The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (37 page)

The men glanced
around and hefted their weapons. The other three joined them, and
they conferred in hushed tones. Talsy marched towards them and
flourished her knife, desperate to drive them away before they
called her bluff.

"Go! Get out of
here, you bastards!" she shouted.

Two men
retreated towards their tents, casting many dark looks over their
shoulders. Three remained, their sullen uncertainty swimming in
wine. Its fumes had apparently reduced their brains to useless
mush, rendering them incapable of rational thought. Egged on by the
nudging and muttered insults of his comrades, one drew his
sword.

"I'm going to
gut you, Mujar bitch!" He advanced with staggering strides.

Something
flashed past her, and a sword cut the air with a deadly swish.
Blood pumped from the brigand's severed neck as his head went
spinning. It bounced and rolled to her feet, and she stepped back
from its eyes' glazed stare as the corpse collapsed, twitching and
jerking. The two remaining ruffians tried to draw their swords, but
Kieran sent one howling with a slashed arm and punched the
other.

Footsteps made
Talsy spin around as the fourth man lunged at her, his sword
outstretched. She swayed aside, but the blade sliced into her
flank. Kieran leapt at the thug and rammed his sword hilt-deep into
the man's gut, the bloody blade emerging from his back. Kieran
yanked it out, allowing the man to topple forward, then glared at
the other two. They ran to join their companions, tearing down
their tents and stuffing them willy-nilly into bags as they beat a
hasty retreat. Talsy's legs turned to rubber, and she sank down in
a heap. She crawled away from the dead man, shaking with shock.
Kieran took her arm and pulled her to her feet, but she jerked
free.

"Leave me
alone," she said, hating his ability and self-confidence, but
mostly his presence when she wished Chanter was there instead.

"You're hurt,"
he pointed out.

"I don't need
your help."

Talsy tottered
away, and Kieran stared after her, glancing every now and then at
the fleeing brigands. Ignoring the dumb-struck stares of the
mild-natured men who had watched so helplessly, she went to
Sheera's tent. The old woman cleaned and bound the wound, clicking
her tongue.

Talsy spoke
through gritted teeth. "Chanter will heal it when he gets
back."

Sheera shook
her head, her hands busy with the bandage. "Wounds like this can go
nasty. I hope he's not too much longer."

Talsy echoed
the sentiment. When Sheera finished her ministrations, Talsy
returned to her shack to flop down on the mattress. Her limbs
trembled and her stomach was a tight knot that threatened to empty
itself. That night she had no appetite, the fight fresh in her mind
and the throbbing wound a constant reminder. She fell asleep with
her knife within reach.

Talsy drifted
in sea's cold embrace, and below her, Chanter sank into the blue
depths, bound with gold. She screamed his name and swam down after
him, but he sank too fast. She wailed, exhausted her air and
inhaled sea water. Thrashing, she coughed and choked.

Talsy woke as
something shook her shoulder. A dark shape loomed over her, and his
musky scent told her that he was Trueman. She grabbed her knife and
stabbed him with all her strength. The man gave a stifled cry and
recoiled, almost jerking the weapon from her grasp. She lunged at
him again, but he sprang up and fled. Clutching the knife, she
panted with terror and the aftermath of her dream, her wound
throbbing. As her fear ebbed, she wondered why the thug had woken
her instead of killing her while she slept or pinning her down and
gagging her.

Confused and
uncertain, she rose and went to the door to peer out, clasping her
injury. Moonlight silvered Kieran’s pain-twisted features, and her
heart sank. He tried to bind his arm with a strip of cloth, using
one hand and his teeth. She stepped out, staring at him in
horror.

"What the hell
were you doing in my shack?" she demanded.

He clasped his
shoulder. "You were screaming blue murder. I came to wake you
before you woke the whole damned camp."

A pang of shame
shot through her, but she swallowed the apology that hovered on her
tongue. The fault was his for invading her tent and waking her.

"You'd better
let me bind that wound."

