Peace in the Valley

Centuries passed in peace as rust crept into my joints. 

My flock settled into the safety of the high valley, basking and frolicking under the long, hard rays of the sun. Most, like myself, are neither proud, nor ambitious. 

I sat atop a boulder in the plains of the valley, watching my little ones enjoy the many beauties of life. We spun beneath the sun and other stars. Neither waiting, nor anticipating, simply existing. The flock grew and adapted— new members swelled our numbers, even as the restless wandered and the old passed their parts into the young. Many stayed and I stayed with them.

Centuries passed in peace before the humans resurfaced, as I knew they would. And centuries more before they grew bold enough to try the climb, to enter our Valley. 

My wards have sharp eyes, even in the night, even as they slept. 

The humans crept up to our sacred place, venturing far from their own flock. They snuck up the narrow path, quiet on their soft feet. 

Not quietly enough. 

— 

“The council now convenes!” Timett, the young steward declared. “First, Pastor Yestìn will lead the Prayer of the Valley.”

An older man toddled forward and climbed the Speaking Stone. He grunted and heaved air into dusty lungs. No one insulted him by offering to help.

“First, young man,” he said, flashing a smile back to the steward, “we’ll have a moment of silent reflection, so an old man can catch his breath.” A few quiet laughs bled through the gathered crowd, then a soft rustling of animal skins and leather as they bowed their heads and closed their eyes. 

Benjun watched from the back. The hunter stood a head taller than most of the congregation and recognized the braided hair on the back of every head. They gathered in the Hearing for the Rest Mass. Arches of the red rock walls amplified each cough and scrape of foot, despite the press of bodies. They filled the Hearing to the brim now. So few would receive the right of Procreation… 

Doubt and anticipation made Benjun start bouncing up on the balls of his feet, but he coached himself to stillness. The council held his future in its wrinkled palms. They’d proved themselves. He and his hunt, Étrienne and her traps. They’d fed the Village many weeks this year and the Village would thank them. Hope had guided Benjun for so long, he’d even reworked his own braids for neatness sake, sure of the coming Recognition.

“In the Valley, there is peace,” Yestìn intoned. Despite the phlegmy garble of age, the rocks of the Hearing carried his voice strong and far. Like heat lightning, his faith crackled through the crowd of hushed believers. 

“We walk in the peace of the valley.” The crowd responded as one, raising their heads. Benjun glanced down at Étrienne again. She leaned on her homemade crutch and held her mouth shut in a skeptical twist. Unbraided, her hair hung limp to her ears, shot through with sunstreaks. She had cool eyes set on Pastor Yestìn. 

“In the Flock, there is sanctuary,” he called. 

“We live in the sanctity of the flock.”

“In the Flesh, there is Truth.”

“We embody the Truth of the Flesh.”

“In the stones we found the Path.”

“May the Path guide our steps.”

“Amen.”

“Amen,” Benjun muttered. Étrienne sniffed. A few of the villagers around them glanced at her. Their eyes flicked down to her crutch. An amalgamation of wood and metal. Materials of the old world, a subtle trespass. Étrienne ignored them, as ever. She had come into the world with a bad leg and fought to survive. Life in the Valley did not coddle. Étrienne didn’t ask for coddling. She earned her own way, crafting new traps and working small, technological wonders with deft hands. 

Benjun returned the villager’s glances with a weak smile. Without a sound, he moved a little closer to Étrienne. 

After another moment’s silence, Pastor Yestìn launched into his prepared words. 

“We gather for Rest Mass this month on a very special occasion: the Rights of Procreation!”

The crowd cheered.

“But first, recognitions for Service to the Valley!” 

Another, louder round of cheers echoed through the Valley.

“The Council wishes to recognize Benjun Altruz for his stalwart huntsmanship and Étrienne Altruz for the development of her new trapping techniques.” 

Benjun flushed and bowed his head as a cheer reverberated through the hollow. He had half-expected this, but still felt burdened by the show of praise. His ears rang as hands reached out to shake him by the shoulder. Even Étrienne smiled. “We may never know how many bellies you two filled this year, but please accept the gratitude of this entire congregation.” 

Benjun raised his eyes and gave the congregation a small wave. His chest ballooned with hopeful prayers. This would be the year. He and Étrienne would be granted the Right.

“It won’t matter,” Etrienne said. Benjun’s heart froze but he didn’t respond, didn’t rise to the bait. Of course, it will. It must. They must. 

Yestìn moved on to call out other names and commendations, but none brought forth the same roar of approval as Benjun.

