The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (3 page)

Hill clans were
the only people who sometimes struck bargains with Mujar when they
found them. In return for food and shelter, Mujar would work in the
fields or do menial jobs such as digging cesspits and graves. They
would not fell trees, but they were not averse to chopping dead
wood. Mujar seemed content with this dull existence, and would live
out their lives without ever using their powers.

Mishak banged
into the house, angry with himself and Chanter. Envy could eat a
man's soul. He considered what he could do with just a tenth of a
Mujar's power, and wondered why it was wasted on these pitiful
unmen. When the first Mujar had appeared almost three hundred years
ago, begging in towns and digging in the rubbish for scraps,
Truemen had pitied them and given them food and shelter. Then some
mishap had caused a Mujar to use his power, and pity had turned to
fear.

Mishak brewed a
pot of tea and settled before the fire. Their fear had lessened
when people had discovered that Mujar were harmless. Unless abused
or tortured, they would not use their powers against a Trueman. Nor
would they help people, however. No amount of riches could buy
their aid, nor did blackmail work, and even torture had failed.
Some people had given Mujar comforts and earned Wishes, but they
were scorned as traitors who became servants of the soulless yellow
scum and worked for their favours. Trueman pride had bred envy and
hate, and Mujar were chased from the cities.

Women had tried
to conceive children with Mujar powers, but their bellies had
remained empty and Mujar were reviled for this too. Deemed a burden
to society, Mujar were beaten until they fled. They had returned
again and again, however, moving from city to city like a plague
Truemen could not cure. Attempts to kill them had proven futile,
and their unwanted presence had continued until someone had thrown
one into a Pit. That had been the beginning of the end of the Mujar
scourge.

Mishak sat back
and sipped his spicy tea. The little luxury calmed his hatred and
restored his good humour. At least he had one who now owed him.
Only a Mujar could save his son, and if Arrin lived, Chanter would
bring him home.

Chapter Two

Talsy crept
through the forest, her eyes scanning the undergrowth for her
quarry. The snow hare had come this way. Its tracks wandered
amongst the trees, small marks that must lead to their maker. A
snow hare would make a good meal for herself and her father. She
pushed through a clump of frozen bushes, flinching at the icy
leaves' chill touch. A thick fur jacket and leather leggings kept
her warm and protected her from sharp branches, but her fingers
were stiff and her feet numb with cold. As soon as she had killed
the snow hare, she could return to the cabin's warmth to
defrost.

Emerging into a
clearing, she followed the tracks across it, then froze as the hare
appeared on the far side, nibbling the withered grass that poked
through the thin layer of snow. Notching a hunting arrow into her
bow, she took aim and loosed it with a soft buzz. The arrow impaled
the hare with a thud, and it screamed piteously, kicking up puffs
of snow. She headed towards it, stopping as low humming whine came
from the bushes ahead. It rose to a frenzied scream, and a bog sow
burst from the undergrowth, scattering ice. The sow's engorged
udder told Talsy that she had young, and the hare's scream had
sounded like a distressed piglet.

Talsy leapt
aside as the bog sow charged, but the huge tusked pig's armoured
snout struck Talsy's leg, sending her sprawling. She lay still,
hoping that, since the sow was a herbivore, she would leave once
she was certain that there was no threat to her piglets. The sow
scraped the ground with her tusks, snuffling as she circled the
girl, prodding her. Talsy winced, but remained immobile. Her jacket
protected her torso from the bruising tusks, but her legs would be
blue tomorrow. Still, if she moved, she would be dead.

Four fat
piglets trotted into the clearing, and their mother turned to them
with a low maternal grunt. Talsy's mouth watered as she remembered
the taste of bog boar piglet. Their two hundred pound mother loomed
over them, however, a killer when aroused. The bog sow, apparently
satisfied that her babies were safe, turned and led them away, and
Talsy relaxed with a sigh. As she tried to stand up, however, a
lance of pain stabbed up her leg, and she sank down again with a
cry. From its unnatural angle, her left leg was broken between knee
and ankle, and the slightest movement sent shafts of pain through
her. She lay panting steam, waiting for the agony to subside so she
could think.

