The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (16 page)

Tranton shook
his head. "She knows his name."

He tossed the
bag to Talsy, who weighed it and checked the gleam of silver
inside, then gave a curt nod.

"Now release
him."

Jashon said,
"Don't be ridiculous! I told you it was a trick!"

Tranton's eyes
narrowed as he studied Talsy. "Why?"

"If you know
Mujar," she replied, "you know they can't be made to do anything
they don't wish to. But if you heal him and set him free, he'll be
grateful. When Mujar are grateful, they usually grant a Wish."

Jashon
muttered, "You make him sound like a damned god."

Tranton nodded.
"She's right. But he may not."

"That's a risk
you'll have to take." She shrugged. "Torturing him is a waste of
time. You'll still be doing it when the Black Riders come, and then
they'll slice you up." Several doctors paled, and she continued,
"He'll survive, but you'll all be dead and your city ashes. You've
got one chance, and I advise you to take it. You're lucky Mujar
don't hate Truemen."

"After what we
did to him, I doubt he'll help us if we set him free, girl,"
Tranton said. "He's more likely to turn into a bird and fly
away."

"He'll help
those who help him, but he won't offer help to get it. Until he
owes you gratitude, you have no wish."

"That's what he
kept saying," Jashon said. "Stupid bastard. No wish! No bloody
wish."

Talsy glared at
him. "What had you done to deserve it?"

"Why the hell
should I have to do anything when he's at my mercy!"

"You can't
blackmail a Mujar."

Tranton nodded,
and Jashon turned away. "Filthy Mujar trash."

Angry words
boiled onto Talsy's tongue, but she bit them back. She had to
appear calm and unconcerned. Tranton pushed Jashon aside and
ordered the doctors to remove the chains and bring buckets of
water. Talsy turned away, unable to stomach the sight of Chanter's
horrific injuries. Some students hurried out, while others removed
the Mujar's chains.

They fiddled
with him, probably stuffing his insides back into the gaping
wounds, she thought bitterly. The youths returned and poured water
over Chanter, and she turned at his first soft cry. He convulsed,
his back arched, his hands curled in an agonised attitude, his face
twisted and eyes screwed shut, lips pulled back from bloody teeth.
The manifestation of Shissar filled the room with illusory mist and
the rushing sound of a waterfall mingled with the crashing of
breakers on a beach.

Jashon watched,
stony-faced. "Seems we should have done this before. It causes him
more pain than torture."

Talsy promised
herself that Jashon would pay for the pain he had inflicted on
Chanter. She longed to run to the Mujar's side and hold him tight
to help him through his ordeal. Her willpower held out until the
third dousing, when she could no longer bear his agony. She knelt
beside him and wiped the dirt from his pain-racked features with
the edge of her shirt, amazed by the miracle of his healing.

His gaping
wounds sealed together without a scar, pulled into place as if by
invisible hands. His twisted limbs straightened and returned to
their normal appearance as his bones knitted, and his bruises
vanished. His fingers and toes grew back more slowly. The raw ends
sealed and new fingers sprouted, complete with nails. The
strangeness of his healing made some of the Truemen pale and turn
away.

No Trueman,
even if a Mujar healed them, could regrow lost parts. Those whom
the sight did not unsettle leant closer to watch the phenomenon,
muttering about 'image twisting' and 'world patterning'. Talsy
ignored them, a lump blocking in her throat as Chanter's heart
began to beat again, a pulse throbbing at his throat. He continued
to lie cold and still, however, his eyes glazed. Remembering the
Dolana, she pulled him as far as she could onto her lap, surprised
by his lightness. He warmed, and she held him while he
convulsed.

Chanter's
contortions calmed and his features relaxed. He opened his eyes to
look up at her. Another bucket of water splashed over them, and he
only shivered. Talsy held up a hand to stem the next bucket, and
the student stepped back, putting it on a table.

Chanter raised
his hands and flexed them, examining his new fingers. The skin was
still thin and tender, the nails pink and soft, but hardening.
Shissar flowed through him softly now, a faint tingle deep within
him. The air swelled as he called upon the Powers, and he rejoiced
at their return to his command, filling the room with rushing wind
and the faint sound of beating wings.

