Broken Earth

by C M Blackwood

  She took hold of the handle, and opened the door. When her eyes took in the sight that lay waiting inside the chamber, she felt yet another explosion round her heart, and found that she had come all the way to the centre of the room, without having taken a single step.

  ~

  By the time the sun began to set on her fourth day at Eredor, Heidi’s spirits had fallen so low that she feared herself unable to repair them to their usual state. She had spent the whole day in that large, unfamiliar room, pacing the floor and coming frequently to a stop before the window, where she looked for long minutes on end out into the muddy fields.

  If she did attempt to sit down, it was only moments before she was forced to stand again, for her legs twitched constantly with indecision. And then she paced again, and then she sat again; and then she tried, for a little while, to lie down; but with no success.

  Her conversation with Dera was still fresh in her mind. She recalled her friend’s face, so heated with her own certainty, as she tried to push her own wants onto Heidi. It was not that Heidi could not understand her restlessness. Indeed, she even shared some of Dera’s views; but she could not leave. She was prepared, if she must, to let Dera do as she would; and to watch quite as calmly as she could, while she tried not to dwell on the dangers which might befall Dera, while she was alone.

  It was the thinking of these particular thoughts, which made her more weary than any amount of pacing could ever achieve; and with those thoughts locked in place, she fell into a light sleep.

  Initially, she thought the sound of an opening door to be nothing but a part of her dream. So she kept her eyes closed, and was sure of the fact that she slept on; until she sensed the presence of a blue light what she had not conjured.

  Her next, natural thought (natural enough, considering she had just been roused from a half-sleep) was that the Sorceress had come for her; and she felt a sort of inevitable relief. She was beginning to understand that she could not run forever; and was almost glad to think of Aerca, walking towards her through the light, hand poised with intent to strike.

  And then she would not need worry anymore about plans. She would not need fight with Dera, trying to convince her (against even her own better judgment) to remain just a little longer in Onssgaard. It would all be over for her, and hopefully, Dera would find a way to escape alone into the night.

  She was certain that she had heard the opening of the door; but she heard no footsteps sounding across the floor. Yet, if there was any one person whose footsteps would not resound upon solid stone – thence avoiding the alertness of her prey – it was she whom Heidi already suspected.

  She said nothing, and she did not look. If this was truly the end, she did not want to see. She heard her name spoken, and it echoed through the chamber. She huddled down in preparation for her fate.

  But then came the sound again; and she began to doubt. For what reason would such a person have to speak her name, even once? And the voice was not right. Though she had indeed never heard the voice of the Sorceress, and would not have recognised it had it issued from her mouth, she was confounded to realise that she did know this voice. She had known it at the very first; but had contributed it, of course, to nothing but an overworking imagination, what runs wild in the moments before death.

  “Heidi.”

  She sat up like a shot, eyes sifting madly through the blueness. She looked first in every place but the one she ought; for the speaker stood right beside her, only inches from the bed. As Heidi was not rising, she fell down beside her, and threw her arms round her shoulders.

  “Jade!” cried Heidi, arms clinging quite as tightly as they were able; for if this was only a snatch of her dreaming, she wanted to keep it quite as long as she could.

  “I knew that I would find you here,” said Jade.

  “How did you – what did you – where have you been?” Heidi asked, the words coming as more of a demand than a question. Now that Jade was before her, and in all regards seemed quite all right, she was almost angry at her delay.

  “It is a very long and complicated story, I promise you. And as I am not entirely sure which parts of it were real, I think that we shall have to leave the explanations for later.”

  “Which parts of it were – what are you talking about?”

  “It seems that the waiting has made you somewhat inarticulate.”

  Heidi felt a shadow pass across her face. “That isn’t funny,” she said. “You’ve not been here even five minutes – and already you’re making jokes?”

  “You are quite right,” said Jade; though it was obvious that she was only pretending to be serious. “This is no time for laughing.”

