The Legend of Broken

then, tucking his whip into his belt, puts his free arm around her; clearly, Keera finds the press of his weighty limb comforting. “Some survived — but the disease simply kills too quickly to allow us to take note of just who. And it continues spreading, even after the host is dead. We had no choice but to burn the bodies. Those who were exposed but are not yet ill, have been taken to one chamber of the Lenthess-steyn—many of the healers lived, thank the Moon, and are attempting to determine why some, like themselves, are unaffected, but others die. The ill are in the uppermost chamber, receiving what care can be given — which is very little. And in the deepest chambers, more healers have been picking at the dead for two days, to know where the plague strikes in the body — the mechanism of how it kills.” The yantek stares into Keera’s face intently. “More have died than have lived, Keera.”

At this, Keera gasps. “May I — go and look for them?”

Ashkatar considers the matter. “Will you not let the healers try to find them? You are our finest tracker, Keera. If I’m any judge, we will need you, in the hours to come. The Groba has asked for you, as I say, specifically.”

Keera has been shaking her head from almost the instant Ashkatar began to speak. “I cannot — I cannot meet with the Groba and speak of this as a ‘problem.’ I must find them, I must know, ere I go mad with the fear of it …” She thinks to bury her face in her hands; but she will not break yet; certainly not in front of the commander of the Bane army.

“Then you enter the Lenthess at your own peril,” Ashkatar replies, nodding. “Should you display signs of illness, you will be kept there. It’s all we can do. Come — Veloc, Heldo-Bah, you as well. We go to the square.” The four walk past the soldiers who are hard at work with axes. “Linnet!” Ashkatar bellows.

An unusually tall Bane (unusually tall, that is, for a Bane who is not also an Outrager) turns: he has stripped to his waist, and his powerful muscles glisten in the heat of the blaze. “Yantek?”

“Assume command, here. I must take these foragers to the Groba. You have your orders.”

“Yes, Yantek — although the fire grows hellish hot, and spreads too fast. If we cannot contain it—”

“I’ve told you already, Linnet — if you cannot contain it, then direct it. Toward the northern huts. They have been sealed, and want only pitch and oil to draw the flame. See to it.”

“Aye, Yantek. The Moon’s blessing go with you,” the younger man says. He glimpses Keera’s horrified face. “The Moon’s blessing, lady …”

Keera nods in confusion, leaving Ashkatar to say, “And with you — may it go with all of us, now …”

Ashkatar leads the way through the forest tangle, emerging on the main path into the village far enough downhill that the group does not run the risk of being struck by those burning tree limbs that, when they become fiery embers, break off and hurtle toward the Earth in dangerously large pieces, which burst apart on the forest floor. The flames rising from the twenty-odd huts have now joined, some forty feet above, to form one massive column of flame which seems to be pulled upward — as if some deity is sucking the life from Okot, and especially the northeastern settlement; some capricious, cruel god, Keera cannot help but continue to think, until a more pragmatic fact occurs to her:

“There can be no doubting it, now,” she murmurs to Ashkatar, who keeps one heavy arm around her shoulders, even as her brother holds her left hand tight in his. “With so many soundings of the Horn, and now this fire — the Tall will finally see in what part of the Wood Okot is.”

“They’re probably assembling their blasted troops even as we speak,” Heldo-Bah says.

“But let the rest of us concern ourselves with all that, Keera,” Veloc says, scowling at Heldo-Bah for his thoughtlessness. “Worry only for Tayo and the children.”

“And we did consider that likelihood, Keera,” Ashkatar adds. “But there was no other course to take — fire stops the spread of the illness, this is virtually the only thing we do know.”

The group are on the main pathway into Okot now, which is a well-worn cart trail, with clumps of forest grass growing between its two deep ruts. They soon reach the central “square” of Okot (really a circle that the cart path makes around the village well, the only thing in the area that actually is square), to find it flooded with Bane of every description. Men, women, children, household and farm animals, all mill about in near-panic, the humans fixing their attention on the northern and southern sides of the square. Towering over the northern gathering ground is the cliff face into which the Lenthess-steyn caves are set; while the southern ground leads up to a smaller rock formation, one with a gaping hole between two mammoth boulders: the Den of Stone, where the Groba is now meeting. On the northern side, a group of counterweighted wooden cages on powerful ropes slowly and constantly rise to and descend from the various Lenthess openings, in which the bright light of torches can be seen, and out of which drifts their smoke. Against the walls of the Lenthess caves are cast the eerie shadows of Bane healers: men with long, thin beards and ankle-length robes, women in less impressive but more practical shirts and pantaloons, their hair tied above their heads and covered with white kerchiefs. Long lines of anxious Bane wait to take their turn in the cages, trying to find what Keera seeks: news of whether their families are well or stricken, or if, indeed, they are there at all, or have already been burned in the mass pyres near the Cat’s Paw.

When they have reached the rock-and-mortar walls that enclose the village well, the foragers note that there are Bane soldiers everywhere, blending in because they wear no armor. Their agitation at this moment of supreme crisis is admirably controlled, given their relative inexperience. Uncertainty as to just how to manage the situation is clear in their faces, but they keep moving, getting tribe members into lines and keeping them there, doling water from the well to healers who fetch it, and guarding the Den of Stone from the villagers’ desperate demands for information.

For the ordinarily calm forest community, it is an unprecedented sight; and even Veloc and Heldo-Bah feel their nerves begin to fray, in the face of a scene that looks to burst into mayhem at any moment.

“All right, Keera,” Ashkatar says. “I’ll have two of my men take you up—” He points the whip toward the wooden cages. “Pallin — yes, you! And the other, as well. Get over here, I’ve a job for you!”

Seeing whom the voice emanates from, the two young pallins dash toward the Bane commander. Their faces are covered in charcoal and ash, and it is clear that they must have been tending the fire up the pathway, but that this work is being done in rotations to avoid any one man being exposed for too long to the flames and the heat. Both of the pallins, having removed their scale armor, go about their business with their short-swords belted around their soft, quilted gambesons, which ordinarily shield their flesh from the weight and the rivets of their armored hauberks.

“Yes, Yantek?” the first pallin says, as they reach Ashkatar.

“This woman may have family in the Lenthess—stay with her until she finds them or you’re certain they’re not within. Understood?”

The two young warriors hesitate, examining Keera, then Veloc and Heldo-Bah, and paying close attention to the sacks on the backs of the men. The second pallin pauses, leaning toward his commander.

“But, Yantek—” he struggles to say. “She is only a forager …”

Ashkatar drops Keera’s bag from his shoulder, takes his arm from her and snatches his whip from his side; then, in another swift motion, he cracks it once as he wraps it around the youth’s neck four or five times. Then he pulls the choking soldier’s face close to his own.

“She is an important member of the Bane tribe, boy, and she is a mother and a wife! If I had to snap your neck right now to save hers, I wouldn’t hesitate — understand? Never show the pride of the Tall to me, soldier, or the river will know your guts. Now — escort her!”

Ashkatar pulls the whip from the pallin’s neck in a hard jerk that leaves burning lines in his flesh, which the soldier grabs at to make sure his head is still secure. The first pallin, having taken Ashkatar’s point (it would have been difficult to miss) approaches Keera gently.

“Come, lady,” he says nervously, “we will not leave you until we know what has become of your family …”

“Correct,” Ashkatar says, nodding. “Take her up at once; the Groba wishes to speak to her as soon as she is finished with this mournful work.”

“Yes, Yantek,” the second pallin manages to wheeze out, his throat nearly as distressed as his neck. “We will guard her with our—”

“Go!” shouts the commander, and the soldiers hurry to catch Keera, who is