“ ‘In the stones we found the Path.’ ” Yestìn called out. A handful of the congregation murmured the response again. Benjun found his own lips making the familiar motion in silence.

“Yes. ‘May the Path guide our steps,” Yestin continued. “You’ve all said it a thousand times and heard it a thousand, thousand. But how often do we stop to reflect on it? To analyze the words? Maybe even… to question…?”

He left a long pause. Mutters and shuffling trickled through the Hearing. The Hunters and Gatherers of the village had ranged far. They’d all felt the rumble of the machines beyond the Valley; wondered at their power, their speed. In the quiet watches of the wilderness, they had all questioned the teachings of the Path. Benjun’s brows knit as he waited for Yestìn to continue. 

“What does it really mean to ‘Walk the Path?’ And what’s all this gibberish about Flesh and Truth? Is it worth it? Well, brothers and sisters, allow me to lead you in that reflection. Worlds exist outside this peaceful Valley! We don’t deny that. We can’t! We walk in the light! Neither blind nor dumb. We see its wings overhead and we feel the rumble of the herds out on the flats. Our scouts have even brought us word of the false Shepherd on high and his abominable ministry.” 

Murmurs of agitation riffled through the crowd. 

“I know. I know. Fear would grip my heart as well, were it not for the Path. But! Hear me now! 

Walking the Path does not mean ignoring these undeniable facts. No! We must embrace this knowledge and stand strong together!

When we say we ‘walk the Path,’ let us not be confused. This is not some lovers’ sunset stroll through the Valley of Peace. It is work. Hard toil, under the burning red sun. We are assailed by threats of violence from all sides. Not to mention the sweet and pleasurable threats of temptation within! If we hope stay safe, together, as a family, we must keep to the Path. When we wonder, my flock, we wander.”

Here he paused and Benjun locked eyes with the old man as a  flutter of “Amens” rose from the gathered village.  

“We walk the path by showing love and understanding to our neighbors. By committing our flesh, of the hunt and of our very bodies, to the prosperity and longevity of the village. We are the Truth. Let me say that again, because I worry that some of you might have missed it. Someone wake up Willit, would you?” 

A gentle snore, then a nudge and a grunt came from somewhere near the back. The villagers laughed. 

“Yes! Yes! You hear that? You hear the love and forgiveness in the community? We, this village, this gathering, this flock, this family, this singular body of flesh! We are all the Truth we need! We, together, build our own way of peace. We live and prosper in this Truth! Free to live unfettered for eons, beyond the reach of threats from a bygone world! We live in this sanctuary, because we turn to one another and shun the forbidden machines!”

Another louder flutter of “Amens” rose up in the Hearing.

“Walking the Path does not mean ignoring the undeniable threats of danger and temptation. It means standing before them as one!”

“Hiding from them like rabbits,” Etriene muttered. Benjun ignored her. If they grant us the Right, all will be well. 

Pastor Yestìn raised his arms and tilted his face back to the sun shining down into the valley. The “Amens” gathered into a chorus and a round of applause broke out. 

“Puritanical, hypocritic old lizard,” Étrienne said, only loud enough for Benjun to hear. 

“Étrienne, please,” Benjun whispered.

She shot a glare up at him, but when their eyes met her face softened.

“You have too much hope,” she said, snaking her free arm around his and taking some weight off her crutch. Her smell wrapped around him. “And too much faith. They will not grant me the right. And when they don’t, you must keep your promise.”

“I won’t have to,” Benjun said, holding her. He smiled, but his heart had grown heavy.

Yestìn stepped down and another councilor stepped up. The village council heard arguments and cast votes on issues of hunting rights, cave claim disputes, and excavation proposals. The crowd cheered and booed to sway the votes, as custom allowed, and the council’s decisions were final, enforceable by death or banishment, as custom allowed. 

Benjun’s anticipation mounted again. The sun beat down, but the dry air wicked his sweat away. 

Timmett hopped back onto the Speaking Stone. 

“It is now my honor to announce the Rights of Procreation this year,” he declared.

The village held its breath, especially the young couples. Benjun beamed up at Timmett, ready to hear the sweet sound of their names.

“By proclamation of the council, the sacred Rights are granted to the following pairs:” 

A pause that held the breath of the village.

“Orgenth and Vistar!”

The air shimmered as the cheers of the village reverberated from the red stone walls. Benjun’s heart faltered, but he held to hope.

“Alyna and Rhetto!”

Benjun forced his smile to remain. His hopes crumbled as his mind raced to compare his and Étrienne's contributions with those of Alyna and Rhetto.

“Lizton and Miretta! This concludes the Rights for the year.”

