The Broken God Machine (14 page)

He ended with his trek through the plains and eventual collapse at Tasha’s
feet. He did not speak of his dreams of her, or tell them what her first words
to him had been. She had asked him to keep this quiet, as her family would not
understand and might even be frightened by such a revelation. Pehr did as she
asked, sensing that it was best not to speak at length about such things
anyway. No one was going to believe that he had dreamed of Tasha weeks or even
years before meeting her, any more than they would believe that she had dreamed
of journeying with him to some place that neither had ever seen.

“You are sure the Lagos will not come for us?” Ehella asked him, giving a
protective glance at her children.

Pehr turned to her and said, “If they could come, they already would have.
Long before I ever reached the circle of bone, they would have come to this
land, and it is not so vast that you would have avoided them through all this
time. They cannot pass the mountains, and they don't know you are here.”

“That these creatures you speak of would take our lands if they could reach
them seems certain,” Samhad said. “If a guardian exists, then surely it must
have been put there by the Gods to protect us.”

Tasha made a coughing noise, and Samhad cast a cool glance in her direction.
She did not look away, but neither did she give any indication that she
intended to speak further, and so he turned his gaze back to Pehr.

“What will you do now?”

Pehr had spent the entire afternoon pondering this question, but he was no
closer to an answer now than when he’d started.

“I don’t know. Your daughter saved my life, and you have given me shelter,
food, and water … without all of this, I would be just as dead as the Lagos had
planned. Truly, I thank you, but I think I must begin the search for another
way home.”

Samhad frowned. “There are no passes through the mountains that the
plainsmen know of – save the one you took, which we are forbidden. The
mountains run in an unbroken line far to the south and then curve eastward,
where they march toward the sea. Perhaps in the north they recede, but we have
traveled far in that direction and never come to their end. The land becomes
thickly forested, and those who enter that place most often disappear. The few
who return have always grown sickly – their hair falls out, great sores appear
on their bodies, and most die soon after.”

“Then there’s no other way to return to my family,” Pehr said, and Samhad
shook his head.

“None that I know of.”

Pehr sighed. As fascinating as this new land and its inhabitants were, he
did not want to live out the rest of his days here. He would have to brave the
circle of bone. It was the only way.

“I will have to try and get past the Lagos and the guardian,” he said at
last. Tasha looked up at him, frowning.

“Not yet, surely,” she said. “You are still weak, and the Lagos may be
watching for you. Give it time, Pehr.”

“What would you have me do in that time?” Pehr asked, but he already knew,
and he could see on their faces that the others had reached the same
conclusion. There was work to be done, and the value of a pair of strong arms
and legs, an almost-adult male body to haul and chop and hunt, was nearly
incalculable. He wondered for a moment if the plainsman was lying about the
mountain passes in an effort to keep him.

“You’ll stay here, of course,” Tasha verified. “Your family has been stolen
from you, and you are in need of one. You cannot survive here on your own.”

This was true, and Pehr knew it, but he was not yet ready to accept it. He
said only, “I thank you for your hospitality with all my heart. Please take no
offense when I say that I must not dwell here too long.”

“We would not keep you longer than you would stay,” Samhad said. Pehr
glanced up at him. The man’s face was impassive, unreadable, and Pehr decided
it was not the time to press him about the mountains.

“May I ask you about your people?” he said instead. “I know so little about
this land. In my travels I have not seen any kampri, though I have heard
animals moving through the grass, and you have given me meat … do you hunt?
Does it ever rain?”

“It rained while you were asleep,” Ehella said with a smile.

“This is not a desert land,” Samhad told him. “But it’s not like the home
you describe, where rain comes often. The plants and animals here collect the
rain when it does come, and they store it well during dry times. In the cold
winter months it rains more, and sometimes there is snow, to the north. There’s
also often water trapped under the ground, and we maintain wells when we find a
good source. There’s one not twenty strides from here.”

“Do you live here always?” Pehr asked. “I … we stay in one place, but there
are more of us than this. Are there other dwellings outside of this one?”

Pehr had not yet been outside of the tent, and Tasha hadn't given him much
information after hearing his story for the first time, excusing herself to
finish her chores. Pehr was desperate for information, if for no other reason
than to keep his mind away from thoughts of Nani and Jace.

“We follow the herds of tral, which we hunt for meat and skins, bone, horns
… very little there is of a tral that we cannot make some use of.”

“I don't know these creatures,” Pehr said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen
one.”

“That will change,” Samhad replied. “There is a herd that grazes not so far
from here. Just a small group … perhaps one hundred and fifty head.”

Pehr, who had never seen a group of animals so large as half that size in
his life, raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Do the herds grow much larger than
that?”

