The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  She nodded, too tired to argue.

  The black stallion carried her to the city gates, where she dismounted and walked within to find an inn. She ate a hearty meal of roast beef and boiled vegetables in her room before falling asleep in a soft bed. In her dreams, she sank into the black depths, trying to claw her way towards the glimmer of moonlight high above, and woke yelling Chanter’s name.

  The following morning, she bought a new bag and supplies before returning to the woods to cook the Mujar a meal, which he consumed with relish.

  Talsy asked, “Why are we here? If the boy’s been released, surely the Wish is fulfilled?”

  “No. I agreed to bring him home, so I must wait until he emerges from the city, then see to it that he returns to his father safely.”

  “What if he doesn’t? He might decide to stay here, even if King Garsh has released him.”

  “Then I’ll have to find him. At least in the city he’ll be easier to find than in the barracks, where they all look the same.”

  “That’s assuming the King kept his bargain.”

  Chanter nodded.

  “What if he hasn’t?”

  “Then I was a fool to deal with Lowmen.”

  Talsy looked away, unable to meet his eyes. She was ashamed of her people, for she doubted the King had released the boy. Truemen, or maybe Lowmen was a better name for them, hated Mujar to such an extent that doing anything at the request of one was a dire insult. Most likely the hapless boy had been locked in a dungeon, and the King was scheming, even now, of how to trap the Mujar and throw him in a Pit. She could not allow that to happen. She must protect Chanter.

  With studied nonchalance, she enquired, “What’s his name, this boy?”

  “Arrin Torquil. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious.” She set aside her empty bowl. “I’m going back into the city. There are still some things I need to buy.”

  “Such as?”

  “A new knife, a tent, and bedding.”

  “Have you enough money?”

  “I hope so.” In truth, her supply of silver was low, and she planned to try her hand at pickpocketing. Chanter’s brow furrowed. Perhaps he sensed that she was lying, for his mien was doubtful.

  “I can help with that,” he said. “Hold your breath.”

  Chanter placed his hands on the ground, and the air froze into momentary solidity. When it passed, he raised his hands and stared at the ground. Talsy wondered what was going to happen.

  The ground swelled, then fell open like a blossoming flower. He plucked something from the mound of soil, brushed it off and held it out to her.

  “I believe Lowmen like these.”

  Talsy took a stone the size of a hen’s egg from his hand, awestruck. A deep red glow emanated from the ruby’s depths, its muted fire mottled by dirt and flaws. She looked up at him.

  “How did you do that?”

  He shrugged. “I called it up.”

  “Are there more?”

  Chanter smiled. “Plenty, but one is enough.”

  Talsy washed and polished the stone before tucking it into her purse. No wonder Mujar were not interested in earning wealth when they could simply call it up from the earth. Another reason Truemen envied Mujar. While Truemen grubbed in the soil, sweated and toiled to make a paltry living, a Mujar could summon a fortune from the bosom of the earth with a mere thought. Chanter had handed her a king’s ransom as if it was just another pebble. She packed away the pots and plates, then stood up and shouldered the bag.

  “I won’t be too long. I’ll return here at dusk with more food.”

  “I’ll be watching.”

  With a brisk nod, she headed for the city. Chanter waited until she was far down the road before transforming into a raven.

  In the city, Talsy found a lively market in a suburb close to the gates and bought a thick fur coat and another tent. Like the rest of the city, the market was clean and ordered, with street sweepers to clear away the rubbish and gay awnings shading brightly painted stalls. Smiling, friendly people populated it, and merchants cried their wares and haggled with customers. Her shopping done, she got directions from a trader and headed for the barracks, determined to find out if Arrin Torquil had been released. At a dusty parade ground, a blue-uniformed guard with silver armour and a cream-plumed helmet allowed her in and showed her to an officer’s billet. Ugly square buildings with narrow, barred windows and grey slate roofs surrounded the yard, giving it a grim atmosphere, and the officer’s room proved to be just as stark and unpleasant.

