The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God (7 page)

Chanter ate the
stew, washed his bowl in the snow and handed it back to her. After
putting away the equipment, she arranged the bedding in the tent
and crawled into it, waiting with bated breath for the Mujar to
join her. Dusk crept across the land, sending long fingers of
shadow between the trees, and Talsy shivered as the night chill
invaded the tent. Chanter sat by the fire and stared into the
gathering darkness, clearly oblivious to her expectancy and rapidly
freezing extremities.

When she could
bear it no longer, she called out, "Chanter? Are you coming to
sleep?"

He shot her a
startled look, then nodded and rose.

Talsy tensed in
anticipation as he eased into the tent and lay down beside her,
propped up on one elbow. The temperature rose with his presence,
and when he took her cold hands and rubbed them, his were amazingly
warm. She wriggled closer to soak up his warmth and make it quite
clear that she was willing to participate in any other activities
he might desire. He glanced at her, and Talsy shivered with
delight, her heart pounding. This close to him, she discovered that
he smelt only of his clothes' damp leather.

Chanter said,
"Go to sleep, Talsy."

Her eyes burnt
with tears of mortification. He did not find her attractive. She
was just a smelly Trueman girl, not clean and pure like him. She
closed her eyes, pretending she had not expected anything else, and
rested her cheek on his chest. Within a few minutes, sleep washed
her away on midnight waves.

As soon as the
girl slept, Chanter moved away, covering her with a fur. The warmth
he had given her would stay with her for a while, perhaps all
night. He backed out of the tent, almost tripping over one of the
silly strings that held it up. The relief of escaping Dolana's
drain was immense. Mujar could not lie on the ground like Lowmen.
Not for long, anyway. Of course, the little innocent in the tent
did not know that.

Chanter
contemplated the bargain he had made with her. The food she had
provided was good, but he did not need the tent or the slow pace.
Then again, he was in no hurry. Her offer of comforts was not the
reason he had accepted clan bond with her. It had been the
desperation with which she had begged for it. He had never known a
Lowman to beg, or to look at him with such respect and admiration.
Even his clan had treated him as a servant.

Chanter sat on
a rock beside the dying fire and remembered his life with the clan.
They had not asked much of him, only an occasional trip into the
cesspit and digging graves for their dead. Since the shaman had
forbidden him to use the Powers, he sometimes wondered why they let
him stay. He had had a hut, hot food and even an occasional mug of
beer. The food had filled the empty void of his belly, and,
although he did not need it, it was a comfort.

The hut had
kept off the rain, but he had not needed that either. He sometimes
wondered why he longed for things he did not need, but there was no
answer to that question. The bed was the best thing the clan had
given him, a wooden platform on which he could lie without Dolana's
drain. Mujar did not need to sleep, but they could if they
wished.

A distant howl
drifted on the wind, and he smiled. The wolves were hunting.

Chapter Four

Talsy woke
shivering, and realised that she was alone. Silver moonlight shone
in through the tent flap. She pulled her coat close and crawled
outside. Cold ashes filled the fire pit, and Chanter was gone. Fear
sent icy tendrils to chill her heart. Had he left her alone in the
forest with wolves and dire bears? Her father's words of warning
echoed in her mind as she scanned the frozen landscape for a sign
that he was out there, relieving himself on a tree perhaps. The
cold tent told her that he had been gone for some time. Her breath
steamed before her face in the still, crisp night air as she
searched the moonlit landscape.

An owl hooted
nearby, making her jump. The stillness closed in behind the sound,
pressing on her ears. He could not have left her. He would not. A
wolf howled close by, the mournful sound sharp in the hush, making
her nerves jangle like twanged strings. Panic gripped her, and she
fumbled amongst her belongings for her hunting bow. The small
arrows would not be much use against wolves, but they might be a
deterrent. She needed fire. Tears of terror and self-pity stung her
eyes. Chanter had promised to protect her. It had been her Wish.
Surely a Mujar would not break a Wish? The wolf howled again,
closer, and dread twisted her innards with icy talons. Mujar did
not care.

The wolves were
coming, and her only chance of survival was the Mujar who had
abandoned her. The trees in the vicinity were too straight and
slippery to climb. A flitting lupine shape caught her eye amongst
the trees, and she notched an arrow.

