The Brass God

by K. M. McKinley

  Days that long affected the body. Ilona felt giddy the whole time, caught in a state partway between exhaustion and elation. Before the events at the city she had struggled to sleep. Since the opening of the gate and their escape there had been no chance to. The truth was she didn’t feel tired. At home long winter nights made her sleepy. Bright summer days energised her. This nervous energy must have the same effect at its source, only intensified greatly. She wondered how long someone could go without sleep. She supposed it must be necessary, or why would people do it at all? The light was constant, and though her thoughts seemed estranged from her body, and her perceptions skewed, she could not rest. The days might drive them all mad before winter. She imagined the six months of night that would follow. At the pole the sun was not supposed to rise at all.

  The Sotherwinter was as beautiful as she had imagined it, but it was no land for humanity.

  The dogs barked. Ilona and Bannord walked a path of dirty ice toward the camp’s single tent. The dogs were divided into their teams, tied to iron pickets; those that had come with Trassan on one side of the path, and those that had come with Persin on the other. Piles of supplies were heaped alongside the path between them to help screen them from each other.

  Persin had his own Sorkosan leader dogs, of the rare talking breed. Despite Valatrice’s fame, Persin’s dogs had yet to submit to his authority, and the two leaders, one male and one female, stared at Valatrice in open challenge. Valatrice regally ignored them, chewing upon the frozen carcass of an animal he had found upon the ice. Its skin was twisted and black, its bones white as snow. It looked disgusting, but Valatrice gnawed on it with relish.

  “Good evening, little stowaway,” he said as Ilona passed him. He had a rich voice, almost like a man’s, full of knowing humour.

  His lesser kin could not speak, but howled their challenges loudly. The drays were enormous things that weighed as much as three grown men, with withers that came level with Ilona’s shoulders. Broad forequarters gave them immense power to pull. Beasts like that seemed too big to prance and snarl. The drays at homes waited patiently in their kennels for work, but these were as full of nervous energy as Ilona, and paced back and forth, despite their efforts in the long cold flight from the city. Out there in the wilderness they wanted to be off and running.

  Ilona had no fear of them, so long as Valatrice was there. She smiled at them, and trailed her fingers through the fur of those that would permit it. She shared their eagerness to be away from the iron monsters invading their world.

  Around the tent the mess was at its worst. Most of the boxes the group had scavenged from the dockside were empty, and many broken to flinders. Straw packing had been trodden into the mud and snow. Men from both Persin and Trassan’s expeditions sorted through their salvaged supplies quickly, discarding whatever was not needed. Weight was the prime concern. How much they took with them determined their speed of travel through that harsh land. The expedition prioritised food and fuel. Expensive scientific instruments were discarded, any wooden parts they had stripped off for fuel. Their crates were kept. In that climate, the boxes were more valuable than the objects they held. Splintery, cheap timber burned, and would keep them warm, something a theodolite or telescope could not do. It was strange how one’s priorities changed, Ilona thought. Trash became gold, in the right circumstances.

  “Come on girl,” said Bannord. “Stop dallying, the meeting has already begun.”

  He pointed at the tent, an open sided, square affair with a pyramidal roof. Though it had sides, they were currently rolled up. It was really an awning intended to protect artefacts taken from the city while they were catalogued rather than a serious shelter. It would not withstand a storm.

  Men were downing their tools and heading within. There were too many to fit inside, so they crowded around it. Despite the lack of room, a clear gap existed between the rival expeditions, as obvious as that between the two packs of dogs. Bannord took advantage of this to push his way to the front, where Eustache Antoninan, the famed polar explorer hired by Trassan, stood next to Vardeuche Persin. Persin carried the satchel containing a device from the city Trassan had told Ilona to watch over. She had thought about stealing it back, but he was never without the thing.

  All told, there were twenty-five people in the party, a mixture from the Kressind and the Persin expeditions; only Vardeuche Persin was very much alive, while Trassan Kressind was dead.