  A tall, hard-eyed man with a well-trimmed beard rose from behind a scarred desk at her entry. His uniform had gold ornamentation on the sleeves and shoulders, a yellow sash was knotted around his waist, and a silver sword hung on his hip. The sentry stated her business, saluted and left. The officer eyed her as he sank back onto his chair, put his quill down and spliced his fingers.

  “You’re looking for Arrin Torquil?”

  She nodded.

  “His sister, I suppose?” His tone was sarcastic.

  “Cousin, actually.”

  “I see no family resemblance.”

  “Step cousin. We’re related by marriage,” she said.

  “Ah. And what’s your business with him?”

  “I wish to visit him, that’s all. Is that allowed?”

  The officer showed long yellow teeth. “Of course. Odd, though. Young Arrin has been with us for almost a year, and no family has visited him before.”

  “That’s because we all live in the Yamshar province, where he was snatched from.”

  The officer’s thick brows rose, and his teeth vanished behind red lips. “Snatched? Young Arrin is a volunteer, miss.”

  “Have it your way.” Talsy refused to be sidetracked. “Is he here?”

  “Of course he is. Where else would he be?”

  On his way home, if your king was honest, she thought, and raised her chin. The officer shuffled papers on his desk, cleared his throat and scratched his nose, looking rather smug.

  “Unfortunately, right now he’s being disciplined.” Again his yellow teeth appeared as he failed to stifle a triumphant smirk. “It seems a Mujar came here asking for him to be freed, so it stands to reason that he’s a Mujar lover and he’s being treated accordingly.” He raised his eyebrows. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any Mujar, would you, miss?”

  Talsy shook her head. “May I see him?”

  The officer looked thoughtful, gazing into space for a moment as if contemplating the troubles of the world. “Well, now, that could be arranged, but you won’t be able to speak to him.”

  Talsy nodded, and he rose to his feet, gesturing, with exaggerated courtesy, for her to precede him. Clearly he considered a ragged girl far beneath his class, and, while his condescending attitude irked her, his snide inferences made her nervous. Talsy entered the vast, sandy parade ground, her heart hammering. Her tension grew when two guardsmen fell in beside her at a signal from the officer. They marched her across the parade ground as if she was a prisoner, the officer leading the way. He took her to a walled yard, at the centre of which a red-haired man sagged against a wooden frame. His wrists were bound to it and his back was bloody with lash marks. His bowed head hid his face, and he wore only a ragged pair of dirty brown trousers. Talsy strived to hide her queasiness by turning away.

  “This just because some damned Mujar came asking for him?”

  The officer nodded. “He must be a scum lover, don’t you agree?”

  “What if someone else sent the Mujar?”

  “You think so?”

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?” she asked, not wishing to make him any more suspicious. Now she longed to get away from the army camp, realising that she had made a mistake in coming here.

  “It’s just as possible that he’s a scum lover. We don’t believe in taking chances.”

  “I think you’re just a bunch of sadistic bastards,” Talsy said, unable to rein her temper.

  The of
ficer leant closer, his brown eyes intent and his manner threatening. “Well, of course it’s understandable to be upset to see your cousin like this, but perhaps you know more than you’re telling, eh, miss?”

  Panic chilled her as the two soldiers stepped up and gripped her arms. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to find out if you, like your cousin, are a scum lover.”

  “Neither of us is!” She tried to wrench her arms free.

  “We’ll see. The King has taken a particular interest in the affairs of Mujar, since one tried to blackmail him.”

  Talsy bit back the vehement denial that sprang to her lips. The two soldiers led her away, ignoring her struggles.

  On a nearby rooftop, a raven watched and pondered. Talsy seemed to be in no immediate danger, although clearly she was unhappy with her situation. Lowmen were forever picking on each other, in Chanter’s experience. When they had no Mujar to throw in Pits, they assuaged their need for violence and pain on their own kind. The plight of the lad bound to the wooden frame was far more urgent than Talsy’s. This was the boy he had been sent to save, and it appeared the young man did indeed need rescuing. First, he had to wait until there were less people around. Chanter settled down to rest until darkness.

