The Legend of Broken

Broken that had been remote to him, as it was to most who hailed from that part if the city — a side that prized faithful service, and valued perfect affection as much as perfect appearance. Thus, for Arnem as for many soldiers, Haldar Korsar became a symbol: as much a breathing talisman as a boy. It seemed natural and good when, at the age of twelve, Haldar announced his desire to enter military service as a skutaar†, which would require him to serve a linnet selected by his father, and to live within the Fourth District. After this term of service, which would conclude with his own elevation to linnet, Haldar would naturally assume a position of importance somewhere in the army, and carry on his father’s work—

But such had not been the will of Kafra. At the coronation of the God-King Saylal (a ceremony during which the new monarch was never actually seen by anyone save his priests, though he had full view of the large audience inside the High Temple), Haldar, along with two or three other youths and young ladies, was noticed by the Divine Personage amid a children’s chorus composed of the offspring of Broken’s most successful families; and priests soon arrived at the Korsar’s door, to announce that the boy had been selected for service to the God-King. Honor though such selection was, the thought of losing forever a child whose arrival had been so long delayed was a mortal blow for the yantek and his wife; and there were those who said that Amalberta’s heart began to wither the day she saw her son disappear forever through the gates of the Inner City. By this time, Arnem had married, and fathered the first of his own children, also a son: he could scarcely imagine having such a scion as Haldar snatched away so young, no matter the spiritual rewards that a life of service in the Inner City might bring. Yantek Korsar was a creature of duty, and eventually learned to exist, if not truly live, with the loss; not so Amalberta, who, after several years of trying to make a life without the boy who had become her life’s purpose, as well as her solace when Korsar was campaigning, seemed to simply surrender her will to live. Korsar, frantic over his wife’s steady decline, begged the Grand Layzin to release Haldar from divine service; but his requests were consistently refused, the last disappointment proving too much for Amalberta, whose heart quietly ceased to beat when the yantek brought her word that there was no hope of their ever being a family again.

Having been at the yantek’s side during this ordeal, Arnem developed a deep fear of the day when he would be asked by the priests of Kafra for one of his own children; and now, with that request finally made, the sentek finds that it has brought a distressingly deeper understanding of the twin burdens that Korsar has carried for so many years. The loss of Amalberta, his one truly intimate companion, following hard on the loss of the boy who had embodied his hopes for a meaningful legacy, seemed to shrink Korsar’s world: it was then that the yantek abandoned his own house (one of the more modest dwellings in the First District) and went to live in his headquarters, plainly intending to do nothing more than continue attending to the work of keeping Broken safe, until his worries as a commander would exhaust and destroy him.

But now Arnem must wonder, given the yantek’s strange behavior, if the business of Broken’s safety is all that Korsar has been pondering, during his long nights pacing those quarters that were never meant to be a home.

The small detachment of soldiers reaches the wide granite steps of the High Temple. At the foot as well as the top of these steps burn enormous bronze braziers, throwing their golden light onto the massive granite facade and the twenty-foot columns of the Temple. Given this setting, made all the more awe-inspiring by the time of night, the sentek feels that he is following Korsar into something more complicated than a council of war — a feeling confirmed when the yantek throws a heavy arm around Arnem’s neck, and urgently whispers:

“I meant what I said, Sixt. Whatever happens inside, you’re to stay out of it. The army will need you now, as never before.”

“You sound as though you expect to be relieved, Yantek.”

“That is certainly among the things that I expect,” Korsar replies, grunting. “But it will hardly be the most important. No …” Korsar takes his arm from the sentek’s neck, looking out over the city, and smiles: not in the false manner that has marked him thus far tonight, but in the manner of … Arnem gropes for words, and remembers Niksar’s earlier statement: Like a man who senses Death hovering nearby, yet makes no move to elude it.

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, Sixt,” Korsar continues, with something that is strangely like anticipation in his voice, “I will never see the sun set over the western walls of this city again …”

1:{vi:}

The Bane foragers witness a disordering of Nature,

before the Moon summons them home …

“Lies! Lies, lies, and still more lies!”

“You dare question my honor again?”

Keera splays her small, slender fingers over her face, as Heldo-Bah and Veloc rail at each other. It is remarkable, the tracker thinks: the shag steer stew has been in their stomachs for less time than it took to remove the pot from the fire, yet they are ready for more senseless bickering …

“There is no end to it,” is all that Keera has the patience to murmur aloud, as she stares through the dark, dense tangle of vegetation that surrounds their camp, alert for any sign of movement. Having led her party south of the Fallen Bridge at a good pace, Keera has decided that it is safer to allow Heldo-Bah to enjoy some of his precious beef now than it would be to attempt the journey back to Okot with him complaining every step of the way. She has found a fortunate site for their meal: a small clearing surrounded by thick ferns and briars, and sheltered by fir trees which obscure the light of their fire, if not its smell. As her companions continue to argue, she begins to wish that she had been less thorough: if they were not so well-concealed, she would have reason to tell both men to keep their mouths shut. As it is …

“Listen to me, Veloc,” Heldo-Bah says, as he leans into the fire, unconscious of its heat, and holds his back strap beef over a high flame with one of his knives. “That foul city has never meant anything save suffering for the Bane tribe — all your other ‘historical’ discussions only confuse that one supreme truth!” With his free hand, Heldo-Bah snatches up a stick of firewood and pokes at the bright coals mere inches from his deerskin boots, sending sparks flying at Veloc.

“Here!” Veloc cries, swatting at the glowing embers. “Unprovoked immolation is a crime, Heldo-Bah, even under Bane law!”

“Oh, I’ve been provoked!” Heldo-Bah counters, the beef having revived his strength. “By falsehoods from a festering philanderer!”

Veloc returns to the calm condescension that is ever his course of last resort when he is losing ground to his friend’s bullying: “Perhaps your own luck with women would be better, Heldo-Bah, had your father not eyed a sow with lust and produced a son with the face of a pig.”

“Better the son of a sow than a patron of Broken whores!”

“Whores?” Veloc’s false demeanor is shattered. “Why, you ape, I have never paid any Tall for her favors — each has offered herself to me!”

“And I suppose that you have never been indicted by the Groba for the trouble your failure to pay these ‘willing’ women has created?”

“Dog!”

The two men face each other across the fire, seemingly ready to fight to the death; yet Keera exhibits no great concern, for she knows how the exchange will end. Both Veloc’s and Heldo-Bah’s jaws tremble with anger for a silent moment; and then, with a suddenness that might bewilder anyone unfamiliar with their friendship, each bursts into laughter, throwing dirt harmlessly and rolling on the forest floor.

“It seems folly to bicker so,” Keera remarks, to herself as much as to her companions, “when, on every occasion, you only end by—”

Suddenly, the Bane tracker gets silently up on her legs, keeping them bent so that she can spring in any direction. Her remarkable nose is in the air, while her hands cup her ears. Heldo-Bah and Veloc stifle their laughter and creep noiselessly to Keera’s side: in much the same manner, she notices, as her three small children do when