The Legend of Broken

by Caleb Carr

  “Did I hear what, Heldo-Bah?” Veloc asks, transparently blithe.

  “Don’t—do not even attempt it,” barks Heldo-Bah. “You heard—the bloody High Priestess is there. We are dead men!”

  “You overstate the issue,” Veloc says, maintaining his false air of calm. “She and I parted on congenial enough terms …”

  “Oh, certainly—she rejected your application to be the blasted Bane historian out of hand, and sent us out into the Wood immediately! Very congenial!” Heldo-Bah paces anxiously. “It’s never made the slightest sense, Veloc. You try to seduce every woman in Okot, in Broken, and in every town between—and when a woman who might actually do us some good asks for you, what do you do? Refuse her!”

  “I’m not some prized bull, to play stud to an overbearing young female whenever she goes into heat.”

  “Absolutely absurd,” Heldo-Bah murmurs, shaking his head. “Utterly and completely—”

  He is interrupted by the sudden call of the Elder’s voice: “Ho, there! Foragers! You may enter!”

  The two men walk into the passageway before them, the utter darkness of which is a contrivance designed by the Groba, so that when supplicants enter the main chamber they will be all the more overawed by its dimensions: a ceiling over thirty feet high, with enormous, needlelike formations of rock and minerals seeming to drip down from above, as though the cave were slowly melting. The walls of the chamber are adorned with elaborate suits of Broken armor, stuffed with rags and straw so that they appear alive, even to the smooth white-and-black riverbed stones set into the sockets of human skulls (which in turn rest inside each helmet), so that they resemble the eyes of dead men, staring madly at those who have come through the passageway. Weapons of the Tall also adorn the walls: large collections of spears, swords, battle-axes, and maces, each group bursting out from a Broken shield, any one of which is as tall as a Bane. The chamber is lit and heated by an enormous fire set into one recess in the wall opposite the Groba’s council table; and the “chimney” of this fiery alcove is a naturally occurring shaftway that empties out at the very top of the rock formation, along the sharp rise of the mountain slope above. In all, it is a sight that makes a profound impression on nearly every Bane, particularly as most only ever see it once in their lives, when they petition for permission to wed.

  For habitual guests of the Den, on the other hand, the inner chamber is noteworthy only because it never changes, save for the occasional addition of some trophy taken from the Tall; but often, even these changes go unnoticed, for to be a frequent visitor is to be an incurable nuisance to the tribe—or worse—and all such tend to train their eyes on the Groba itself, to determine what mood the old men are in, and what chances exist for leniency.

  Heldo-Bah follows this pattern, taking in the five familiar faces of the Groba Elders: elected officials, each of whom is, in appearance, remarkably like the next. They all wear identical grey robes, cut their beards to the same middling length, and sit on rough-hewn, high-backed benches. The only differences among the five are the amounts of hair on each head, the length of their noses, and, finally, the fact that the chair belonging to the senior Elder (formally referred to as “Father”) has a higher back than the others; and that the top of said back is carved into a crescent Moon whose horns point skyward.

  Tonight, however, all is different among the Bane, within the Den as without. At the right end of the table sits the Priestess of the Moon, who wears a golden gown over a white smock. Draped over her shoulders and head is an airy shawl of deep blue, onto which have been embroidered golden stars, which grow more numerous as they approach the front of a golden coronet that holds the shawl in place, and which is adorned with yet another crescent Moon. She is young, this High Priestess, having taken her vows only a year earlier, at sixteen. Before that, she had been merely the most promising of the Lunar Sisterhood, and was therefore entitled, as Heldo-Bah has said, to decide which men from the tribe she would mate with, in the hope of producing more semi-divine female children. Thus, all of the Lunar Sisters, and therefore the High Priestesses, are descendants of those women who originally held the same positions, and their pure lineage gives them enormous power: for, while they are far from a chaste order of female clergy, they are as close as any member of the Bane tribe (whose notion of immoral behavior is usually quite loosely defined) could wish for—or would desire.

