The Legend of Broken (49 page)

Caliphestros simply smiles and laughs quietly, for he has also come to understand many of Heldo-Bah’s seeming insults, clownish or otherwise, mask a strangely fascinating willingness to do the distasteful work of actually attending to the safety of his tribe, and especially of his comrades, by determining the reliability of newcomers.

“Yes, my small friend,” Caliphestros replies, echoing Heldo-Bah’s impertinence with muted amusement. “That is what I told you.”

“‘Small’?”
Heldo-Bah replies. “If I were without my feet and half my legs, and required the use of mechanical contrivances and legendary beasts to get about, I’m not certain I’d be so free with that kind of language, O Legless Lord.”

“Perhaps not,” says Caliphestros. “But then, never having had the trust of a legendary beast, I doubt that you are able to appreciate precisely the sense of security that such a bond brings.”

At that instant, in a further demonstration of her remarkable intuition concerning human language, Stasi turns her head fully about, looking over her shoulder at Heldo-Bah just as a long, large drop of saliva falls from her panting tongue to the ground.

“Very well,” the malodorous forager replies. “Let us stay away from such questions—what I particularly want to know is this: you say you studied, for the most part, in this city called Alexandria, in the grain kingdom of Egypt-land, where they let you cut up dead bodies to your peculiar heart’s content; which was not the case in Broken, where you were forced to have your minions steal bodies before they were placed atop funeral pyres. And you became fascinated, you say, by the subject of diseases, and of plagues—and most especially by the Death itself.”

“Your memory astounds me, Heldo-Bah,” taunts the old man.

“And when the Mohammedans, displaying that infinite wisdom of men who worship one entirely improbable god, conquered this Egypt-land, and then, after a brief period of uncertainty, decided that all you grave robbers and body hackers should either go somewhere else or have your
own
bodies hacked to pieces, you set out for the capital of the still another people who believe in one god, but who hold that their
one
can actually be the sum of
three
deities—an only slightly less idiotic notion than that of one almighty lord creating both all the good
and
all the evil in the world.”

“The Christ-worshippers may indeed hold beliefs that seem to turn back on themselves, Heldo-Bah,” Caliphestros concedes. “But I am not so certain that they can be dismissed as ‘idiotic.’”

“No?” queries the Bane. “Well, listen further, then: I have made a study of their faith, and even conversed with that fool monk who has for so long been wandering about from tribe to tribe and kingdom to kingdom. Surely you know of him, great traveler that you are—the lunatic who cut down the ash tree of the Frankesh thunder god—”
†

“Winfred?”
Caliphestros queries, in such amazement that he almost falls from Stasi’s back. “You, Heldo-Bah, have discussed the Christ-worshipper’s religion with this man, who was given the name
Boniface
by their supreme leader, after he crossed the Seksent Straits to undertake his work?”

“The very fellow!” Heldo-Bah laughs. “‘Vat of Turds’!
†
I shall never forget his face when I explained to him why so many laughed at his ‘holy’ name, in Broken—for it has the same sound, does it not? You know of him, then, do you, wise man?”

Caliphestros nods slowly, still in profound amazement. “I knew him quite well. It was before ever I saw Broken—indeed, I first journeyed to that city in his company. I was living, then, at the abbey at Wearmouth, across the Seksent Straits, in Britain. My friend—the historian Bede to whom I have made reference, Veloc—was unusually curious concerning science, for a Christ-worshipper. He had given me a chamber and a place in their apothecary, where I worked for the abbey by day, and conducted my own labors by night.” His words coming to a sudden halt, Caliphestros looks at both Veloc and Keera, without seeming to actually see them. “I have not spoken of all this since … by the heavens, for so many years …” His body rattles suddenly, and he returns to his tale: “I met Winfred there—he was a monk and a priest, seeking funds as well as companions and followers for the great endeavor of converting the tribes and kingdoms hereabouts as well as farther north to the way of the Christ. I had heard many tales of the kingdom where the Kafran faith ruled, and was deeply curious about it. And so I packed my instruments and books, crossed the Seksent Straits in Winfred’s company, and went on to the city upon the mountain. One of Winfred’s first objects—although those of his faith called him Boniface, by then—was to convince the God-King Izairn to accept the Christ. He had heard that Broken was a mighty state, where law was maintained and commerce thrived, and that Izairn was a fair man, as indeed he was—”