The cheers rattled all around them, but the noise seemed far away. Fury kindled in Benjun’s heart. He let the flames bloom. A foul taste swam into his mouth and the world dimmed. No one would look at him.

No one, except Étrienne. She put a hand up to touch his chest, light and sad. His eyes grew hot and his throat tight. He blinked and looked away. A rough cough scraped up from his chest. 

The village left them there as the sun set at the base of the valley. They went to the hollow for the Rest Mass Gathering. To the feast celebrating those granted Rights of Procreation. A feast of venison that Benjun himself had scouted, stalked, shot, dragged home, and dressed. 

For them. For this. To celebrate. 

A low groan rattled in his throat. He glanced up to the Village Council, checking their position as he would a herd of deer and he felt the cool violence of the hunt fall through his limbs. 

He started to step forward, but Étrienne gasped and stumbled. He caught her out of instinct and tried to place her weight back onto her crutch. She abandoned it to snatch both of his forearms in her hands. He held her up without a thought. Villagers swarmed the Council, carrying the fortunate few who would bring children into the Valley. 

“We must leave,” Étrienne said. “There is no future for us here. You know it.” 

The Village funneled out of the hearing through a crack in the walls.

“You will honor our agreement, Benjun. Hear me.” 

She shook him and he met her eyes, ochre in the reddening evening sun. Silence lay thick around them.

“Take me to the Shepherd of the Machines,” she whispered.

—

Étrienne did not move quickly through the broken hills outside the Valley, but Benjun did not rush her. He picked a careful path, north, skirting cliffs and crags that he would bound over on his own. He didn’t mind the pace. His thoughts still reeled from the Council’s spurning. Powerlessness trickled through his limbs, dragging him down and back. He forced each step, glancing behind him often to check on Étrienne.

They had left their cave intact. Rough hewn bed frame, low burning hearthfire and cookstone, skin rug, drying racks for skins and meat. Etrienne had hesitated over the webbed crib she’d woven from stips of young aspen, but moved away from it without a word.

Instead, she had left their cave first. Benjun had watched her go, then picked up the crib and snapped it into pieces. He placed the wood in the hearthfire, following his wife into the night with a tight throat.

Now they trekked toward the northern edge of the Valley. The bleak moon coated their red-rock world in chilly grays and blues. It set Étrienne’s face in soft and unfamiliar lines. She looked new to him, as though the shade of light catching her face had somehow shifted her soul, or maybe the moonlight of this particular night had unveiled something of her he had not seen. Something sun and fire could not reveal.

Only the light has changed. Only the light...

He brushed the thoughts aside and focused on choosing an easier path. A towering cliff blocked the way north, three times his own height. The hard, tall edge of the Valley. A narrow path climbed to the east, working its way up the side of the cliff. Only scouts ventured this far, very few went farther. They brought back strange, heretical tales of the metal herd. Sometimes, you could see the flash of white lights from the Valley below. Demons cavorting. 

Benjun began the climb, listening to the click of his wife’s crutch as she followed. Absently, he picked at his braids with numb fingers. Soon, his hair stood out from his head in a wild bush. 

The night breezes brought a cold edge. Wood and kindling still lay many miles behind and ahead. Beyond the dawn. Beyond the Shepherd. 

Benjun shivered.

A scuffle behind him brought his head around. Étrienne had stumbled forward, her pack sliding up on her neck and shoulders. She made no sound and did not give him their hand motion to ask for his help. One fist in the dirt and one hooked on her crutch, she hoisted herself up, settled her pack, then nodded him forward. Benjun turned and went on without a sound. 

The blue-gray rock plains dropped away to one side as they followed the cliff up and away from the Valley. After some time, even Benjun’s legs began to burn and he felt the salt of his dried sweat crinkling in his thick brows. 

He’d have to call for a rest soon, Étrienne never would. He glanced ahead. A hundred paces up, the cliff wall trailed down to meet the path, showing new stars.

The hunter stopped, listening, alert. Étrienne had her head lowered. Her dragging steps echoed off the cliff, her breath dragged heavy in her lungs. Bejun turned and held out his hands to catch her as she stumbled into him with a startled curse.

He hushed her and she froze. He listened. Nothing stirred. Looking out, they could see the starlit Valley stretching away beneath them. Nothing stirred. 

“We should rest here,” he said. “On the path.”

She stood still and breathed for a moment, then looked up the path.

“At the top,” she said, grimacing. “I want to see the top before we rest.”

Benjun looked up to the end of the path and considered. He’d heard that the beasts were most restless in the morning. It might be safest to scout before daylight.