When it dulled,
she raised her head and looked around, knowing that to lie on the
frozen ground for too long was certain death. Gritting her teeth,
she crawled towards the trees. Two pieces of wood to splint her
leg, another for a crutch, and she would be able to make it home.
By the time she reached the trees, she shivered, cold sweat sliming
her skin. Shock made her giddy, and she stopped often to rest so
she would not faint.

Amongst the
trees, she found a sapling and cut through the bark with her
skinning knife, snapped it off and set to work stripping off the
branches and shaping it into a splint. She worked quickly, for the
day waned and she still had a long journey home. At dusk, her
father would search for her, but after dark the wolves would be
hunting too. Her arrow pinned the dead hare to a tree, and the
scent of its blood would attract predators.

After binding
two sticks to her leg with the leather thong from her jacket, she
looked for a larger sapling to use as a crutch. A rustle of wings
made her swing around in alarm, wrenching her leg. Stifling a
whimper, she stared at the huge barred daltar eagle that had landed
in the clearing, its black talons sunk into the hare's fur. After a
moment of stunned surprise, she pulled another arrow from her
quiver and notched it. Eagles were tough and stringy, but it would
be a long time before she could hunt again. The raptor's wings
remained spread as it tried to tug the hare free. Beautiful though
the bird was, she and her father had to eat. The eagle would
provide two meals, in a stew. Although its great black and white
barred wings blocked her view, she aimed for where the body should
be and let fly.

The arrow's
vicious hiss ended in a meaty thud that warmed her heart. The eagle
leapt into the air with a powerful downbeat, then fell, it long
pinions splayed across the snow. Talsy smiled. If she waited long
enough, she could probably bag a few ravens too. She returned to
her task of finding a crutch, spotting a suitable sapling not far
off.

By the time she
had cut the wood to the right length, her hands were numb and
shivers cramped her gut. Lying on the icy ground was definitely
unpleasant. With the crutch's help, she pulled herself upright,
hopping. She hobbled over to her kills and tied the hare to her
belt, then pulled the eagle closer by one wing. The bird flapped,
jerking free, and Talsy reached for her knife. The eagle turned its
head to look up at her, not with the hot yellow glare of a daltar,
but with piercing, brilliant blue eyes. A rush of wind rustled the
bushes and the air filled with the sound of beating wings. Talsy
recoiled in shock, her crutch skidded and she fell, twisting her
broken leg. Dizziness washed over her in a sickening wave, and she
clasped her thigh with a groan, striving to stem the wave of pain
that washed up it.

When the world
stopped spinning, she stared at the golden-skinned man dressed in
black leather who sat where the eagle had been. His silver-studded
tunic hung open to reveal a smooth, muscular chest, and her arrow
protruded from it, oozing a thin red line down his belly. Worn
trousers hugged his slender legs and narrow, scuffed boots shod his
feet. His straight jet hair framed a scowling, fine-featured face
with a sensual mouth and high cheekbones. He pulled her arrow out,
studied it and tossed it aside. She gaped at him, awestruck by his
wild beauty. He glanced at her without interest, and Talsy
swallowed hard. He was Mujar. Her father had told her about the
strange unmen, and armed her against them. Once, there had been
quite a lot of them, but now only legends remained. The hatred of
them had not faded from older minds, but hardly any of her
generation had ever seen one. They were all supposed to be in the
Pits.

The Mujar
scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed it on his wound, grimacing
as it melted. After a few seconds, he relaxed and glanced down at
his chest. The wound had vanished. The Mujar rose to his feet,
regarded her indifferently for a moment, and turned away.

Talsy raised a
hand. "Hey! Wait! Help me, please!"

The Mujar
looked at her, pursing his lips. "No Wish."

Talsy shook her
head in confusion. "Please, my leg is broken."

The unman gazed
at her with flat, empty eyes, clearly unmoved by her plight. He
glanced around, measuring the clearing, and she knew he was going
to leave her to the wolves. Reaching into her quiver, she found the
white-fletched arrow and pulled it out. Her numb fingers fumbled
with the bow as she struggled to notch it. The air seemed to swell,
and the Mujar took a few light, running steps, then leapt high. A
rush of wind and the sound of beating wings filled the clearing,
and a daltar eagle rose into the air, each deep downbeat carrying
it higher. She took careful aim, her heart in her throat. She must
not miss this shot.

