The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  “There was no need,” Talsy said.

  “Jashon was right; you should go to the Pit.”

  Cusak went to the trap door. “We can’t punish her, but I’d like to see her get out of this city in one piece. She won’t get any protection from my soldiers.”

  Talsy raised her chin. “A far greater man than you protects me.”

  Tranton said, “He’s not a man, you stupid whore. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “He’s a better man than you’ve ever been, or any Trueman in this city. He’s got more decency in his little finger than the lot of you put together.”

  Cusak snorted. “Tranton, let’s go. You have a funeral to arrange.”

  Tranton swung away, and she called after them, “Thanks to a Mujar, the rest of you will live!”

  As they stomped down the stairs with a parting glare, Talsy leant against an upright, her knees weak. Jashon’s death shocked and sickened her. She had only meant to cut him a little, to let him feel some of the pain he had inflicted on Chanter. Putting aside her horror for the moment, she sheathed her knife, shouldered the bag and headed for the stairs. She needed to quit this horrible city before word of the tragedy spread and an angry mob laid siege to the tower.

  In the street, the men who had gathered to defend the wall sat drinking and talking. A crowd surrounded Jashon’s crumpled body, and Tranton’s voice rose in shrill outrage from its midst. She hurried away in the direction of the river. The deserted streets allowed her to reach a bridge within a few minutes. No guards demanded toll, and she trotted across the stout structure.

  On the far side, the city’s population packed the streets, forcing her to push her way through. She kept her head down, but the fear of being recognised drove her to buy a hooded cloak from a street vendor. Thus disguised, she pushed on. The main thoroughfare went straight through the city, a wide dirty road at the end of which the far gates were visible over the heads of the masses. She was almost halfway there when someone shouted, “Hey! It’s the Mujar whore!”

  People recoiled from her, leaving her in a clear area. Shouted insults flew thick and fast.

  “Look at her, running like a whipped dog!”

  “Scum lover!”

  “Where’s your Mujar now, bitch?”

  “What’s it like to lie with an animal?”

  “Run, filthy slut!”

  Talsy kept her pace to a fast walk, refusing to give them the satisfaction of chasing her. Rotten fruit, vegetables, eggs and stones flew at her. Most missed, but a few scored hits, and the stones stung. The crowd followed, keeping up a flow of vitriol that soon lost its originality. A rotten tomato hit her on the cheek, and the mob grew bolder. The city gates promised freedom, only two grinning soldiers waiting in front of them.

  A particularly large rock, hurled with some accuracy at her head, exploded in mid-air. Talsy looked around, startled by the bang and the rain of hot sand that hit her. The crowd hesitated, many looking up. High above, a big bird hung like a cross in the sky. For a minute, the missiles and shouts stopped, then the Mujar’s intervention seemed to enrage the mob beyond control, and it roared and charged. Talsy broke into a run for a few steps, but hundreds of angry, stick-waving people blocked her way. She stopped, a frisson of fear running through her.

  A circle of blue fire exploded into being around her with a whump. The crowd’s forerunners, pushed by those behind, stumbled into it and recoiled with screams. The throng surged back, roaring like a giant, many-headed beast. Talsy walked on, the circle of fire staying with her in a hissing wall that scorched the earth. People scrambled side, clearing a path to the gates. Missiles still flew, but most did not make it through the flames. Another large rock exploded beside her. Several archers with longbows shot at the bird, but their arrows burst into flames before they reached it.

  The soldiers at the gates pulled them open as she approached; they clearly had no doubt that the fire would burn a path through them if necessary. A final barrage of insults followed her out of the city, then the gates slammed behind her. The ring of fire died, and Talsy breathed a deep sigh of fresh, cool air as she hastened away, glad to be back in the open. She made herself a silent promise never to reveal her Mujar companion in a city again. Yet, for good or ill, he had saved those people, fanning their resentment to new heights.

  Two miles up the road, an eagle glided down to land on the road ahead. A rush of wind and the sound of beating wings accompanied Chanter’s change. Her misery overwhelmed her, and she dropped her bag to run into his arms. He held her, patting her back in his awkward manner.

