Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law

by Southwell, T C

  They left the staff in its silent, sandy prison, and Talsy went to tell Sheera of their intention, knowing that the old seer would spread the word. Having decided to send the staff back, Chanter wasted no time. The following day, Talsy invited a group of chosen into the staff’s chamber to witness the event. She stood before the staff, soaking up the awe it inspired as she consigned the sight of it to memory forever. She wished that it could stay here, in the place where it had been reborn, but the ominous red sand that lapped at the walls told her that it did not belong in a place such as this. As soon a muttering crowd had assembled, Chanter faced the staff.

  “Staff of Law, your restoration is complete. Have you anything to say before I send you back to the place where you belong?”

  The golden fire wrote, “Great happiness and sorrow awaits the chosen of the gods, but, in the generations to come, their kind will bring more destruction to this world. Even then, I must never be found again.”

  “How will we bring more destruction after we’ve passed the final testing?” Talsy asked, frowning.

  “Not you, nor your descendants, but others of your kind.”

  “What others?”

  “Others of your kind,” the staff repeated.

  Talsy looked at Chanter, who shook his head. “It’s a prophecy. The staff will say no more.” He addressed it again. “Is this a new law, that you must never be found again?”

  “No, it is a warning; let it be written amongst Truemankind.”

  “So it shall,” Chanter averred. “Anything else?”

  “No. Send me back.”

  The Mujar nodded and raised a hand, palm towards the Staff of Law. “Go back.”

  The staff of ancient stone melted away, replaced by a rod of utter darkness filled with distant a swirl of stars. The Trueman watchers gasped, entranced.

  Chanter said again, “Go back.”

  The pillar of darkness shrank into an inconspicuous brown pebble that floated in the air.

  The Mujar spoke a final time. “Go back.”

  The pebble vanished, and a concerted sigh went through the audience as the room became empty without the formidable presence of the Staff of Law. People stared at the place where it had stood, bereft, while some wept. Talsy shared their sorrow. Its presence had been a solid, comforting part of their lives since its restoration. Every day, people had come here to gaze upon it, to watch the flaring of its golden laws and draw courage from its passive, ordering power.

  Eventually, it would have become an object of worship, as Truemen tended to do with objects of great power. Before that happened, however, it would have driven everyone from the valley with its creeping red desert and lifeless sphere of influence. It was better that it had been returned to its home, where it could not be found again. Since only she and the Mujar could understand the staff’s writing, Talsy told the chosen of its warning and asked that someone write it down for posterity.

  On a distant stony shore swept by an inland sea’s salty waters, a pebble dropped from the sky. A gull swooped at the movement, then veered away with a cry of disappointment. A wave washed over the dull brown pebble, so like its neighbours that to glance away for an instant was to lose it forever. When the wave withdrew, the pebble was lost.

  Drummer woke three days after the staff was sent back, and rose weakly from his bed. Talsy helped him to the kitchen, where he lived for a week, ate like a starving child and put on almost all the weight he had lost. His mind seemed to be a blank slate, cleansed of all memory of being Travain and all that had happened to him. Although now he could draw upon racial memories previously denied him, like any young Mujar in a new environment, his curiosity was insatiable and his questions endless. Since he did not have the energy to explore his new world, he probed the minds of those around him. His constant queries nearly drove Sheera to distraction, and she piled food in front of him to fill his mouth with something other than questions. When at last his hunger abated, he had filled out to a slightly heavier build than Chanter, shorter and broader than his father, but lacking Travain’s excess flesh.

  Drummer did not recognise Talsy, and, when Chanter explained who she was, became confused and uncertain, having no notion of the meaning of the word ‘mother’. Mujar rarely argued, but he could not understand what Chanter told him, and said so repeatedly, frustrating Chanter’s attempts to explain how he had been brought into the world. The idea that he had somehow come from Talsy’s body was beyond his comprehension, though he tried to assimilate this astounding information.

  He shook his head, regarding her doubtfully. “She’s Trueman.”