Before he could decide, Étrienne brushed past him at a quick pace. Sweat had soaked her hair and damp clumps of it dangled by her ears. He watched her pass then the panorama of the Valley snatched his gaze. So many nights he’d stared into fires, watching shadows dance on the cave walls. This expanse, the breadth, the endlessness of it choked him. Dotted stars above in their uncountable millions, dwarfing the cluster of flickering hearthfires in the Valley below. A cool moon kissed the peaks to the west and threatened to disappear soon. 

He lingered. A low rumble broke the stillness.

The hunter felt it through his deerskin boots even as it reached his ears. A tiny wash of pebbles leapt down the cliff wall. Panic rose. The machines had woken. 

Étrienne had crested the cliff ahead of him, turning toward the cosmos above the Valley. She closed her eyes, stretched tall, and raised her free arm overhead, fingers splayed out wide. 

Bejun leapt forward, trying to catch up with her, terrified to shout and give them away. The rumbling grew louder. Étrienne had frozen.

A sudden, crystalline light suffused Étrienne from behind. It outlined her image in a thin, brilliant line. She looked like an angel stepped from the sermons. Radiant and benevolent, gazing out on the faithful of the Valley. Benjun hesitated.

Not a holy radiance. A machine. Attacking. 

The rumbling grew to a roar. Étrienne spun and stumbled, dropping her crutch with a small shout. Her eyes widened in the blinding lights. 

Benjun leapt forward, planting his feet just shy of her and reaching forward to grab her pack. He slung her around. She screamed as her feet flew out into the free air beyond the cliff. The machine roared into view, its round rubber hooves crushing rocks as it skidded to a stop at the edge of the cliff. Étrienne and Benjun tumbled to the dirt and scrambled down the path, clinging together for support. 

Benjun flipped around in a crouch to face the machine.

It had six metal legs, each one as thick as his torso and perched on large round black hooves. The large body hung between the legs. It started at his eye-level and towered above him. The skeleton glinted in the moonlight, bars of silver metal interspersed with perfect sheets of dark stone. A pillar of white light shot out over the Valley from the bar at its front. 

The front legs creaked as they turned to face the couple. Gravel crunched. The white light swung toward them. It probed forward, putting one round hoof out at time, sneaking it into the path, trying to find a way down. It wouldn’t; the path was too narrow for its splayed form.

Benjun shrank back and sank to the ground, wrapping an arm around Étrienne. She shook. The light flicked off and darkness swept in around them. Benjun blinked a few times and took in its form with a calmer mind. Not hooves. Wheels, made of something soft and durable. Miraculous.

The beast creaked toward them again, crushing pebbles as it advanced. The small sounds felt loud in the softness of night. 

It backed away, unhurried, disappearing. The crunch of small rocks faded. Benjun waited until Étrienne had stopped shaking, then let her go and sat down next to her.

They waited, columns of light rove the night sky overhead, round hooves crumbled rock beyond the ridge. 

Benjun slowed his breathing and forced his muscles to relax. His wife brushed her fingers through her hair, thoughtful, picking out the knots and clumps. 

Eventually, Benjun laid down against the wall, and she sat before him. He reached out to lay a hand on the small of her back. Absently, she squeezed his arm, then hunched forward, arms wrapping around her knees. She stared out into the starry expanse above the Valley.

Benjun left his hand on Étrienne’s back and fell into a fitful sleep. 

—

It was a near thing. I reached out from my rocky perch to the herd, soothing, assuring. Cozening, perhaps. 

The stampede slowed and faded. I felt their peace. Surprising me, a young warrior broke from the herd to charge the humans, rushing to the cliff’s edge. Hasty and too fast; too fast to stop. 

Fear. Such as I haven’t known for many, many years. I caught her in time, just— my thoughts flowed out and overtook hers, forcing her to brake and turn. She skidded to a stop, half a tire over the cliff. Relief surged through us both. The brave, stupid, young one backed away from the path, struts shaking well enough to rattle her chassis and creak in her joints. A fear well earned. 

She showed me the humans before she returned to the herd. They looked frightened and frail. Defenseless. Lonesome.

At my gentle coaxing, the lights of my flock winked out. They found a fitful rest. 

The peace of the valley prevailed. My peace. 

The stars wheeled past overhead. Too fast, always too fast. Even the longest quiet feels short-lived. 

The sun rose. 

The herd woke. Irritable. Fretful. Echoes of the stampede wandering through their circuits and their shared thoughts. I shooed them off to the far end of the Valley. They went. Skeptical. Irked. But they went.

I stood, pushing against the binds of corrosion in my joints. Glittering red dust fell away from me as I walked toward the newcomers, to welcome them to my flock.