You’re not done yet, Nani said to him from what sounded like somewhere ahead, but when Pehr looked up there was nothing to be seen but grass and trees.
“No,” he said anyway. “I guess not, Nani, but it hurts.”
My poor Pehr, she said, her voice like a ghost on the wind, and after that she did not speak again. Pehr struggled back to his feet and stood, swaying a little, staring off into the distance. Before him was a large hill, and the thought of climbing it was not something he relished. To the north and south the plains were flat for some distance, and he thought about turning and taking the easier route. Still, the hill would allow him the furthest view he'd had in two days’ time. Perhaps he would be able to spot water.
Or perhaps more grass, he thought to himself. Perhaps another stumpy tree. You are wasting your time.
Then why walk at all? Another part of him asked. Why not lie back down and wait to die?
“Why not?” Pehr asked out loud, and then shook his head. “Because I'm the son of a hunter, and I will not lie down and wait for death in shame.”
A hunter would use the view to his advantage. A hunter would continue to search for water until death took him. A hunter would climb the hill. Pehr took one step forward, and then another, and found himself able to move on at least for a while longer.
When he at last reached the hill’s zenith and looked down, a great wave of disgust and depression swept over him. More grass. More hills. Not even a single tree to break the view, let alone the beautiful thread of silver that would have meant a river or a brook. Was this to be his only vision, repeating itself over and over until his body finally gave up and let him die? Was he—
But there was a figure there in front of him, at the bottom of the hill. A human figure – he was sure of it. A human female. She had been bent down at first, which was why Pehr had missed her, but now she stood, tall and thin and graceful, and Pehr nearly cried out in surprise.
The girl from his dream was standing below him, just a few dozen yards away, and yet he did not think that this was a dream. If it was, it was certainly not the same dream; he was here now, not in his village, and she was not calling for him. Still, he could tell by the set of her shoulders and the shape of her thighs, the cut of her hair and the way she stood, that this was the girl. He knew her as if she were his kin.
Pehr stumbled his way down the hill on legs that felt wooden and clumsy. Midway down he realized he was rambling out loud about this new discovery. Still cognizant enough to realize that his strange muttering might frighten the girl, he forced himself to stop. He was almost upon her now, but her back was to him and she hadn't noticed his coming. It wasn’t until he was close enough that she could hear his movement through the grass that she turned and to see who approached.
The girl had pale skin and red hair that glowed golden in the sun. It was cropped short and swept over to one side of her forehead, adorned with a few simple feathers and a clasp fashioned from bone. She had a small nose, slightly concave, which sat above thin, pink lips. By far the most dominating aspect of her face was a pair of huge eyes, lined with black paint to mitigate the sun. Her irises were a shade of brilliant, vibrant purple, a color Pehr associated with jungle orchids. In the moment that he saw her face, he knew her. He’d always known her, and not just from a single dream. He’d been seeing this girl in his dreams all his life, but only now, faced with the reality of her, was that truth revealed to him.
She was looking at him with those amazing purple eyes, her face set in an expression that was equal parts curiosity and concern. Pehr opened his mouth to summon forth any sort of words that might alleviate her trepidation, but could only manage a cracking, dry sound, like branches rubbing together. The girl’s eyes were widening not in fear, but in amazement. After a moment more, Pehr saw something else there as well, something he understood all too well: a sort of terrified recognition.
“I know you,” she said, her voice breathless with awe, and these were the last words that Pehr heard for some time. It seemed to him at that moment that the sun had grown terribly bright, and past it swam black spots, like an enormous flock of birds. His head throbbed once, twice, and by the third time Pehr was quite sure it would soon explode. His eyes rolled up and he pitched forward, crashing face-first into the soft, high grass.
Chapter 13
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 i
nto.”
“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.
The Broken God Machine Page 12