The doctors
glanced at each other, and Jashon scowled. Sitting up, Chanter
leant on a hand and bowed his head, his wet hair hiding his face.
He knew that everyone held their breath except Talsy, who smiled
and wiped the hair from his brow. Raising his head, he looked up at
the doctors, his gaze flitting from face to face, meeting hard,
unrepentant stares. Raising a hand, he held it out, palm up.

"No harm."

Jashon
demanded, "What does he mean by that?"

Tranton shot
his friend an impatient glance. "He won't harm us."

"We already
know that!"

Chanter turned
to Talsy with a faint smile. "Gratitude."

"Hey, wait a
minute!" Jashon started forward, but Tranton held him back.

"It doesn't
matter who he gives the gratitude to," Tranton said. "She's in as
much danger as the rest of us."

Talsy gazed
into Chanter's eyes, smiled and completed the ritual. "Wish."

He nodded.
"Wish."

"Please will
you protect the city from the Hashon Jahar?"

Jashon
muttered, "Begging from a damned Mujar!"

Chanter cocked
his head, and his smile broadened as he studied the girl. His eyes
flicked to the doctors, then back to her. "Big Wish."

Jashon started
forward again. "Big bloody favour we did you, you damned yellow
monkey!"

Tranton pulled
him back, the other doctors aiding him.

Talsy nodded,
her eyes stinging at his gentle nature. A Trueman would have railed
at his mistreatment and cursed his erstwhile tormentors for
torturing him. A Trueman would also have made good his escape now,
she reflected, or used the Powers to punish those who had harmed
him and left the rest at the mercy of the Hashon Jahar. Then again,
a Trueman would have given in to their demands in order to escape
the pain.

She whispered,
"Big Wish."

Chanter's eyes
slid away, hidden by thick lashes. "Three days."

"You bastard!"
Jashon roared, clawing his way towards the Mujar. "You'll protect
the city until it's damned well safe!"

Talsy shot
Jashon a hard glance before turning back to the Mujar. "For three
days you'll protect the city, then you'll be free."

"Yes."

Jashon made
inarticulate noises while his peers held him back. Chanter's eyes
fell on the angry red wound on her arm, and he frowned. "You're
hurt."

She shrugged.
"It's just a scratch."

The Mujar rose
to his feet, and several doctors stepped back. Tranton watched him
with narrowed eyes. Talsy scrambled up and stood beside Chanter,
who glanced around at the hostile men, then turned to the table. He
dipped his hand into the bucket of water, took hold of her arm and
raised it to trickle water onto it. The air filled with mist again,
the light twisted in strange underwater visions, and the soft sound
of running water mixed with the distant thunder of ocean waves. The
manifestation of Shissar vanished, and Talsy looked at her arm,
where only a narrow white scar remained.

Jashon started
forward again. "Why the hell did he do that? You didn't wish for
it!" He glared at her.

Chanter turned
his head to gaze at the red-faced doctor with expressionless eyes.
"Clan bond."

"Clan..."
Jashon spluttered into silence.

Tranton tugged
on his arm. "Why don't we go and tell the governor of your great
success. I'm sure he'll be delighted."

Jashon allowed
Tranton to lead him away, and Talsy looked up at Chanter again.
"Thank you."

He smiled. "You
kept your promise."

"As did
you."

"It was your
Wish."

A slither of
fear chilled her gut. "Is it fulfilled now?"

Chanter gazed
at her, looking puzzled, as if she was a strange creature he did
not understand, but something prompted him to try a little
longer.

"No. You
suffered harm and fled to save yourself. I was merely a
distraction. I tried to protect you, and failed. The Wish is not
yet fulfilled."

She sighed with
relief. "I'm sorry... about what you went through."

He picked up
his jacket from the table beside him and shrugged it on. "It's over
now. Already the memory dims."

"Do Mujar have
such a short memory?"

Chanter bent to
pull on his boots, which he had found under the table. "When it
comes to unpleasant things, yes."

Talsy took his
hand and headed for the door. "Let's leave this awful place."

