The Broken God Machine (13 page)

The cloth was cool and damp on his forehead, and this was Pehr’s first
reliable indication that he was not dead. Before that there had been only
swirling blackness and some distant sense not of time passing, but rather the
lack thereof. Now there was the cloth and, after that, the voice.

“You mustn’t die,” the voice said. “I think I need you to live.”

Pehr wanted to answer it. He recognized this voice; it was the girl with the
purple eyes, the girl he'd met on those seemingly endless plains of grass, the
very same girl who he'd dreamed about long before he'd ever known those plains
existed. He wanted to speak, but the feel of the cloth, so soft and comforting,
seemed to absorb all of his attention, and for some time Pehr lost himself in
it. When next he became aware of time, the cloth was gone.

This time he was able to open his eyes, and what he saw was both familiar to
him and also alien. He could see the night sky, and the stars above were the
same that he had always known, but the walls within his line of sight were made
of stretched skin rather than the mud bricks and tightly thatched branches he’d
grown up with. The night was alive, but with the sound of some buzzing creature
that Pehr had never heard before he’d made his way to these plains rather than
the soft roar of the ocean. He spent some time pondering these differences, not
thinking too hard, satisfied to be alive and awake. Eventually the blackness
took him again.

The third time he woke there was daylight, and Pehr was strong enough to
pull himself to a sitting position and look around for the first time. He’d
been placed on a simple cot that was fashioned, like the dwelling around him,
from branches and stretched skin. It had been lined with soft furs and was more
comfortable than any bed Pehr had ever known.

The structure that surrounded him was six-sided, with flaps that could be
opened or closed as windows, and a large door at one end, its view obscured by
a curtain of heavy beads on leather straps. The hut was surprisingly large,
easily accommodating five other cots, which were arranged in a rough circle
around the central fire pit. The center of the ceiling was an open hole through
which Pehr had seen the stars the last time he had been awake.

Someone had set a skin full of water and a plate of dried and salted meat on
the ground beside his cot. Pehr was no longer suffering from thirst, though he
couldn't remember drinking, but he was still ravenously hungry, and he devoured
the meat in a few bites, washing it down with water from the skin. After he was
done he tried his legs, but here his strength failed him and he sank back into
a sitting position. He was not worried; there would be time, yet, for his
strength to return.

Pehr heard the beaded curtain being drawn and glanced around to see a small
girl entering the hut. She shared similar features with the purple-eyed girl,
but was much younger, still really a child. Her hair was long and brown, and
her eyes were not purple, but rather a light shade of green.

She noticed that he was sitting up and came to a stop with a little gasp.
Pehr held his hands up, hoping to show that he was no threat, and said, “I
won’t hurt you,” but if the child understood him, she chose not to respond.
Instead she turned and fled, calling something out – a name, perhaps, or a cry
of warning. Pehr supposed it didn’t matter; either would bring someone who
might be able to tell him where he was, and how long it’d been since he’d come
here.

He had to wait only a few minutes before the child returned, bringing with
her two others, one of whom was the girl with the purple eyes. Clearly relieved
to see him alive and seemingly well, she gave him a small smile but did not
immediately speak, deferring instead to the other person who the child had
brought. He was an older man, and Pehr thought he was likely their father. He
regarded Pehr more warily, but not with any distaste.

“So you are awake at last,” he said, and though he spoke in Pehr’s language,
his words were heavy with an accent that Pehr had never heard.

“Yes.”

“We feared that you might not live. My name is Samhad.”

“I am called Pehr. I … my full name is Khada’Pehr, but we don't use our full
names until we’ve passed our test of manhood.”

“And you have not passed your test.”

Pehr shook his head, frowning. “I was supposed to take it this very summer,
but my village was attacked by the Lagos. They took my cousin. I could have
stayed, but …”

“But you chose to follow him,” Samhad said, and Pehr nodded.

“I couldn’t abandon him.”

“What are the Lagos, papa?” the younger girl asked, and Samhad smiled in her
direction before returning his gaze to Pehr.

“I was about to ask our guest the same question, Kissha.”