  Persin’s rivalry with Trassan’s sponsor, Vand, had led him to throw in his lot with the mage Adamanka Shrane. She had subsequently betrayed him, opening a portal in the city of ice that had let a forgotten evil into the world. Persin was not apologetic about his error, for he was too arrogant to be so. This attitude did not play well with Antoninan, who was also renowned for his towering opinion of himself. Both he and Persin were Maceriyan, which, Ilona thought, explained their egos. Despite their shared nationality, they had little time for each other. They waited for the meeting to commence without speaking.

  “Time to shake things up a little,” said Bannord with a grin.

  Bannord took his place with Antoninan and Persin. To Ilona’s surprise he beckoned her forward. She made a quizzical face at him. He nodded encouragingly and beckoned her again. She joined him reluctantly.

  Persin’s eyes goggled in his round, bald face. He leaned in to whisper to Bannord.

  “Goodman, I do not think it a good idea to involve the lady in this critical meeting. We must make plans for our survival. This is not women’s business.”

  Bannord smiled menacingly. “Firstly,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I may be poorer than you, but I am of better birth, so either refer to me as goodfellow or as lieutenant. I will have my rank respected, either social or military. I leave the choice to you.”

  Among Persin’s seven surviving men were three who did not speak Karsarin. One of their colleagues whispered a translation in Maceriyan of the proceedings for the benefit of his comrades.

  Persin scowled with outrage. He was not used to being spoken to in that manner.

  “Secondly, although Trooper Kressinda-Hamafara here is technically but a lowly soldier under my command, she is also of high birth,” Bannord continued. “She is the cousin of Trassan Kressind. Now he is dead, she is the representative of the Kressind family by right of blood.”

  “This was Goodman Vand’s expedition,” said Persin. “Not Kressind’s.”

  “You would think that, being so caught up in your rivalry with Vand it drove you to murder,” said Bannord. The assembled men shifted uncomfortably, for what Bannord said was true. “But I concede that you have a point. Ullfider!” Bannord called out into the crowd. The expedition’s aged antiquarian shuffled to the front.

  “Yes?” he said, somewhat perplexed. His spectacles fogged in the heat coming off the pressed bodies.

  “You’re Vand’s man.”

  “Well, I... I suppose,” said Ullfider. “I have known him since he was a boy. And yes, I... I worked with his father. I don’t know about man... I—”

  “You know what he wanted.”

  “I suppose you could say that,” said Ullfider, casting a suspicious look at Persin. “He and I drew up the objectives for this expedition, with Goodfellow Kressind, of course,” he added hurriedly.

  “So then,” said Bannord. “You should be up here too, to represent his interests.”

  “Oh I don’t know—”

  “Come up here now,” said Bannord. “There is an army of iron giants pursuing us. We should be sparing with our time. You’re joining us here, like it or not.”

  Ullfider shuffled to the front.

  “So,” said Bannord, addressing the assembly. “Myself, Antoninan, the goodlady, Persin, and Ullfider will lead this expedition, which has gone from one of exploration to survival.” He glanced back at Antoninan.

  The explorer responded stonily. It was he who had called the meeting, no doubt to press his position of authority over Persin’s. He had not ant
icipated Bannord commandeering it. “I respect your rank, lieutenant, and the fact that a number of our fellows here are under your direct command. But you have no experience of survival in this part of the world. I do. It is I who should lead this expedition.”

  “I would say I have some experience,” said Bannord. “Not as much as you, I admit, but some. I have sailed the Sorskian coast and the Sorkosan sea.”

  “Maybe you have experience at sea; you have none on land.”

  “That is true,” admitted Bannord. “I agree that you should determine what we ought to do to survive. You are the expert. However, you cannot be allowed unquestioned leadership. The five of us will make up a council.”

  “Leadership by committee will kill is all,” said Antoninan.

  Persin watched their exchange with a calculating expression.

  “Which is why I am not proposing leadership by committee,” said Bannord. “What I am saying is that no one should lead without any form of check. Your expeditions are renowned for their high rates of fatality as much as their boldness. Would you have exerted yourself so strongly over Trassan as you do now over me?”

  “We had an agreement, Kressind and I. On the ice my commands were to be preeminent.”

