The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (4 page)

The girl eyed
him, looking uncertain and distrustful. "If you hurt me, I'll stick
you with this."

Chanter nodded,
and she lowered the arrow.

The Mujar
approached Talsy and knelt to slide his arms under her knees and
back. He picked her up as if she was weightless, and she wound her
arms around his neck, the arrow poised close to his skin. Up close,
his matt skin glowed with health and his hair, although tangled,
appeared freshly washed.

He glanced at
her, his breath steaming. "Which way?"

"Oh." Talsy's
cheeks warmed with embarrassment at being so enraptured as to
forget this simple necessity. She pointed. "Over there."

The Mujar
strode across the clearing and entered the forest, moving with a
smooth gliding gait that hardly jolted her leg. His feet made no
sound, and the frozen undergrowth seemed to part before him and
close behind. He gazed ahead as if she did not exist. A thousand
questions clamoured in her mind, and she asked the most pressing
one.

"What would
have happened if I hadn't pulled out the arrow?"

"I would have
stayed a bird."

"And the wolves
would have eaten you."

He shook his
head. "No."

"Why not?"

"I am
Mujar."

Talsy frowned.
"What's your name?"

He hesitated.
"No name."

"You don't have
a name?"

"No name."

She sighed.
"All right. Why didn't you want to help me at first? Why did I have
to make you?"

"I owed you
nothing."

Talsy scowled
at him. "You don't have to owe a favour before you help someone,
you know. It's a basic Trueman kindness."

"I'm not
Trueman."

Talsy was about
to ask him what difference that made, then remembered all the Mujar
who had been thrown into the Pits over the years. They had a right
to hate Truemen, but she did not understand why Truemen hated
Mujar. He seemed a god-like creature to her. A beautiful, perfect
man endowed with magical powers, like a fairy tale wizard. Perhaps
he would stay with them if she was nice to him. She found him far
more attractive than any man she had ever met before. Talsy tore
her eyes from his face to look around.

Shadows crept
across the land to darken tree trunks and undergrowth, turning the
snow grey. The Mujar's long strides ate up the miles with amazing
speed, but a fair distance still remained. A wolf's mournful,
wailing howl made her shiver, but it was a long way off. The Mujar
exuded wonderful warmth that sent a rosy glow into her bones, and
the pain in her leg seemed to have vanished, too.

Chanter longed
to answer the wolves' cry and run for a while with his lupine
brothers across the frosty, moonlit land. The chase, however, would
end with the death of his brother the deer, with which he shared
just as much affinity. He could only hope that this unfortunate
situation, which his inattention had brought about, would not
become any worse.

As soon as he
had fulfilled her wish, he would be free to go. The girl indicated
that he should turn to the left and he did, his feet sinking into
deeper snow. He shared his warmth with his burden, whose shivers
had long since stopped. She held him tighter, and he flinched as
the arrowhead touched the back of his neck. He sensed the wolves'
approach. They had detected him, and ran to greet him.

The sight of
the pack rushing towards them made the girl stiffen in alarm and
reach for the knife in her belt. Chanter forged a brief mind-lock
with the lead wolf, warning him away, and the pack veered off,
vanishing into the forest as quickly and soundlessly as they had
appeared. The girl scanned the forest with wide, fearful eyes, the
knife glinting in her fist.

"Where did they
go?" she demanded.

"To hunt."

"But they were
attacking us!"

"No."

She glared at
him, looking suspicious and edgy. "I suppose you made them
leave?"

"Yes."

Talsy studied
the Mujar's impassive face, torn between disbelief and awe.
Moonlight threw pale fingers over the snow when at last her home
came into view, a cabin huddled between a shed and a log pile, all
covered with snow. As the Mujar headed towards it, her father
emerged, armed with a spear. He stared at them for several moments
before calling, "Talsy, is that you?"

"Yes, Papa."
She waved, immensely proud of herself.

"Are you all
right?" Her father hurried closer, lowering the spear.

"I broke my
leg, that's all. A bog boar attacked me, but I still got supper."
She waved the hare. "This nice man helped me." With a quick smile
at her saviour, she explained, "This is my father, Borak."

