The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (41 page)

"What
confrontation? With whom?"

Chanter shook
his head. "You have asked three questions."

"I suppose I'll
find out," Kieran muttered. "If I live to see it."

He marched off,
and, as soon as he was out of earshot, Talsy turned to Chanter, but
he wagged a finger at her when she opened her mouth.

"Don't you
start."

"You said you'd
answer me!" She scrambled to her feet and trotted after him when he
headed down the beach in the opposite direction to Kieran.

"I said you
could ask, not that I'd answer," he called over his shoulder,
sprinting away.

Talsy made a
futile attempt to catch him, but was soon left panting far behind.
As she stopped, Chanter sprang into the air and turned into gull
that sailed high on the breeze. She watched him, thwarted yet
uplifted by his freedom.

After regaining
her breath, she slogged through the soft sand in search of
survivors, staying close to the camp while Chanter and Kieran
searched further afield. When the three returned to the ship's
wreckage, they had found twenty-two chosen. Most were youngsters
who had run fast and hidden in small places, but a few adults had
survived, amongst them Sheera, to Talsy's delight. The old woman
had crawled into a hole in the rocks by the camp and gone
unnoticed.

As they sat
around a fire and ate a meaty stew Sheera had prepared from her
scattered supplies, Chanter considered the chosen.

"So, twenty-two
it is. Pitiful few, but better than none."

"There may be
more wandering around in the wilderness," Talsy pointed out.

"No, the Hashon
Jahar will leave no one alive, including these if we don't flee
now. The only reason these few remain is because the Riders were
not so thorough in their search. They know that many more Hashon
Jahar will pass this way, and they will kill any they find.
Tomorrow I'll make the stone ship. We have no time for anything
else. The chosen must gather provisions for the journey."

Talsy nodded,
saddened by the thought of those who would be left behind to
die.

In the morning,
Chanter helped to bury the dead by opening a great pit in the
ground and closing it over the bodies. There was no time to mourn
them, and, while the people picked through the debris for useful
items like pots and pans, blankets, clothes and utensils, Chanter
went back to the beach with Talsy and Kieran. He pondered, then
turned to Kieran.

"Draw the ship
again."

Kieran obliged,
and the Mujar watched as he drew it from every angle. Chanter
thought for a moment longer, then walked down to the shoreline.
Placing his palms on the wet sand, he invoked Dolana. The freezing
solidity lasted longer than usual, then the Mujar straightened, his
hands outstretched as if holding invisible ropes. His stance was
relaxed, but a deep frown furrowed his brow. A low grinding started
deep within the earth, sent vibrations under their feet and rippled
the calm sea beyond the breakers.

The sand bulged
as the soil had done before, swelling into a pregnant hummock that
broke open and birthed a wall of grey rock. It rose, shimmering as
it formed a broad rampart some fifty feet long and ten feet wide.
The Mujar studied it, tilting his head this way and that like a
bird appraising a juicy worm. The stone flowed and melted as if
unseen hands moulded it. It stretched, becoming vaguely
boat-shaped, and pulled apart to form a concave surface within. The
sides rose higher as he thinned the rock, then he broadened it, and
it rose on a short keel.

Chanter walked
around the crude boat-shaped rock, ran his hands along the hull and
stroked the rippling stone. Again the ship changed, the hull
swelling to form a broad base and higher freeboard. The stone
rippled as he caressed it, and imperfections disappeared. He raised
his head, and a mast shot skyward, straight and round, two booms
sprouting from it like branches. Like oil spreading across still
water, the stone closed over the gaping hull to form a deck, and a
hatchway appeared, steps leading below.

The Mujar
stepped back and glanced at Kieran, who approached, raising a hand
to touch the glistening hull.

"Don't touch
it!" Chanter's sharp command made Kieran jump back. The Mujar
smiled, adding, "It's dangerous in its present state."

Kieran looked
annoyed and embarrassed. "How thick is the stone?"