  Chanter leant tiredly on the table. “I know. Once you were half Trueman, when the laws were broken, now you’re pure.”

  “Mujar come from the land.”

  “Yes, well, usually.” Chanter sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing at Talsy, who bit her lip, trying to hide her anguish. Sheera, who stood by the stove, stirring a bubbling pot, shook her head in sympathy.

  “Always,” Drummer argued.

  “She’s your mother, Drummer. I’m teaching you this.”

  “I don’t understand, Father.”

  Chanter glanced at Talsy again, unwilling to cause her more pain. The idea that she had given him life was too alien for Drummer to accept, and Chanter gave up. “You owe her a great Wish, Drummer. You don’t remember it, but you do. Will you offer her gratitude?”

  “What did she do for me?”

  “She saved you... from a terrible fate.”

  Drummer frowned. “Why don’t I remember this?”

  “Your suffering obliterated it. Mujar don’t remember such things.”

  The youngster nodded. “This is true. You are my father Mujar; you would not lie to me. I accept your word.” Drummer rose and held out his hand to Talsy, palm up. “Gratitude.”

  Talsy nodded, fighting back the tears that threatened. “Wish.”

  “Wish.”

  “I want you to call me ‘Mother’, respond to the name Travain, and be my companion when I ask you to.”

  Drummer glanced at his father. “Big wish.”

  “It’s fair.”

  “Then I shall grant it, Father.”

  “Good.” Chanter stood up and took Talsy’s hands. “Does this please you?”

  She nodded. “You know it does. Thank you.”

  Drummer sank back into his chair as Sheera plonked another bowl of stew down in front of him with a motherly smile. The young Mujar began to eat, studying Talsy.

  “This name you wish me to call you, is it a term of respect?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “It’s the same as calling Chanter ‘Father’.”

  “I see.” He spooned the stew, losing interest.

  Chanter led Talsy out and steered her along the corridor towards the garden. “Come, let’s go for a walk. I know it’s no consolation for what you’ve lost, but you have now attained the enviable status of having three Mujar in your debt, since your Wish with Dancer still lingers.”

  She smiled at him. “I suppose so, but it wasn’t easy.”

  “No, you’ve paid dearly for the privilege, perhaps too dearly. But what you’ve done only proves how special you are. No other Trueman has managed to incur such debt in one Mujar, let alone three.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  He chuckled. “No, I suppose not, especially in Drummer’s case.”

  Chanter guided her to the stone bench under the peach tree, where he stretched out his legs and settled down to enjoy the warm sunlight. Talsy picked a peach and nibbled it as she gazed across the garden. Since the restoration of the laws, life in the valley had become idyllic. Most had forgotten about the troubles that still dogged the world outside in the form of the newly risen Hashon Jahar and their interrupted journey to the Gathering. Many did not want to be reminded, and leaving the valley would come as a rude uprooting after seven years. Talsy wished that she could simply forget about the world outside and enjoy her little portion
of happiness. Especially now. Her hand crept to her belly and clasped it.

  “Chanter.”

  “Mmmm?”

  “I have news... good, I hope.”

  “What is it?”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I’m with child.”

  He opened one eye and smiled. “Kieran?”

  “No!” She scowled at him. “I haven’t lain with him!”

  “Then who?”

  “You, of course.”

  “Impossible.” He shook his head, frowning.

  “It happened before the laws were put back. I thought it would die when they did, and it was still in the early stages. It would have been a simple miscarriage... but it didn’t die.”

  He sat up, his expression perplexed. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

  “But it’s happened. I suppose... it must be a Trueman child, like Danya’s?”

  “No... I don’t know. Travain was only half Mujar at the time, but if it’s mine...” He rubbed his brow. “Only one thing is certain. It can’t be a crossbreed. Not a true one.”

  “Then what?”

