The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  “But it does!” she asserted. “You could rule the world!”

  Chanter laughed even harder. “I don’t want to rule the world!”

  “Why not?”

  “Why would I?”

  She shook her head. “For power, for glory! To right all the wrongs and make it a better place.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “No one can eradicate all wrong doings, or bend every person to his will, except a god, which I’m not.”

  Talsy thumped the snow. “You could! If they didn’t obey you, you just make the earth swallow them.”

  “Oh yes, that would make me very popular.” He chuckled. “And soon there’d be no one left.” His gaiety died, and he sat up. “How can a sweet girl like you be so bloodthirsty?”

  “I’m not,” she protested, then frowned. “It would be for their own good, to stop all the silly wars and crime. Like the Black Riders. You could wipe them out.”

  The Mujar sighed. “It wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not a god, and I can’t kill.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” she demanded.

  “Both. Death is the province of Marrana, Lady of Death, and I don’t control it. You see, she really is a goddess, as is Antanar, Lord of Life.”

  Talsy snorted. “They don’t exist. There’s only one god.”

  “That’s your god, who dwells wherever you come from. These are mine. I’ve seen Marrana.”

  “How can you see a god?”

  He smiled. “If you believe your deductions, you’re sitting next to one.”

  She ignored his teasing. “When did you see her?”

  “On my clan’s killing fields.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “A mist, a face... Three faces, actually.”

  Talsy considered that, struck by the strangeness of the Mujar’s earlier statement. “Why did you say, ‘wherever I come from’?”

  Chanter’s brows rose. “You don’t come from this world. Don’t you know that?”

  “Then where do we come from?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Then how do you know we don’t belong here?”

  “Because you’re different.”

  “How?”

  “You don’t fit in.” He looked pensive. “How can I explain? Every living thing of this world relates to it, see? Every creature feels the Powers and can use them, but you don’t, and nor do your animals. Your people don’t belong here.”

  “How long have we been here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did we get here?”

  “You came in a wingless silver bird that fell from the sky, and my gods remade you and your beasts.”

  Talsy shook her head. “But you saw your Goddess of Death on your clan’s killing fields. What was she doing?”

  “Gathering souls.”

  “The souls of my people, who don’t belong here.”

  He nodded. “What choice does she have?”

  “She could leave them here.”

  “That would probably cause problems.”

  “What does she do with them?”

  “They go to the Lake of Dreams.” He paused. “The silver bird brought five hundred and thirty-seven Trueman souls here, as well as several less evolved souls. The gods could have destroyed them, but they decided to give them a chance and recreated the forms in which they lived, putting many of them into animals, which they learnt about from the souls’ memories. Souls multiply when they leave their corporeal bodies, giving off sparks that then start new lives as simple animals. They rest in the Lake of Dreams until they’re reborn.”

  “A paradise?”

  “Something like that.”

  Talsy stared into space for several minutes while she pondered this.

  Chanter asked, “Have I answered all your questions?”

  She shook her head. “You don’t have all the answers.”

  “That’s because I’m not a god.”

  “You’re a demigod then. Certainly to me you are.”

  He smiled. “Well, just don’t expect me to tear down the mountains or part the seas, and certainly not solve all the problems of the world.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t. I could tear down the mountains, although I wouldn’t want to, but I can’t solve the problems of the world.”

  “Because you won’t kill?”

  “Yes, if killing is the answer.”

  “It seems to me that Mujar are very gentle people,” she said. “To have so much power, and yet refuse to use it violently, even when you’re tortured and thrown into Pits, must be hard. My father told me that you’ll never harm a person, and yet he hates your kind.”

  “Your father’s wrong. Mujar can do great harm, very easily. Too easily, in fact. The mere manifestation of our power can frighten Truemen, as it did you. But we try not to do harm.”

  “How do you know so much about the silver bird and everything? Who told you?”

  “No one,” he replied.

  “Then how do you know about it?”

  He shrugged. “I just do.”

