The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chanter lay still, his eyes closed, seaweed-tangled hair wrapped around his neck. Barnacles clung to his forehead and crusted his nostrils. She parted the hair to reveal the gleam of gold and turned the collar until she found the simple clasp, unclipped it and pulled it off.

  Chanter’s eyes opened, and he drew in a great gasp, sat up and shoved her away. She caught herself on her hands and waited while he stared at her, recognition dawning in his eyes. She blinked away tears, her heart pounding.

  “Chanter…”

  Talsy’s throat closed and her eyes overflowed. His slight smile released her from the constraints of shyness and uncertainty, and she threw her arms around him, a huge lump blocking her throat. His cold skin warmed, and he stroked her hair, then grasped her shoulders and held her away to study her.

  “Talsy.” He smiled again. “My little clan.”

  She gulped as he wiped away a tear, rubbing it between his fingers.

  “You weep for me?”

  She wailed, “I thought I’d never find you!”

  Chanter cocked his head, his eyes intent. “And this brought you sorrow?”

  Talsy nodded, wiped her nose and averted her eyes. Massive guilt tempered her joy, and fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. He drew her into his arms, his action speaking volumes of acceptance and forgiveness that washed away her shame. She knew no rebuke or accusation would ever pass his lips, and the balm of his unsullied compassion warmed her with a tide of solace.

  Chanter released her and gazed around. He shied away from the collar, and Talsy picked it up and hurled it into the sea with a vicious flick of her wrist. Sensing another presence, he turned to face a sherlon. Talsy wiped her eyes and sniffed. The sea man bowed, and then made a series of complicated hand motions that served his kind as speech.

  The Lowman female, he said, had informed him of a Mujar in the sea, and he had called his people to aid in finding and freeing Chanter. He apologised that they had not noticed him before, but the foul metal had disguised his presence.

  Chanter signed a reply with fluent motions that were second nature to a Mujar. He communicated his understanding of the sherlons’ inability and informed him of the great joy his release had brought.

  The sherlon made a series of slow, ritual gestures of acceptance and gladness at Chanter’s recovery and offered Gratitude for the Lowman female’s aid.

  Chanter signed acceptance and farewell, and the sherlon mirrored the sign before striding down the beach to dive into the sea.

  Chanter revelled in his freedom and the idyll of the sunlit beach. The scents, sounds and sensations elated him, and he longed to leap into the air and frolic amid the fluffy clouds to celebrate his return to the Land of Life. The wind made him shiver and the warm sand’s gritty firmness reassured him that this was not a dream.

  Now was not the time to indulge in wild celebrations, however. He owed his freedom to the Lowman girl who clung to his hand, sniffling and brushing tears from her cheeks. Cupping her chin, he lifted her face and gazed into her eyes. A tremulous smile curved her lips as he inspected her with a puzzled frown.

  He bowed his head. “Gratitude.”

  “Oh, Chanter!” She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him again. “How could I leave you trapped at the bottom of the sea? Thank god the sea man found you and brought you to shore.”

  “Yet only you could take off the collar. And you told the sherlon to search for me. It’s to you the debt is owed, and I must pay it.”

  “Just hold me,” she said.

  Chanter obliged, marvelling at her loyalty, so unlike any Lowman he had known before. When it seemed she would never release him, he prised her away, smiling at her forlorn look. She sighed and rubbed her eyes while he picked at barnacles and tried to unsnarl his long, matted hair. Taking the knife from her belt, he hacked it off as short as he could. She watched him with shining eyes, making him a little self-conscious.

  “How long have you been here?” he asked

  “Too long.”

  “Months?”

  She nodded. “Five or six, I think.”

  Chanter looked at the matted hair he had just cut off and realised that he could have worked that out for himself. The coral and seaweed that grew on his skin and clothes gave off a nasty smell as it died. He picked barnacles off his elbows and threw them into the sea, where they might find new homes. The drying salt and slime itched, and he rose to walk down to the sea, where he used wet sand to scrub his skin in the foaming waves. Picking off the barnacles was no easy task. They sprouted in his ears and nose – a painful problem.

  Talsy helped, smiling whenever he glanced at her, absorbed in her task. When the barnacles and coral had been removed, he washed his hair with sand. He cut off the scraps and strings that dangled from his clothes, ending up with little more than a pair of shorts. Many marine creatures had taken up residence in his clothes, and he was forced to strip to evict them. Talsy turned away, making him smile at her strange Lowman prudery.

  After Chanter dressed again, looking a lot less like part of the seabed, he followed Talsy to her cave, where she cooked all her supplies in a stew. She could hardly bear to take her eyes off him. The miracle of his return was almost too amazing for her reeling mind to accept.

  “I missed you,” she said.

  “I noticed.”

  She stirred the stew, smiling. “Who was the silver sea man?”

  “A sherlon: a creature of this world.”

  “Why did he save me when I swam out after him and the current swept me away?”

  “Like all the creatures of this world, they revere life, although it is odd that he saved a Lowman. Perhaps he felt sorry for you.”

  “Probably. Then he found you.”

  “Yes.” Chanter took her hands. “If not for you, I’d have stayed there until my life ended. You saved me.” He met her eyes, his gaze intense. “Gratitude.”

  Talsy grinned. “A very big one, I suppose?”

  “The biggest any Mujar has ever owed.”

  “Bigger than releasing you in my father’s house?”

  He nodded. “The fact that you and your father were the perpetrators reduced the Gratitude immensely, but this time you saved me from others, so it’s unsullied.”

