The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (12 page)

The afternoon
dwindled as the sun sank towards the mountains, out of sight in
this endless warren of foul streets. Dusk would soon fall, and she
still had to pass through the second half of the city, on the other
side of the river, before she was free of its squalor. By now, she
had no idea which direction to take. Tumbledown huts blocked her
view on every side. An old blind beggar squatted beside the road,
rattling a tin cup in which a few stones resided, and she
approached him.

"Can you tell
me how to get to the river, old man?" she asked.

He rattled his
cup. "Coin for aid, missy."

Talsy fished
out a copper and dropped it into the cup. The old beggar pulled the
cup into his ragged robes and cackled. "Foolish woman. How do I
know where the river is? I'm blind!"

"Surely you
know where you are?"

"Somewhere in
the accursed slums."

Talsy groaned.
"But is it east or west?"

"No idea." The
beggar cackled again, revealing shrunken, toothless gums.

Talsy cursed
him and walked on. The heavy bag dug into her shoulder and her legs
ached. She tried to remember whether she had been walking towards
the setting sun when she had been on the thoroughfare. Then it had
been closer to noon, however, and harder to tell which way was
west. Vainly she searched for an alley that led west, hoping it
would take her to the river, but each one she turned into curved
away from the sun. The narrow streets were deserted now. Even the
beggars had vanished into their shelters for the night. Gathering
gloom filled the city as the sun sank. No lights shone from the
shanties, and only a few street lamps illuminated the grimy
roads.

Just as she
wondered if she should find a hole to crawl into for the night, a
rattle behind her made her jump and swing around. Four burly men
approached her, their dirty, unshaven faces twisted in knowing
leers as they fingered sticks and rusty knives. One had a longbow
slung across his back, and his bright, mocking eyes raked her above
a gap-toothed grin.

"Well, well,
what have we here, boys? A little bird lost in the woods."

His cronies
chuckled, and Talsy backed away, unslung her hunting bow and
notched an arrow. The roughnecks' leader guffawed.

"She's got some
little pins, lads, look at that! Not a bird, but a little vixen,
hey?"

"Leave me
alone," Talsy said, aiming at his face. Even a hunting arrow
through the eye could be deadly.

The leader's
smile faded, and he unslung the longbow, drawing a wickedly barbed
war arrow from the quiver on his back. "You want to play with fire,
hey? Mine's bigger than yours, little girl."

The men
sniggered and stepped closer. Talsy tried to keep them all in her
sight, but two slunk along the sides of the alley behind her. "Call
them off, or you get it!" she shouted at the leader, who grinned
and began to bob and weave mockingly.

A brigand
rushed her from the side, and she let fly the arrow with a vicious
buzz. The leader yelled as it hit him in the shoulder, and his
crony swept her off her feet, laughing. Talsy dropped her bow and
pulled out her skinning knife, slicing her captor's cheek open to
the bone. He bellowed and dropped her. Springing up, she dived for
the shadows, but another man grabbed her wrist and swung her
around.

Talsy's wild
swing drew a bloody line across his chest, and he smacked the knife
from her grasp. It landed somewhere amongst the garbage with a
tinkle, lost in the gloom. The other men closed in around her. She
sank her teeth into the hand that gripped her arm, and the brigand
cursed and released her. Again she tried to make a run for it, but
another ruffian tripped her up, and she sprawled in the refuse. A
man pinned her down, grabbed her flailing arms and flipped her onto
her back.

The leader
appeared above her, his brows knotted and mouth twisted. Blood
seeped down the front of his dirty brown tunic from the arrow wound
in his shoulder. She had injured three out of the four, but was now
helpless. While one man held her, another pulled at her clothes. He
found her purse and mocked it, then tugged at the thongs that bound
her jacket. The leader leered down at her.

"You're going
to pay for this, bitch! I'm going to tear you apart!"

The cutthroat
unfastened his trousers while the other man used his knife to cut
her jacket's thongs, pulling it open. Talsy tried to kick whoever
she could reach, but they laughed at her futile efforts. She yelled
for help, and the man slapped her, making her eyes water and her
ears ring.

"That's right,
scream, bitch! I love to hear you scream," the leader snarled.