"Chanter!"

Her scream tore
the night's hush like the cry of a dying hare, high and despairing.
It did not matter how much noise she made now, the wolves had her
scent.

"Chanter!"

A black wolf
loped towards her from the trees. She stepped back, tripped over a
rock, and took aim as she stumbled. The arrow flew straight and
true with a savage hiss, burying itself in the wolf's chest. The
animal leapt sideways and collapsed. It lay still only for a
moment, then rose to its feet as she notched another arrow.
Vaguely, she noticed that it was a magnificent animal, pitch black
with a silver ruff and ice-blue eyes. The world froze. Silence
clamped down like a giant hand, and the air seemed to solidify in
her lungs. She was paralysed, unable to breathe or move. Then it
vanished and she gasped, sobbing as she finished notching the arrow
with desperate haste.

The black wolf
was gone, and Chanter stood there, an arrow protruding from his
chest. He pulled it out, a trickle of blood running from the wound.
White teeth flashed as he forced a smile. "You call me, then shoot
me when I come?"

Talsy dropped
the bow and ran to fling her arms around his neck and cling to him.
"There was a wolf!"

"A big black
one?"

She nodded, her
cheek pressed to his chest. "Yes!"

"So you shot
it."

"Yes."

"And why do you
think I had an arrow in my chest a moment ago?"

She pulled away
to look up at him. "You... that was you?"

Chanter nodded.
"I'm afraid so."

"Oh... god."
Her knees buckled and she sank down, clinging to his legs. "I'm
sorry. I didn't know it was you..." A flood of tears choked off her
words. Now he would leave, for she had done the unforgivable.
"Please forgive me!" she wailed. "I didn't know!"

Chanter bent
and pried her arms away, then knelt before her. "It's okay. I'm not
angry."

"You're not?"
She looked up at him in amazement. "But I shot you!"

He shrugged.
"It didn't hurt much."

"But I could
have..."

"Killed me?" He
chuckled. "Highly unlikely, my little clan. I'm not mortal,
remember? I am the undying, accursed Mujar."

"It's not
funny!" She rubbed tears from her cheeks. "I thought you'd left me
to the wolves. I was all alone!"

"Ah, yes, I was
on my way back. I thought you'd be getting chilly about now."

"The wolves
might have come while you were gone!"

"No."

Talsy sniffed,
snuggling up to him as if he was a magnet and she the iron filings.
"Why did you leave me?"

Chanter sighed,
allowing her cling to him and soak up his warmth. "Two reasons.
Mujar don't like lying on the ground for any length of time, and we
also don't need to sleep. I was running with my brothers, the
wolves, enjoying the night."

Talsy revelled
in his warmth and the comfort his arms imparted. Her boldness
surprised her, for she had always shied away from men, distrusting
their intentions. With Chanter she had no such qualms, in fact, his
closeness was reassuring and seductive.

"Why don't you
like to lie on the ground?"

"I'll teach you
the ways of Mujar, but not right now. It's the middle of the night,
and you need to sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow."

"Why do you
call the wolves your brothers?"

"Because they
are. Every living thing is my kin."

She glanced up
at him. "That's why you won't kill them."

He nodded.
"Something like that. Are you warm?"

"Yes."

"Then go and
sleep." Chanter stood up, pulled her to her feet and pushed her
towards the tent. Talsy crawled inside, expecting him to follow,
but found herself alone.

"Chanter?"

The forest's
stillness answered her, and she turned to poke her head outside.
The Mujar had vanished as silently as the wind. Fear chilled her
again, but she quelled it, retreating once more into the tent to
snuggle under the furs, comforted by his lingering warmth.

Chanter paused
to look back at the tent, alone and alien in the wilderness.
Bending to scoop up a handful of snow, he waited until it turned to
water in his palm, then rubbed it on his wound. A flash of pain
accompanied the healing, making him gasp a cloud of vapour as the
injury vanished. Raising his head, he breathed the cold, crisp air,
nostrils flaring as he savoured its purity. He sensed the wolves
nearby, searching for a scent of quarry. Crouching, he placed his
palms on the icy ground, drawing on Dolana. The Earthpower flowed
into him with its chilling drain, sapped his warmth and snuffed the
Crayash within him. Before it became too strong, he wielded it,
like cracking a whip, with a flick of his mind.