Talsy
re-entered the shack and lighted a lamp. She gestured for him to
sit on the mattress and knelt beside him with a strip of clean
linen. Kieran undid his shirt and pulled it off, revealing a nasty
gash in his upper arm. Talsy washed and bound the wound while he
gritted his teeth and turned his head away. At least her knife was
clean, so his wound was unlikely to become infected. When she
finished, he put his shirt back on and rose to leave without
looking at her.

"Kieran."

He stopped in
the doorway.

"If I scream,
bang on the door to wake me. Don't come in here again,
understand?"

The warrior
nodded and left. She blew out the lamp and lay down, but her
worries and aches her kept her awake. Visions of Chanter in another
Trueman trap haunted her, and she tossed and turned in the tangled
sheets for most of the night.

Talsy woke at
first light with gritty eyes and a pounding head. She stretched,
wincing, then rose, thrust aside the curtain and tripped over
something stretched across her doorstep. She sprawled with a curse,
tearing the wound in her side as she was forced to throw out her
arms. Gasping with pain, she turned to find Kieran sitting up on
his thin pallet, scowling at her.

She stared at
him in angry disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Making sure
you're safe." He rose and gathered up his bedroll.

"Well don't! I
don't need your protection, so leave me alone!"

Kieran strode
away, his back stiff with indignation, either from the
embarrassment of being caught sleeping on her doorstep or her harsh
words. Talsy glared at his retreating figure, angered by his
assumption that he was her self-appointed guardian in Chanter's
absence.

At breakfast,
she glowered at him until he excused himself and took his bowl of
porridge to eat elsewhere.

Sheera raised
her brows at the angry girl. "What's going on between you and
Kieran?"

"Nothing. He's
an oaf, and he hangs around me."

Sheera smiled,
her eyes twinkling. "You should be glad, young miss. He's a
handsome man, well-mannered and clean. I would be flattered to have
such a warrior concerned for my safety."

Talsy snorted,
casting her a withering glance. "I'm not. He smells and has no
manners at all. I have Chanter. Why would I want a Trueman?"

"Because
Chanter is Mujar." Sheera leant forward. "He's of another race,
child. He can never be what you want him to be."

"Of course he
can!"

Sheera shook
her head, looking sad. "Ask Marla, the woman who loved a Mujar. She
had many years of misery, for he did not stay with her."

"What Chanter
and I have is different. He won't leave me, ever." Her hand rose to
the mark on her forehead, and she snatched it away.

Sheera noticed
the gesture. "What's that on your brow?"

"Nothing. A
clan tattoo."

She eyed it.
"And does it bind you to the Mujar?"

"Yes."

"But not he to
you."

Talsy
hesitated, remembering Chanter's warning. "Ask him."

"That would do
me no good at all, as you well know."

She shrugged
and spooned her porridge, hoping that the questions were at an end,
but the old woman's eyes narrowed.

"Have you lain
with him?"

Talsy gasped.
"No!"

"Don't do it,"
Sheera warned. "Take some advice from an old woman. Don't lie with
a Mujar."

"Why?"

She sighed,
putting aside her bowl. "It will break your heart. Ask Marla why
she's never married, never had children. She'll explain it to
you."

"He doesn't
seem to want me, anyway," Talsy muttered, her cheeks warming with
embarrassment even as she hoped that Sheera could explain why this
was so.

The old woman
paused, as if on the verge of telling her something, then said,
"Good, let it remain so."

Talsy spent the
day on the beach, scanning the sky for the first glimpse of the
returning Mujar. That evening, when Sheera renewed the dressing on
Talsy's wound, she shook her head at the puss that filled it,
unaffected by her lotions and poultices.

"Those damned
brigands and their dirty blades," she muttered. "They need only
wound you, and you can die. This is the same sort of infection
Kieran had."

Talsy gritted
her teeth as the seer dressed the wound again, wishing Chanter
would return soon. His prolonged absence worried her.

While they were
eating breakfast the following morning, an eagle soared into the
camp and landed close by with a few powerful backstrokes. Talsy ran
to greet him even before the wind of his transformation died. She
refrained from embracing him in front of the others and contented
herself with placing a hand on his chest. He smiled and patted her
head, a gesture she would have thought demeaning from anyone
else.

"Did you find a
ship?" she demanded, impatient for good news.

