The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (33 page)

Chanter rammed
the shimmering ball of light into her forehead. Radiance exploded
in Talsy's mind, as if the sun had invaded it, along with a howling
wind, a raging sea, and the darkness of deep within the earth. For
an instant she was sucked into a turbulent vortex of wild Powers, a
swirling chaos of the four elements that held no structure or law.
They warred with one another, blended and warped impossibly into
cold fire, dry water, solid air. In that instant she learnt more
about the elements than she would ever have dreamt possible, yet at
the same time remained ignorant. The world spun as the visions
faded, making her stagger. She opened her mouth to demand what he
had done.

A bolt of
lightning rent the blue sky with a deafening thunderclap and struck
Chanter’s brow in a blinding flash. He collapsed, and she fell to
her knees beside him. Terror choked her, bright spots danced in her
eyes, and her ears rang.

"Chanter!"

Talsy's hands
fluttered over him, afraid to touch him. He lay still, apparently
unconscious, and she plucked up the courage to pat his cheek,
desperate to rouse him. Spray drifted over them as the waves
crashed onto the beach with unusual force, spurring her anguish.
She tried to drag him up the beach, but could not lift him. He
seemed to be glued to the sand, and her heart laboured with
terror.

Another crack
of lightning jerked her head up. The vicious lance of light struck
the sea not far from shore. The sky blackened as furious, twisting
clouds raced to block out the sun, darkening the day to a dim
twilight. Spray splattered her cheek in a shocking, icy slap, and a
tremendous wind came out of nowhere and howled around her, whipping
the waves into foaming fury. It tore at her with freezing force,
pushed her away from Chanter, broke her grip on him and thrust her
up the beach with powerful, pitiless gusts. Great breakers
thundered onto the sand in a welter of foam, washing over the
Mujar. Lightning crackled and thunder rumbled in a deep drumming
that shook the ground. Terrified, she fought against the wind, but
it forced her back.

"Chanter!"

The ground
swallowed her. She fell screaming into darkness, clawing at the
air, and landed lightly on sticky rock. A terrible stench assaulted
her sense of smell. A soft golden light appeared, and she found
that she was its source. She shone like a beacon, illuminating the
cavern in which she stood. She held up a glowing hand to study its
marvellous radiance, then looked around. Below her, a pool of
black, evil-smelling slime lapped at the rocks. Hands reached up
from the filth and heads covered in clotted muck turned towards
her. A dozen voices filled the cavern with piteous cries.

"Help us,
please help us!"

Talsy realised
that, by some strange miracle, she stood at the bottom of a Pit,
and the feeble wretches trapped in the slime were Mujar. Their need
galvanised her, and she looked around for something to help them
with, a rope or stick. Their cries filled her eyes with tears of
pity and helpless rage. Unable to bear it, she climbed down and
reached out to try to grip an outstretched hand. She caught one and
pulled him from the evil muck. He scrambled up the rock and stood
beside her.

"Gratitude."

"Go," she said.
"Climb out."

"Wish."

"Nothing, just
go. Be free."

Talsy bent to
grip another hand, but slipped and plunged into the fluid. It
closed over her head.

Talsy stood on
a windswept plain of sparse grass, facing an army of Hashon Jahar.
They stood like ebon statues, unmoving save for the horses' manes
and tails blowing in the wind. She retreated several steps, her
breath catching and heart pounding. The ten-deep ranks of Black
Riders stretched away in either direction, facing her... or what
was behind her. She turned to find a city defended by a high wall
of grey stone crowned with crenulations, aflutter with war banners
and bright pennants of rebellion.

Thousands of
defenders crowded the top of the wall, armed with spears and
swords, staring down at the army of death. Their grim faces wore
expressions of hatred and defiance, and for an instant she admired
their courage, then the foolish futility of their stand struck her.
She wondered how she could make out their expressions at this
distance, as if she possessed supernatural sight. She walked
towards the city, covering the ground at an astounding rate, and
soon stood beneath the wall.