Samhad smiled. “I have seen groups of tral that are thousands strong and can
cover nearly the entire horizon.”

“I would very much like to see something like that.”

“Given time, you shall. When you are feeling stronger, we will go watch the
herd and I will explain to you how we make our kills.”

“Do you farm?” Pehr asked him.

“In the winters many of us go southeast and group together there, and in
those places we keep community gardens of squash and vegetables, but we do not
raise crops in the manner you’ve described.”

“And you don't go to the mountains.”

“Our Gods forbid it. Those who go to the mountains do not return.”

Pehr wondered how many of those adventurers had lost their lives to the
metal thing, and whether the mountain path he had chosen not to take led to
more such dangers. Whether the guardian was from man or god didn’t matter to
him; it served its purpose, keeping the Lagos at bay, and he was glad for that
even though the thing had also murdered his cousin.

“Is there anything else I can answer?” Samhad asked him, and Pehr
laughed.

“I will have many questions for you in the coming days. Enough that you will
grow tired of answering them, I think. But for tonight, only one: whose bed
have I been occupying these past days?”

“Ketrahm has been sleeping on one of the bedrolls that we use for nights
outside. Don't trouble yourself, Pehr. Our entire family is quite used to
sleeping on the ground.”

“Still, I would return his bed to him tonight and use the bedroll myself,
instead.”

“It’s not necessary,” Tasha said. “You are not yet back to full
strength.”

“I am well enough. I know what my aunt and uncle would say of me depriving a
child of his bed. Truff would have told me, Samhad, that if I wanted to sleep
on one of these cots then I should learn to build one.”

This seemed a sentiment that Samhad could appreciate, and the man grinned
widely, nodding. “I will teach you.”

“I thank you. And now, unless you’ve more questions for me, I think I owe
Kissha some answers to her questions. We made a deal.”

Kissha glanced around on hearing her name, her cheeks coloring, and Mandia –
distinguishable from her twin to Pehr only by the blue feathers in her hair –
giggled. Ehella favored her daughters with a smile and stood.

“Samhad and I will prepare dinner. Tasha, pay attention to your brother and
sisters. Try to make sure they don’t trouble our guest unnecessarily.”

Tasha rolled her eyes, but she smiled a little as the children came running
over. For the next hour, Pehr sat with the group of them, answering questions –
most of them Kissha’s – and telling stories of his village that lay by the sea,
far away to the west.

When Pehr reached the crest of the hill and looked down at the herd of tral
spread out below him, he found himself momentarily speechless, stunned by the
sheer mass of creatures on the plain below. He and Samhad crouched down in the
grass at the top of the hill, under one of the stunted trees that the plainsmen
called jesuva, and for a time they observed the animals in silence. Finally
Pehr spoke.

“That … is quite a lot of animals.”

Samhad chuckled. The creatures reminded Pehr of kampri, but were at least
four times as large, and hairier. The bull tral, of which there was one for
every fifteen or so cows, were crowned with a massive pair of horns. These
weapons arced first out to the side and then forward, ending in wicked-looking
points that he was quite sure could send a man to his death with ease.

“You hunt these things?” Pehr said in a tone of wonder, and Samhad
nodded.

“We do.”

“How?”

“Not alone. Any given herd is tracked by many families. There are no less
than six men camped nearby. We shall meet with them later today and determine
from which side of the herd to attack. Most often we approach from above, but
if there are animals to be taken that are old or crippled, we’ll go after them
first.”

“Why?”

Samhad was still looking out at the tral. “It’s easier, and it betters the
herd. An old or crippled tral will have trouble mating, bearing, or caring for
children. Why eliminate a young creature that may yet produce many more
tral?”

This made sense to Pehr, and he said so. He followed Samhad’s gaze out onto
the vast plain, scanning the herd, and after a moment he located a limping
creature – a bull – that was the obvious victim of a poorly-healed broken
leg.

“That one is hurt,” he said, pointing, and Samhad grunted in
acknowledgment.

“There are two other cripples as well, and an old bull, all staying near the
watering hole,” the older hunter said.

Pehr glanced over in that direction; the small body of water was not itself
visible, but he could see that it was surrounded by tall, green reeds, standing
out against the lighter, brown-green field grass. Pehr noted the animals Samhad
had mentioned and then surveyed the land around the watering hole.

“If we approach from the northern end, we’ll have height, and it will
partially pin them up against the marsh.”

“Yes.”

“How many animals will we take?”

“One for every two men. There will likely be eight of us. Are you any good
with a bow?”

