The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  Chanter lay with her until she fell asleep, but she woke later, cold and alone. He stood by the railing, staring at the firewall.

  Talsy rose and joined him. “What’s wrong?”

  “The Hashon Jahar tried to cross the river beyond the barrier.”

  Talsy followed his gaze. The fire crossed the river upstream, extending the wall to the far bank. It roared from the water, sending up clouds of steam. The Black Riders milled on the bank, their steeds rearing and wheeling away from the flames. The Mujar watched them with narrowed eyes that glowed in the flames’ light.

  “What if they try to swim under the fire?” she asked.

  “They won’t. The barrier extends below the surface.”

  “Fire under the water?”

  He smiled. “No. Ice.”

  “But how can the river flow?”

  “It’s not a solid wall. Water can pass through it, but not men.”

  She gazed at the Black Riders. “If they can’t die, why don’t they just walk through the fire?”

  “They can be harmed, and they would be so badly burnt they would not be able to fight once they got through it. And if they did get through, I would raise a wall of ice within the circle. Then, if they had the strength to smash their way through several feet of ice and tried, I would thicken the wall. If they somehow got through the ice, I would raise a wall of rock. They can’t win, and they know it. No one can defy the will of a Mujar except another, and if two of us had to fight, which we never would, we would tear the world apart.”

  Talsy nodded, reassured. “So they thought they could sneak past while you were asleep?”

  “It seems so, but Mujar don’t need to sleep. They know that, but if they thought me inattentive, they were wrong.”

  They waited until the Hashon Jahar returned to the fields, where they settled once more. Chanter lay with her until morning, when the servant brought them breakfast. Beyond the firewall, the Riders had dismounted and stood or sat in groups, their steeds lying on the ploughed ground. Evidently they had settled down for a long wait, but showed no signs of setting up camp, and their horses carried only saddles and armour. They remained mostly motionless and utterly silent, as if dozing. Talsy squinted at them through the firewall’s heat shimmer, but they were too distant and distorted to see clearly.

  Talsy spent the morning alone with Chanter, but at lunchtime Tranton came to ask why the firewall now crossed the river. Talsy told him, and he left to inform the governor. In the city below, life seemed to have returned to normal, apart from the queues of people still climbing the wall to gaze at the firewall. The bridges groaned under the crowds that came to see the fire that crossed the river, often hidden behind clouds of billowing steam. The day passed uneventfully, as did the night.

  In the afternoon of the second day, Talsy decided to go down into the city to buy the supplies they would need to continue their journey, replacing what she had lost. A guard followed her with his spear at the ready. The people’s hostility amazed her, for their hatred seemed to have grown. Many spat at her and shouted insults, their faces twisted with hate. The guardsman was forced to shake his spear many times to keep them at bay. Talsy’s anger grew at their ingratitude, and she longed to shout back that they owed their lives to a Mujar, and should be grateful. She knew it would be futile, however, and her shopping was fraught with problems. Many shopkeepers refused to serve her until the soldier made them, and others closed their shops when they saw her coming.

  At the armourer, a stony-eyed man glared at her. She asked for a good hunting knife, and he produced a poor rusty thing. A passer-by paused to spit on the street beside her.

  “Mujar whore!”

  The guard raised his spear, and the man walked off.

  Talsy turned back to the armourer. “I want a good knife, not a piece of rubbish. I have silver.”

  The blacksmith shrugged. “We’re all out.”

  Boxes of knives glinted behind a bead curtain, and she restrained her anger with an effort. “Then I’d like to order one made.”

  “We’re too busy. We have to make swords to fight the Black Riders when the yellow filth leaves.”

  “Be glad the yellow filth is even buying you the time to make them,” she retorted.

  The armourer turned away. “I don’t have to listen to you, Mujar slut. Go back to your scum lover.”

  Talsy wanted to leap over the counter and throttle him. As she was about to leave, another man appeared through the curtains. He had a well-trimmed grey beard, and his face burnt deep brown from years working near a furnace. He raised an enquiring brow at the younger man.

  “What’s going on, Ranar?”