  “You mean you were born with it?”

  “I suppose so.” He rose and added more wood to the fire. Talsy yawned behind her hand.

  Chanter said, “Better let me fix that ankle.”

  She had almost forgotten the painful joint, but as soon as he reminded her, it ached. She cocked her head and smiled. “Do I deserve a Wish?”

  “No, this is part of the clan bond. Within a clan, small favours are earned with comforts. There’s no need for a Wish. You asked for help and transportation as the clan bargain, and this is help. Protection was your Wish.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Not a lot, except I can break clan bond at any time, but not until your Wish of protection has been fulfilled.”

  “So if I never need your protection…”

  He smiled. “That’s unlikely, or I wouldn’t have granted it.”

  Chanter healed her ankle, and she wondered afresh at this strange man who would not lift a finger to save a person in trouble. Afterwards, she crawled into the tent, where he joined her for a while to share his warmth, propped up on one elbow as before, and she fell asleep snuggled close to him. She woke later alone, and waited for his return. Each time he was there when she fell asleep, and in the morning she woke to find him lying beside her. He soon left, and it seemed that her longing for greater intimacy was doomed, since he could only spend a short while lying on the ground.

  Chapter Six

  Two days later, they entered the lowlands’ warmer climes. Broad belts of woodland dissected rolling meadows that herds of grazing beasts populated. An occasional herder’s hut stood at the edge of a forest, smoke curling from its chimney, but for the most part the land was wild. Wagons and horsemen traversed the roads, so Chanter avoided them.

  In the middle of the third day, a sprawling city came into sight ahead, on the banks of a mighty brown river. A chequerboard of cultivated fields surrounded it, divided by low stone walls and tended to by brown-clad peasant farmers. Chanter stopped, and Talsy slid from his back, pulling off the bag. A surge of Earthpower transformed him back into a man.

  “I’m not going in there,” he stated.

  “We need a bridge to get to the other side. And besides, I have to buy provisions. We need flour, salt, sugar and tea.”

  “I don’t need a bridge, nor do I need to be beaten and spat on, then thrown into a Pit.”

  “But I may need your protection.”

  “Why would you need protection in a city?” he enquired.

  “There are thieves and… bad men. It isn’t safe for a woman to travel alone in a city.”

  His glance at the sky reminded her of his wild inclinations, and her father’s words returned to haunt her.

  “You could become the stallion,” she suggested. “Who would know?�
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  “Everyone. The woman in the woods wasn’t fooled, was she?”

  “You can’t change your eyes, can you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Surely they can’t harm you? You can simply fly away if they try.”

  “I might not see them coming.”

  Talsy gazed at the greatest obstacle they had yet encountered. Her people: a dire threat. “What about if you came as a bird and watched over me from the sky? Then you’d be safe.”

  He frowned. “Not from arrows.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  “If they catch me, they’ll throw me in a Pit.”

  “I won’t let them. I’d rescue you somehow.”

  “The Pits are living death. We can’t escape them, nor can we die.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Even if I had to go down there after you, I wouldn’t leave you in a Pit.”

  He looked startled. “You’d do that?”

  She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

  Chanter said, “I’ve granted you the Wish of protection, so I’ll come as a bird.”

  Talsy wanted to hug him. He had only voiced his doubts. He picked up the bag and set off towards the city, his eyes lowered. When the people they encountered on the road gave him hard looks, he stopped and dumped the bag.

  “I shouldn’t go closer. There was a time when Mujar could live in the cities, but not anymore.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll see you on the other side. I’ll be watching.”

  Again she fought the urge to hug him. He took a few light steps and leapt. The rush of wind raised a dust cloud, and the sound of beating wings filled air, then a raven winged away into the blue sky. When he was a distant dot, she picked up the bag and trudged towards the city.