  It therefore requires men of rare talents to push the boundaries of so loose a system of theology and morality beyond acceptable limits; but Veloc and Heldo-Bah are just such men …

  The two foragers can see that behind the High Priestess are not only two of her Lunar Sisters, but a pair of Outragers, as well. Evidently, the High Priestess has points she wishes to make about the catastrophe that has struck the Bane tribe, and she wants to make them forcefully enough to command compliance from the Groba Elders, who, if the letter of Bane law is followed (and the Bane have indeed preserved their laws in writing), have principal say over secular matters in Okot, just as the Lunar Sisterhood rules on matters of spiritual importance. Yet, again, laxity of customs allows these divisions to occasionally shift; and every so often, control of the tribe’s reaction to a secular threat can be influenced by the High Priestess, a young woman whose only qualification for power over matters of mortal importance is that she is said to possess a unique ability to converse with the sacred Moon.

  The Groba Father, a man whose features—sharp, clear-eyed, and tightly wrinkled—seem to indicate an even greater intolerance of nonsense than that which characterized the bald-headed Elder whom Heldo-Bah and Veloc have just followed into the Den, looks up from a scattered raft of parchment documents that litter the council table. His grey hair and beard are distinguishable from those of his fellows only by their streaks of white: badges of honor for having prevailed in a majority of the frequently argumentative sessions of the Groba. And never is the chamber more full of disagreements than when the High Priestess chooses to attend—a fact of which Heldo-Bah and Veloc are only too aware.

  “Ah. Heldo-Bah—finally,” says the Groba Father, his voice hoarse. “I might have known you’d be the last to return. But it’s just as well—your party will have a crucial task, and we have just finished compiling all information that was gleaned in the Wood by the other foraging parties.”

  “Father?” Heldo-Bah says, with astounding obsequiousness, considering his constant complaints about what he habitually calls “that great collection of stone-brained eunuchs,” the Groba.

  The Groba Father ignores him. “And Veloc is here, too. Good. Less time wasted explaining.” The Father looks down the council table. “You will remember Veloc,” he says. “The man who was nominated for Historian of the Bane Tribe last year.” The four other men nod, so nearly in unison that Veloc almost laughs aloud; but he becomes somber again, and quickly, at the sharp sound of the High Priestess’s voice:

  “A nomination that was rejected,” she says, the pretty dark eyes in her round face fixed on Veloc, as if she will destroy him with a glance, “because of the corruption that we discovered in his disobedient soul.”

  Heldo-Bah’s eyes open wide, and he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet, looking up at the cave’s ceiling and murmuring softly, “Oh, yes, by all means—let’s bring that up at a time like this …”

  “You spoke, Heldo-Bah?” the Priestess demands.

  Keeping his gaze as wide as an innocent child’s, Heldo-Bah replies, “I, Divine One? Not a word.”

  “See to it that you don’t,” the Groba Father says sternly, “unless you are spoken to. We have much to resolve—approach the table!”

  Dragging their feet and picking at their tunics, which are laden with signs of nights spent in the Wood, the two foragers move to the council table. The faces gathered around that heavy assemblage of split logs become clearer in the light of small fat-lamps that sit upon the uneven surface. Viewed close-to, the Groba Elders display admirable self-possession, both despite and because of the ongoing cr
isis. The faces of the High Priestess and the Lunar Sisters, by contrast, remain haughty, dissatisfied, and full of accusations, while the Outragers behind them display a much simpler desire to beat the foragers senseless.

  “Your current foraging assignment,” the Father says, staring down at a parchment map, “should have taken you northwest. Near Hafften Falls and Lord Baster-kin’s Plain.” The Father looks up, expecting a contradiction. “Did it?”

  “Of course, Father,” Heldo-Bah answers simply.

  “How refreshing to even think of you obeying an order, Heldo-Bah,” the Father says, with weary familiarity. Then he takes note for the first time of just who is not before him: “But where is Keera?” he says, deeply concerned. “She is the leader of your party, and the key to what we seek from you.”

  “She searches the Lenthess-steyn, Father, to find her family,” Veloc answers, his own worry plain. “Or at least, to hear word of them.”

