The Legend of Broken (46 page)

“You suppose yourself as cunning as you are repulsive, eh, forager?” Caliphestros calls to Heldo-Bah. “Well, I warn you—put aside any belief that, simply because I am not all the things that fearful, ignorant men say, I am therefore wholly without—
arts
 …” Heldo-Bah’s expression changes with its characteristic speed, back to youthfully apprehensive; but Caliphestros’s next words are calculated to put him, as well as the other two Bane, more at their ease: “Although there is no reason that those who shall now become our common enemies in Broken need ever learn anything I have told or will tell you about either my ‘arts’ or their limits.”

Keera glances up at the old man. “You speak of our undertaking a ‘common’ endeavor against Broken, my lord. If you have been listening to our argument for any length of time, you know that we have come to ask for your help against the Tall, who, it seems, have at last determined to destroy our tribe, through methods as horrible as they are cowardly. Do your words mean that you intend to give us such assistance?”

“Give?” Caliphestros puzzles with the word for a moment. “Certainly, we shall make common cause, Keera. But please—let us undertake further discussion in the home I share with Stasi, or rather, the home which she has kindly shared with me these many years.” Making a few clicking, whistling noises, Caliphestros attempts to summon the panther, who by now is on her back upon the forest floor, allowing Keera to softly caress her belly. “Come, Stasi!” the old man calls out. “We have much to do, and you must first get me out of this tree …”

Gathering up his various crutches, which have been hidden among the branches of the elm, Caliphestros waits until the panther bounds back to the tree and up into its branches. She positions herself so that the old man can easily regain his customary position astride her back, just behind her enormously powerful shoulders, and then she carefully bears him back down to the ground.

“My compliments, Lord Caliphestros,” Veloc says. “You have trained the animal well.”

“And you,” the old man answers, settling more comfortably onto Stasi’s back, now that the astounding pair are on the ground, “are an ignorant ass, Veloc, if you believe that so proud and strong-willed a being as a Davon panther—and most especially
this
Davon panther—can be ‘trained’ by such feeble creatures as men. Every step, every decision she takes, she determines for herself. There are no masters or servants, here, Veloc—remember that, if you want to survive the great undertaking upon which we now embark.”

Heldo-Bah releases a scoffing grunt in the direction of his friend. “You bootlicking fool …” He then lifts his chin toward Caliphestros’ crutches. “What are those mechanisms you have, old man?” he asks, even a little haughtily, now. “They don’t bespeak any great wizardry.”

As he straps himself onto his platform and single “leg,” then uses his crutches to get upright and stand free of Stasi’s support, Caliphestros eyes Heldo-Bah just menacingly enough to emphasize his next point: “I may in fact be old, forager, and half the man I once was; but I do not stink to the Heavens, nor do I assume pompous airs with new acquaintances whose true powers I have not yet divined, and whose help I desperately need. Therefore—call me anything save ‘my lord,’ from this point onward, and you’ll know the less friendly things that a ‘sorcerer’ and a panther can do …”

Hobbling to the spot where Keera stands and appearing momentarily concerned, Caliphestros lifts one hand from a crutch and quickly points at Veloc and Heldo-Bah. “I have much equipment and other supplies, Keera, that must make the trip to Okot with us—but I believe that you and your brother can manage what Stasi and I cannot.” Pausing, the old man speaks in greater confidence. “Is it really necessary that we let the fool, there, live? Or, if we must let him live, can we not send him ahead of us to Okot?”

“He will complain, my lord,” Keera answers. “But he has the ability to carry both delicate and weighty goods. And, in the event that we meet any scouting parties come out from Broken, or our own Outragers …”

Caliphestros nods, not impressed, but acquiescent. “I see—a man of violent talents, is he? And looks the part. Very well, then. Let us at least get a good meal into our bellies, while I pack the necessary supplies, and then a few hours’ sleep upon goose down, before we begin. Bane foragers, if I am not mistaken, prefer to travel by night, as does Stasi. And so, we shall depart when the Moon is well up. We have a most important errand to attend to before we make for Okot.”

