The Broken God Machine (26 page)

Death had ravaged the girl, and not even Ehella’s ministrations had been
able to hide that fact. Tasha lay on her pyre, pale as the moon that already
floated above, her body bruised and battered. Pehr hated to see her like this,
lying naked and dead, the sun dropping rapidly behind her to silhouette her
face, her breasts, her long legs. He hated it, but he made himself look, forced
himself to take the sight in and imprint it on his mind. Here was another
friend dead, and he would sooner be damned than give in to cowardice and look
away.

This is the last
, he promised himself.
There will not be
another who goes before me like this
.

Samhad stood before the fire, his throat working, fighting back his sorrow
so as to lead the ceremony. It was both his task and his right to do this
thing, and after a time he gained control of himself and spoke, the sun a
sliver of red against an orange horizon.

He told them of Tasha’s unique qualities, from her purple eyes and red hair
to her strength of spirit. He spoke of her skepticism, her disbelief, her need
to understand. He spoke of the way that she would openly question others’
choices, but if he had ever harbored any resentment toward this, it was gone
now. His remembrance was fond, though tinged with deep sorrow, and during it he
smiled often. More than once, members of the group laughed at some story or
murmured encouragement when Samhad seemed as though he might be
overwhelmed.

At last he finished, turning to look at his daughter, and Pehr could see on
his face the agony this caused him.

“I will miss you, my Tasha,” he told the girl, and his voice broke as he
said her name, and for a time there was silence save the chirruping of the
crickets, and the soft sobs of those around Pehr who had given in to their
grief.

At last Samhad turned to Pehr, gestured, and opened his mouth. No words came
at first, and Samhad swallowed, trying again.

“You were her friend, Khada’Pehr of the western lands. Perhaps the best she
ever had. You were with her in her last days and moments, and I … I would ask
you to speak of her now. Will you do so?”

“It will be an honor,” Pehr said, and he stood, moving next to Samhad. He
and the older hunter had discussed this already. Pehr wanted to speak, needed
to, and Samhad had been glad to share the burden of eulogizing his daughter.
Pehr felt he owed it to his friend to try to put into words that her family
could understand just how and why she had sacrificed herself. He had promised
her to tell them
everything
, and this was the way he would start.

“Tasha was indeed my friend,” he said, after Samhad had taken a seat beside
his wife. “Though I did not always understand her, I came to love her like my
sister. She dreamt of things which she couldn't explain, and she was drawn at
last to the mountains. Because she was my friend … my sister … I followed her,
to give what help I could on the journey.

“She found her answers there. I want you to know that. All her life, Tasha
had been seeking something, and in the end it was there for her, and it was
everything she had ever hoped it would be. Knowledge was waiting in that place,
so much of it that it nearly overwhelmed us both, and there is nothing in the
world that Tasha valued more than knowledge.

“In the mountains lies not the throne of the Gods, but the city called
Havenmont – the last great work of man – and in that city, we found the
knowledge that Tasha had been seeking since her earliest memories. She was
given answers to questions she had long asked, and to questions that she had
never known to ask, and we were tasked with taking these answers back to this
place, and to the west.

“The time of salvation has come. We are to be saved, and this is good, but
it has come with great cost. Tasha sacrificed herself not just for me, or for
you, but for all of her people, and all of mine.”

He stopped, breathing deep and looking around at the others assembled before
him. The children looked confused, but the adults were intent, listening,
fascinated by this tale.

“I am not from this place, but in truth, both of our societies were once
one,” Pehr told them. “They were split by the Lagos – the hideous beast-men of
the western jungles – and many lives of men have passed since that great
breaking occurred. I came through the mountains – by luck or by the grace of
the Gods, I don't know – and I fell at Tasha’s feet. She saved me from death
then, and just two days ago she saved me again. She paid for this last with her
life, but in so doing she has saved us all.

“The Lagos are gone, or nearly so. Their armies are destroyed, and what
little remains of them is scattered and disorganized. Now is the time. I will
burn my friend, and grieve her loss with all of you, and then I will set out
again toward the mountains. This time, though, I make not for Havenmont, but
for the land of my family. There I will bring the tribes together … I know not
how, but I have sworn it. We will clear a path through the jungle, from the
coast to the mountains, and then at last to the plains. Our people, driven
apart all these long ages ago, will at last be reunited, and we will work as
one to restore the city of our forefathers and follow their path.”