Her father fell
into step beside them, glancing at the Mujar, but clearly unable to
see much in the gloom. Flinging open the cabin door, he admitted
them into a cosy room that a roaring fire in a crude stone hearth
and several oil lamps lighted. Dried clay filled the gaps between
the logs that formed the walls, and two fur coats hung on hooks
beside the door.

A
soot-blackened stove stood in one corner, next to a barrel of water
and a basin atop a scarred table. Battered tin cups and bowls
filled the shelves on the wall beside it. A curtained alcove housed
a copper tub, and a narrow bed covered with a patchwork quilt was
visible through the solitary interior doorway. A pair of
overstuffed, cloth-covered chairs faced the hearth, and another
table stood beside the stove with a chair on either side of it.

Borak gestured
to a bed against the far wall, and the Mujar lowered Talsy onto it,
stepping back. Borak leant over his daughter to examine her
splinted leg.

"I'm very
grateful to you, stranger." He said over his shoulder. "You'll stay
the night, of course. It's bitter outside, and not safe with the
wolves about."

Chanter frowned
at the Lowman's strange offer of free comforts, and hesitated when
he would have turned to leave. Borak, a vast bear of a man with a
bushy brown beard and thick brows, straightened and swung around,
apparently made suspicious by Chanter's silence. His brown eyes
raked Chanter, and he stepped back.

"Mujar!"

Chanter raised
his hands and retreated towards the door, wishing only to escape
the cabin and the implied threat of the Lowman's horrified
tone.

"Stop right
there, buster!" Borak snatched the arrow from his daughter and
brandished it, circling to cut Chanter off. The lamps and fire
flared as the Mujar reached for Crayash, but Borak leapt at him and
stabbed the arrow into his arm. Chanter gave a soft cry and
collapsed, all the Powers once more out of his reach. He panted,
his eyes unfocussed, the agony transfixing him.

Borak leant
over him and spoke garbled words, and Chanter stared at him in
confusion. He writhed as Borak yanked the arrow out and the world
sprang back into focus, fresh agony shooting up his arm. The Lowman
pinned him to the floor with a boot on his throat and brandished
the arrow in his face.

"Now you owe
me, Mujar," he snarled, "Gratitude, right?"

Chanter nodded,
shivering as the Earthpower sank frigid tendrils into his flesh.
"Wish."

Borak grunted
and lifted his foot, brushing his mustard yellow leggings as if
touching a Mujar had soiled him. The girl sat up and stared at
Chanter with wide eyes, clearly surprised by her father's
cruelty.

"Did you have
to hurt him, papa?"

Borak kicked
Chanter in the ribs, making him grunt. "Mujar scum. He can do much
more than carry you home, lass. You had to make him do that, didn't
you?"

"Yes," she
admitted.

"He'd have left
you to the wolves, girl. Mujar have no feelings. I'm glad you got
him. Another one for the Pit."

Chanter sat up,
freeing himself from most of the Dolana. The slight warmth of
Crayash ignited in his bones, dispelling the numbing cold that had
so swiftly invaded him whilst the man's boot had held him down.
Trapped again by gratitude, he looked up at the Lowman.

"Wish."

"Shut up,
damned Mujar scum," Borak snarled.

Chanter bowed
his head so his hair fell forward and blocked out his tormentor's
hateful expression.

The Mujar’s
meek acceptance amazed Talsy. Surely he could see he need not be
grateful to people who kept sticking a gold-headed arrow into him
and then demanding a wish when they pulled it out? She turned to
her father as he sat beside her to remove her splints.

"Watch him,"
Borak admonished. "He might try to slip away."

"Why did all
the lamps and the fire get so bright just now?"

"He reached for
the Power of Fire, probably to burn a hole in the door so he could
escape."

She shivered.
"Or to burn you."

"No, Mujar
don't kill. In fact, they don't like to harm anything. That's why
they leave the forest and come into towns looking for food." Borak
chuckled as he undid her leggings. "Ironic, isn't it? They can do
anything, kill at a touch, but they're cowards. Damned
yellow-bellied beggars. Imagine if a Trueman had their powers, what
he could do with them. Hell, they can't even be killed."

"Yes, I imagine
a Trueman would rule the world with those powers."

"Damn right!"
He met her accusing gaze. "Well, he could do a lot of good in this
world."