Chanter held up
three fingers.

"Too thick,"
Kieran said. "It'll sink. Make it this thick." He held up two
fingers. "And make the mast and booms hollow if you can."

The Mujar
scowled at his creation, and the ship's surface sloughed off,
sliding down to the keel in layers. The mast and booms thinned like
wax melting in the sun, the outer layers running down to join the
rest of the excess in the keel. Chanter glanced at Kieran again,
and he gave a somewhat dubious nod. The Mujar leant forward and
kissed the hull. Where his lips touched, the cross and circle of
the Mujar mark formed, sealing the stone. The shimmer vanished,
leaving dull grey bedrock sprinkled with the slight glitter of
embedded crystals and seamed with occasional streaks of brown.

Commanding the
Earthpower again, he caused the ship to move down the beach with a
grating of stone and sand, sliding into the sea. The tie with the
bedrock that had birthed it broke, and the vessel floated free,
bobbing sluggishly. It sat too low in the water, however, and
rolled even in the calm sea. The first hint of a storm or a large
wave would capsize it, but, with the Mujar to control the weather,
there was little chance of that. Chanter turned to beam at Talsy,
obviously proud of his first attempt at creating such a complicated
artefact, and its flaws could not detract from his achievement. It
took years of training to learn the skills of a shipwright, and,
considering his lack of education and mechanical aptitude, it was a
miracle that the ship floated at all.

She returned
his smile, deciding that her reservations were best left unsaid.
"It's beautiful."

He cast a
critical eye over it. "I wouldn't call it that, but it will
do."

"What would
have happened if Kieran had touched it?"

"I'm not sure.
No one's ever done it. He might have been frozen by the cold, or
maybe lost his hand in the stone."

Talsy shivered,
glancing at Kieran, who studied the ungainly vessel with a
jaundiced eye.

"It's a real
tub, I'm afraid, but I'm no shipwright," he said, taking
responsibility for its design, which was fair enough, since he had
drawn the pictures Chanter had used as a guideline. "I think it'll
handle like a sick mule and roll like a pig, so I hope you don't
get seasick."

"Perhaps we
should name it the Mulish Swine, after you," she suggested, earning
a glare from Kieran and a stern glance from Chanter.

They set sail
late that afternoon, their meagre supplies stored aboard and lashed
in place. Below decks, the ship boasted crude stone bunks and
tables with benches, even rude partitions that separated the men
and women. Washing facilities consisted of a bath that could be
filled with sea water and drained out of the side of the ship, and
a simple drop toilet. The attention to detail was surprising and
welcome, something no one had expected of the Mujar.

As the ship
turned away from the land, the sea before it calmed, and a brisk
wind sprang up to fill the square ice sail that formed between the
two long booms at Chanter's command. Fortunately, the wind came
from astern, for the ungainly vessel would not have survived the
slightest list. Despite her shortcomings, the water foamed at her
bow as the ship headed out to sea at a creditable speed, driven by
wind and currents. Ahead lay the distant, unknown western
continent, where they must travel to the Plains of Redemption and
be tested by the gods.

********

The tale continues in Book II,
Starsword
, followed by Book
III,
A Land without Law
, and Book IV,
The Staff of
Law
.

About the
author

T. C. Southwell
was born in Sri Lanka and moved to the Seychelles when she was a
baby. She spent her formative years exploring the islands – mostly
alone. Naturally, her imagination flourished and she developed a
keen love of other worlds. The family travelled through Europe and
Africa and, after the death of her father, settled in South
Africa.

T. C. Southwell
has written over twenty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies
include motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she earns a living
in the IT industry.

All
illustrations and cover designs by the author.

Contact the
author at [email protected]

Acknowledgements

Mike Baum and
Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement,
and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not
have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke,
former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more
books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former
agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and
Vanessa Finaughty, good friend and business partner, for her
support, encouragement and editing skills.