  “Preeminent, not unchallenged,” said Bannord. “I and my men will follow you. I defer to your greater experience. But no major decision should be made on the expedition’s fate without consultation. This is no different to the agreement you had with Trassan Kressind.”

  Antoninan glared at him. “Circumstances are changed. We are fighting for our survival.”

  “Higher stakes require more care from the gambler,” said Bannord. “Ullfider, Ilona, Persin. Are you in favour of this proposal?”

  Ullfider mumbled affirmatively. “I... I suppose so...”

  “I think you are right,” said Persin. “My own polar expert is dead, but we had a similar agreement.” He looked to the others, shrugging slightly. Antoninan sneered at him.

  “Ilona,” said Bannord. “Do you agree?”

  “I am not comfortable to be given this responsibility,” she said. “But I will take it. Though I am not happy that the man who commissioned the murder of my cousin should have any role in leadership.”

  Bannord started to interrupt. Ilona pressed on. “But!” she said forcefully. “His men make up nearly a third of our number, so he should have some say.”

  Persin backed down with a small bow of his head.

  “There we are then, Goodfellow Antoninan,” said Bannord. “You may lead with our support, or not at all.”

  Antoninan was displeased. “I accept,” he said, “if only because I have no choice. Be warned, I will put my opinions forward forcefully.”

  “As will I,” said Bannord. He turned to address the others again. “Do you men object?”

  Mazarine, Persin’s highest ranking remaining mercenary, folded his arms. “We’ll follow you as readily as him,” he said, glancing at Persin. “We don’t care for his orders any more. He got most of us killed. If you put us in danger we’ll fight. We’re in this for ourselves. Life and death.”

  “It’s a foolish man who makes threats to them who outnumbers him,” said Ranost, who Bannord had appointed as his corporal.

  “This must stop now! Cast that idea from your heads immediately. We are not in this for ourselves,” said Antoninan. “It is us against this land, and we must work together. You do not have the understanding of this landscape that I do. Surviving here is hard enough, and we have an army of iron monsters to contend with. There’ll be no need for violence among us, if only because you will be too busy trying to stay alive.”

  Mazarine spat on the ground. “Agreed,” he said. “For now.”

  “Excellent,” said Bannord. “Antoninan, I believe you have a proposal.”

  “I do, but to begin there will be a making of a new roll. Unless anyone objects?”

  Bannord shook his head.

  One by one, the members of the group called out their names. Antoninan’s remaining groom marked them in a small book. Seven men survived from Persin’s rival expedition, and Persin himself, saved incidentally by Vols Iapetus from Shrane’s betrayal.

  Persin’s men were Sergeant Mazarine, who was also Maceriyan. Then there were the four Olberlander mercenaries Gesentur, Krasstermann, Heisenwel and Crut, two further Maceriyans named Favreau and Jeuney, and a Musran called Devall. These latter three were the men without a command of Karsarin, a not uncommon lack in people from the Maceriyan successor states. Crut, who was something of a polyglot, translated for them.

  The remainder were from Trassan’s party. They were, Ilona, Bannord, Ardovani, Antoninan, Ullfider, his younger assistant Vengrise and the middle-aged Davson, the sailors Moather Fend-nereaz-Atarar, known as Mo, and Arrkan And-nereaz-Fons, known by his first name alone. They were the sole Ishmalani in the group, caught only because they had been loading artefacts for transport to the Prince Alfra when Persin attacked. Gestane, another Maceriyan, was the groom. Untalkative on the voyage, the death of Gestane’s son, the assistant groom, had driven his last words from him. Tyn Rulsy made eleven. The remainder were Bannord’s Karsan marines—Darrasind, Forfeth, Aretimus and Corporal Ranost. Fourteen all told.

  The mood was sombre. All of them had lost friends. Morfaan guardian constructs had slain several, more men had died in the clash between the two parties. A great many of Persin’s group had been killed when Shrane opened the gate.

  “That’s twenty-three. By my reckoning there should be twenty-four. Where is the other Tyn?” asked Antoninan.

  “Gelven,” said Bannord. “Tyn Gelven.”

  “He does not call his name,” said Gestane.