“Hak!”
Heldo-Bah exclaims with a laugh. “I did not know he ever attempted to play his holy tricks upon Broken’s God-King—although he seemed fool enough to try. The last I heard of him, some few years ago, he was planning to convert the Varisians! Imagine it—those bloodthirsty rapists, attempting to live according to the Christ’s babble about loving their enemies. I should like to know if he ever undertook that mad effort, and what became of him, if he did.”
‡
Seeing that Caliphestros either will not or cannot continue his own tale, for the moment, Heldo-Bah charges on: “At any rate, this fellow, this Boniface, had, as I suppose you know, been booted out of Broken, soon after he first entered the kingdom and city. He was doing his best to get back in, at the time I made his acquaintance. Indeed, I was to provide the horses for his followers, if they were ever allowed to return—although such was plainly unlikely.”

“And I’m sure his party would have been safe, under your guidance and protection, Heldo-Bah,” Caliphestros mocks softly.

“Indeed he would, for they had far too little gold to—” Catching himself before the indiscretion is voiced, Heldo-Bah declares: “The point that I am attempting to make, my lord, is that he and I spoke, several times, about this idea that three divine entities can be one god, and that the one thus produced should be praised as having authority over all the evil as well as all the good in this world. ‘Yet how can this be so?’ I asked of him. ‘If your god is indeed three deities in one, and the one master of all, then his actions are either capricious, or tell us plainly that his mind remains badly cracked into warring parts.’ And the next question I asked him, I will put to you, Lord of Woodland Wisdom: how, tell me,
how
can
one almighty
creature be so unmercifully wanton as to create and spread pestilences such as the Death, on the one hand, and yet, on the other, claim credit for what enjoyments and pleasantness this life offers? The entire proposition is madness!”

Caliphestros laughs quietly again, using a small swatch of cloth to wipe perspiration from his own brow, and then pouring a small amount of water from a skin into Stasi’s upturned mouth, before drinking himself. “You Bane have a peculiarly perverse manner of arriving at the of truth of things, or rather, at a
kind
of truth.”

“Ah! But it
is
truth, eh, Wizard Lord?” Heldo-Bah declares in triumph.

“Let us say that it is,” answers the old man, “and proceed to your point.”

“Assuming you
have
one,” Veloc chides quietly.

“I have made it already,” Heldo-Bah scoffs. “See how my genius confounds the wise man! My
point
is merely that the more you learn of these one-god peoples, the more absurd they become …” Shaking his head, the forager continues, “And you, old man: what god did you find to worship, who seems to have preserved you during your foolish—but doubtless noble!—pursuit of the Death, only to snatch your legs from you for your merciful troubles?”

“Heldo-Bah!” Keera finally shouts, unable to endure her friend’s endless disrespect and mockery.

“I am deeply sorry, Keera,” Heldo-Bah replies, “but, sorcerer or no, noble intentions or not, what kind of fool follows the Death about from place to place?”

Keera is red-faced with rage, and Veloc, seeing this, calls out, “Can you not simply discuss the subject, Heldo-Bah, without recourse to insults and altercations?”

“Do not concern yourself, Veloc,” Caliphestros says. “And I am honored by your indignation, Keera—but among the endless procession of ignorant assaults under which I have been trampled during my life, your friend’s is actually one of the more amusing and even interesting varieties.” Urging Stasi closer to Keera, Caliphestros continues to speak to her, but in confidence, now: “And my distraction and indulgence of both Heldo-Bah and your brother has a purpose, Keera. If what I suspect about the plague that has come to Broken as well as the Wood is indeed true, then we may catch the scent—
you
may catch the scent—of still more bodies among the rocks that line the Cat’s Paw, as well as along the heights above it. Animal scents, in addition to human. All things dead near this river must be examined carefully if we are to solve this terrible puzzle.”