  “It isn’t! Do you even know what’s happening?”

  “No, I don’t. You see, I would have arrived here long before you – but it seems that I must have had some kind of an accident, and bumped my head fairly well. Past days have been nothing but a dream to me.”

  Heidi watched her carefully, suspicious of her vague and senseless words. But her joy was so great upon seeing her face, she forgot for a while whatever doubts she had, and moved once more to embrace her.

  XXVI: Húnama

  While all manner of error and mishap rang through Death Rock, and prepared to spread to Grénha, Lila travelled on her own way, entirely oblivious to it. When night fell down around her, she did not stop to set up camp; but moved on at a uniform pace, determined to reach her destination just as quickly as she was able.

  As she rode, the sky let loose a great amount of snow; and the patches of earth which had made themselves visible disappeared quickly, forced to concede once again to the white powder that knew no limit. This was the same storm which had affected the distant land of Remás since morning. It began in Geinhold at dusk, spreading past the Kala River and into the lands through which Lila rode, just as Helena Makepeace mounted the road to Helfadt. Both travellers were beleaguered with cold flakes that made them draw their hoods up over their faces; yet they were free of harsh winds or sleet, and the night knew nothing but the gentle falling of snow.

  By dawn, the world was covered in a thick blanket of white. Lila found that, if only for a moment, her troubled thoughts gave way to the beauty of the sight before her. Familiar as she was with it, she had passed through the Eastern Forest (which was a distant continuation of the Enodil, and lay upon the borders of the Abandoned Earth) in the dark. It was not as wide as Enodil, and by the time the sun began to rise, she was confronted by the low valley called Fernlei. Bright yellow light shone down upon the fresh, smooth snow, glinting upon it and creating a striking scene of the entire valley.

  Sonya picked her way steadily through Fernlei, making her own path in the snow with little guidance from Lila. The valley stretched on for many miles; and they would surely not reach its boundary till nightfall. After that, the land sloped gradually upwards, and emerged into the vast, flat lands which were called the Plains of Yara.

  Yara was a great Wónakee Chief many generations past, from whom Ohmená himself was descended. He led the great fight of his people against the Lumaria, who were used at that time to taking anything and everything they desired. But they found a worthy adversary in Yara, and fought many months to conquer the lands of his people. Eventually, Yara was killed upon the battlefield, at the hand of a Lumarian King called Borza. His people mourned the loss of both their Chief and their lands, and were forced backwards towards the sea. That was the time of the Great Migration, when many of the Wónakee took to the sea in search of freedom. But some were afraid of what lay beyond the sea, and doubted whether anything even existed there. No one knew, either, for exactly how many leagues the sea might stretch on, before giving way to land.

  But those who remained behind found that their freedom had been stripped from them, and that they were forced to answer to the Lumaria who had taken control of their lands. They were given a very small amount of land in which to reside, and were set to work at the command of Borza. This went on for many years, unt
il the second King of their bondage was killed. He was murdered by one of his own; and his death sparked a civil war among the Lumaria, which led to the extinguishing of a great number of that race. Those who survived were forced to flee, and to hide from men who now desired (and could very well accomplish) the spilling of their blood.

  The Wónakee found themselves free once more, and spread back out amidst the plains which were rightfully their own. They lived some years in peace, until they were discovered by those of the West; and it was then that ugly, aforementioned business began. Only recently, with the help of Queen Abella, had the Wónakee finally become their own people again. They were wary of strangers, and trusted none but from the land of Désarn. When that country was broken by the hand of the Sorceress, they lamented the fall of their protector, and moved farther back into the lands that bordered the sea. During those days of chaos and mistrust, they killed many who sought to enter their lands, and were for that reason feared by many as a ruthless and murderous people, more akin to animals than humans. There were few people who dared cross the Plains of Yara.

  Lila despaired over the undeserved reputation of her friends; for it was just another leaf in the lengthy book of their trials and tribulations.