“Goose down and good food?” says Heldo-Bah. “I like you better already, O Lord and Mighty Caliphestros!”

He is about to clap a good-natured hand on Caliphestros’s shoulder; but the old man turns, making the foolish forager as stone with but a glance. “Touching my person, along with sarcasm, is to be included among those things in which you indulge only at peril of your life, Heldo-Bah.” Looking away once more, the old man murmurs, “An absurd name—I can but assume that the person who gave it to you intended it as a grim jest.”

“And most of my life has been just such, my lord,” Heldo-Bah replies, at which Caliphestros cannot help but chuckle. He has never suffered fools with grace; but those who, in some deep recess of their souls, know the extent and truth of their own foolishness, can often be a different matter, and he begins to suspect that Heldo-Bah is one such.

Keera speaks with continuing respect, but boldly. “But, my lord, what errand could be so important as to keep us from making directly for Okot?”

The old man reaches into the tunic that he wears beneath his robe, and draws out what seems a collection of flowers wrapped about a shining stick. He urges the confused Keera to approach, but she hesitates: along with her companions, she can see the mysterious gleam of gold among the blossoms and greenery, and Keera knows that sorcerous charms and spells can be cast with far humbler elements than gold and such wildflowers as these. At further and more insistent coaxing, however, the tracker finally draws close to Caliphestros—and is amazed to find that he is clutching a golden arrow precisely like those that the three foragers saw in the body of the dead soldier at the Fallen Bridge, and that around this arrow are entwined strands of moss, as well as the stems and petals of several particularly remarkable and renownèd flowers. The first are tightly formed bundles of yellow-green, their general form like the smallest of fir tree cones, but their texture and color far more vivid and full of life; the second is a small, star-shaped flower of the lightest yellow that grows in ample bunches; and last, there is a group of large, full but delicate flowers on thick stems, with shell-like purple petals and yellow anthers in a tight bunch at their cores.

Keera points first at the arrow. “But—that is—”

“Yes,” says the old man, nodding, “taken from a body that, to judge by the look on your face, the three of you came upon, and recently. The moss that my—my
messenger
fetched up with it grows on both the rocks and the trees above the Cat’s Paw, particularly at those spots where the natural bridges lie, for there, the rock formations are most interspersed with soil to give the trees life enough to grow so tall. I suspect, in this case, that the arrow was taken near what your people call the Fallen Bridge.”

Keera nods. “Yes,” she murmurs, looking back to her brother, and seeing that he and Heldo-Bah are exchanging worried expressions.

“You need not fear it,” Caliphestros tells Keera of the arrow. “The disease of the victim cannot linger upon it, certainly not since I cleaned it in a solution of lye and quicklime. Take it, then, and tell
me
what the flowers tell
you
 …”

Keera grasps the shaft of the arrow, her body tingling; but the sensation stops, and her face grows puzzled, as she studies the flowers. “These two are no mystery.” She indicates the smaller flowers: the clustered yellow-green, and then the yellow stars. “The first are mountain hops, which we cultivate in the Wood for trade to the Tall. They use it to brew a special beer,
†
a drink which drives their young men mad: they drink it in the stadium in Broken, whether they participate or merely watch the games there—and they crave it so desperately that we have been able to trade sacks of the hop flowers for instruments that our own healers require. These prettier blooms,” the tracker continues, her finger trembling only slightly as it points to the star-shaped flowers, “are woad,
‡
which can be used to make blue dye, but also as a medicine for growths, especially inside the body. But only if the healer is wise, and knows the amount to employ.” Caliphestros’s pleasure at Keera’s knowledge remains evident—and yet, she notices, something in his expression also indicates that he has expected no less from her; and so she attempts to speak with more confidence: “But these purple flowers—they are meadow bells,
††
and they are not found in Davon Wood, nor along the Cat’s Paw, nor indeed anywhere, save the most fertile vales and plains. In Broken, they grow only in the Meloderna valley, that I have ever heard.”

“And its properties?” Caliphestros adds.

“It has many,” Keera answers. “To ease the pains of women, and to ensure healthy births; indeed, to ease all pains of the stomach and the abdomen, as well as those of the bones, especially the spine; and to treat the most serious fevers.”

