The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  “What’s your name?” Talsy ignored Chanter’s hard look.

  “Kieran.”

  Talsy smiled and introduced herself and Chanter. Kieran had relaxed while they talked, but when the Mujar rose to leave, he appeared uneasy again. Chanter paused to eye him in a puzzled manner before pushing aside the cloth. Talsy rose to follow, and Kieran climbed to his feet, clearly stiff from days of lying on the thin pallet. He banged his head on the roof, and Talsy turned to glance up at him. She and Chanter could stand in the shack, but Kieran had to hunch over, and rubbed the back of his head.

  Outside, he towered over them, at least six inches taller than Chanter and dwarfing Talsy and Sheera. The old woman eyed him as he stood blinking in the sunlight, then turned to Talsy.

  “Is he chosen?”

  “Yes.”

  Kieran sat on a stool and helped himself to a bowl of stew.

  Sheera picked up a bundle and held it out to Chanter. “These are for you; gifts from the people.”

  The Mujar took the bundle and squatted to open it, pulling out a pair of black leather leggings and a silver-studded vest. He smiled at Sheera, his eyes alight. “Gratitude.”

  Sheera blushed, and Talsy grinned. While Chanter went into the forest to change, Talsy sat by the fire and Kieran consumed copious amounts of stew. Sheera explained that a shack had been made available for her, waving aside her protests that she had a tent.

  “Nonsense, child, you’ve brought us a great gift. The least we can do is see to it that you’re looked after. Will the Mujar stay with you at night?”

  Talsy shook her head. “I don’t know. Sometimes he does, for he knows I don’t like to be alone, but other times he leaves.”

  “Well, I doubt he’ll stay now that you have all of us around you.”

  Talsy doubted it too, and experienced a pang of sadness. Chanter returned, clad in his new clothes, and stayed in the camp until dark, when Talsy was installed in her shack. He paced around the cramped interior before settling by the door when she lay down on the mattress.

  In the morning, Talsy woke alone, but, as she sat down to breakfast with Sheera and Kieran, Chanter returned in the shape of an eagle and transformed. He ate the humble porridge hungrily, then took her arm and led her into the forest, where he perched on a log and looked up at her.

  “You have a job to do.”

  Talsy sat at his feet. “I do?”

  He nodded. “You must tell these people to find or build a ship in which to travel to the western continent.”

  “Why?”

  “We have to get to the gathering.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’ll see,” Chanter said. “We’ll need a big ship to carry a hundred and fifty people, although by the time we leave, there may be more or less.”

  “Why are you being so mysterious?”

  He smiled. “I don’t have all the answers; I just know we must go.”

  Talsy toyed with a leaf skeleton. “To build a ship, we’ll need wood, and that means felling trees. Also, it will take time.”

  “I know. Last night I went to the harbour up the coast, but there are no big ships there. I’ll search further afield, but I’ll be gone awhile. If we have to build one, I’ll speak to the Kuran of this forest, and she’ll give me trees.”

  She glanced around at the sun-dappled forest. “There’s a Kuran here?”

  “Yes, but she’s not angry like the one near Jishan. Truemen have only taken a few of her trees.”

  “How long will you be gone?”

  “A few days,” he said. “You’ll be safe with these people. They have no reason to harm you.”

  “So what must I tell them?”

  “That they must gather the things they’ll need to build a ship, other than wood; canvas, rope, whatever. It will be needed to repair any ship I find, anyway.”

  He rose to his feet, and impulsively she hugged him. He patted her back until she released him and stepped back to gaze into his eyes.

  “Don’t be long.”

  Chanter smiled and walked away to spring into the air. With a rush of wind he vanished, and a daltar eagle rose into the sky on powerful wing strokes.

  When Talsy told Sheera of Chanter’s plans, she called a meeting of her peers, and the word soon spread. Talsy missed Chanter, and several times caught Kieran’s dark gaze upon her, which she found unnerving. The following day, a party of men went to the ruined town up the coast and returned with rope, canvas, copper nails and tar.