  “It’s the Mujar bitch from the tower.”

  “Ah.” The older man regarded Talsy with twinkling grey eyes. “How can we help you?”

  “Father!” Ranar protested.

  His father held up a hand. “Business is business, son.”

  “I want a good hunting knife,” Talsy repeated.

  “Certainly.” The old man disappeared through the curtains and returned with a shiny, skilfully made hunting knife. He gave it to Talsy, who inspected it with delight.

  “This is beautiful.”

  “We take pride in our work.”

  “How much?”

  The old man glanced over his shoulder. His son had vanished into the furnace room and the guard had his back to them, watching the crowd. He leant closer. “Is he watching?”

  “Who? Oh, yes, probably.” She had no idea if Chanter was watching, and doubted it, since she was far from the tower, but saw no harm in making him seem more powerful than he was. The man’s suggestion made her wonder if Mujar could see around corners and through buildings. She resolved to ask him when she got back to the tower.

  The armourer said, “Good. It’s yours, miss. I’ll take no silver for it. I want him to know at least one person in this blighted city has some gratitude.”

  Her spirits lifted, and she smiled. “I’m glad.”

  He nodded. “He won’t care, I know. Mujar live by their own rules, but I think he deserves our gratitude anyway.”

  “Thank you.”

  The armourer smiled, and she tucked the knife into her belt and headed back to the tower. The old man’s kindness filled her with a happy glow that sustained her all the way back, buffering her from the insults of the rest of the populace.

  Talsy emerged through the trapdoor and stopped, her mouth dropping open. Chanter lay on his back on the pallet, smiling, his hands raised to guide the tiny flames that danced around them. With slow finger movements, he caused the flames to leap and swirl, spin away in little balls of fire and return as sparks. He weaved a pattern in the air, and it joined the fiery ballet. He drew a burning face, and Talsy recognised herself.

  “Like it?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Playing with fire?”

  The Mujar chuckled. “I can.”

  “You can’t get burnt?”

  Chanter dispersed the fire with a wave and sat up. “Of course not.”

  She dumped the bag and joined him on the pallet. “Then how can anything harm you?”

  “Only Dolana can. I told you it’s an unfriendly Power. Anything made of the earth, like metal, wood or glass can harm me. Fire, water and air can’t.”

  “You mean you could walk through that wall of flame out there unscathed?”

  “Naturally; it’s one of my elements.”

  She shook her head. “But they all are. You’re made of earth, so how can it harm you when the others can’t?”

  “Wrong. We’re mostly water, not earth. That’s why Shissar has the power to heal.”

  “Yet Dolana rules the creatures of the earth.”

  “Yes, because we live on the earth. It feeds and clothes us. We are made from it also, just as birds are, yet Ashmar rules them. Almost every living thing contains the four elements, although plants don’t have Crayash, and nor do some animals.”

  She sighed. “I doubt I’ll eve
r fully understand it.”

  “You don’t need to. Did you get all the supplies?”

  Talsy pulled a face. “With some difficulty. Were you watching?”

  “Watching? How could I? You disappeared amongst the buildings.”

  “So you can’t see through things.”

  “No.” He grinned. “Did you think I could?”

  “The armourer did.”

  “Ah. Trueman superstitions. They also think we can read their minds and give them nightmares.”

  She took out the knife and showed it to him. “The armourer gave me this. He said he was grateful for your help.”

  “Ah.” He seemed unimpressed.

  “At least there’s one good person in this city.”

  He shrugged. “Good, bad. Who’s to judge? Most are simply confused.”

  Talsy rose to gaze at the firewall and the Black Riders beyond it. Dusk sent dark fingers across the land as the sinking sun cast shadows from distant mountains. Tomorrow was the last day of Chanter’s protection, and the Hashon Jahar showed no signs of moving on. There would be trouble when the time came to remove the fire, if the Black Riders were still there. She wondered what Jashon and Cusak would do to try to prevent the firewall from falling. Nothing would stop it, she was sure, but she feared that Chanter might fall prey to these hateful men again. His suffering at their hands would be brief, for the Hashon Jahar would soon overrun the city, but they were not friends of Mujar either.