Talsy shrieked
again when the man who straddled her beat her head on the ground,
his hands around her throat.

A flash of fire
ripped the air apart. An inferno engulfed them with the stench of
burning and crackle of flames. Talsy screamed, and her tormentors
swore in fearful confusion. The manifestation vanished, and she
discovered that she was sheathed in blue fire. The man who pinned
her down leapt away with a bellow of pain, beating the flames that
had ignited on his greasy clothes. The others recoiled, brushing at
singed brows and hair, cursing foully.

Talsy panicked,
beating at the fire that licked her skin, but it did not burn. As
her attackers retreated, it followed, surrounding her in a ring of
flame six feet high. She scrambled to her feet and pulled her
jacket closed, glaring at the wide-eyed men who stumbled back from
the spreading fire, holding up their arms to ward off the heat. No
heat touched her, and the blue flicker lighted the filthy slums
with a ghostly glow. The leader cursed as he realised what was
going on.

"Mujar! She's
got a damned Mujar protecting her!" he shouted, and reached for his
longbow. His cronies turned this way and that, scanning the
surroundings. Talsy searched for a way to flee, sure that the ring
would let her through, but the cutthroats were still all around
her. The leader notched an arrow and looked around, then up.

"There!" He
raised the bow, and she glanced up in horror. An owl perched on a
nearby roof, its eyes glowing silver-blue in the flames. As the man
took aim, Chanter spread his wings and leapt into the air. The man
drew the bow and released the arrow with a savage, buzzing hiss. It
struck the owl in a cloud of snowy feathers. His wings folded, and
he plummeted, flapping.

"Chanter!"
Talsy screamed, and tried to run to him as the circle of fire died.
The air filled with a rush of wind and the sound of beating wings.
The owl vanished, and Chanter sat up, gripped the arrow shaft that
protruded from his flank and jerked it out. He started to rise to
his feet, and the four men rushed him. Two crashed into him so hard
they sent him sprawling on his back, and one plunged a knife into
his belly. Chanter twisted with cat-like grace, trying to scramble
up and flee. The men leapt on him, forcing him onto the ground. A
savage jerk of his arm knocked a cutthroat sideways with a yell of
surprise. The others pinned him down, beat him about the head with
their clubs and stabbed him with rusty knives.

Chanter
summoned Crayash again, the air screaming with fire, and wielded it
in an explosion that forced the thugs to leap back with yells of
pain, their skin reddened and hair singed. They were upon him again
with renewed vigour, shouting foul obscenities and insults. Again
he wielded the fire, with identical results. The men clearly knew
he would not kill them. The flames were merely painful, which only
made them cut him more.

"Chanter!"
Talsy screamed, as blood oozed from his wounds. The air filled with
the sound of beating wings. The men cursed as a swirling wind
sprang up to buffet them, picking up dust that blinded them. One
man fell back with a cry, pawing at his watering eyes, the others
beat Chanter harder with the clubs, trying to knock him out. A rush
of fire joined the wind in a maelstrom of blazing dust. A thug
rolled away, beating at his burning clothes, another screamed as
his hair caught alight. The Mujar's struggles weakened, but the
thugs continued to rain blows on him.

"Chanter, kill
them! Burn them!"

Talsy overcame
her fear and ran forward to pick up a stone. The leader turned and
raised a bloody knife. She stopped and threw the rock, which landed
with a clatter in the darkness beyond. The cutthroat jumped towards
her, making her stumble back with a cry as the knife drew a line of
blood down her arm. She bent and picked up another stone, then
froze at Chanter's cry.

"Talsy, run!
Go! Don't let them catch you. I can't help you now!"

Talsy looked at
the gang leader, who revealed rotting brown teeth in a feral grin.
He stepped towards her, and she hurled the rock. It hit his chest,
making him growl.

"Talsy, go!"
Chanter's shout was cut off as one of his captors hit him in the
face with a club. The swirling fire died as the Mujar slumped,
unconscious.

Talsy hesitated
only a moment longer, then, when the leader charged her, she
shrieked and fled into the darkness. Garbage squelched under her
feet and rats scurried from her path. Her sobbing breath drowned
out the thuds and grunts of the beating that Chanter still
underwent, even though he was unconscious.