Pehr turned to look at his friend, lying naked before him in the dark. “I
swear this,” he said. “Tasha, I swear this, to you and to all the world.”

After one last, long look at her face, he turned and nodded to Samhad, who
stood and joined him at the pyre, holding a torch.

“My daughter, we commit you now to the Gods,” the older hunter said, and
with these words he put his torch to the wood, once, twice, and a third time.
Flames sprung to life in the kindling, and both he and Pehr stepped back away
from the growing heat.

Behind them, Ehella began to sing a song of mourning that Pehr did not know.
Samhad joined her, and soon all but Pehr sang. He stood with his head bowed,
listening to the anguish in their voices, feeling his own, and before him the
girl with the purple eyes burned. He stood there and listened, wishing he knew
the words, wishing that he could lend his voice to theirs and so help send his
friend’s soul onward toward God or gods.

“Must you leave already?” Kissha asked him, and Pehr smiled at her. It had
been twelve days since Tasha’s funeral, and in that time he had solidified his
plans, made his preparations, and given some rest to his battered, weary body.
He was anxious now to be away, to continue on the path that Tasha had lain out
before him, but he was also sorry to be parted again so soon from his surrogate
family.

“I’m afraid I must,” he said. “I must go, and I will be gone long, this
time. Much longer than the last.”

“How long?”

“At least six moons. Probably twelve. A whole year, Kissha … and that will
be if I’m lucky.”

“But you
are
coming back … aren’t you?” she asked him, and the
concern in her voice was touching. What he had done to earn this girl’s love he
couldn’t say, but he could feel it emanating off her in waves. It was no longer
the childish love of their first months together, but neither was it yet a
woman’s love. It was still something in between, something light and simple but
also pure and honest, and Pehr was glad for it.

“I'm coming back,” he told her. “As soon as my work on the coast is done, I
will come here again to meet with your father and prepare us all. Then we will
journey to Havenmont.”

“And then we can be married!” Kissha exclaimed, and she favored him with a
radiant smile.

“Perhaps someday,” Pehr said, laughing. “But then, perhaps, while I’m away
you’ll meet some strapping, handsome, fourteen-year-old boy, and he will steal
your heart away!”

Kissha shook her head in solemn disgust at this suggestion, and Pehr laughed
again. He bent down from working on the leather knots of his traveling pack and
kissed the girl on the forehead. She turned pink and, after a moment, rushed
out of the tent, no doubt to inform Mandia of this latest event. Ehella, who
had witnessed all of this, smiled at him.

“You are so patient with her,” she said.

Pehr laughed. “She is a fine girl. No doubt she will make some man very
happy when she comes of age.”

“Is there a woman waiting for you, back in your lands?”

Thinking of Nani, he began to shake his head, but then he stopped and
shrugged. “A girl I knew, maybe. Her name is Sili, and I … I planned to marry
her, once. She might have survived the Lagos attack, might live yet – but if
she does, it’s likely she’s taken the necklace of some other man and become his
wife.”

He did not add that he could no longer see himself with Sili, and had not so
much as thought of her in many months. Now that he tried, the images did not
readily come to his mind. She was like a ghost, like a character in a story
from his childhood, barely remembered. The events of his life before coming to
the Plains of Tassanna seemed sometimes to have happened to someone else.
Still, it was impossible to say; if he met her again as a man, and she was
still unwed, perhaps it would feel right to court her.

Samhad was sitting in the corner of the tent, honing and sharpening the
metal sword that he had purchased as a young man. Finished, he set it aside and
looked up.

“Are you ready, Pehr?”

“Yes. The knots are good. I’ve packed light, but this trip will be much more
comfortable than either of the two before.”

Samhad nodded and stood. “Very well. When you have made your goodbyes, meet
me at the western jesuva tree. I would speak with you alone before you go.”

Pehr nodded, and the older hunter left the tent. Ehella stood and embraced
Pehr, holding him tight and pressing her lips hard against his cheek.

“You must take care, my western son,” she said, and Pehr smiled.

“I will.”

“My daughter loves you very much.”

“Kissha is—” Pehr began, and Ehella shook her head.