The bowstring
twanged, sending the arrow hissing on its deadly course. It struck
the eagle with a thud, making it stagger in mid-air. Its wings
folded, and it plummeted to the ground in a spray of snow a few
yards from her, where it lay still. Talsy crawled towards it,
hoping it was not too badly hurt. Her father had told her to use
the gold-tipped arrow on Mujar, but had not detailed its effect. To
her relief, the eagle appeared only to be stunned, and glared at
her when she neared it.

Mujar, the
accursed undying. She reached for the arrow, then hesitated. What
would happen when she removed it? What had her father said? She had
not been listening that closely, and now wished she had. Something
about owing debts? When she had asked the Mujar for help he had
said 'no wish', and 'wish' was one of the words her father had
used. If you helped a Mujar, he would grant you a wish. What was
the other word? Gratitude. Yes, that was it.

Sitting up with
a grimace, she bent over the bird, which watched her with fierce
defiance.

"If I take out
the arrow, you owe me, Mujar," she said. "If I leave it in, you
can't change. You'll stay a wounded eagle, won't you? Maybe the
wolves will find you and tear you into little bits. You can't die,
so what happens? Do all the little bits go on living? In a wolf's
intestines?" She shuddered. "Now you need help too. So, if I help
you, you help me, agreed?"

The eagle
glared at her, and she realised that he could not reply whilst in
bird form. With some misgivings, she grasped the arrow and pulled
it out, holding it threateningly, ready to stab him again if
necessary. The daltar's eyes followed her hand, and its wings
quivered. She wondered if it was too badly injured after all. It
looked helpless on its back, so she lifted it by one wing and
turned it over. It flopped down on its breast, its blood staining
the snow, then raised its head and stood up. Its talons dug into
the snow, and its wings rested on the ground as if to support
it.

Wind rushed
around her, making her gasp and raise the arrow. The sound of
beating wings filled the clearing again, and the eagle vanished.
The golden-skinned man reappeared and fell to his knees, his head
bowed. His long hair hid his face as he sagged forward onto all
fours.

Chanter sat
back on his haunches and clasped the throbbing ache in his chest,
blood oozing between his fingers. The few moments of utter
powerlessness and agony had frightened him. Never had he been cut
off from all the Powers, even Dolana. The girl's arrow had made him
helpless, trapped within his mind. Her words had been a meaningless
gabble, muffled and slurred, and his sight had darkened and
blurred. As the ache receded, he raised his head to look at the
Lowman girl. The bloody arrow she had pulled from his chest was
notched in the bow again, aimed at his heart. He raised his hands
and spread them in a gesture of appeasement and reassurance.

"Gratitude."

Her eyes
wavered. "For pulling out the arrow?"

He nodded.

"I need help.
You were about to leave me."

"Wish."

She slumped,
lowering her bow. "Any funny stuff and I'll shoot you again,
understand?"

He inclined his
head. "Wish."

"Take me to my
father's house."

Chanter studied
her. It was a small wish for such a great service, even though the
fact that she had shot him in the first place diluted his gratitude
somewhat. Still, without her help he would have been trapped as a
wounded bird, unable to change or escape. She had shown mercy by
releasing him from the arrow’s terrible effect, instead of leaving
him to suffer. Her blue-green eyes shone with the feral fear of a
survivor born into a harsh world and used to its dangers, but
afraid to die. Blonde hair escaped the untidy plait down her back
and straggled around her face, which was pinched and blue with
cold. A Lowman male, he mused, might have thought her pretty, with
her small nose and large eyes, generous mouth and firm chin.

Shivers racked
her, and she tugged at the front of her fur jacket, which was
missing the thong that held it closed. Odd how Lowmen felt the
cold, he reflected. With so little Crayash to warm them, they even
died of it. He picked up a handful of snow and rubbed it on his
wound, stiffening with a soft grunt as Shissar's healing power
swept through him. The pain ebbed quickly, for the wound was
slight, and he rose to his feet and stepped towards her, intending
to carry her as she had asked. Her eyes glinted, and she raised the
arrow, forcing him to retreat. He gazed at her in confusion,
cocking his head to one side. How was he supposed to help her if
she would not let him near her?