  “Hush, it’s over now.”

  Talsy sobbed into his chest. “I hate them! They’re loathsome! The Hashon Jahar should have wiped them out!”

  “Don’t think such terrible things,” he remonstrated. “They’re just -”

  Talsy pulled away. “If you tell me they’re just ignorant or confused, I’ll kick you!” She wiped her eyes. “They’re filled with hate! They’re cruel, nasty bastards, the lot of them. Now I know why you won’t help them. They don’t deserve it.”

  He patted her shoulder. “Come; let’s find a stream for you to wash in.”

  “I killed Jashon,” she blurted.

  “I know.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “Why should I be?” He picked up the bag. “You’re free to do as you wish. The choice was yours, although it was an accident.”

  Talsy fell into step beside him. “I wanted to hurt him for what he did to you.”

  “There was no need. Revenge has no purpose.”

  “It would have made me feel better, but he fell.”

  “So now you feel worse.”

  Talsy nodded. In a way, she was glad of his indifference. They entered the woods and camped beside a stream. Chanter persuaded her to bathe, joining her to wash away the last traces of dried blood. That night, after dining on bread and cheese, Chanter lay beside her to warm her before leaving her for the night’s wildness.

  Chapter Nine

  Talsy stared at the giant plant with deep misgivings. Something told her that it was dangerous, and she longed to move away. Chanter gazed across the acres of massive leaves spread flat on the ground like lily pads, a profusion of thin black roots supporting them. Looping stems joined them, carrying their goodness back to the plant’s centre, where a tall stamen rose in the distance. The deep gold leaves were edged in black and veined with electric blue, the stems blood red.

  Four days ago, they had left the cool forest behind and set out across a seemingly endless plain, where vast herds of strange beasts cropped the short green grass. Chanter, in the form of the black stallion, had covered the ground at a steady gallop, apparently as tireless as the Hashon Jahar’s steeds. A distant, hazy blue mountain range lay ahead, but Chanter had stopped when they had come across the colossal plant. Talsy sensed that some mysterious means had drawn him to it, and his silence over the last few nights had worried her. She feared that she had offended him somehow.

  Chanter turned to her, his brows drawn together. “Wait here.” He paused. “No, wait over there.” He gestured beyond her, and she backed away, unsure of his strange behaviour. He nodded when she had retreated ten paces. “Don’t come closer.”

  The Mujar stepped onto the nearest leaf, which writhed, its edges curling up, pulling out its roots. She thought he would be engulfed, but then it settled back. He hesitated, then stepped onto the next leaf. It remained flat, and he walked on, taking long strides across the gaps. Talsy watched him, anxious and afraid. She longed to call him back, but knew, deep in her heart, that he would not heed her. This was a Mujar secret, and not for her ken. She could almost sense the waves of hostility from the plant, as if it was a sentient being.

  Settling on the grass, she hoped he would not be too long, and, most of all, that he would return. His slender figure dwindled in the distance, dwarfed by the massive stamen that rose into the sky beyond him like a giant, curling tower.

  Chanter wa
lked towards the stamen, careful to step on the leaves. He sensed that to slip between them would be dangerous, even for him. A strange, inexplicable urge tugged at his core, drawing him to the centre of the plant. The Powers seemed distant, unreachable, as if the plant had greater control over them than he did. He had sensed it far out in the plains, and the closer he had got, the stronger its lure had become. Now the pull was too potent to resist, and it had been a strain to pause long enough to warn Talsy to stay away. As he walked closer, his emotions drained out of him. The deep rage in his bones, which flared when he was abused, ebbed. Even the friendship and gentle affection he had for the girl dwindled, leaving him empty, without a will or purpose.

  Chanter became aware that he no longer walked across leaves, but up a long, broad path of glittering gold, seamed with fire-blue and edged with black. On either side, other broad golden petals narrowed. He crossed a flower so vast that he could not view it in its entirety. The stamen towered above him, tall enough to touch the clouds. He knew he had travelled a long way, but could not recall the journey. His legs carried him forward, and that was where he wished to go.