“I can shoot. My cousin, he was …” Pehr paused, nearly overwhelmed by sudden
memories of Jace. Samhad gave him the courtesy of not asking what was wrong,
and eventually Pehr finished. “Jace could have hit one of those beasts in the
eye from here. I’m not that skilled, but I can shoot.”

“Then with luck we will take four. The meat will be totaled up and divided
evenly. Each man will get half a hide. The horns, when there are any, go to
those hunters whose arrows struck nearest the brain.”

“Is that fair?” Pehr asked. In his dealings thus far with Samhad’s family,
great emphasis had been placed on evenly splitting all things, whether for work
or pleasure.

“Perhaps not – I have seen skilled hunters walk away with a great number of
horns when it was in fact the arrows of others that did the most damage. I
think we tolerate this because the horns are not so useful as they might seem.
Certainly they can kill a man, but they are brittle and chip easily … useless
for weapons or arrowheads. Most often we use them for decoration, and sometimes
we grind up pieces of them to brew into our beer, for strength.”

“We do the same with kampri horns,” Pehr said absently, but after a moment
these words struck him, and he looked over at Samhad in surprise. The older man
seemed not to have noticed, but Pehr was swept up in the sudden sensation that
his presence here was bridging a massive gap measured not in distance, but in
time. The shared language alone was too striking to ignore, but the shared
customs seemed to drive the point home, and Pehr realized that at some time in
some distant past, his people and those of the plains must at least have
coexisted. More likely, they had been one and the same.

Samhad turned to him. “We have our plan and should go. The longer we stay,
the more we risk spooking the tral, and I would not have you witness a stampede
just yet.”

“When will we meet the others?” Pehr asked as the two of them began to move
slowly backwards, until they were on the other side of the hill and out of the
tral’s view. Only then did they stand, and did Samhad answer him.

“We will gather after the noon meal. That will give us plenty of light, and
strength from the food. Pehr, before we return to the camp, there are things I
would discuss.”

“What things?”

Samhad seemed to be gathering his thoughts, trying to determine the best way
to articulate what he had to say. Pehr was quiet, waiting, and finally the
older man spoke.

“You speak with conviction, and my daughter is absolutely certain that you
speak the truth. For my own part, if I’m uncertain about some of your claims, I
mean no offense – it’s just difficult to take the entire story on faith. I know
you’re not lying, or even exaggerating – at least not consciously. There are
some, however, who would not take kindly to a stranger claiming to have come
from the mountains, bringing tales of dangerous guardians left there by the
Gods.”

“I cannot say whether it was placed there by your gods,” Pehr said, and
Samhad shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter; that is how it will be taken by some of those you’ll
meet during your time here. If … I do not wish to offend you, Pehr, but I would
ask that you present to them a more plausible story, and leave the truth as you
have spoken it to stay among my family, at least for now.”

Pehr shrugged. In all honesty, he had little interest in recounting the tale
of the Lagos attack and Jace’s death for anyone else. “What shall we tell
them?”

“Your skin is darker than ours, but there are those who live on the coasts
to the far southeast who are nearly as dark. We will claim that you have come
from there without a family, that you and I met this last winter when I brought
my own family in that direction. We will say that I offered to let you come
with us on our trip back to the plains, because you are courting my daughter
and because my own brother is not here to help me. My people rarely hunt alone
and will understand why I would take you into my home.”

“Where is your brother?” Pehr asked. He was amused that it should be Tasha’s
father suggesting he claim to be courting the girl. Pehr himself had never even
thought of it; his thoughts were still with Nani.

“My brother found a woman in the south and stayed there to court her. He is
five years younger than I am, but old for an unmarried man in our land. He will
not have many more chances.”

“I wish him luck,” Pehr said. “His decision has made us a convenient
excuse.”

“Perhaps it was fate,” Samhad said, and Pehr thought back to the saying
Tasha had taught him.

“Life is a dance, and fate is our music,” Pehr said, and the Plainsman
glanced over at him, cocking his head in surprise.

“Is it so, Khada’Pehr of the western lands?”

“I think it must be,” Pehr replied.

* * *

“Your father had me pretend I was courting you,” Pehr said, and laughed a
little.

Tasha did not laugh, but neither did she seem offended by the concept. She
said, “I thought he might. It makes some sense.”

“They believed him, anyway.”

“Good.”

Pehr waited for a moment to see if she would say anything further, and when
she didn’t, he asked, “Why does it make sense?”

Tasha shrugged. “I am of age, you are of age … why else would you help a man
who is not your kin?”

“Why would a man take in a boy who has such plans for his daughter?”

“It is easier to watch a boy when you keep him in your home,” she replied.
“If you were really courting me, Khada’Pehr of the western lands, you would be
in there with him, and certainly not out here with me.”