Several doctors
stepped into their path, and one said, "The Mujar can't leave.
He'll escape."

Chanter hung
back, frowning at them. Clearly he would not allow anyone except
Talsy near him now, and she did not blame him. She glared at
them.

"He's granted
the Wish and he'll fulfil it. Unlike you, he has honour. You think
that standing in his way will stop him if he really wants to leave?
Get out of the way!"

They parted,
and she led Chanter into the street. The doctors followed, and the
Mujar eyed them warily. The men served as a barrier between Chanter
and the populace, which turned out to be just as well. Soon,
pedestrians recognised a Mujar and shouted insults, waving their
fists. Some tried to get at Chanter, but the doctors fended off the
crowd until guardsmen arrived, drawn by the commotion. Chanter
scanned the skyline while Talsy clung to his hand, afraid that he
would turn into a bird to escape the threat. He pointed at a roofed
wooden platform atop tall a grey stone tower.

"We'll go
there."

The doctors
explained the situation to the guardsmen, clearly concerned about
the Mujar's safety. At their request, the troops formed a cordon
around Chanter and Talsy to protect them from the angry mob. A few
people threw rotten fruit and dung while the rest shouted insults.
Chanter headed for the tower, the soldiers and doctors who
surrounded him shooting him hateful looks. Talsy ducked the
missiles, and the doctors shielded them from most of it, their
robes becoming splattered with dung. They shouted in protest, but
the guardsmen could do little to stem the filthy barrage. The gate
guard at the base of the tower let them in, and the guardsmen
stayed outside to keep the mob at bay.

Talsy followed
Chanter up a spiral stairway, her legs aching by the time they
reached the top. The tower afforded a panoramic view of the city
and the land beyond the walls.

A lookout
scowled at them. "What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed when
he spotted Chanter, and he reached for his sword.

Talsy said,
"Stop, or you die."

He hesitated,
shooting her an angry, puzzled look.

"He's here to
protect the city from the Hashon Jahar," she explained, "and people
still want to hurt him. He needs to stay up here for his
protection, or do you want the Black Riders to destroy this
city?"

The mob's
shouts confirmed her statement, and he released his sword hilt.
"Filthy Mujar."

She glared at
him. "Go down and tell the soldiers to send for reinforcements and
bring us food and wine."

The scowling
lookout opened his mouth as if to protest her high-handed orders,
then apparently thought better of it and headed for the staircase,
shooting a last glare at Chanter. The Mujar wandered to the edge of
the platform and gazed out across the land, his face deadpan.

She went to
stand beside him. "Is it three days from now, or from when the
Hashon Jahar arrive?"

"Three days of
protection is exactly that. Waiting doesn't count."

"How will you
do it?"

Chanter smiled.
"Wait and see."

Chapter Eight

Talsy spent the
night snuggled close to Chanter on the soft pallets the soldiers
brought up, safe from Dolana's creeping cold. Good food and wine
filled their bellies, and her only regret was that he only held
her, but she was content. When the stomp of feet on the stairs woke
her in dawn's cool light, she found her cheek cushioned on his arm,
pressed close to him. Sitting up, she stretched. Chanter remained
prone on the pallet, his eyes closed. He opened them when a group
of panting people emerged from the stairway, a wheezing Tranton
leading them.

Jashon
followed, scowling, then a man in a gold-trimmed purple cloak.
Tranton introduced him as Cusak, the governor, and he eyed them
with a belligerent expression. Chanter gazed at something in the
sky. Several advisors joined the crowd, then two servants with
trays laden with steaming bowls of porridge, bacon, eggs and hot
milk. The smell of food made the Mujar sit up at last and take an
interest. He and Talsy ate while the governor fidgeted, looking
sour.

"You could have
been the richest man in the city, Mujar. Do you mock me with your
free aid?"

Talsy glanced
at Chanter, who ignored the man. She said, "He can't be
bribed."

"I know," Cusak
said. "No one can make a Mujar help. He'd have stood by and watched
us all die."

"That's right.
If you help them they'll help you, but you can't force them."

Cusak snorted.
"They mock us with their powers and reward us for good behaviour as
if they're better than us."

"They are."