“Tasha. She is out there somewhere, Pehr, watching us all. I know this. I
know it as I know that she loves you. You told us before that you had failed
her, but I do not believe that is so.”

“No?”

“Sometimes a man must accept what is. I would call it fate, or the will of
the Gods … my daughter would have rolled her eyes at this and stalked off,
muttering under her breath. It doesn’t matter. You brought her to this great
city, and you found for her there the answers she had always sought. Pehr, I …
if all you say is true, and I believe with my soul that it is, then Tasha
must’ve been happy when she passed. You didn’t fail her, and you shouldn’t
regret.”

“Sometimes it’s hard not to regret,” Pehr told her. “I thank you for your
words, Ehella, and for your belief. Your daughter will not have passed on in
vain. That is my promise.”

Ehella nodded and stepped away from him, returning to her cot and picking up
the garment she was mending. She smiled at him and said, “Go on, now.”

He stopped for a moment to say goodbye to the baby, knowing the child would
not remember him whenever he returned but wanting to do it just the same. That
done, he waved a final time to Ehella and exited the tent. Outside, he found
Kissha, Mandia, and Ketrahm idling in the general vicinity of the dwelling,
clearly waiting for him. When he emerged, they quickly surrounded him.

“Father says you’re leaving,” Mandia told him.

“Yes,” Pehr replied. “It’s time.”

Kissha was crying and couldn’t look at him. Pehr smoothed her tears from her
cheeks with his thumbs and then put a hand under her chin, tilting her gaze up
to meet his.

“I will miss you,” he said. “I know you wish I would stay, but I must go. I
owe it to your sister. Do you understand?”

Kissha nodded, still sobbing miserably, scrubbing at her tears with her arm
and trying desperately to compose herself. She seemed nearly to have regained
her composure, and then the tears returned, and she covered her face. Pehr
smiled and put his hand atop her head. Kissha responded to this by throwing her
arms around him, pressing her face against his chest, and Pehr held her for a
time without speaking. At last she separated herself from him, looking
embarrassed.

Pehr turned and hugged Mandia, and then Ketrahm. Both were much more
stalwart in their reaction to his departure than Kissha was, but they seemed
unhappy. Pehr found some comfort in this; he would miss them, and it was good
to know they felt the same.

At last they went in to join their mother, and Pehr made his way to the
jesuva tree that sat far out on the plains to the west. Samhad was there,
leaning against it, and he stood up straight as Pehr arrived.

“How long is the journey?” he asked.

“How long is a man’s life?” Pehr asked back, and he grinned. It was a saying
of the plainsmen, and one that he liked very much.

Samhad smiled back at him. “You’ve learned much of our ways during your time
here, Khada’Pehr,” he said. “If a bridge is to be built between our people and
yours, it has begun with you.”

Pehr nodded.

Samhad reached down to the base of the jesuva tree and picked up a leather
scabbard. Pehr understood at once that it contained one of the metal swords
that the plainsmen so prized. Samhad held it out to him.

“Yours?” Pehr asked, and the plainsman shook his head.

“Mine rests still by my bed, and Gods willing it will be there until the day
I pass it on to my son. This is yours, Pehr.”

“Samhad … I cannot pay you for this. I have not the hides, and I—”

“I would not accept them even if you did. This is a gift, Pehr, and it’s
also a promise. We will be here when you return. I will spread your legend and
that of Havenmont among the plainsmen. When they come to understand what it is
that waits for us in the mountains, they will follow you. Perhaps not all … not
at first … but many. Enough.”

“I am truly blessed by the Gods to have fallen at Tasha’s feet, and to have
been taken in by such good people,” Pehr said. He took the sword from Samhad
and slung the scabbard over his shoulder. Then he held out his hand, and Samhad
gripped it, and for a moment they stood together like that. Then Pehr let go
and took a step back.

“Watch for me,” he said. “Watch the western horizon, and do not go to
Havenmont without me. You will not be allowed to pass. I will return.”

“We will watch the sunset for you and yours. When the day comes at last that
we see you there, we will welcome you and those who you’ve brought to us with
open arms.”

“Thank you, Samhad.”

“Go with the Gods, Khada’Pehr.”

With those words to set him on his way, Pehr turned, striding off into the
west, beginning his journey back to the lands of his youth.