  He pondered for a moment. “If you conceived a crossbreed child while there were no laws, and it survived the reinstatement of them, the gods have allowed it. Perhaps it’s your reward. Perhaps it’s an acceptable crossbreed, because of that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Well, certain traits are harmless, like appearance. You find Mujar attractive, and your greatest wish was to bear a child who looked like a Mujar, but was Trueman, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Her heart swelled with joy. “You think it’s possible?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows the will of the gods? Perhaps it will also have some of our gentleness and love of the land. Perhaps they seek to improve Truemen.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You deserve to be happy, and have everything you wish for.”

  “Are you pleased?”

  He snorted and chuckled, glancing away. “Not especially. I had not thought to be the father of so many.”

  “Only three.” She slipped her hand into his. “Perhaps this time you’ll be more of a father to him. Or her.”

  “I think not. And it will be a boy.”

  “Good. I want another son, who looks like you, but isn’t Mujar.”

  “Oh, so now you don’t like Mujar?” he teased.

  She smiled. “They do tend to vanish whenever they wish. I want a son who’ll stay with me and love me, look after me in my old age.”

  “Evidently the gods have decided to give you one.”

  “You gave him to me. Perhaps they gave their permission, but he’s yours.”

  He patted her hand. “As long as it makes you happy, I’m glad.”

  “But I shouldn’t expect you to change nappies, I suppose?”

  He shuddered. “No.”

  “I’m looking forward to having a normal baby, who won’t need three wet nurses and grow up in six years. And since he won’t be part Mujar, you’ll be able to hold him, at least.”

  He shot her a sidelong glance. “You have strange wishes, my little clan. I thought only to give you pleasure and make you happy, not to spawn another child.”

  “And yet, you have.” She clasped her belly. “So it must be meant to be.”

  He sighed and gazed across the garden, looking pensive. “So it would seem.”

  A few days later Chanter took Drummer away to teach him about his powers and how to use them, circumventing the fear stage of a young Mujar. There was no time for natural discovery with its accompanying trauma and introspection, they had to leave the valley as soon as possible, and Drummer needed to master his powers in order to help. With the older Mujar’s guidance, Drummer was able to cope with his powers within a week. He returned briefly to the castle before Chanter sent him and Dancer out to find more chosen. Since he lacked experience, Drummer was sent to King Ronos with instructions to lead him and his people to the Lake of Dreams. Dancer had the more difficult task of finding and gathering unknown chosen. As soon as they left, Chanter instructed the people of the valley to gather their harvests and prepare for the journey to the Lake of Dreams.

  The green vale bustled for a week, echoing with the sound of hammers and saws as men built barrows to carry their meagre possessions. At Chanter’s behest, hundreds of horses agreed to carry the provisions for the journey, relieving the chosen of this heavy burden. The women sewed tents, made sturdy boots, preserved food, ground flour and salted meat. The town became a giant marketplace as people bartered what they had for what they needed. Some grumbled and protested the unwanted upheaval, but those who were reluctant to leave their homes were soon persuaded by the threat of the approaching Hashon Jahar. By the end of the week, all were ready to leave. Talsy closed up the castle, wondering when she would see it again.

  The Aggapae gave Talsy, Kieran and Chanter mounts, but the rest of the chosen had to walk, pulling their carts and barrows. The herd prepared to move out in a bright river of tossing manes and tails, gathering at Chanter’s wall to await its opening. As soon as the gate appeared, the dam of unburdened horseflesh poured through it in an eager tide, free to gallop across vast tracts of open land again. Talsy rode with a familiar group made up of Chanter, Kieran, Jesher, Shan and Brin. Behind them, three Aggapae carried the long silken banners of the valley fluttering proudly from their poles, and those that followed carried the Aggapae’s battle flags. They made a brave procession, the orderly ranks of the painted warriors leading the straggling mass of chosen.

