Wixon's Day Read online

  “Funny,” Marquos sighs. “Goreth suggested the same thing.”

  “You’re not normal,” Copin tells him honestly, “That’s all.” Marquos does not reply, and the doctor carries on, “I don’t mean in what you’re doing. There’s no normal out there, between shanty towns and industrial hotspots, war and peace, all of that. But it’s possible to act normal in all situations. Be afraid of the unknown, not want to risk dying for no good reason, want to be somewhere safe or with people you know. Those are normal things. You don’t actually feel like that, do you?”

  “We’ve just met, Doctor Copin, I think it’s a bit early for you to say.”

  “Nah, I can tell it all from two simple facts. One is that you’re out here. Two is that you don’t really know why,” Copin meets his eyes and Marquos falls quiet. The Kand gives him a broad grin. The pilot looks away, and Copin continues, “Maybe being down the Mines made you lose all your senses?” Still, Marquos does not respond, though, and Copin drops it, distractedly moves away, “You hungry? It’s getting on, isn’t it?”

  8

  Continuing up the canal, Copin explains the immediate history of the North as he understands it; how the bandits used to be an organised group that had filtered over from a lost nation over the sea and had waged war on the port city of Yerth. They joined forces with bandits descending from further north, and the various Guards made a general retreat, not because they were defeated but because they saw no reason to defend such wastelands. It is dark beyond Yerth; vegetation will not grow and supply routes have been weathered to unusable. With the darkness comes cold, and only the strongest can survive such conditions. Those that managed to struggle through a lack of food and warmth were driven to madness by a lack of light and the lack of basic civilisation. The population has always been sparse in the north, Copin claims, and the darkness brought a general exodus that made it a very lonely place to be. The marauders from abroad settled there, and turned on one another in the way that bandits do, until it was a state of unbridled chaos. The Kands occasionally hire the Northern mercenaries to fight their war, but Copin deems them unmanageable, and difficult to draw south of Yerth, where they found the light of day disorientating.

  Copin also offers his own life story, explaining how he first came to Estalia as part of a Gentar delegation negotiating with the Border Guard to fight the Dread Clan near Byfraze. He has seen his fair share of fighting, insisting that anyone who has moved beyond the crib they were born to must have fought to some degree to survive in this world. He understands the need to kill or be killed as a natural part of living. When Marquos asks how a doctor could hold such a view, Copin laughs it off and says he is more interested in the applications of physical health than the morals behind it. He has spent more time in Kandish skirmishes than he had in healing, and the latter is only his profession because he is too intelligent not to put his mind to some use.

  “So what made you join up with Highness Elzia?” Marquos asks curiously. The sun has gone, and the night has brought a thicker fog than Marquos has seen for some time. The light of his lanterns barely warn of the canal’s sides, showing little ahead of the boat, where the water appears to be as black as the sky. The canal appears straight, however, so they keep moving forwards.

  “Preservation,” Copin answers without committal, “She will lead our people, whether we find victory or destruction. I first met her near Nexter, when we were meeting with some of the Border Guard leaders to discuss quelling a Dread rebellion in Kand. They were going to give us arms, and in return we were going to fight for them. They had asked the Ruler clan to co-operate, and she was part of a delegation to deny the request. The first day I saw her, I could see from the way she spoke to them that she was a natural. Back then she was not a high leader. Or even a princess. Just Lady Elzia. She said that if the Rulers were to offer support in stopping the rebellion, then they wanted a tract of land recognised as their own, governed by their own people. A Kandish fiefdom, she called it. The Border Guard told her they would consider it and dismissed her with no intention of accommodating her ideas. But she made an impression.

  “It’ll seem strange to you now, knowing that we have been fighting for some seasons for our freedom, but until that day I had never heard someone argue for the rights of Kandish people as independent from the Estalian Empire. It was not that my fellow Kands had never been so bold; many of them were arrogant, power-hungry lunatics. I have known countless leaders with desires to claim rulership over the entirety of Kand, even the unpopulated lands to the west. They wanted rulership over our people, though, and said nothing of independence from Estalia. Never did they speak of operating without the Border Guard’s backing. No one had the ambition to keep our country to ourselves. They did not care if the Border Guard still effectively owned us, so long as they had control of the little violent hell we lived in. There was Elzia, standing in front of a room of brutish men, fearlessly demanding that Kand be free from Estalian influence. I knew she would make a difference.