Keera stands straighter as she walks, putting her nose into the westerly breeze. “I understand, my lord; although I cannot say that the task will prevent me from hurling a stone at Heldo-Bah’s rude, ignorant mouth.”

“You leave Heldo-Bah to me,” Caliphestros laughs quietly.

Sighing once, Keera says, “Very well, my lord,” and then turns her nose and her gaze in all directions. “We have passed the most deadly rocks, and dawn begins to make the remaining distance safer,” she judges at length.

“What in the name of Kafra’s foul face are you two scheming at?” Heldo-Bah shouts.

“Calm yourself, Heldo-Bah,” replies Caliphestros. “And begin to temper the volume of your voice—for the river is narrowing, and I hardly need tell you who is on the other side. Baster-kin’s men may be using the time they have left before their advance to search for those Bane who trussed one of their number and served him up to the wolves.”

“Calm
yourself,
ancient one,” Heldo-Bah says; yet he eyes the far side of the river uneasily. “Even if the Merchant Lord’s men are there, they will likely not have heard me. These chasms do strange things to sound.”

“You would stake your own life, and all of ours, on that proposition?” Caliphestros declares. “After all, Stasi and I heard the man’s shrieks, and subsequently investigated their cause—it is wholly likely that the watch atop Broken’s walls heard it, as well. Prudence, my defiant friend, may let you keep a few more of your teeth, along with your life.”

“Yes, yes,” Heldo-Bah answers, waving the statement away. “But do not think that you can continue to avoid my principal question, by so distracting me. I would know this, finally: with all the lands you have visited, and all the great philosophers and kings you have met and advised—why,
why
would you choose to settle in
Broken,
of all places? You must have known of the evil nature of their faith—”

“In fact, I did,” Caliphestros replies, still calmly and readily. “For I first observed what is there called the ‘cult’ of Kafra in Alexandria. It had been brought hence by tribes who live along the upper reaches of the river
Nilus,
†
which is called ‘the mother of Egypt.’ I next encountered the faith in several small but wealthy border towns in Broken, during my journey there with Boniface—”

Heldo-Bah cannot help but blurt, “Ha! ‘Vat of Turds,’” assuming an air of complete self-satisfaction as Caliphestros continues:

“The faith and its adherents had traveled repeatedly, or so I was told, aboard the grain ships that ply the seas between
Lumun-jan
and Egypt. And that was what interested me, particularly, about the golden god: his path across the waters, throughout the empires to the south, and then to the northern kingdoms, followed exactly the route that had been traveled by every spread of the Death.” The old man pauses, and then glances down at the remnants of his legs. “Not unlike the rats that infest those same grain ships … 
‡
Yet it had never occurred to me that such a peculiar faith could become the foundation of a state, and when I began to hear that it had, I grew fascinated. I had already intended to visit Broken in Brother Winfred’s company, to determine if the Death had struck there; and the remarkable news that the place had become not only a functioning but a powerful Kafran kingdom became simply an additional reason to make the journey.”

“I feel I should point out, my lord,” says Veloc, not without some indignation, “that any Bane schoolchild knows that Kafra came into our own part of the world when Oxmontrot and his comrades, who had traveled south to seek their fortunes in the wars of the
Lumun-jani,
returned home.”

A sudden, rather peculiar look of fascination enters Caliphestros’s features. “So the Bane know of Oxmontrot?”

“Why should we not?” Veloc queries, still playing the role of offended scholar. “He began the banishments of all those who could not or would not be slaves to the plan to build his great city, after all. And so he was, in one way, the father of our tribe—as the man who rapes a woman and leaves her with child is the detestable but undoubted father of that infant.”

Caliphestros is further impressed: “That is soundly argued, Veloc, and with an economy of words. I begin to wonder why your Groba should have refused to name you historian of your tribe.”

“If you’d like clarification, my lord,” Heldo-Bah interrupts, “simply ask him how many women of the Tall he’s bedded—that’s but one reason why the members of the Groba doubt him. There is also the small matter of his being often in
my
company—which, I think, they would ignore, save for the additional business of his refusing to copulate with the Priestess of the Moon …”