  Talsy passed through the gates into a bustling, dirty place charged with vile smells and raucous noise. After the sweet, clean freedom of the forest, Talsy resented the pushing people who thronged the streets and the cries of hawkers who waved their wares at her and pushed their leering faces close. She shuddered away from the unsavoury goodies they offered, swept along by the rude crowd. Puddles of filth made the footing treacherous. Animal dung and urine mixed with slops thrown from the houses. Beggars clutched her sleeve and whined, well-dressed people pushed her aside.

  Talsy bought what she needed with a few of her meagre collection of coins at a marketplace set in a garbage dump of rotting unsold wares. Her stomach rumbled as she hurried past inns whence the savoury smells of stew and roasting meat emanated, eager to reach the far side of the river. For a girl born and raised in the country, the town was a nightmare of overcrowded squalor, a dirty maze of twisted streets lined with dilapidated houses, skinny children playing in the gutters.

  Arriving at a broad bridge built from mighty timbers, she started across, then halted when two spear-toting guards blocked her path. One leered at her and thrust his unshaven face close.

  “This is a toll bridge, woman. You got the money?”

  She shook her head. “How do I cross?”

  He gestured with his rusty weapon. “Use one of the others. Some are free.”

  The narrow alley he indicated ran upstream beside the river. Her good sense told her to stay in the busy thoroughfare, however.

  The guard winked at her. “You could make payment in kind.”

  Talsy recoiled from his revolting invitation and hurried down the alley. Sagging shanties bordered it, and the stench of urine and human manure made her queasy. Skinny dogs foraged in the rubbish, and rats squeaked and scurried along the edges. Crippled, filthy beggars, no more than bundles of stinking rags with outstretched claw-like hands, clutched at her as she passed. Feral children watched her with empty eyes, their ragged clothes revealing swollen bellies and twisted limbs. She wondered why the city folk, who reviled Mujar for refusing to help them, did not care if their own people suffered in this terrible place. Why should Mujar help those who would not even help each other?

  She headed for a dilapidated bridge, but a gang of beggars blocked her way, hands outstretched.

  “Toll! Pay toll!” they cried, jumping into her path when she tried to sidestep them.

  Ignoring her protests, they persisted until she gave up and carried on along the alley in search of a bridge that neither soldiers nor beggars claimed. Further on, she came to a rude barricade that forced her to turn into a side street leading away from the river. At the next junction, she entered a narrow road running parallel to the spate, and searched for a way back to the bank. The alleys twisted and turned in a fiendish maze, and she soon realised that she was lost. She looked up at the rows of crows that lined the rooftops, preening and calling harshly. If only she had wings.

  The afternoon dwindled as the sun sank towards the mountains, out of sight in this endless warren of foul streets. Dusk would soon fall, and she still had to pass through the second half of the city, on the other side of the river. By now, she had no idea which direction to take. Tumbledown huts blocked her view on every side. An old blind beggar squatted beside the road, rattling a tin cup in which a few stones resided, and she approached him.

  “Can you tell me how to get to the river, old man?” she asked.

  He rattled his cup. “Coin for aid, missy.”

  Talsy fished out a copper and dropped it into the cup. The old beggar tucked the cup into his ragged robes and cackled. “Foolish woman. How do I know where the river is? I’m blind!”

  “Surely you know where you are?”

  “Somewhere in the accursed slums.”

  Talsy groaned. “But is it east or west?”

  “No idea.” The beggar cackled again, revealing shrunken, toothless gums.

  Talsy cursed him and walked on. The heavy bag dug into her shoulder and her legs ached. She tried to remember whether she had been walking towards the setting sun when she had been on the thoroughfare. Then it had been closer to noon, however, and harder to tell which way was west. Vainly she searched for an alley that led west, hoping it would take her to the river, but each one she turned into curved away from the sun. The narrow streets were deserted now. Even the beggars had vanished into their shelters for the night. Gathering gloom darkened the city as the sun sank. No lights shone from the shanties, and only a few street lamps illuminated the grimy roads.