“You don't know of them?” Pehr asked, and Samhad shook his head.

“Are they from the mountains?” the girl with the purple eyes asked. Pehr
turned to her and shook his head.

“Not from the mountains, but the jungle below them, I think. I cannot say
for sure. I … the Lagos were always more legend than truth, at least until they
descended upon us. Have you been to the mountains?”

“They are forbidden to us,” the girl told him.

“What are these Lagos?” Samhad asked. “Did they follow you here?”

Pehr shook his head. “No. The pass is guarded.”

“Guarded by whom?”

“Something old. Something … you’ll think I’m mad if I try and describe it to
you, but you are in no danger. The Lagos are beast-men, wicked creatures that
live to kill and torture, but they cannot get past the mountains.”

“Indeed, beast-men. Are there dragons there, too, perhaps?”

Pehr felt his cheeks warming. “I am no liar.”

“No, but you were taken with great thirst, and with the sun-sickness. It
makes men see many things—”

“Go there yourself if you wish,” Pehr said, trying hard to not let the anger
he was feeling into his voice. “Tell me what you think of the guardian.”

Samhad gave Pehr a cool look, but he nodded. “Peace, Khada’Pehr. I will not
press you further just now, save for one thing. Are you certain that no danger
follows you?”

Pehr thought about this, and he nodded. “The Lagos would not have let this
place live free if they could reach it. You would know of them, at least in
rumor.”

Samhad considered this for a moment, and Pehr could not guess from his stony
expression what the man was thinking. Then he shrugged and said, “There is no
reason yet not to believe you.”

“I’ve no reason to lie,” Pehr said, and Samhad favored him with a nod and
what Pehr thought was the faintest hint of a smile.

“Are you still hungry, Khada’Pehr?” the girl with the purple eyes asked
him.

“I am,” Pehr admitted. “But not starving. If your father has more questions
…”

Samhad shook his head. “There will be time enough for questions tonight. For
now there is a well in need of repair. Eat. Drink. Regain your strength, and we
will speak more when the sun has set.”

“Thank you, I … your hospitality is most appreciated.”

“You are welcome in my home,” Samhad said, and without further words the man
turned and strode from the tent, leaving Pehr with his daughters. After a
moment, Pehr turned to the older girl and spoke.

“You saved my life. I don’t know how I will repay you.”

She shrugged. “You collapsed at my feet.”

“Still, I thank you. Where … have we come far?”

She shook her head. “We are still on the same plains, not that far from
where you fell. You were lucky, though. If I had not been out collecting esquer
root, you would have passed right by us without ever knowing it, and I do not
think there is water in the direction you were going.”

“I was lost. If I know these lands, it is only in dreams.”

This was a loaded statement, but Pehr remembered the first words that the
girl had spoken to him and thought she would understand. She proved him right,
looking first at him, and then toward her younger sister, and then back at him.
She shook her head once, and Pehr nodded back; they would wait until they were
alone to talk of such things.

“My people say life is a dance,” she told him. “Life is a dance and fate is
our music.”

“What do you say?”

She paused, looked away, and shrugged.

Pehr laughed a little. “How long was I asleep?”

“You are filled with questions, Khada’Pehr!”

Pehr put a hand to his face, squeezing his temples. “I’m sorry. This is new
and I'm confused. So much has changed. I have been so close to death, seen so
many killed, and now I have ended up here in this strange place. I don’t know
you, or anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Tasha.”

“It is good to meet you. Please … will you call me Pehr? I have not earned
the right to be called by my full name and even if I had, it sounds formal to
my ears.”

“If that is what you would prefer,” Tasha said.

The younger girl was still staring at him, and the weight of her gaze was
beginning to make Pehr somewhat uncomfortable. He turned to look at her, and
she blushed, glancing away.

“My sister is curious,” Tasha told him.

“Curious about what?”

“You are not from our land. She has many questions to ask of you, I think,
but she is afraid to ask them.”

The girl was looking at him again, the color still in her cheeks, and Pehr
smiled at her. “Your name is Kissha?”