  For the first time, all the Groba Elders display signs of exhaustion. The Father rubs his eyes hard, and then sighs. “The Moon go with her,” he says, and the other Elders murmur assent.

  The eyes of the Priestess, however, blaze ever hotter, though her body remains quite still. “She has done little, of late, to earn the Moon’s favor.” The Priestess concentrates her gaze on Veloc, who persistently avoids it. “Indeed, none of this party has ever shown true worthiness.”

  The Groba Elders are clearly not in agreement with this statement, at least insofar as it refers to Keera; but they desire to avoid an argument with the Priestess. Into this momentary silence steps Heldo-Bah:

  “We cannot all be blessed with your abundance of virtue, Divinity,” he says with a patently false smile. He catches the Priestess’s eye, but, unlike Veloc, refuses to turn away.

  “Do not,” the Father repeats in annoyance, “speak, Heldo-Bah, unless it is to answer a question. So—Keera seeks her family, and you have already been fully informed of the details of the plague?”

  “Well, we were hardly likely to miss—” Heldo-Bah’s comment is cut short by one of Veloc’s boots, which catches him in a shin.

  “I beg your pardon, Father,” Veloc says. “My friend is, for want of a better word, an idiot. To answer your query, we have seen the fire in the northeastern settlement, and we have spoken with Yantek Ashkatar. He said that the pestilence is believed to be the work of the Tall—” Noticing the impatience on the Father’s face, Veloc grows silent, realizing he is providing excessive detail.

  “We are concerned,” says another Elder, who puts his elbows on the table and folds his bony hands, “with what you have seen in the Wood, not Okot—assuming that you did, as you say, follow your assigned route. Were there any signs of plague to the north? Unexplained animal carcasses? Dead men? Activity of the Tall near the river?”

  “We saw nothing—” Veloc suddenly stops himself, catching sight of the High Priestess’s hateful eyes; but thinking of his sister and of what is at stake for the tribe as a whole, he decides that he must abandon caution. “Actually, Elder, that’s not true. We saw and heard several things that we could not explain, and that may well have to do with the plague.”

  The Groba Father folds his arms, and lets out an infuriated snort.

  “I am sorry, Father,” Veloc says to the man. “But you did say that we must only answer questions.”

  “All right,” the Father says. “Just what is your remarkable tale?”

  Heldo-Bah looks astonished. “Yes, just what is our tale, Veloc?” he echoes, fearing full revelation of their night’s activities.

  “I’m sorry, Heldo-Bah,” Veloc replies, “but there may be importance to it—”

  “Importance to what, Veloc?” Heldo-Bah murmurs, far more urgently.

  “She’s my sister, damn it all!” Veloc defends, quietly but emphatically. “Those children are my niece and nephews—you can’t possibly expect—”

  “I expect nothing, Veloc,” Heldo-Bah now whispers, pushing his nose close to his friend’s, and pointing to the Outragers, “except that we get out of this chamber without having to cut our way through those paragons of viciousness up there—”

  “Enough!” The Groba Father stands, and walks around the council table to face the silenced foragers. “What are we to do with you, Heldo-Bah?” he demands. “Eh? You remain the first and the only Bane to be condemned to a full lifetime of foraging, yet you still risk bringing the wrath of Broken down on us with your unremitting offenses against the Tall. Do you think that you are the only Bane who wants to see the destruction of that city? We all pray for it. But can you not work for the good of the tribe, rather than constantly seeking to harass the people of Broken?” The Father steps to his left. “And you, Veloc—far from offending the Tall, you wish to make love to them!”

  “Well…,” Veloc mumbles cravenly. “Not to all of them, Father.”

  The Father balls his hands, speaking with measured fury: “No. Not to all of them. But every woman of the Tall you’ve bedded has brought retribution from Broken’s merchants and soldiers! Can you not be satisfied with a female of your own kind?”

  “Are not the Bane men, too, Father?” Veloc asks, his mouth moving with more speed than sense.