  She leant forward and kissed his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

  He looked puzzled. “Make a Wish.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I was to blame for what happened, and I want nothing except for you to be free.”

  “You rescued me only for my sake?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How would you feel if I chose to break clan bond now and leave?”

  She pulled a face. “Sad.”

  “Not angry or hateful?”

  “No. I’d still be glad that you’re free, and I freed you. I’d only be sad that you left me.”

  Chanter squinted out to sea. “I offer you the Wish again. Anything you want; anything at all.”

  “I want nothing.”

  “Why were you weeping when you took off the collar?”

  She smiled. “For joy.”

  “That I had been returned to you.”

  “That you were free.”

  Chanter frowned, and she dished up the stew to distract him. He seemed so deep in thought she feared that he wanted to leave. When she collected the empty bowls, he looked up at her again.

  “You must accept the Wish. Name it now, for I’ll not offer it again. I’ll grant you anything, even to stay with you always, which I know you want.”

  She looked away, ashamed of her selfish hope. “Yes, I want that, but I won’t ask you for it, no matter how many times you offer me a Wish. Your happiness is more important to me than my own. Don’t you understand that?”

  Chanter bowed his head, then raised it. “Look at me.”

  Talsy met his piercing eyes, and he held her gaze. He jumped up, startling her, and she thought he was going to leave
her forlorn on this barren shore. Then he held out a hand and, when she took it, pulled her to her feet. He led her down the beach until the waves lapped at her toes, where he turned to her, releasing her hand. The urge to beg him to stay almost overwhelmed her, but the words stuck in her throat. She could not steal his freedom with a selfish Wish. She loved him too much. The wind whipped his hair as he raised his head, spread his hands and addressed the sky in sonorous tones.

  “Where one is worthy, so shall there be others. So say the laws of retribution you inflicted upon this world. You commanded, ‘find me the one, and they shall be saved’. Antanar, God of Life, hear me. I, who am your eyes and ears, say you thus. I am your messenger of salvation, to whom you gave the power to choose or not to choose.”

  The gravity of his demeanour confused Talsy, and she glanced around, wondering who he was talking to. His words held the singsong quality of a ritual.

  Chanter lowered his eyes to her face. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you save me, when you want nothing in return?”

  She lowered her eyes, her cheeks warming. She was loath to admit her feelings, which she had striven to hide for so long. Several flippant replies occurred to her, but she could not lie to him. “Because… I love you.”

  “Even though I can never be what you want? Even though I may break our bond and leave you? Would you still love me if I did?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then understand this: Mujar don’t love as Truemen do. I will never love you like that.”

  Her heart ached, but nothing could change her feelings. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Chanter inclined his head, his mien expressionless. The air swelled, and the cold stillness of Dolana gripped her in its icy embrace. It vanished, and the screaming hellish visions of Crayash followed, vivid and frightening, then the soft mist and splashing of Shissar engulfed her, followed by the howling wind and beating wings of Ashmar.

  His eyes rested on her. “Are you afraid?”

  “No.”

  Chanter reached up and plucked what looked like a rainbow from the sky. The multi-coloured light swirled in his palm, and the misty radiance of water, a hard glitter of earth, and the soft sighing of wind joined it. She stared at the shimmering orb, and then raised her eyes to his. He lifted it above his shoulder, holding her gaze as he clasped the back of her neck with his other hand.

  He said, “I have found one who is worthy. Hear me, Antanar! I have chosen!”

  Chanter rammed the 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 hammered.

  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. 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 a hard, sticky surface. A terrible stench assaulted her nose, then golden light appeared, and she found that she was its source. She shone like a beacon, illuminating the steep black walls of a small cavern. She held up a glowing hand, marvelling at its radiance. Below her, black, evil-smelling slime lapped at the rock on which she stood. 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 pleas made tears of pity and rage well in her eyes. Unable to bear it, she climbed down and reached out to try to grip an outstretched hand. She caught one and pulled him out, and he scrambled up the rock to stand beside her.

  “Gratitude,” he said.

  “Go. Climb out.”

  “Wish.”

  “Nothing, just go. Be free.”

  She 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 both directions, facing her, or what was behind her. She turned to find a city defended by a high, crenulated wall aflutter with war banners and bright pennants.

  Thousands of defenders stood on the wall, armed with spears and swords, staring down at the army of death. They wore grim 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 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 wind tangling 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 were smeared with excrement and rotten fruit, and ran to her and fell to their knees.

  “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’ll 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 spurred by a silent command, the Hashon Jahar leapt into a gallop, their lances lowered 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 Ride
rs 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, weeping.

  The man said to Talsy, “You could have saved them all!”

  “They’re not worthy.”

  “Because they hate Mujar?”

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

  A bright, book-lined room appeared around her. Tapestries depicting forest scenes and rich velvet hangings graced the walls between the shelves. Finely woven rugs dotted mosaic marble 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 scowled. His gold circlet 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 put down his quill. “Answer me, girl.”

  “I... Do you hate Mujar?” It seemed the only appropriate question.

  “Of course I hate the yellow bastards; who doesn’t?” 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’re useless, stupid, uncaring scum.”

  “Why must they be useful?”

  “Why should we look after them if they’re not?”

  She shrugged. “Out of kindness.”

  “Why should we help people who won’t 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 don’t use it.”

  “What should they use it for?”

  “To make this world a better place,” he replied. “They could cultivate the land, order the weather, make things grow just right and build cities, but they won’t.”