  Turning her mind from the bitter fruits of the past, to the matter at hand, Lila began to consider what she would do, if Aponé could not help her. No doubt, she would press on with her task; but she feared that the outcome might be far grimmer.

  She rode on into the dusk, and watched the sky with wondering eyes, as it became filled with the beautiful colours of sunset. When it began to turn to black, she turned her eyes back to the way before her, which ran devoid of line or path. She had nearly reached the rim of the valley. It would be less than an hour now, before she ascended into the plains.

  ~

  Lila rode all that next day with only a brief pause, resuming the road hastily and much to the displeasure of Sonya. Night came, but it held no rest for her. She rode on. Day broke, and she pressed on through the plains. But night came again, and again, and again – and she found herself still many miles away. So on the seventh day, after having rested thus far quite as minimally as she was able, she sniffed the air; and could detect that strong smell of salt which heralded the appearance of Húnama. But she had not allowed herself yet to enjoy a genuine, restful sleep; and knew that she could ride no more until she had, for at least a little while, given up the fight.

  When night had come to call once more, she directed Sonya to an enormous, familiar plateau of rock, under which the earth was dry and the wind was less severe. The horse trudged in beside her, and accepted the thick blanket which she spread over her saddle.

  She laid her remaining blankets upon the ground, and crawled in betwixt them to take what sleep she could find. Indeed, she found it quickly; but when she opened her eyes to a grey and sunless morning, she rose immediately. She set off with Sonya once more into the plains, now aware of that distant place where the earth began to slope downwards once again. That was the land of Húnama, and was the place in which the Wónakee made their home.

  She had travelled several hours into darkness before she reached the lip of the basin in which the city was settled. The Wónakee were a people who rose with the sun; and at this time of night, there was not a light burning in any of their houses. Even from her place at the top of that high hill of packed sand, Lila could hear the rushing of the waves upon the shore – and had it still been daylight, she would have been able to see them.

  Lila climbed down from the saddle to lead Sonya down the hill. It was very steep; and sometimes the sand gave way to a small slide, to make the horse lose her footing. Yet both she and her master arrived at its bottom without incident. They started, then, across the wide space of sand what lay beyond the streets of the city, but had not travelled even a quarter of a mile before a torch was suddenly lit before them, and a pair of Wónakee boys were revealed by the light of the flame.

  When they spoke, it was in their own native tongue; and Lila understood only a few words of what they said. She was not well-versed in Gei-ánen. The few phrases she knew had been taught her by Aponé, and had mostly been offered in jest. But these boys appeared far less than humorous, brandishing their spears threateningly as Lila tried to explain herself. The more she spoke, the louder they spoke; until a tall man emerged from the house nearest them, and came to investigate the cause of the noise.

  He took the torch from the older boy, and held it out for a view of Lila’s face. Lila saw his, as well; and recognised him as Kahmen, son of Laodo – both father and son being great warriors of that people.

  “Princess Lila!” he exclaimed; and his words came in Doshél, the language of the West what was spoken all through the Broken Earth.

  “Hello, Kahmen,” said Lila.

  And then he proceeded to berate the guard-boys, taking the spears from their hands, and throwing them to the ground. The boys slunk slowly away from him, their faces stricken with fear.

  “I am very sorry,” said Kahmen, holding out his hand to Lila. “They are only boys, and know no better.”

  “You needn’t apologise,” said Lila, accepting his hand. “They did not know me.”

  Kahmen nodded, and turned so that Lila could follow with Sonya. “At night,” he said, “we leave several boys at the bottom of the hill, to alert us of intruders. They are only supposed to wake their fathers; not thrust their spears into the faces of those who might come.”

  “I have not seen your son since he was small,” said Lila. “Was he one of my greeters?”

  Kahmen nodded, and smiled rather proudly. “The younger one was Falén. I am both pleased and sorry to say that he takes his post very seriously.”