  “Where is he?” Bannord asked Rulsy.

  She shrugged. “He gone, back to ship.” Rulsy seemed to speak broken Karsarin, but her words were understood by all.

  The men muttered to each other, making the signs of banished gods and kissing the backs of their hands in warding.

  “When?” said Bannord frowning. “How?”

  “When, that’s after they buried the master ‘neath the rocks.” Rulsy stuck her lip out. “How, he go the old Tyn way, a way I don’t know. He say after Master Trassan goes under that he goes back. So he goes. Walks into a crack in the world and then he’s gone, from here to there.” She pointed to the ground, then behind her to the sea.

  “I don’t understand,” said Persin. He licked his lips nervously and patted his satchel. Non-Karsans were wary of Tyn. “Is he out on the ice?”

  “Tyn magic,” said Bannord.

  Rulsy gave Persin a look of withering contempt. “You think he walked? He didn’t walk. He went in a crack in the world, like I says. He back there now on the ship, with the rest. A folding of things and a quick step, that’s all it takes, for those what knows how to do it, which I doesn’t,” she concluded peevishly.

  “Little bastard,” said Forfeth. “He’s fucking left us here to die!”

  Rulsy span round on her heel, making him flinch. “He’s one of the good ones, is Tyn Gelven, you not be disrespecting him, or I’ll put the eye on you,” she said, staring hard at him. He dropped his gaze and shuffled behind his friend. “He’s gone to help you. More danger on the road than there is on the ice.”

  “Can you do that?” asked Persin urgently. “Could you go back and tell them what is happening?”

  “I already said no,” said Rulsy. “Not my trick, don’t you listen?”

  “You did appear in this group without warning,” said Bannord. “You weren’t in the city with us, and then you were, creeping out of the furs while we were moving.”

  “A different thing,” she said. “A short hop. I can’t walk the road. He’ll tell. Why you think he gone? He gone back, tell the captain you’re all here. You should thank him, magic like that pushes the changes, and we Tyn don’t like change no more.” She flicked her iron collar with a dirty nail. “And he might die for what he did. You be uppity if you like, goodfellows,” said Rulsy.
“A Tyn can only take himself, not you too. Can’t say he’s going to do it, ‘cause you won’t believe he can. Make it all difficult, that does. And then there’s timing. Don’t you think he’d want to hear all your lovely plans? No. He gets one chance, might not be another. So he goes. He thinks you’ll head for Sea Drays Bay.”

  “Well, that puts a different complexion on things,” said Ullfider with relief. “Do you think they’ll come to rescue us?”

  Rulsy poked out her bottom lip again and huddled into her parka. “If it’s luck you’re after, you’re asking the wrong Tyn. Tyn can’t do that, not for so many as you. Maybe they come, maybe they won’t.”

  Everyone started talking at once. Accusations flew back and forth between the two groups; the Karsans complaining they would never be in such dire circumstances without the Maceriyans. The Maceriyans said they were following Persin’s orders, that it was simple rivalry between rich men, and that they’d all been thoroughly duped. This line of argument found ready listeners among the Karsans, and more than a few murderous looks were deflected from the mercenaries onto their employer.

  “Silence!” shouted Antoninan. “Silence!”

  The men continued to shout.

  Bannord tugged his gloves off with his teeth and whistled shrilly between his fingers.

  “Shut up!” he bellowed. “That’s an order, and I don’t care if you’re in my regiment or not.” He stared them all down until the last words died.

  “There will be no more unilateral action in future,” said Antoninan to Rulsy. “Anyone who wishes to act must discuss it with me.”

  “Don’t know why you’re telling me,” muttered Rulsy.

  “Has he definitely gone?” asked Bannord.

  “I just says so, didn’t I?”

  “My apologies, Goodlady Tyn,” said Bannord.

  “I ain’t no lady,” grumbled Rulsy.

  “Let’s get closer to the shore and make camp,” said Ullfider excitedly. “They’ll be coming back!”

  “We cannot linger here,” said Antoninan. “These Draathis?” He looked to Rulsy for confirmation, she nodded at him.