  “I did not see her again until the riots started in Byfraze. Chance put me in the city during those riots, and I latched onto the opportunity to fight the Border Guard. She had planted the seed in my head that they had no right to our people, after all, and I had been itching to get my own back on them. Every meeting I attended with them after seeing her speak had left me feeling like a traitor to my kind. Like I lacked some kind of ambition. When I saw a group of Border Guards advancing on my men, knocking them to the floor and beating them with sticks like they were wild dogs, I took my opportunity and hit back. On the first day of the riots I beat a man to death with my bare hands. In the face of that guardsman, I saw the oppression of Kand, and the greed of Estalia, and I smashed it until there was nothing left,” Copin holds up his thick, clenched hands to demonstrate, the force in him. “We had become the animals that I realised they always said we were, and it set us free. The incredible thing about it all, though, was that I could see the same emotion burning in the eyes of every Kand I met that day. They were roaring, screaming, tearing off their clothes and waving them as flags, wiping blood across their faces and cutting messages of defiance into their own flesh with shards of glass. We were wild with the realisation that we could be free. I saw Elzia late on the first day of the riots, and she put that realisation into words.

  “Elzia has been a cautious leader from the start. She does not put herself on show, but talks in small groups, without drawing too much attention. Her words spread like a virus, though, seeping out of everyone they infect. When I saw her in a small huddle with some of the saner leaders of the fighting, I joined them. The Rulers were ready for these riots, they had seen them coming for some time, and they knew exactly where to strike to drive the Border Guard out. She dispatched small groups of hardened fighters to flank guard towers, and managed to frighten the guards into retreating into one main street. They were outnumbered and massacred there. She negotiated surrenders with minor guard posts by making them believe their colleagues were defeated, and managed to redirect the riots towards the guards that were putting up the greatest resistance. The Rulers set up a system of flags throughout the city, coordinating their people amongst the rioters, directing mobs that seemed otherwise wild and random. To the Border Guard, the riots had the appearance of flash mobs of insane crowds of ordinary people, but they weren’t. Elzia had hidden soldiers operating within them, directing their anger, concealing their weapons until they were necessary. The Border Guard had no way of fighting the real warriors amongst the riots, not without slaughtering the entire population, and the small force of professionals that Elzia had mustered was able to keep the battle going for almost a whole moon. We held the city for sixteen days.”

  “Then the floating castles arrived,” Marquos predicted.

  “The Border Guard had no way of fighting us,” Copin says, sullen, “Not without slaughtering the entire population. So that’s what they did.”

  “How many…how many people were killed?” Marquo
s asks. Copin does not look at him now, lost in deep, sorrowful reflection

  “Too many to count,” Copin mutters. “I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to claim that half the city were killed. Buildings were levelled, places of worship burnt down, defenceless innocents…countless numbers…” Copin trails off. He goes quiet for a minute and Marquos does not interrupt his thoughts. Eventually, the Kand speaks up again, bold as before, “I had fought alongside Elzia during the riots. She was an intelligent leader, so I offered her my services and helped rally my men to her. When the tides turned, we all escaped whichever way we could. The Border Guard came to understand that they had lost the support of all the major leaders of the Kandish clans, and gave us no quarter for communication. We heard that there were prices on all of our heads, and the few naïve leaders of our people who tried to negotiate with the Guard were murdered when they made themselves known. The others lay low, hid where they could, gradually regrouped with Elzia. I don’t know if she ever truly expected to retake Byfraze in those riots, it was not part of the initial plan, but it gave her the support she needed, as everyone was awoken to the oppression of the Border Guard. They had already named her Highness by the time I caught up to her.