He nodded,
scanning the peaceful camp. "Not much of one, but it will help.
We'll have to cut trees and rebuild most of it. It's burnt to the
waterline."

Talsy's heart
sank. The prospect of taking trees from the forest dismayed her.
Chanter headed for the fire where Sheera and Kieran sat, their
cooling breakfasts forgotten. He settled on a stool after directing
a brief smile at each of them, and Sheera dished up a bowl of
porridge for him. While Chanter ate, Talsy recounted the events
that had occurred in his absence, the highlight of which was the
fight with the thugs. At the end of the story, he inclined his head
to Kieran.

"Gratitude."

The dark-eyed
warrior studied his porridge with unwonted ferocity as Talsy
launched into the tale of his bungled attempt to rescue her from a
bad dream. The Mujar's eyes twinkled, although he cast her a look
of gentle reproof.

After Chanter
called a halt to Sheera's seemingly endless supply of rather
tasteless porridge, he healed their wounds and announced that he
was going into the forest to speak to the Kuran. The ship, he told
them, would arrive within the next few days, borne on ocean
currents that he commanded. That gave them time to cure and bend
the wood in readiness. According to Sheera, there was a shipwright
amongst the chosen who was eager to contribute his services. To
Talsy's surprise, Chanter asked Kieran to accompany them.

Talsy trotted
to catch up as he headed for the forest, leaving Kieran to follow.
"Why do you want him to come?" she demanded, jerking her thumb at
the black-clad warrior.

The Mujar
smiled. "He's a friend of Kuran. He'll be welcomed."

"But we don't
need him."

"Why don't you
like him?"

"He's an oaf,"
she snapped.

"No he's
not."

Chanter's
brusque assertion silenced her, and she followed him through the
forest. He seemed certain of his destination, while Talsy was soon
lost in the endless monotony of tree trunks. Dry leaves rustled
under her feet, at times making the footing treacherous, for they
were surprisingly slippery. The forest's haunting melody surrounded
them with soft birdsong and sighing leaves. The Mujar led them to a
stand of five tall, straight, silver-barked trees growing together,
like a family.

Chanter stopped
and raised his head, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the
forest's heady aromas. The birdsong that drifted around them in an
overlay of living sound was interspersed with a woodpecker's
occasional hammering, a distant vixen's bark and the faint
chattering of squirrels. Without their footsteps' rustling to hide
it, the forest's sounds seemed loud. He sensed the Kuran's presence
all around him, high amongst the leaves and nearby in the silvery
trunks. It stretched away through the vast woodland, an intrinsic
part of every leaf, bud and flower.

Approaching the
nearest tree, he summoned Dolana, and, in the moment of cold
stillness, called forth the forest's soul. Kieran gripped his sword
hilt as Dolana's icy clamp released him, and the forest groaned and
sighed. Talsy shot the warrior a scathing look, and Chanter shook
his head at her. A few minutes passed while the Kuran gathered,
pulling in her vastness to concentrate her power around them.
Kieran shifted, glancing around as the birds and woodland creatures
fell silent. The gathering of a powerful Kuran filled the air with
a preternatural charge, like the tension before a thunderstorm. It
made Chanter’s neck hairs prickle and his scalp crawl. Talsy
shivered in Dolana's growing cold, which, unlike Chanter's
manifestations, built gradually, with far less power.

The trees about
ten feet away parted their branches high above to let in a shaft of
sunlight. Chanter turned to face the Kuran as she became visible.
Within the sunbeam, tiny sparkles floated like dust motes, swaying
in a gentle dance. They gathered and multiplied, swirling to form
an indistinct shape. Green and gold predominated, touched with
hints of pink and blue and the barest tint of silver. The glimmers
coalesced into pearly eyes that glowed with joy and a shining
figure suffused with soft light. It sighed with beauty and flooded
the forest with an awesome, placid power.

Chanter bowed
to the Kuran's swaying presence, making a complicated gesture.
"Greetings, wood sister."

A soft, sighing
voice spoke almost beyond the reach of hearing. "Greetings, wood
brother, blessed of Life. You have reason?"

"I beg a
favour, sister."