  The rising moon found him roosting on the gable, his feathers fluffed against the chill. As its silver light touched him, he opened his eyes. The yard below was deserted, apart from the slumped prisoner. Most of the buildings were dark and shuttered for the night. A sleepy guard leant on his spear at the camp’s entrance, a good distance away. On the other side of the parade ground, laughter and singing emanated from a tent where a party was evidently in progress.

  With a whisper of wings, the raven drifted down to land beside the prisoner and transformed into a man with a rush of wind. Chanter invoked fire in a brief, searing manifestation. The ropes that bound the boy burnt away, and he groaned and he fell forward. The Mujar picked him up, slung him over his shoulder and strode across the yard. The stillness of Dolana clamped down, and the yard wall parted. He stepped through onto a road that ran between two long barracks. Moving with swift stealth, he traversed the street and crossed a training yard. Beyond that, the city wall parted for him, too, while the sentry who strolled atop it continued his bored beat undisturbed.

  Chanter carried the boy deep into the forest before putting him down beside a stream. Arrin groaned and grimaced, his face pale, shivers racking him. His face a mass of bruises, and swollen eyelids sealed his eyes shut. Dirty brown scabs caked his lips and chin. The Mujar knelt and scooped up water, splashed it onto the injuries and healed them.

  The boy groaned again, and Chanter sat back to wait for him to regain consciousness. Arrin opened his eyes, looking dazed, then turned to the stream to scoop up handfuls of water and suck it down, coughing. He washed off the dried blood, revealing a handsome, clean-cut face with brown eyes and an aquiline nose. When he had drunk his fill, he looked at his rescuer.

  “Mujar!” Arrin scowled.

  Chanter stood up and retreated a few steps. “Your father sent me.”

  Arrin struggled to his feet, peered down and fingered the pale lash scars that criss-crossed his chest and belly. “What have you done to me?”

  “Healed you.”

  “Why? Mujar never do anything for Truemen.”

  Chanter shrugged. “They beat you because of me. I owed Regret.”

  “Why did you free me?”

  “Your father made a Wish that you be returned to him.”

  “Why would you help him?” the boy demanded.

  “He helped me.”

  “You lie! My father would never help a Mujar!”

  “He didn’t know I was one until he had saved me.”

  “Doubtless a fascinating tale, but I’m really not interested in hearing it.” He regarded the Mujar with flat, angry eyes. “They beat me good because of you, damned scum. I’m no Mujar lover, but you made them think I was.” His expression became calculating. “If I take you in, they’ll reward me.”

  Chanter smiled. “If you go back, they’ll kill you.”

  “If I take you, they’ll promote me.”

  “Maybe, but I won’t go.”

  “Mujar can be trapped,” Arrin said.

  “Not by you.”

  “Oh, right, you’ll just turn into a bird and fly away.”

  Chanter shook his head. “Since I have to return you to your father, I can’t do that.”

  Arrin grinned. “In that case, I’m going to pulverise your yellow Mujar head and take you back for the King to play with. He loves new toys, and so does that sadistic little shit of a son he’s got. Between them, they should enjoy you.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Arrin.”

  “Don’t soil my name with your filthy tongue, Mujar scum!” The boy picked up a rock. “I’m going to make mincemeat out of you.”

  The Mujar sighed and ducked as the stone flew past his head. This task, it seemed, would be more difficult than he had thought. He retreated as Arrin picked up another rock and strode towards him. He was starting to regret healing the boy.

  Arrin said, “Come on, fight, you yellow bastard!”

  “Mujar don’t fight.”

  “That’s right, Mujar don’t do anything. They sit around and pick through Truemen’s garbage like the stinking yellow dogs they are. Or at least they used to, until we threw them all in the Pits.”

  “You can’t goad me.”

  “No, Mujar have no feelings. You’re no better than damned animals.”

  Chanter continued to retreat, shaking his head. Arrin charged, the stone raised. Chanter stepped aside, letting the boy stumble past. Arrin swung back and lunged at him again. As he avoided the boy’s clumsy rush, Chanter realised that he was running out of time. Dawn’s first rosy streaks gilded the clouds, and birds awakened to greet the day with shy songs. Arrin turned to make his third charge, and Chanter invoked Dolana.