  Talsy turned to find Chanter playing with fire again, smiling with childlike delight. She approached him. “Why was there no manifestation of fire to make those flames?”

  He looked up at her. “Because I already control fire.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I relinquish control, the firewall will fall. Until then, I have no need to summon it.”

  Talsy watched with deep fascination as he played with the fire, a pastime he gave up when the servant arrived with their supper. She marvelled at the simplicity of a man who found food more interesting than the amazing powers he wielded. Then again, he had always had them, so their novelty had undoubtedly worn off long ago. She wondered why he refused to answer some of her questions, while other things he explained without hesitation. Certain subjects, it appeared, were taboo. He was far more reticent and withdrawn in the company of other Truemen, losing the easy-going camaraderie he shared with her when they were alone. She did not blame him for being shy of these people, whose hatred shone in their eyes.

  Chanter ate the bowl of beans and meat in a spicy sauce with relish, enjoying the steady thrum of Crayash. The absence of Dolana did not bother him very much, although he missed it, as he always did when he took bird form. He had never had reason to control a Power for so long before, and found it interesting. Just for fun, he snuffed out several street lanterns a lamp lighter had just lighted on the street below, smiling at the soft curses that arose. As the man returned to relight the lamps, Chanter relighted them for him, and the man muttered afresh.

  The following morning, Cusak, Jashon and Tranton arrived with the breakfast tray, which the servant deposited and left. Cusak went to the railing and stared at the Hashon Jahar.

  “When does the fire fall?” he asked.

  “At the same time it arose three days ago,” Chanter replied.

  The governor turned, scowling. “You don’t care that they’ll ride in here and annihilate this city.”

  “No.”

  Jashon cursed. “You damned scum!”

  Talsy said, “If Chanter hadn’t come here, you’d all have died three days ago. At least you’ve had time to prepare yourselves.”

  Jashon opened his mouth, but Cusak was faster. “Is there no way we can persuade you to hold the wall longer?”

  Chanter shook his head. “No.”

  Tranton said, “We have your true name.”

  “You know it, but I didn’t give it to you, so there’s no power in it.”

  Talsy asked, “Why don’t you just accept the fact that you’re beaten and start praying that the Black Riders leave?”

  Cusak swung back to the view, gripping the railing. Tranton fiddled with his belt and Jashon folded his arms. Something about their attitudes aroused her suspicions. Cusak looked a little too calm, Tranton appeared nervous, but Jashon seemed positively smug. She scrutinised him, but, other than his odd attitude, nothing about him struck her as unusual. She eyed Tranton’s belt, which was a simple cord of woven horsehair, but she had not seen him wearing it before, and it looked a lot newer than the rest of his grubby outfit.

  Talsy took Chanter’s hand and led him away from the Truemen. Out of earshot, she whispered, “I’m sure Tranton has gold in his belt. He’s going to try to trap you.”

  The Mujar nodded. “He won’t.”

  Talsy hoped he was right. The Hashon Jahar still remained at rest beyond the flames, and, in the city below, groups of men armed with an assortment of weapons waited. No women or children were about, however. Evidently they had gone to the other side of the river, so the bridges could be burnt to give them time to escape. The plan was good, but against the Black Riders it probably stood little hope of saving more than a few.

  Time dragged by as the sun crept higher. Only the muttering of the men below and the harsh cawing of crows broke the hush. Cusak stared at the Black Riders; Tranton tied knots in his new belt, then undid them. Jashon leant against the railing at the back of the platform.

  The tension broke when Cusak straightened with an oath. “They’re leaving!”

  Talsy peered over the barrier, the heat shimmer making it hard to see. The Hashon Jahar milled around, some still on foot, others mounted. The rest mounted and moved into their former ranks beyond the fire. Cusak shot the Mujar a dark look.

  “Either that, or they know the firewall is about to fall.”

  The Riders became still for several moments when their line was reformed, and then they turned in unison and headed upriver, parallel to the firewall. The leaders followed the fire towards the river, and Talsy wondered if they were going to try to cross it. Then the column veered away to follow the river upstream, and she let out her pent breath in a sigh.