She nodded.

“I'm Pehr, and you need not be afraid of me, or of asking me anything that
you would like to know.”

Kissha seemed to consider this, and then asked, “Are you from the Gods?”

Pehr cocked his head, glancing at Tasha for explanation.

“Many of us believe the mountains are the home of the Gods,” Tasha told him.
“They say there is a great city there, and that the Gods look down on these
plains and see all that we do.”

Tasha’s voice seemed oddly flat and unimpressed, but Pehr didn’t think it
was the right time to press her on such feelings.

“I’m not from the mountains, Kissha. I don't know if your gods live there or
not. No one I know has ever been to the mountains before, and I'm only here
because of fate – or destiny.”

“Or choice,” Tasha said. “Or luck. Or coincidence.”

Pehr shrugged. “Likely it was those as well.”

“The others will say it was the will of the Gods,” Tasha said.

“My sister
hates
the Gods,” Kissha told him. “Our father tells her
not to speak of it.”

“I don’t hate them,” Tasha said, and she opened her mouth to say something
else, thought better of it, and closed it again.

Pehr said, “It’s not my place to make judgment on your gods in any
case.”

Tasha sighed. “Kissha, why don’t you go help mother with the sewing? I will
tend to Pehr and be out soon.”

“But I want to stay here!”

“Yes, and I want to talk to Pehr without your foolish questions. There will
be time tonight.”

“But Tasha—”

“I will make you a deal, Kissha,” Pehr interrupted, for he, too, wished for
time alone to speak with Tasha. “You do as your sister says now, and I promise
that I will answer every question that you can think of tonight. Every single
one, if I have an answer to give.”

The girl weighed this proposition and then nodded. “Your deal is good. I
will go help my mother.”

She left the hut, and for a time there was silence. Pehr, feeling tired and
weak again, lay on his side on the cot, looking at Tasha. At last she favored
him with a rueful grin.

“You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I suppose I’ll find out tonight.”

Tasha nodded and was quiet again. Pehr studied her, and to his surprise she
did not seem to mind. It was as if she expected it, and he supposed that she’d
done her share of observing him while he lay unconscious in her home. After a
time he spoke.

“I dreamed of you.”

“Of course.”

“And you of me.” There was no point in pretending; she had already admitted
as much.

“Yes. You and I are someplace that I have never been before. It is a place
that I think was beautiful once, but it isn’t anymore.”

“And even though you dreamed of me before you ever met me … you don't
believe in your gods?”

Tasha gave him a rueful smile, and Pehr knew he'd guessed correctly. She
shook her head. “Not mine, not yours, not anyone else’s.”

“How do you explain the dreams?”

Tasha shrugged. “How do you explain a sunrise?”

Pehr considered this and understood it, but he also found it cold and
unappealing. He said, “I believe in my Gods.”

Tasha shrugged. “Believe what you want. It’s not my concern. Will you tell
me your story, Pehr?”

“Where should I start?”

“Every story has a beginning,” Tasha told him. “Start there.”

She sat cross-legged on one of the cots, looking at him expectantly. Pehr
sighed, and gathered his thoughts, and began to speak.

* * *

“These Lagos sound like vile creatures,” Samhad said, and Pehr nodded. He
had just finished telling his story for the second time that day, this time to
Samhad and his wife Ehella, along with Tasha, who had wanted to hear it again.
His hosts’ other three children, Kissha and her twin Mandia, and their six
year-old brother Ketrahm, were at the other end of the room, playing
together.

The entire group had sat in complete silence as Pehr spoke. He told them of
his village, of fishing and farming and raising kampri. He told them of his
life with Truff and Anna, Nani and Jace, and about the coming of the Lagos. He
spoke of the battle for the village and of their desperate flight to the sea.
He tried to explain his decision to follow the Lagos into the jungle. He
glossed over his feelings for Nani, but did not hide how his own lack of care
had contributed to his capture and the failure of his plan. He spoke even of
the metal thing, doing his best to explain what he'd seen, though it was clear
by the adults’ expressions that they remained skeptical.