  The air froze in a deathly hush for an instant, then roots shot from the earth to twine around the boy’s ankles. He fell, dropped the stone and twisted to claw at the roots. More shot up to encircle his thighs and torso, pinning his arms. He shouted threats as the woody trap held him down.

  Chanter stood over him. “I’ll return for you as soon as I can.”

  “You yellow bastard! Let me go!”

  The air filled with a sweet haze of Shissar, the soft sounds of water accompanying its misty wetness. A line of frost whitened the ground around the boy, and a ring of ice formed.

  Arrin stopped struggling. “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure the wolves don’t eat you.”

  “Let me go, you scum!”

  The ice wall thickened and grew, created with moisture drawn from the air and soil to form a slippery barrier. Arrin cursed and squirmed. The ice circle was just large enough to contain the boy, for Chanter did not plan to be away for long. Its lack of size meant that it formed fairly rapidly once it gained momentum, aided by water from the stream. When the wall had risen well above the Mujar’s head, he walked away, leaving the boy writhing in futile fury.

  Arrin’s shouts rang through the forest, becoming more venomous as he realised that he was alone, bound and helpless. Chanter knew that fear played a major role in Arrin’s hatred, as with all Lowmen. His father had taught him well, if incorrectly. The Mujar invoked Ashmar and transformed into a raven to wing away on broad wings. The roots would release Arrin as Chanter’s loss of contact with the ground broke his grip on Dolana, but the boy would still be imprisoned within the wall of ice.

  Talsy paced the cell, her stomach rumbling. She chafed her chilly arms, longing for Chanter to come for her. It seemed like hours that she had waited in the clammy room, but time was impossible to judge except by her growing hunger. As soon as they had left her alone, she had hidden the ruby in her most private recess. They had not searched her yet, but they still might. She rubbed her throbbing temples, the headache doubtless brought on by tiredness
and tension. Her anxiety made it impossible to sleep. The tallow candle gave off flickering light and a nasty smell.

  The cell door rattled, making her jump. It swung inwards with a screech of rusty hinges, admitting a flood of light. Talsy squinted at the two soldiers who gripped her arms and marched her out. The granite-faced guards searched her with rough hands, taking her money pouch. They dragged her along several gloomy, damp corridors that periodic, sputtering torches lighted and up a flight of steps into a room that a profusion of candles and lamps made bright. Three high-ranking officers, judging by their gold-ornamented, royal blue uniforms, brass buttons, crisp white shirts and shiny black calf boots, stood with a tall, black-garbed man, who might have been handsome if not for a bony nose. They inspected her as if she was a strange animal, and she lifted her chin to glare at them. The windowless room smelt of musty straw and dried blood. Rusty chains on the walls suggested that it was a torture chamber.

  “That’s her. That’s the one.”

  Talsy turned at the sound of a familiar voice. The sea captain stepped from behind a bank of candles, his cold eyes raking her. The guards prevented her from backing away as he approached, his cruel mouth twisted into a nasty smirk.

  “I knew there was something fishy about her. She had a tame gull, and it followed the ship, even roosted on the mast.” He turned to the black-clad man. “After she fell overboard, a terrible storm came up. The wind turned right around and blew against us. And here she is, alive and well when she should have drowned.”

  “I almost did, you bastard!” Talsy shouted.

  “How did you get ashore?” The question came from the man in black, whom she guessed was one of the King’s advisors.

  “I swam.”

  The captain snorted. “No one could have swum that far.”

  “I did.”

  The advisor said, “You got here before the ship did, so you must be quite a good swimmer. Then you came to the barracks to see your so-called cousin, whom a Mujar tried to free the day before. Now he’s gone, the ropes that bound him burnt. Odd, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know any damned Mujar!”

  “Come now; why lie to me? He’s not worth it, my dear. You’re one of his clan, aren’t you? That’s why he protects you.”

  “No.”

  He smiled. “My king wishes to reward the Mujar further for saving his son, that’s all. You have nothing to fear.”