They were out in the grass, away from the confines of the family home. Pehr
had built a small fire of dead jesuva branches, digging a wide, shallow pit so
that the embers would not catch the grasses alight. He was lying on his back
near it, the grass bent down under him to form a comfortable pad, listening to
the unceasing buzz of the insects that Tasha called crickets.

“Since I’m not courting you, he allows us to be alone,” Pehr said, feeling
awkward. Out here it was hard not to notice the way the moon shone on Tasha’s
white skin, or how her simple leather garments hugged her hips and breasts.

“Yes.”

Pehr considered this. “What if I said I want to court you?”

Tasha seemed as unmoved by this as if he had suggested that the two of them
share a meal together. She glanced over at Pehr with an expression of mild
curiosity.

“Do you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mmm … ask me again when you know.”

Pehr laughed a little at this. “Maybe I do.”

“I don’t think so,” Tasha said. “I think you want to bed me, because you’re
a man and I’m a woman … or anyway we’re near enough for all of that … but I do
not think you want to court me.”

Pehr was silent, knowing that this assessment was accurate, but not quite
ready to admit it.

“I’m not angry,” Tasha said after a time. She was sitting with her knees to
her chest, arms wrapped around them, looking up at the stars.

“I never know how you’re feeling,” Pehr said.

“If I’m ever angry with you, there won’t be any doubt.”

“Would you be angry if I did want to court you?”

“I don’t think so.”

Pehr found her lack of emotion simultaneously frustrating and oddly
appealing. It was refreshing to deal with someone for whom there was only
truth, with very little concern for subtlety or evasion. Pehr decided to try
something more direct.

“Would you
want
me to court you?”

Tasha shook her head. “I am not in love with you. Kissha, perhaps … but not
me.”

“Kissha is too young to be in love.”

“And too young to court, even if she was.”

“So you don’t want me to court you, and you’re not upset that I don’t want
to court you.”

Tasha stretched and yawned, and the silver moon outlined the long curves of
her body. “No, I’m not.”

“And you’re not upset that I would … take you to bed, if you let me?”

“No.”

“Do you
want
me to take you to bed?”

Tasha glanced at him again, eyebrows lifted. “Right here?”

Pehr laughed again, rolling his eyes. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“But I’m easy to understand, Pehr. I don’t lie, or couch my words, or play
games with those I speak to. If I want something from you, I will ask for it.
If I am angry with you, I will tell you.”

“And if you sit here answering my questions with only the most minimal of
responses?”

“You are not asking questions that require more response,” she said. “Ask me
a question that comes from your head and not your
chukka
.”

“My what?”

“Your other head – the one that’s standing up right now because you’re still
thinking about bedding me.”

Pehr felt his cheeks warm and looked away instinctively, then back at Tasha.
He hadn’t thought she was paying enough attention to him to notice.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Tasha shrugged. “I’m not angry. Pehr, I can only be who I am. I’m not like
my parents, or like anyone else I have ever met. You are more like them than I
am, and you have come from some other world that none of us even knew
existed.”

She was barely paying attention, braiding three long strands of grass into a
single cable. Beside her the fire was guttering, and Pehr knew that soon they
would head back to the dwelling and sleep. He was tired from the hunt, and from
the working of the tral that had come afterward. He and the other hunters had
brought down the three cripples and the old bull, and Pehr had earned a set of
horns for himself with a clean shot to the back of a tral’s neck. They had
skinned and cleaned the beasts, and portioned out the meat. Ehella and Tasha
had spent a great deal of time that evening salting the meat and stretching the
hides on racks built for the purpose.

Some part of him, his
chukka
he supposed, hadn't entirely given up
interest in Tasha, and he spoke. “You never really answered my last
question.”

Tasha finally turned and looked at him, favoring him with a small smile.

“I do not want you to bed me, Khada’Pehr,” she said. “Should that change, I
assure you, you will be the first to know.”

She stood and tossed her braided grass into the remains of the fire, where
it flamed up and was gone in an instant. Pehr stood as well, and the two of
them first poured water on the embers and then pushed dirt atop them.

Pehr thought again of his village. He wondered if Josep had survived, if he
and Nani had married yet. It seemed like ages since he had last seen them, and
yet it had been less than a month. Did they still think of him? Did they hold
out hope that he and Jace might yet return from the jungle? Or had they given
the two boys up for dead?

“I will have to return to that other world soon,” he told Tasha, and she
made a noncommittal noise in response. Without turning to look at him, as
though confident that he would come behind her, she began her way back to the
tent. After a moment, he followed.

Pehr lived there with his new family, on the plains of Tassanna, for two
years.