  “Seriousness is a great necessity nowadays,” said Lila. “But I do remember the last time I came here – and there were no guards below the hill. Have things gotten so much worse?”

  “Very much so, Princess Lila. Sometimes, late at night, men from the South leap down into the city – many of them with the light of fire in their eyes. The first time was many months ago, but on that night they killed six of our warriors, and more of our women and children. Since that night, the houses at the edge of the city have been filled with warriors, ready to fight at a single call from the boys who watch the hill. We would place the warriors themselves on watch; but it seems that they now have so much to do during the days, it is better to let them rest in the night.”

  “And how often do the Southerners attack?” asked Lila.

  “On the night of every other round moon,” answered Kahmen. “But there have been no deaths – at least on our own side – since the first attack. Some distance away from the city, we have dug a great hole for the bodies of the South men. They are thrown down inside, and then burnt. We dare not darken Anhala-nan with their filth.”

  Anhala-nan was the name by which the Wónakee referred to the sea. In Gei-ánen, it meant “great purity.”

  “I am sorry for your losses,” said Lila. “But why did you not tell me? I would have helped you.”

  He nodded. “We knew that you would, Princess Lila. But it is our battle. You are already fighting your own.”

  And they said no more about it. They walked together into the city, which was of a circular shape, coming round the curved paths that led around rings of houses. The purpose of the pattern involved a defence against attack; something that, as a result of their years of poor luck, the Wónakee were ever concerned with. If battle were to ensue, and a line of warriors was stationed round the outer ring of the city (one side of which was hemmed in by the sea), invasion by the foreign force was much less probable.

  Kahmen directed their path towards the house of the Chief, which stood in the middle of the city, and was the largest of all the structures. In this house only did a fire burn.

  Kahmen knocked three times upon the door, and Chief Ohmená himself came to answer it. He smiled broadly when he saw Lila, and ushered her inside.

  “And you
, Kahmen,” said he, motioning to the warrior, and clasping his shoulder as he entered. “We will eat and drink to the coming of the Princess.”

  Lila would have argued against it; for Ohmená always spoiled her when she visited. But she could not find the will to decline his good graces tonight; for she was all but famished.

  “Before I eat,” said Lila, “I must –”

  “Feed your horse,” said Kahmen with a smile. “That is what you say, each time you come. I have never met a beast so loved.” But he held up his hands in concession. “I will attend to her for you.”

  “Thank you, Kahmen.”

  Ohmená noticed the slight wobbling of her legs, and pulled out a chair for her, looking somewhat irritated with himself for forgetting his manners.

  “And how long has it been since you rested?” he asked.

  “Not so long,” said Lila. (Though she did fail to mention that the sleep she had taken the night previous, was the only sleep she had taken at all.)

  “You shall rest well tonight,” said Ohmená. “First you will eat, and then you will sleep all you need; for whatever business you have can surely wait until morning.”

  He spoke well, quite as good as – if not better than – Kahmen. Every now and then, he accentuated the wrong syllables of a word, or spoke a different word entirely than the one he intended. Sometimes, he simply substituted a word of his own tongue; and Lila understood him well enough.

  There was only one person in all of Húnama who spoke better Doshél than Ohmená – and that was Aponé. But her father was also very knowledgeable in the ways of the West; and were it not for his brown skin, could be taken any day as a regular practitioner of them.

  Not that Lila would have wished him to be. She appreciated the differences betwixt his life and hers, and admired the rare grace with which he conducted himself.

  Kahmen came back into the house, having settled Sonya for the night. He sat down at the table beside Lila. The Chief had already sent his younger daughter, Hasee, to fetch what food she could gather from Rafeda, who lived next door and cooked all of the family’s meals. The Chief took his seat across from Kahmen, and the three began to speak to one another in friendly voices. This went on for some minutes, until Hasee returned with Rafeda herself, and several platters laden with food. There was drink, as well; and being thirsty as she was, Lila’s first request was for the latter.