  Just as she wondered if she should find a hole to crawl into for the night, a rattle behind her made her jump and swing around. Four burly men approached her, their dirty, unshaven faces wearing knowing leers as they fingered sticks and rusty knives. One had a longbow slung across his back, and his bright, mocking eyes raked her above a gap-toothed grin.

  “Well, well, what have we here, boys? A little bird lost in the woods.”

  His cronies chuckled, and Talsy backed away, unslung her hunting bow and notched an arrow.

  The roughnecks’ leader guffawed. “She’s got some little pins, lads, look at that! Not a bird, but a little vixen, hey?”

  “Leave me alone,” Talsy said, aiming at his face. Even a hunting arrow through the eye could be deadly.

  The leader’s smile faded, and he unslung the longbow and pulled a barbed war arrow from the quiver on his back. “You want to play with fire, hey? Mine’s bigger than yours, little girl.”

  The men sniggered. Talsy tried to keep them all in sight, but two slunk along the sides of the alley behind her. “Call them off, or you get it!” she shouted at the leader, who grinned and began to bob and weave.

  A brigand rushed her from the side, and she let fly the arrow with a vicious buzz. The leader yelled as it hit him in the shoulder, and his crony swept her off her feet, laughing. Talsy dropped the bow, drew her skinning knife and sliced her captor’s cheek open. He bellowed and dropped her. Springing up, she dived for the shadows, but another man grabbed her wrist and swung her around.

  Talsy’s wild swing cut a bloody line across his chest, and he smacked the knife from her grasp. It landed somewhere amongst the garbage with a tinkle, lost
in the gloom. The other men closed in. She sank her teeth into the hand that gripped her arm, and the brigand cursed and released her. Again she tried to make a run for it, but another ruffian tripped her up, and she sprawled in the refuse. A man pinned her down, grabbed her flailing arms and flipped her onto her back.

  The leader loomed over her, his brows knotted and mouth twisted. Blood seeped down the front of his dirty brown tunic from the arrow wound in his shoulder. She had injured three out of the four, but was now helpless. While one man held her, another pulled at her clothes. He found her purse and mocked it, then tugged at the thongs that bound her jacket.

  The leader leered down at her. “You’re going to pay for this, bitch! I’m going to tear you apart!”

  The cutthroat unfastened his trousers while the other man used his knife to cut her jacket’s thongs, pulling it open. Talsy tried to kick whoever she could reach, but they laughed at her futile efforts. She yelled for help, and the man slapped her, making her eyes water and her ears ring.

  “That’s right, scream, bitch! I love to hear you scream,” the leader snarled.

  Talsy shrieked again when the man who straddled her beat her head on the ground, his hands around her throat.

  A flash of fire ripped the air apart. An inferno engulfed them with the stench of burning and a crackle of flames. Talsy screamed, and her tormentors swore. The manifestation vanished, and she discovered that she was sheathed in blue fire. The man who pinned her down leapt away with a bellow of pain, beating the flames that had ignited on his greasy clothes. The others recoiled, brushing at singed brows and hair, cursing foully.

  Talsy beat at the fire that licked her skin, but it did not burn. As her attackers retreated, it followed, surrounding her in a ring of flame six feet high. She scrambled to her feet and pulled her jacket closed, glaring at the men who stumbled back from the spreading fire, their arms raised to ward off the heat. No heat touched her, and the blue fire lighted the slums with a ghostly glow.

  The leader cursed. “Mujar! She’s got a damned Mujar protecting her!” He reached for his longbow. His cronies scanned the surroundings. Talsy searched for a way to flee, sure that the ring would let her through, but the cutthroats were still all around her. The leader notched an arrow and looked around, then up.

  “There!” He raised the bow, and she glanced up. An owl perched on a nearby roof, its eyes glowing silver-blue in the flames. As the man took aim, Chanter spread his wings and leapt into the air. The man drew the bow and released the arrow with a savage, buzzing hiss. It struck the owl in a cloud of snowy feathers. His wings folded, and he plummeted, flapping.