The Legend of Broken

crescent Moon whose horns point skyward.

Tonight, however, all is different among the Bane, within the Den as without. At the right end of the table sits the Priestess of the Moon, who wears a golden gown over a white smock. Draped over her shoulders and head is an airy shawl of deep blue, onto which have been embroidered golden stars, which grow more numerous as they approach the front of a golden coronet that holds the shawl in place, and which is adorned with yet another crescent Moon. She is young, this High Priestess, having taken her vows only a year earlier, at sixteen. Before that, she had been merely the most promising of the Lunar Sisterhood, and was therefore entitled, as Heldo-Bah has said, to decide which men from the tribe she would mate with, in the hope of producing more semi-divine female children. Thus, all of the Lunar Sisters, and therefore the High Priestesses, are descendants of those women who originally held the same positions, and their pure lineage gives them enormous power: for, while they are far from a chaste order of female clergy, they are as close as any member of the Bane tribe (whose notion of immoral behavior is usually quite loosely defined) could wish for — or would desire.

It therefore requires men of rare talents to push the boundaries of so loose a system of theology and morality beyond acceptable limits; but Veloc and Heldo-Bah are just such men …

The two foragers can see that behind the High Priestess are not only two of her Lunar Sisters, but a pair of Outragers, as well. Evidently, the High Priestess has points she wishes to make about the catastrophe that has struck the Bane tribe, and she wants to make them forcefully enough to command compliance from the Groba Elders, who, if the letter of Bane law is followed (and the Bane have indeed preserved their laws in writing), have principal say over secular matters in Okot, just as the Lunar Sisterhood rules on matters of spiritual importance. Yet, again, laxity of customs allows these divisions to occasionally shift; and every so often, control of the tribe’s reaction to a secular threat can be influenced by the High Priestess, presently a young woman whose only qualification for power over matters of mortal importance is that she is said to possess a unique ability to converse with the sacred Moon.

The Groba Father, a man whose features — sharp, clear-eyed, and tightly wrinkled — seem to indicate an even greater intolerance of nonsense than that which characterized the bald-headed Elder whom Heldo-Bah and Veloc have just followed into the Den, looks up from a scattered raft of parchment documents† that litter the council table. His grey hair and beard are distinguishable from his those of his fellows only by their streaks of white: badges of honor for having prevailed in a majority of the frequently argumentative sessions of the Groba. And never is the chamber more full of disagreements than when the High Priestess chooses to attend — a fact of which Heldo-Bah and Veloc are only too aware.

“Ah. Heldo-Bah — finally,” says the Groba Father, his voice hoarse. “I might have known you’d be the last to return. But it’s just as well — your party will have a crucial task, and we have just finished compiling all information that was gleaned in the Wood by the other foraging parties.”

“Father?” Heldo-Bah says, astoundingly obsequious, considering his constant complaints about what he habitually calls that “great collection of stone-brained eunuchs,” the Groba.

The Groba Father ignores him. “And Veloc is here, too. Good. Less time wasted explaining.” The Father looks down the council table. “You will remember Veloc,” he says. “The man who was nominated for Historian of the Bane Tribe last year.” The four other men nod, so nearly in unison that Veloc almost laughs aloud; but he becomes somber again, and quickly, at the sharp sound of the High Priestess’s voice:

“A nomination that was rejected,” she says, the pretty dark eyes in her round face fixed on Veloc, as if she will destroy him with a glance, “because of the corruption that we discovered in his disobedient soul.”

Heldo-Bah’s eyes open wide, and he bounces a bit on the balls of his feet, looking up at the cave’s ceiling and murmuring softly, “Oh, yes, by all means — let’s bring that up at a time like this …”

“You spoke, Heldo-Bah?” the Priestess demands.

Keeping his gaze as wide as an innocent child’s, Heldo-Bah replies, “I, Divine One? Not a word.”

“See to it that you don’t,” the Groba Father says sternly, “unless you are spoken to. We have much to resolve — approach the table!”