  Stepping off the petal, he walked over a deep red carpet that yielded under his feet. Before him, the stamen’s base bulked larger than a house, as pure white as driven snow. It appeared to be made up of filmy, translucent petals that overlapped. As he approached, the petals peeled back to reveal a crimson core, the true base of the mighty stamen, and released a heady scent that numbed his brain. In a dream-like state, he stepped onto the white petals and entered the flower’s heart. The stamen’s base was a golden tower, and the plant’s lure washed all else from his mind, as if he had not existed until now.

  Before him was an opening large enough to step through, bent double. The heady scent redoubled, and he stripped off his clothes, throwing them aside. The walls glowed electric blue, and a pod lay split into quarters at the centre. Chanter was drawn to the pod’s heart, where the quarters joined in a blood-red circle. He stepped into the circle and sank up to his waist. Overwhelming sensations flooded him, floating him away on a journey of wild pleasure.

  Chanter roused as the erotic fragrance lessened, becoming aware that he was spent and weak. He had never been tired before, but, while it was an alien sensation, he knew he was exhausted. He was also numb from the waist down, yet he could still move. With great effort, he pulled himself from the soft embrace of what he now realised was flower’s pistol, the female part. It released him reluctantly, leaving a thin film of shining slime on his skin. He collapsed on the silky blue floor and waited for some strength to return to his trembling limbs. The vast red organ had drawn him into its embrace, and there could only be one reason for that. The Ishmak plant was the birthplace of Mujar. His seed would be used to birth another of his race – the child of a flower.

  Now that the strange perfume no longer clouded his mind, he noticed the smaller pistols visible through holes in the stamen shaft. Pollen from the stamen head high above would pollinate these to create the plant’s seeds. The filmy white petals had hidden them, sheltering them from the elements while the plant waited for a Mujar to trigger the petals’ opening and the pollen’s release. The pollen now fell in a soft golden rain, and the pod’s quarters rose in unison, sealing as their edges touched.

  Chanter found his clothes and pulled them on. The slime had dried to a film that crinkled when he moved and powdered when he rubbed it. By the time he was dressed, the pod was sealed and filling with liquid. The level rose gradually, creating a womb in which his child would grow. He touched its warm surface, as smooth and hard as glass. The Ishmak plant seemed far more than a mere vegetable. It generated warmth and provided a viable womb in which a child could flourish. It contained the four elements, and every part of it reflected his colours. Or it had coloured him.

  The pod was large enough to contain a Mujar, and he knew the boy would step from it almost fully grown. Presumably the egg he had fertilised would swim up from the pistol and grow in the clear fluid, nourished by it. Since he had a navel, like Lowmen, there must be an umbilical cord to carry nourishment from the plant. A flash of memory broke into his thoughts. He stood, wet and empty, on a brown, twisted floor, beside a smashed, glass-like pod. He pushed through a crumbling brown wall to emerge, shivering, into brightness, covered with something that clung to his wet skin, small black things that stuck to him with soft white fur. The memory slipped from his grasp, vanishing back into the darkness of his mind.

  Being within the confines of an Ishmak plant again had triggered the recollection, and, faded though it was, he understood it. The Ishmak plant did indeed have a symbiotic relationship with Mujar. When the boy was almost full grown, the pod split, releasing the water and smashing as it fell into its segments. The newly born Mujar, confused and alone, stumbled around within the dried, almost dead flower, gathering its seeds, which stuck to his wet skin. He would push through the dried petals and emerge, carrying the Ishmak’s seeds. These would slowly fall off, and his wandering would spread them far and wide. The Ishmak plant birthed a seed distributer, but why else were Mujar created? Why did they live a hundred years if they were born only to carry their mother plant’s seeds? That part he did not understand at all.