  Talsy glanced back at the valley as they rode out through the gate. The village of stone and thatch huts huddled around one side of the tall castle, beyond which were patches of cultivation and the little lake in which Dancer had been healed. For seven years it had been her home, and a pang of sadness went through her. The gate closed behind the last of the chosen, cut off the sunny green vale and shut it away behind its guarding peaks. The long cavalcade wound through the hills, slowed by the people on foot and the herds of sheep and cows they drove. Queen Kamish walked amongst the chosen with her advisor Ardel and Captain Roth, who led her few men. Talsy had hoped for some reconciliation between her and Kieran, but the Prince remained distant and his mother made no attempt to change his mind, being as stubborn as her son.

  They passed through a land burgeoning with new life and littered with bones. Seedlings and freshly sprouted grass covered the ground; infant forests raised green branches to the bright sun. Deer ran in their herds, wolves with their packs and birds amongst their own flocks. The first flowers’ sweet scent attracted bees, birdsong filled the air, and everything held the fresh promise of spring. Strange, unnatural skeletons littered the ground in some places, and many scars of the chaos remained to remind them of what had gone before. Twisted fangs of rock dotted the green fields like stone sentinels, and rivers of solidified lava occasionally crossed their path. A few shy animals fled their approach, but the only traces of Truemen were a few abandoned, ruined towns and some old killing fields.

  Chanter ranged ahead in the sky, leading them on towards the sunrise each day. Talsy missed his warm presence at night, made impossible by the lack of a bed. Danya walked with her family during the day, but joined Talsy’s group at mealtimes. Chanter, in his adopted role as granddad, procured food for his dependents by the traditional Mujar method: begging. In this he had no shame, setting off each night with a bowl into which offerings could be placed, and, since the people he begged from were all chosen, returned each evening with a bounty of fresh food. The Aggapae’s hunters were a great source of meat, while those who had no horses foraged as they walked.

  They traversed a verdant land whose growth could be measured each day, the grass longer, the flowers multiplying overnight. They paused at lakes to stock up on dried fish, detoured to plunder rich fields of edible tubers and young forests heavy with scented fruit. The chosen’s slow march would have ground to a halt to enjoy this bounty, had it not been for Chanter’s constant goad
ing. Many believed themselves safe from the Hashon Jahar, many more had never seen them, and a few did not even believe they existed.

  Far from the straggling column of chosen, the Hashon Jahar stirred from their stillness. They turned blank faces towards their distant destination and stared ahead with dead eyes. Those broken by their fall became whole again, the rest regained their mobility and supple, lifelike forms, the steeds’ hides glossy with lifeless health. In Queen Larina’s city, the thousand Torrak Jahar that had succumbed to the restoration of the laws awoke. The walls of the courtyard slumped at the touch of their combined wills, and the Black Riders rode forth into the city, slaying all in their path. The Queen was one of the first to die, at the hands of her former ally, Trist. Shara’s family, warned by the golden light and the death of the crossbreeds, had long since taken the beggars and fled the city, gaining a good head start on the Riders.

  The Hashon Jahar reformed into their orderly columns, their inherent destiny driving them to seek out their prey. Once more they traversed the land at a tireless gallop, black fingers of death guided unerringly to their quarry. Truemen, drunk with joy at the world’s deliverance, rediscovered the meaning of fear as the Black Riders roamed the land once more. The Hashon Jahar obliterated chaos-ravaged cities, riding four abreast in an unstoppable tide. Chosen, warned by their seers, fled the doomed cities and sought haven in the wilderness, where Dancer’s sharp airborne eyes spotted some. The time of gathering was short, however, and the Hashon Jahar galloped day and night, pausing only to tear down cities in their path before moving on.

  Drummer rejoined the chosen on a plain of grass dotted with sentinels of twisted rock, bringing with him the thousands from Ronos’s city who had survived the chaos. King Ronos led them, and the horses they rode and the oxen that pulled their wagons made their progress speedy. The Aggapae frowned at the slavery, and Talsy expected Chanter to order the beasts freed, but instead he ordered those on foot to ride in the wagons. This quickened the pace, which told her that the Hashon Jahar were catching up. The newcomers brought goods and supplies, minimising the need to forage and hunt and speeding their journey further.