Dragging their feet and picking at their tunics, which are laden with signs of nights spent in the Wood, the two foragers move to the council table. The faces gathered around that heavy assemblage of split logs become clearer in the light of small fat lamps that sit upon the uneven surface. Viewed close-to, the Groba Elders display admirable self-possession, both despite and because of the ongoing crisis. The faces of the High Priestess and the Lunar Sisters, by contrast, remain haughty, dissatisfied, and full of accusations, while the Outragers behind them display a much simpler desire to beat the foragers senseless.

“Your current foraging assignment,” the Father says, staring down at a parchment map, “should have taken you northwest. Near Hafften Falls and Lord Baster-kin’s Plain.” The Father looks up, expecting a contradiction. “Did it?”

“Of course, Father,” Heldo-Bah answers simply.

“How refreshing to even think of you obeying an order, Heldo-Bah,” the Father says, with weary familiarity. Then he takes note for the first time of just who is not before him: “But where is Keera?” he says, deeply concerned. “She is the leader of your party, and the key to what we seek from you.”

“She searches the Lenthess-steyn, Father, to find her family,” Veloc answers, his own worry plain. “Or at least, to hear word of them.”

For the first time, all the Groba Elders display signs of exhaustion. The Father rubs his eyes hard, and then sighs. “The Moon go with her,” he says, and the other Elders murmur assent.

The eyes of the Priestess, however, blaze ever hotter, though her body remains quite still. “She has done little, of late, to earn the Moon’s favor.” The Priestess concentrates her gaze on Veloc, who persistently avoids it. “Indeed, none of this party has ever shown true worthiness.”

The Groba Elders are clearly not in agreement with this statement, or at least as it refers to Keera; but they desire to avoid an argument with the Priestess. Into this momentary silence steps Heldo-Bah:

“We cannot all be blessed with your abundance of virtue, Divinity,” he says with a patently false smile. He catches the Priestess’s eye, but, unlike Veloc, refuses to turn away.

“Do not,” the Father repeats in annoyance, “speak, Heldo-Bah, unless it is to answer a question. So — Keera seeks her family, and you have already been fully informed of the details of the plague?”

“Well, we were hardly likely to miss—” Heldo-Bah’s comment is cut short by one of Veloc’s boots, which catches him in a shin.

“I beg your pardon, Father,” Veloc says. “My friend is, for want of a better word, an idiot. To answer your query, we have seen the fire in the northeastern settlement, and we have spoken with Yantek Ashkatar. He said that the pestilence is believed to be the work of the Tall—” Noticing the impatience on the Father’s face, Veloc grows silent, realizing he is providing excessive detail.

“We are concerned,” says another Elder, who puts his elbows on the table and folds his bony hands, “with what you have seen in the Wood, not Okot — assuming that you did, as you say, follow your assigned route. Were there any signs of plague to the north? Unexplained animal carcasses? Dead men? Activity of the Tall near the river?”

“We saw nothing—” Veloc suddenly stops himself, catching sight of the High Priestess’s hateful eyes; but thinking of his sister and of what is at stake for the tribe as a whole, he decides that he must abandon caution. “Actually, Elder, that’s not true. We saw and heard several things that we could not explain, and that may well have to do with the plague.”

The Groba Father folds his arms, and lets out an infuriated snort.

“I am sorry, Father,” Veloc says to the man. “But you did say that we must only answer questions.”

“All right,” the Father says. “Just what is your remarkable tale?”

Heldo-Bah looks astonished. “Yes, just what is our tale, Veloc?” he echoes, fearing full revelation of their night’s activities.

“I’m sorry, Heldo-Bah,” Veloc replies, “but there may be importance to it—”

“Importance to what, Veloc?” Heldo-Bah murmurs, far more urgently.

“She’s my sister, damn it all!” Veloc defends, quietly but emphatically. “Those children are my niece and nephews — you can’t possibly expect—”

“I expect nothing, Veloc,” Heldo-Bah now whispers, pushing his nose close to his friend’s, and pointing to the Outragers, “except that we get out of this chamber without having to cut our way