By the time she
stopped, she gasped through a throat raw from screaming, her lungs
burnt, and she shook with shock and exhaustion. She leant against a
shanty wall and gave in to uncontrollable sobs of misery and rage.
One thought pounded in her brain and gave her solace. They could
not kill him. No matter what they did, they could not kill him.
They could certainly make him suffer, however, and ultimately they
would throw him in a Pit. Because of her.

Chanter paid
the price for her stupidity in getting lost in the slums and not
seeking shelter from the prowlers when all the others had. Now she
regretted asking him to protect her; better that she had been raped
and beaten than for Chanter to be thrown into a Pit. Living death.
Before that, he would suffer at the hands of cruel, pitiless men
who hated Mujar with a fanatical intensity born of envy and
contempt.

As her breath
slowed and her pounding heart quieted, she regretted running so far
to escape the sight and sounds of the brutal beating, and the
stench of blood and sweat. She should have stayed close enough to
follow them and rescue Chanter. Her cowardice filled her with shame
and rage at her weakness and inability to defend herself, which had
drawn the Mujar into this terrible situation. Afraid that she had
lost him forever, she tried to retrace her steps, but in the
darkness she soon realised she was hopelessly lost. Fresh tears
coursed down her cheeks as she slumped to the ground in despair,
hating herself for bringing such suffering to the gentle Mujar.

Chanter became
aware that someone dragged him along the road by his legs. He
wondered why Lowmen always vented their hatred in savagery and
bloodletting, even when they knew they could not kill him. Perhaps
to make him suffer, yet Mujar did not feel pain like Lowmen did.
The real pain came with healing, not injury. Dolana filled him,
draining his energy and will. He longed for Crayash, but it would
not answer his call, denying him even a little warmth. His grasp on
the Power had been snuffed when he had lost consciousness, and now
he could not regain it.

His head
bounced over rocks on a rough dirt street, then grated on smoother
cobblestones. It seemed his captors had broken almost every bone in
his body. Certainly his arms and legs were fractured, some of his
ribs, and maybe a few others. Pain burnt in him with hot intensity,
fuelling his dull rage. He opened his eyes.

The two men who
dragged him stopped, and another banged on a stout door. After a
few moments, a sour-face man opened it.

"What do you
want?"

The man held up
a lantern to examine the dirty group before him. He noted their
burns and bruises with a scowl, clearly deducing that they had been
in a fight. His eyes fell on Chanter, and he leant closer with an
oath, then straightened with a startled curse.

"That's a
Mujar!"

The thugs'
leader leered. "We know. That's why we brought 'im. Thought you an'
yer cronies might like to cut 'im up afore he goes in the Pit."

The man stroked
the grey goatee that sprouted from his pointed chin. "Yes, yes, we
would." He eyed the thug. "How much do you want?"

The cutthroat
leader shrugged, trying to look casual before naming a high figure.
The two wrangled for a few minutes before agreeing on a sum. The
bearded man, whom Chanter deduced was a doctor, left to fetch it,
then told them to bring the Mujar inside. They dragged Chanter into
a cellar, his head bouncing on stone steps until he lost
consciousness again.

After the
street thugs left, Doctor Jashon Durb studied his acquisition with
ill-disguised excitement, lighting another two lanterns. The Mujar
lay still, his eyes closed. No breath stirred his chest, yet a
pulse beat in his neck. His throat was cut from ear to ear, which
explained his lack of respiration. From the odd angles of his
limbs, the cutthroats had damaged him badly before they had brought
him here. Still, it did not matter. No Mujar had been seen in a
city for over twenty years, and he had always longed to dissect
one. His fellow doctors, and the professors at the nearby medical
college, would no doubt pay handsomely for the privilege of joining
him in his study of Mujar anatomy, a mystery until now. He would
consult with Tranton, the local expert on Mujar, for the best way
to keep his subject under control while he carried out his
experiments.

Although fairly
sure that the Mujar was too badly injured to escape, and without
water could not heal, Jashon dragged a heavy beam across the cellar
and pinned him under it, just in case. Earthpower would keep his
victim weak, and in the morning he would call Tranton. Satisfied,
Jashon blew out the other two lamps and returned to bed, where his
plump but comely wife waited.