The words that
she spoke came from deep within her, marching unbidden from her
lips as if drawn from a font of hitherto untapped wisdom. "If there
are any amongst you who don't hate Mujar, come forth."

A man shouted,
"Will we be saved?"

"No. But you'll
make peace with this world before you die."

He spat, as did
several others, muttering. Talsy waited, the cold wind whipping her
hair. Behind her, the Hashon Jahar waited also. Within the city's
walls, angry voices shouted. The small door in the huge metal gates
burst open and two women and a man stumbled out, thrust by many
hands and boots. They ran to her, their clothes and hair smeared
with excrement and rotten fruit. They fell to their knees before
her.

"We don't hate
Mujar. We ask for absolution!" the man cried.

"You wish peace
with this world?"

He nodded, and
a woman whimpered, “We do.”

"Then you shall
be saved," Talsy said, and reached down to help him to his feet. A
rattle of armour and the snorting of ebon steeds came from behind
her, and she turned to face the Black Riders. As if by a silent
command, the Hashon Jahar leapt into a gallop towards her, their
lances lowering in a line of death. The three people wailed. Two
fell to the ground and one woman ran back towards the city,
screaming. Talsy stood still. The Black Riders parted before her
like a sable sea, passing close by on either side, yet not touching
her with so much as a spur or boot. The man and woman crouched
behind her, sobbing. Ten rows of Riders thundered past, filling the
air with dust, and she turned. As they reached the city, the wall
parted just as the mountain had split asunder for Chanter, and the
Hashon Jahar rode into the city.

Talsy was sad
to see the city fall, but understood why it must. The woman who had
fled ran back to them, wailing.

The man turned
to her. "You could have saved them all!"

"They are not
worthy."

"Because they
hate Mujar?"

"They had no
right to judge, and now it falls upon them."

A bright room
lined with bookshelves appeared around her. Tapestries depicting
forest scenes and rich velvet hangings graced the walls between the
shelves. Finely woven carpets covered marble mosaic floors, and
gilt furniture stood in intricately carved splendour. A man in a
blue velvet jacket trimmed with gold thread and white fur looked up
from the papers on his desk and glared at her. The gold circlet on
his brow told her that he was a king, and his pointed black beard
told her which one. Marshon, King of Daslar, pride of the southern
continent.

"Who are you?"
he demanded. "And how the hell did you get in here?"

Talsy was
stumped. What was she supposed to do here?

The King
scowled and put down his quill. "Answer me, girl."

"I... Do you
hate Mujar?" It was the only question that seemed appropriate.

"Of course I
hate the yellow bastards, who does not?" He paused. "Let me guess,
the church sent you to check up on me now that the Black Riders are
coming, right?"

"No. Why do you
hate them?"

He sighed.
"Because they are useless, stupid, uncaring scum."

"Why must they
be useful?"

"Why should we
look after them if they are not?"

She shrugged.
"Out of kindness."

"Why should we
help people who will not help us?"

"If they jumped
off a cliff, would you?"

Marshon
laughed, twirling his moustache. "You must be the local clown."

"Why do you
think they're stupid?"

"Because they
have all that power, but they do not use it."

She cocked her
head. "What should they use it for?"

"To make this
world a better place. They could cultivate the land, order the
weather, make things grow just right and build cities, but they
will not."

Talsy pondered
that, and the King smiled. She said, "Perhaps they like it the way
it is."

"Well we do
not. Our lives are hard, and they could change all that and be
rewarded handsomely for it. They could be rich and powerful, but
they would rather go to the Pits."

"Cultivating
the land would have repercussions. Wild animals would die, soil
would be washed into the sea, rivers would silt up, and cities
would breed more people to pollute the air with smoke and cut trees
for building and burning. For a while things would be good, but
your descendants would pay the price."

The King
scowled, leaning forward. "Just whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Why do you say
they're uncaring?"

"Because they
will not lift a finger to help a drowning child! They stand by
while villages die of plague, crops fail and people starve when
they could so easily save them."