"And a lot of
bad. It's lucky for us they don't like to harm others, or they'd
rule the world."

Borak tugged at
her leggings. "Damned yellow monkeys. They don't have the brains to
use what they're given. It's wasted on them. They're no better than
animals, remember that. They're freaks. Useless, brainless,
spineless freaks."

Talsy glanced
at the Mujar. "I think he's beautiful."

"Oh, sure, but
only on the surface. Deep down, they're empty, just living
shells."

"That's hard to
believe. He doesn't seem stupid, only very gentle."

Borak grunted.
"Why isn't he saying something in his defence, then? He'd have left
you in the forest, make no mistake. He wouldn't have helped you if
you hadn't used the arrow to make him." Her father peeled aside her
leggings to reveal a swollen, discoloured limb.

"I asked him
about that. He said that he didn't owe me anything. After all, we
throw them in the Pits. Why should they help us?"

"They never
helped, even before that. Don't waste your pity on him. He doesn't
deserve it. He wouldn't even understand it."

Borak patted
his daughter's hand, then rose and kicked the Mujar, making him
flinch and look up. "Wish, you damned monkey."

Chanter nodded.
"Wish."

"Heal my
daughter's leg."

Chanter glanced
at the girl, confused. Why did they not use the Power of Shissar to
heal her? The shaman of his clan had never asked him to heal the
sick, and he had always assumed that Lowmen could do it themselves.
Still, if they wanted him to do it, he owed gratitude, and healing
was easy. He went over to the bed and knelt beside it, and Borak
crossed the room to rummage in a drawer. Chanter examined the
girl’s swollen limb, running his slender hands over it in a
feather-light touch that made her shiver. Glancing around, he spied
a water jug on the table and rose to fetch it. Borak stepped into
his path and brandished the arrow, making Chanter step back in
alarm.

"Where do you
think you're going, Mujar?"

Chanter pointed
at the jug. "Shissar."

Borak eyed him.
"Water, eh? All right, take it."

Chanter poured
a cup of water, giving Borak a wide berth as he returned to the
girl's side. He dipped his hand into the cup, and the cool Power
flowed into him in a liquid tingle. Pain shot up his arm, and he
bowed his head to hide his grimace. As soon as it passed, he
scooped up a handful of water and trickled it onto the girl's leg,
then laid his hand on it and let the Shissar flow through him in a
river of glittering sweetness. It brought visions of waves and
spume, rain and running brooks, the silken touch of water.

Talsy gasped as
the room seemed to fill with mist and her sight blurred as if she
was under water. The faint thunder of surf mixed with the trilling
gurgle of a running creek and the soft whispering hiss of falling
rain. It vanished, leaving her mouth filled with the sweet, clean
taste of water, and she stared at the Mujar. He sat back, removed
his hand and met her gaze. The gentle glow in the depths of his
eyes struck her. The softness bespoke infinite compassion and
unspoken wisdom, mixed with a strange, passive emptiness.

Borak stepped
up behind him, whipped a thin rope around his neck and pulled it
tight. The Mujar's hands flashed up to grip it, then he released it
with a hiss, as if burnt. He slumped, his eyes closed and his hands
fell to his sides.

Borak chuckled
as he tied the rope. "Now he's not going anywhere."

"What's wrong
with him?" she demanded, concerned that the Mujar sat so still, his
head bowed.

"I heard about
this method, and it certainly works, wouldn't you say?"

Talsy shook her
head, became aware that her leg no longer hurt and glanced at it.
Her limb was slim and straight once more, as if it had never been
hurt. She flexed it, finding it as good as it ever was. The Mujar
had healed her completely and painlessly, and his reward had been
entrapment and cruelty.

"What have you
done to him?"

Borak settled
into a chair in front of the fire, filled his pipe and lighted it,
his eyes twinkling. "Gold, lass. There's a thread of gold in that
rope, and now he's trapped by it. Odd effect it has on them. Makes
them all sleepy and helpless. We'd have used it to enslave the
useless bastards, but they turn into zombies at the touch of gold,
no good for anything. Still, as long as that's around his neck, he
can't do anything. Come spring, I'll take him to the Pit over at
Mercher's Crossing."