  Realising that he had been deep in thought for quite some time, he looked around. The pistols outside were furred with pollen and the pod full of clear fluid. The flower remained open, but he sensed that it waited. He went to the pod and laid a hand on its warm surface again. Silently he wished the child well, hoping he would be born wise and stay free. It would be two years before his birth, and, until then, the Ishmak plant would protect him. That was why they were so dangerous, as he had sensed when he had neared it. Anything that trespassed on an Ishmak’s leaves would be killed, except a Mujar. Vaguely, he remembered leaving someone behind to come here, but could not quite recall who. The plant’s numbing scent seemed to have purified his mind.

  Chanter climbed out of the tower and onto the surrounding carpet of fine hairs. Above him, the stamen sagged, its pollen gone. With a final glance back at the pod containing his embryonic offspring, he walked across the filmy petals and out onto the broad golden ones. With a soft, rustling slither, the white petals rose, layer upon layer, twisting into each other to form the layered cocoon he had originally seen. Chanter walked away along the golden, black-edged path, realising how far he had come to get here, and how vast the Ishmak plant was. He had spent almost the whole day in the flower, for the sun sank behind him in brilliant red and gold glory.

  Chanter made his way rather unsteadily along the petal. It seemed an age before he stepped onto the leaves, as long fingers of dusk stretched across the land. The friendly glow of Crayash in the distance guided him, and, as he neared it, he gained strength, the Powers becoming tangible once more.

  Talsy sat beside her campfire and stared across the plant, where Chanter had vanished. After a day alone, she was a little anxious about him. When the afternoon had worn on and he had not returned, she had tackled the problem of how to build a fire in the plains. A hunting expedition had bagged an antelope, and she had racked her brains for what to use as fuel. Scouring the plains, she had come across a pile of dried dung, which she had discovered burnt well, making hot coals. Adding dry grass to make flames, she had cleaned her kill and set it over the fire. Now the succulent smell of roasting meat made her mouth water.

  A rustle made her jump. Chanter stumbled into the light and flopped down beside the fire. He looked tired, his eyes dull, the lean lines of his face gaunt. Drawing up his knees, he hugged them and stared into the flames.

  Talsy swallowed, unsure of whether to speak to him, then blurted, “Are you all right?”

  The Mujar raised his head, his eyes focussing on her rather vaguely. The lack of recognition in them alarmed her. He licked his lips and coughed. “Yes.”

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “You were gone the whole day.”

  His gaz
e returned to the fire. “I know.”

  Chanter appeared to be preoccupied with deep thoughts, and she decided it was best to leave him alone. Instead of pestering him with questions he quite obviously was not going to answer, she cut some cooked meat from the carcass, wrapped it in bread and handed it to him. He consumed it in a few bites, apparently without tasting it. His eyes drooped, as if he was exhausted, alarming her further. Mujar never became tired. Had the plant poisoned him? Some things did have an effect on him, like gold. His head nodded as if he was battling to stay awake.

  “Are you tired?” she asked.

  He nodded, then his eyes became alert and he glared at her. “Go to sleep.”

  Talsy put away the meal’s remains and spread her pallet in the tent, stretching out on it. She waited for him to join her, but fell asleep alone and shivering.

  When the morning light woke her, Talsy was alarmed to find that she was still alone. She crawled outside and scanned the surrounds. Her alarm grew after several minutes of fruitless searching, then she found him lying on the plant’s nearest leaf, fast asleep. She hurried towards him, but the waves of hostility emanating from the plant reminded her of his warning about it.

  She stopped and called, “Chanter!”

  A few tense moments passed before he jerked awake and sat up. He waved her back. “Stay away.”

  As Talsy retreated, her gaze drifted past him and she gasped, pointing. “Look!”

  Where the slender stamen had been yesterday, now there was a massive golden monolith shaped like teardrop. Overlapping layers of petals glimmered in the sun, each edged with black and veined with blue. Chanter contemplated it for a long time before he rose and stepped off the leaf to approach her. He walked past her to the dead campfire and sat down, looking up at her.

  “Let’s eat.”

  Talsy cut slices of cold meat and wrapped them in bread, and he tore at it. Curiosity plagued her, but Chanter obviously was not going to volunteer anything. She made herself a sandwich and settled down to eat.