  “With the strongest clans in Kand unified under Elzia, we took our best fighters and left the country. We headed to Estalia, determined to bring the fight to the Border Guard’s centre. It was clear we could not fight them in our country, not when they could send such powerful machines of war from afar, so we headed to the industrial centres of Estalia to stop production of the machines. There was more to it than simple war, though. Just as she opened our eyes to the thought of breaking free from the Border Guard, she opened our eyes to the truth of the Estalian Empire. Something I imagine you already suspect yourself,” Copin turns to Marquos with a knowing smile, and the pilot frowns back at him. The Kand pauses for effect, but Marquos has no answer and merely shrugs. Copin lowers his voice, speaking a sinister secret, and says “The people of Estalia are no more free from the Guard than the people of Kand.”

  Marquos stares at him, unsure how to take this. He murmurs back “I live on the water, I go as I please and the Guards ask for nothing from me. Certainly, I’ve seen their corruption first hand, and I have no love for them, but Estalians do not live for the Guards. You Kands just have grand ideas about your place in this world, when you should just concentrate on living.”

  Copin chuckles back, “You have no idea how many times I have heard people say those same words. Yet Elzia has enlightened as many Estalians as she has Kands. She sees things differently, Marquos. People are raised to believe in defending themselves, struggling to survive one day at a time. She thinks about the future for everyone.”

  “And what does it contain without the Guards?” Marquos says.

  “The Border Guard encourage war everywhere they go,” Copin replies. “They want people to be divided, so they can take advantage of the fighting. We do not need their leadership. We do not need their protection. Everything the cities produce is dedicated to protecting Estalian borders, when we could be growing better food, building better homes, advancing communication. We do not need to be afraid of one another. We do not need to be afraid of this world.”

  Marquos can hear the words as though they come from Elzia herself, and he understands Copin’s suggestion that her voice spreads like a virus. He replies slowly, “You’ll never get people to fight for it. There is no war in Estalia.”

  “There is,” Copin laughs, “You just don’t know it. You should be asking yourself why they were so quick to try and kill you when you brought Goreth back to us. It wasn’t just their instinct to do so.”

  Marquos peers into the dark fog ahead, letting the subject sink in. The boat is slowing down, the engine fuel run down, and he decides, “We’ll stop for the night.”

  9

  With their continued time together, Marquos finds Copin to be as blunt and vociferous as he’d first appeared in the camp, even without an audience. He expresses brash opinions of everyone he knows, always able to focus on people’s most ludicrous personality traits and make a joke of their nuances. He speaks of a Gentar leader who wore wooden shoes and a mercenary he knew who had a proclivity for women with large noses, then comments on the absent Hart and how she kept a cockroach for a pet. The cockroach in particular inspires a lot of laughter from Copin, who can barely contain himself explaining how she talked to it and treated it like her best friend. He finally comments on Marquos’ flute, however, and his mockery becomes more serious as he chides the pilot for playing one of his people’s most lingering rebel ballads, when Marquos apparently knows nothing of war. Marquos is too tired to argue and allows Copin’s comments to go on into the night with little response.

  When the pilot stirs in the morning, Copin is sprawled snoring in a chair with an empty mug at his side. He shows no signs of waking as Marquos walks past to the deck, venturing up the stairs to find the fog as dense as it had been when he retired, day as dark as night.

  “Good morning,” a strong female Kand accent announces from behind. Marquos spins around, his heart leaping, and sees Hart sitting cross-legged on the roof of the boat. She is wearing a thick fur jacket and leggings, whilst her arms and head are bare. Though the morning air is bitingly cold, she shows no signs of suffering, giving a little playful wave for greeting. Hart has a long face, with the sleek natural features of a hunter. Her skin is bronzed by the dirt of her outdoor lifestyle and her long hair is tied neatly back. Spins a knife idly against the rooftop.

  “You must be Hart,” Marquos says, calming himself.

  “The very same,” Hart says. “Sorry for the surprise, I didn’t want to go down and wake you in the night. I thought it better someone keep watch, anyway.”

  Marquos looks around the boat, to the barely visible bank and the dense fog that contains them.