The air
solidified, and he changed within the utter silence that surrounded
him for that instant. The change required little power. A mere
enhancement of his wish brought it about, and his mind conjured the
required shape from his racial memory. The lupine form was one he
enjoyed, and used often for land travel, though flying was easier.
The change included his clothes as a part of his wish, so he would
not be naked when he changed back into a man. His skin prickled as
fur covered it in a thick, warm pelt, and he experienced vague
shrinking and stretching sensations as his shape shifted. The
procedure took only a moment. He adjusted to his new form's strange
balance, and his paws sank into the snow, its icy crispness making
his pads tingle.

A million
scents floated on the still air, tickled his nose with their
mysterious temptation and filled his mind with knowledge. Crayash
warmed him again as he set off across the snow. Settling into a
steady lope, he followed the scent paths that led to the pack. The
sinuous grace of his wolf form delighted him, as it always did,
with the effortless joy of the four-footed. The scent tracks of
snow hares, weasels, mice and ground squirrels flashed past as he
loped across patches of snow and ice. The musty scent of tree bark
mingled with the faint redolence of soil, wherein he sensed the
slow movements of moles, worms and a sleeping vixen curled around
her warm cubs.

A fat snow hare
leapt from his path and bounded away across the frost-hardened
snow, then paused, panting as its fear leaked away. Chanter padded
up to it and touched its timid mind with gentle greetings as the
hare sniffed noses with him. Like all his brothers, the hare knew
he was Mujar and did not fear him, even when he took the form of
its greatest enemy. Leaving his small brother, he continued at a
fast lope, his tail a rudder as he twisted and turned amongst the
trees, claws gripping frozen ground and snow alike.

The wolves ran
to meet him, tongues lolling in happy greeting. They fawned, tails
down, ears laid back in adoration. The leader crawled on his belly,
his mate beside him, to lick Chanter's frosted muzzle. The Mujar
gambolled amongst them, put them at their ease and invited them to
play. They followed him in a frisky dance of wolf kinship and joy.
Lesser animals rolled on their backs in ritual surrender, inviting
him to bite their throats. Wolf lore required him to snarl and
bristle, which sent the youngsters into frenzies of delight at his
attention.

The greetings
over, he sprang away through the forest, the pack leader at his
shoulder. Over moonlit snow they ran, as free as the wind, as wild
as the mountains they called home. They raced down icy valleys in
showers of powder snow and along rocky ridges to taste the frigid
wind that fingered their thick fur. Under a cold black sky
a-glimmer with a million stars, they loped through the pale
moonlight that bathed a frozen land. The song of earth, wind and
sky mingled with the soft panting of steaming breath to form a
rhapsody of joyful freedom. Ice crystals tinkled and shushed
beneath running feet, frost rimed whiskers and fur. The pack
breasted a ridge and looked down upon a sweeping valley where a
herd of deer huddled in a copse.

Chanter sat
down, his breath steaming. The lead wolf approached, fawned and
licked Chanter's muzzle in a loving farewell before he led the pack
down the steep slope towards the sleeping deer. The Mujar turned
and padded away. The moonlight's magic held him in its spell. He
frolicked in a deep snowdrift and gambolled down a slide of soft
powder, leaping and shaking the snow from his coat. Icicles
sparkled and virgin snow glittered like a bed of diamonds. A shy
fox ran to greet him and played with him for a while, then slipped
away to hunt mice and hares. A lone stag huffed and shook his
antlers at the black wolf before realising what he was, then
stepped closer to snuffle him, a world of gentle innocence in his
liquid eyes. Chanter padded on, heading westwards, deeper into the
mountains.

Cresting a low
hill, he sensed a strange emanation of power in the distance that
called to him like a siren's song. The emanation was unvarying and
powerful, tugging at his senses. He trotted towards it, opened
himself to its strange tingle and sniffed the wind for clues. His
footprints meandered through pristine snow, and he paused often,
one paw raised, to gauge the possible danger ahead. Moving around a
hill, he stopped to gaze in delight at the power's source.