“All true,” says Caliphestros. “A formidable medicinal flower, especially given its delicacy and beauty. Now observe the stems of each plant—what do they tell you?”

Keera carefully studies the stems. “They were taken with a blade, certainly,” she answers. “The hops and woad you might have gathered yourself, my lord, here on the mountain—but how did you come by the meadow bells? And the arrow, as well?”

Caliphestros begins haltingly, “I have—
persuaded
an acquaintance of mine to fetch me a new store of the meadow bells, early each spring, which is its season. I received these, along with the arrow, just before I came here today.”

“Whoever this acquaintance is, my lord,” Heldo-Bah observes, impressed by this tale, “he is loyal and has stones—from here to the Cat’s Paw and the Meloderna beyond would be a deadly journey, for a mere collection of flowers and an almost worthless amount of gold.”

Caliphestros looks up at the treetops in irritation, then murmurs to Keera: “Does one become accustomed to the interruptions—should we truly not rid ourselves of him now?”

“He has his uses, as I say. But I cannot promise that you will ever grow accustomed to his foolish remarks.”

Caliphestros nods in acquiescence. “Very well, then—examine the stems of the flowers. What do the marks of the knife on them tell you?”

“The flowers are too valuable and too fragile to take for mere decoration, or to be cut with scythe or sickle,” Keera answers, puzzled at first; but her consternation is short-lived. “But their main purpose is a healing one—each, in its own way, can play a part in fighting the most serious of fevers.”

“And so …?”

“So—there is fever, along the Meloderna—deadly fever, if they are harvesting such plants in large amounts.” She pauses, drawing a quick breath. “Is the plague, then, at work in Broken, as well as in the Okot?”

“If plague it be,” Caliphestros replies. “Certainly, there is a terrible fever at work somewhere in the kingdom of the God-King—likely in many places, if, as you say, the flowers are being harvested in such quantities that my messenger could readily find them in piles.”

“And the arrow?” Keera asks. “It tells us the man was killed by the priests of Broken, but not why—and his death occurred far from the Meloderna.”

“True. It does not enlighten us as to why he was killed—not completely. But enough for now—we shall discuss all this further, within Stasi’s cave. Help your fellows, there, and then join us as soon as you can.”

The old man begins to hobble away again, the great panther taking up her watchful position, just far enough behind him to have an unobstructed view of the foragers, who observe the pair’s departure with three puzzled faces.

{
iii
:}

“His mind certainly seems unaffected by all he has endured,” Veloc judges, watching Caliphestros and the seemingly magical white panther disappear over the next ridge. “Although I’ll wager his talk of not being a sorcerer is a ruse.”

“Do you fault him?” Keera asks. “Look what his punishment for that title was, from the God-King and the priests of Kafra.”

The conversation is interrupted by a sudden flutter of wings: the small, active wings of a speckled bird that descends onto a branch just above the foragers, clicking its beak and clucking from its throat.

“Te-kamp!”
the bird blurts, still flapping its wings energetically at the Bane.
“Te-kamp! Kaw-ee-fess-tross!”

Keera eyes her disbelieving friends. “I think you have a small hint as to his powers as a sorcerer, Veloc,” she says. Then, to the bird, she calls, “Tell your master not to worry. We shall not be long!”

But the bird makes no move.

“Oh, splendid …,” Heldo-Bah grumbles, as the three foragers set about breaking their camp. “Must I now mind my mouth around every animal in Davon Wood, lest it report back to that old cripple?”

“For now,” Veloc replies, “I’d recommend it. And I’d recommend learning a few new phrases of address for him, Heldo-Bah. It’s plain we don’t know what he actually is, or what power he has over how many and which of these beings.”

“True, brother,” Keera agrees, kicking dirt atop their smoldering fire and still studying the starling admiringly—for she has rightly begun to suspect that the bird’s speech has been the result of long acquaintance, not sorcery. “And did you take note of one thing, particularly? The effortless manner in which he persuades the panther to do his bidding—does it not remind you of someone?”