  “I know, it leaves something to be desired,” Hart comments, “But I’d still see anyone before they saw me. Is Copin still asleep?”

  “Yes. When did you get here? Aren’t you cold?”

  Hart jumps down onto the deck, straightening herself up next to Marquos, and gives him a loud yawn by way of answer. She leans against the wall and says “Do me a favour and get me a hot drink.”

  “Come on in,” Marquos looks to the cabin. She follows him, and as they pass Copin she gives the Kand a slight kick to stir him. Copin grumbles forwards, slightly aggravated, and mumbles “Finally.”

  “Your turn on watch,” she tells him. “I’m getting a drink then turning in for a few hours.”

  Marquos puts the stove on, asking “Do you still think we’re being followed?”

  “Definitely,” Hart says, “And I know who by, I found one of his cigar stubs. It was fresh enough.”

  “How do you know he’s still there?”

  “Gut feeling,” Hart replies dismissively. “He’s one of the best. It took me half the night to catch up to you here, so we might be able to shake him if we make good speed today. Either way, I doubt he’ll go through Yerth alone. Then again, we might not make it through either.”

  “So who is he?” Marquos asks as he sets a mug to boil.

  “Qait Seyron. You’ve met him. He had a flying machine.”

  “The gyrocopter?”

  “That’s the one. Obviously he-”

  “He had Red!” the pilot interrupts, “How could he be after us? What about Red? Your people were supposed to be-”

  “Calm down,” Copin leans forward, resting on his laurels, “He got her to the Mine Guard before we caught up to him, then he flew off.”

  “Obviously,” Hart continues her thought, “He doesn’t have the gyrocopter up here. He must be on foot.”

  “We should be thankful if it is him,” Copin says, “because it means it’s very unlikely he got word to the Border Guard of our ambush on their men. Qait is the sort that would do that, abandon his team to rejoin the hunt.”

  “How do you know him?”

&nbs
p; “How many people in this world do you think know how to pilot a gyrocopter?” Copin laughs. “We’ve crossed paths a number of times. I even worked with him a few times before the riots. Qait wears their uniform and uses their tools, but he’s a mercenary really. Just like everyone else. That means either someone’s put a price on your head or he’s hoping we’ll lead him to some valuable information.”

  “He caught up to me before,” Marquos says, “When we were on Chapel Way. He could’ve got me then, but he backed down.”

  “He’s smart,” Hart says. “He knew you had Kands on board, he knew one of them might be Goreth. He’s no hero.”

  “So what do we do?” Marquos asks.

  “Let him follow us. What’s he going to do out here?”

  “I could think of a few things.”

  “He’s a tracker, he doesn’t like to get his hands dirty.”

  “Like Hart,” Copin jokes, “Useless in a fight.”

  “Fuck you,” Hart replies simply. Marquos hands her the hot drink and she takes it without thanks, immediately gulping it down. She looks past Marquos to his bed and says, “I’ll be in there if you need me. I think if you get us underway now we might reach Yerth during the daylight.”

  Marquos steps aside as Hart pushes past and closes the bedroom door behind her. The pilot stares, slightly perturbed, and Copin laughs at his expression. The Kand jumps up and slaps his arm, loudly saying “Let’s get a move on then!”

  Marquos sets the Hypnagogia on its way, and Copin joins him on the deck and starts chattering away again. The Kand comments on Hart’s cold nature and says that she doesn’t tend to have time for pleasantries. It makes him laugh, thinking about Marquos’ awkward reaction to her imposition. As daylight creeps in, later than usual, the fog starts to recede, and the same dead landscape is revealed around them. Copin comments factually that the Deadland used to refer to an area in the far North, but could now be said to stretch below Yerth. As the whole country appears to be dying, he notes, it’s become easier to simply label it as the North. To keep himself amused, Copin starts to rattle off questions at Marquos, asking him for details of girls he has enjoyed. The slightest comments from the pilot seem enough to send Copin on rambling tangents of jokes and stories, a man bursting with material to provide his own entertainment.