  “Don’t be clever with me, boy,” the Father answers, putting one trembling fist in Veloc’s face. “You know what I mean.” The Groba Father wanders back around the table toward his seat. “And I understand Keera least of all. She is our finest tracker, and has no flaws of character, save an inexplicable willingness to defend you two! Why?”

  Veloc kicks at the cave floor. “It’s difficult to explain, Father. You see, we all grew up together—Heldo-Bah and I, and Keera—”

  “A poor excuse for ignoring her responsibilities as a vital member of this tribe, Veloc—to say nothing of her duties as a mother!” The Elder collapses into his seat with another sigh. “Why I should have expected useful information from you three, I don’t know …”

  Silence reigns; and Heldo-Bah, who has been wrestling with the sickly thing he calls a conscience, coughs. “Father—if I may speak?”

  The Groba Father looks as though someone has put his thumb in a screw. “Must you?”

  “Well, Father, you did ask, and Veloc was trying to tell you—that is, you wished to know if we had seen any activity on the part of the soldiers of the Tall. And, while it’s true that we did not see such activity—”

  “Then why waste the Groba’s precious time in this hour of sadness and crisis?” the Priestess demands harshly.

  “Yes, Divine One,” Heldo-Bah says, bowing in her direction, “it’s probable that I do waste your time. That is, if you consider the presence of one of the Wives of Kafra in Davon Wood to be insignificant.”

  The Father’s shock is mirrored in the faces of the other Elders. “A Wife of …” His voice soon recovers its strength. “When?”

  “Last night, Father—just before the sounding of the Horn.”

  “And where? To the north? Speak, man, for out of your liar’s mouth may yet come the true answer to this deadly riddle!”

  Quickly, and with embellishment from Veloc, Heldo-Bah relates the tale of the Wife of Kafra and the panther, as well as of the dead and diseased member of Lord Baster-kin’s Guard, and the golden arrows that killed him. All of Veloc’s storytelling skills go into heightening the drama of his friend’s account, and, following the completion of their performance, the Groba Elders whisper among themselves, doing their best to limit the contribution of the Priestess and her Lunar Sisters. Finally, the Father speaks:

  “And Keera knew of nothing that could induce such behavior in the panther? Nor of any other cause for the Guardsman’s death?”

  “She swore that nothing in Nature could explain either event,” Veloc replies. “It was surely sorcery of some sort, Father, regarding the beast—and the arrows speak for themselves.”

  “We need no forager to tell us as much,” the Priestess scoffs. “What we do need is to stop dawdling—the Tall have sent the plag
ue through Broken sorcery, and we will only be able to respond in kind.”

  The Groba Father looks at the other Elders’ faces; and, one by one, they all nod assent. “It is agreed,” he says. “Heldo-Bah, Veloc, you are—”

  The Father cuts his statement short, fixing his eyes on the entrance to the chamber. A figure has appeared in the shadows at the mouth of the passageway; and as it moves toward the table slowly, the Groba, the Priestess’s retinue, and the foragers can all see that it is Keera:

  She carries her daughter, four-year-old Effi, whose arms hang around her mother’s neck. The child has been weeping, and she continues to sob in an exhausted manner. Keera’s own face is wet with tears, and she stops when she has covered half the distance to the Groba’s table, blankly searching the faces of those arrayed before her. As Veloc goes to her, Heldo-Bah looks quickly to the Father.

  “You may approach her,” he says. “If the healers have released them, they are safe. Would that we knew why, when so many others die …”

  With that assurance, Heldo-Bah and Veloc rush to either side of Keera; and both men are slowed and then stopped by what they see. Keera’s face, ordinarily the image of confident (if realistic) readiness, has been transformed into a portrait of devastation. Veloc takes Effi from her, at which Keera does not so much kneel as fall painfully, feeling nothing as her kneecaps land hard on the stone floor. But it is the expression on her face that remains the principal cause for concern: her eyes are drawn deep into her skull, her lower jaw hangs in seeming lifelessness. Indeed, Heldo-Bah realizes that he has only ever seen such changes to human features on the faces of those who have been tortured unto death by human hands, or expired amid the terrible cold of the high mountains in deep winter.