonded, it creates difficulties in normal circumstances, though nothing more than uncomfortable. . yearning.’
‘How does one mind-bond exactly?’ Brynd asked.
‘It is similar to a sexual ritual, but one only of the mind. There is penetration from one mind into the other, a release, a union. It is common in many of our cultures to do this. There is no physical connection.’
‘So what’s gone wrong in Rika’s case? Why has she transformed suddenly?’
‘Two things, I believe. One as discussed — the issue of her faith. Her mental state was not right to begin with; there was something inherently unstable in her mind. Perhaps it is hereditary. When she is away from me, she has obviously crossed a mental threshold and gone too far in her ways. Her mind has now
‘Is there any way of reversing the bond?’
‘No — unlike sexual bonds, mind-bonds may not be withdrawn quite so easily. You say she has transformed?’
‘Her face is distorted, she’s grown more feral, she’s feeding on flesh.’
‘An animalistic path,’ Artemisia concluded.
‘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.’