This was a
tough one. Talsy had problems with it herself. "But what have you
done to earn their care? Why should they help people who don't even
help each other? I've seen children starving on the streets of
Horran, and no Trueman had the decency to save them, so why should
Mujar?"

"We do the best
we can, but sometimes there is not enough food. Mujar could make
our crops grow well enough to feed everyone. It is not that we do
not care, but they certainly do not."

"That's not
true. Farmers grow more than enough food, but they won't allow
those with no money to eat it. They'd rather plough it back into
the soil."

He shook his
head, tapping the table. Clearly she was annoying him. "That is
economics, and it is harsh, I agree. If the Mujar helped, there
would be no need for anyone to starve. But why will they stand by
and let an innocent child drown, without lifting a finger to help?
Tell me that, if you can."

Talsy
hesitated. "Perhaps... it was the child's fate."

"That does not
mean you should not try to change it."

Talsy thought
about the young prince Chanter had saved, whom the Hashon Jahar had
killed only a few months later. Also, Horran, whose fate Chanter
had also delayed. Yet he had saved her when she had almost drowned,
and then the sherlon had rescued her, too. She was not being
allowed to die, while others did not seem able to avoid it. There
was a lesson in there somewhere. She remembered the tormented
Kuran, dying because of Truemen's cruelty, and the strange
creatures that had appeared after Rashkar had fallen, beasts that
Truemen would have slaughtered or enslaved. Her race had sealed its
fate long before the Mujar had arrived. She had the answer,
although it grieved her to say it. The King shifted, waiting.

She said, "They
were not worthy."

Talsy woke on
warm sand, surf pounding the shore nearby. Chanter lay beside her,
propped up on one elbow, most of his lean length clear of the
sand.

He smiled. "So,
you're back."

Sitting up, she
gazed at the peaceful vista of sea and sand, sky and mewling gulls.
Everything was the same, as if no time had passed, although it
seemed like hours had gone by. She turned to the smiling Mujar, who
chewed a blade of grass.

"What happened
to me?"

Chanter spat
the grass out and sat up, looking serious. "I believe you were
tested."

"By whom?"

"The gods."

She snorted.
"Why would they do that?"

"Because I
chose you."

Talsy stared at
him. "Was it real?"

"I don't
know."

"Did I
pass?"

His smile
returned, showing even white teeth. "If I had a mirror, I'd show
you."

"Show me
what?"

"The Mujar mark
on your forehead."

She rubbed her
brow. "What does it look like?"

"A circle with
a cross through it."

"What
colour?"

He laughed and
lay back in the sand. "You've just passed the gods' test and
changed the fate of the world, but you're worried about the colour
of the mark on your forehead?"

Talsy grinned
and pounced on him, holding him down. "Tell me, or I won't let you
up."

"You're cruel.
You don't deserve to be chosen."

Dozens of
questions itched in her mind, sparked by his comments, yet she
would not be side-tracked, and thumped him. "Tell me!"

"Blue,
okay?"

She leant on
his chest. "Now tell me how I've changed the fate of the
world."

"No. First tell
me what you learnt."

She thought
about the visions, if that was what they were. "Well, the Mujar in
the Pits are trapped in sticky black stuff."

"Earth blood."
He grimaced. "No wonder they can't get free."

"What's earth
blood?"

"The sticky
black stuff."

She thumped him
again. "Don't be funny."

"No, you're
right, it's not funny." He sobered. "Earth blood is found deep
underground, in the Pits, obviously. It's the most powerful source
of Dolana, like concentrated Earthpower. It burns, but it's foul
stuff, and very dangerous for Mujar."

"The Hashon
Jahar control Dolana."

"Really? That's
interesting. Only Dolana?"

"I think so.
That's all I saw."

He pondered.
"Hmm. What else?"

"Mujar won't
help Truemen because they're not worthy."

"Ah." He raised
a finger. "That, I knew."

"You didn't
tell me when I asked you."

"You weren't
ready to know. It must be hard for you to accept, even now."