  Cusak banged his fist on the railing. “They are leaving!”

  On the city wall, lookouts shouted, and the men in the streets cheered. Jashon joined the governor as the column of Hashon Jahar gathered speed, the horses breaking into a gallop that carried them swiftly away. The faint jingle of armour mingled with the thunder of hooves, and the head of the column was already lost in dust. The end of the column still passed the firewall, row upon row of them, four abreast.

  Chanter said, “Wish fulfilled.”

  “No!” Cusak shouted, but the flames winked out, causing a vacuum that filled with a thump of air, raising a cloud of dust.

  “You bastard!” Jashon lunged at Chanter, and Cusak leapt at the same time, colliding with him. The two reeled apart, clutched bruised shoulders and glared at each other. Talsy drew her hunting knife and stepped back, bumping into Chanter. He gripped her shoulders to steady her, and a sheet of flame shot up between them and the Truemen. Cusak and Jashon stumbled back, raising their arms. When they had retreated far enough, Chanter let the flames dwindle to waist height.

  “You have nothing to fear,” he told them. “They won’t return.”

  “How the hell do you know that?” Jashon snarled.

  “See for yourselves.”

  The Truemen looked at the column of Black Riders, whose speed and direction remained the same. The last of them galloped past the unprotected city as if it did not exist.

  “They may still turn around,” Cusak said.

  Chanter shook his head. “No.”

  The governor scowled at Chanter’s lack of explanation, but the reason dawned on Talsy. “They won’t, because they don’t know the firewall won’t be raised again. All they know is that a Mujar protects this city, and it’s therefore impregnable. Right?” She looked at Chanter.

  He
smiled. “Yes.”

  Cusak gave a sour grunt, and Jashon muttered to Tranton, who fingered his belt. In the city, the silence that had fallen when the firewall had winked out was replaced by muted cheering and shouting. The Black Riders continued to gallop away, dwindling into the distance upriver.

  Chanter patted her shoulder. “Time to leave.”

  Talsy nodded, wondering how they were going to get past the three men who blocked their way. A rush of wind ruffled her hair, accompanied by the sound of beating wings. A raven winged away into the blue sky, and the sheet of fire died.

  Jashon smirked and sneered, “Left you in the lurch, didn’t he, Mujar whore?”

  “No, he’s watching, but, unlike him, I have no compunction about killing.” She raised the knife.

  Jashon started towards her, but Tranton grabbed his arm and advised, “Leave her; she’s not worth it. We’ve lost him, but at least the city’s safe.”

  “Mujar bitch!” Jashon raged. “Filthy yellow scum lover! You should go in the Pit too!”

  Talsy, filled with sudden courage and a deep wish to hurt the man who had tortured Chanter, beckoned to him. “Come on then, try it! Ingrate! Torturer! Stinking Trueman savage!”

  Jashon shook Tranton off and charged. Talsy jumped aside and slashed with her knife. A line of blood appeared down Jashon’s arm, and he howled. She ducked his punch and slashed again, opening a wound across his belly. Jashon roared and lunged, but Talsy spun away. As he ran past, she stuck out her foot, sending him sprawling. He leapt up, red faced, and threw himself at her. Talsy flung herself aside, and Jashon hit the railing. The old wood cracked under the impact and gave way. With a wailing scream, he plunged over the edge.

  Talsy panted, staring at the broken railing. Tranton made an inarticulate sound and went to peer over the edge, his face ashen. He turned to her with glinting eyes.

  “Murderess!”

  She shook her head. “It was a fair fight. He got careless. I never meant to kill him.”

  “You drove him to it! You goaded him!”

  “He started it.”

  Tranton said to Cusak. “Call the guard! Arrest her! She must hang for this!”

  The governor eyed Talsy. “We can’t.”

  “Why?”

  Cusak pointed upwards. “He’s watching, and she’s his clan.”

  Tranton snarled foul curses. “He’s left her! He didn’t protect her from Jashon.”