  Nobody objected to the Mujar’s plans, and the chosen set to work making sails and rigging. Kieran went hunting and brought Sheera a buck for her stew pot, then vanished the next day. The old seeress told Talsy that he had gone to find his sword. She was glad to escape his eyes, which seemed to dwell on her far too often, and spent her time making sails with the other women.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Talsy looked up from the sail she sewed when Kieran strolled into camp with a long sword strapped to his hip. It complemented his black shirt, over which he now wore a sturdy leather jacket armoured with strips and studs of metal and lined with fur. Studded wristbands encircled his arms, and oddments of armour were tied here and there with leather thongs, each guarding a vulnerable spot. His leather trousers were scuffed at the knees and seat, and a short cloak of strong black material, lined with crimson silk, hung from his broad shoulders.

  The outfit looked like it might have once been a soldier’s uniform that had been patched and added to over the years. He walked with more confidence, but his guilt at his failure to protect his people haunted his eyes afresh. Four days had passed since he had left to search for his weapon, and he looked tired, which made her think that the battleground must be quite far away. He went straight to Sheera’s hut for a plate of stew, and then vanished inside, presumably to sleep.

  Two days later, six brawny men wandered into the camp. Although welcomed as chosen, they looked like a rough lot to Talsy, unshaven and dirty, carrying rusty swords and knives. They pitched ragged tents on the camp’s outskirts and settled in, watching the young girls with lustful leers and the occasional coarse remark. Talsy sensed trouble brewing when they took wine skins from their packs.

  As the strangers drank, they grew more sullen and beady-eyed, their coarse remarks becoming offensive. In response, the chosen found tasks that took them well away from the noisome group and their obnoxious comments. Talsy retreated to the beach with most of the women to aid with the sail making. Late in the afternoon, while she sat with several women and cursed Kieran’s scrutiny, which lingered upon her every so often, a piercing scream shattered the peace.

  Talsy leapt up and raced towards the sound, drawing her knife. At the outsiders’ camp, three of the men toyed with a young girl, laughing as they pulled at her clothes. Talsy attacked the nearest man and sliced his arm. He roared and swung around, his grimy face mottled, and a backhand blow sent her sprawling with a grunt. He came after her, his expression murderous, but a black sword blade brought him up short. The thug stumbled back, meeting Kieran’s lofty glower. The girl still struggled with the other two louts, and Talsy went after them.

  Her knife gashed one man’s chest, forcing him to release the girl, who wrenched free of the last thug and fled. Talsy brandished her weapon.

  “You’re not chosen. You’re imposters! Get out of our camp, right now!”

  “We just wanted a bit of fun,” one man said. “We meant no harm.”

  “You’re scum!” she shouted. “Mujar haters!”

  The larger man’s eyes glittered. “What if we are? Who’s gonna to make us leave, huh? You?” He sniggered. “Even the big fellow can’t handle six of us.”

  Kieran stood a few feet behind her, his sword dangling, his frosty gaze on the ruffians. Beyond him, the camp’s few mature men looked scared and irresolute, not an iota of courage or fighting skill between them. The brigands smirked, clearly expecting to have fun once they despatched the only warrior who stood between them and their prizes.<
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  Talsy also doubted Kieran’s ability to win, and said, “We’re protected by a Mujar. Leave now, or he’ll send you screaming with your clothes on fire.”

  The men’s eyes darted as they fingered their weapons, and the other two joined them for a hushed conference. Talsy marched closer, keen to drive them away before they called her bluff.

  “Go! Get out of here, you bastards!” she shouted.

  Two men headed for their tents, casting many dark looks over their shoulders. Three remained, their surly uncertainty swimming in wine. Its fumes had apparently reduced their brains to useless mush, rendering them incapable of rational thought. Egged on by the nudging and muttered insults of his comrades, one drew his sword.

  “I’m going to gut you, Mujar bitch!” He lurched towards her.

  Something flashed past her, and a sword cut the air with a deadly swish. Blood pumped from the brigand’s severed neck as his head went spinning. It bounced and rolled to her feet, and she stepped back from its eyes’ glazed stare as the corpse collapsed, twitching. The two remaining ruffians tried to draw their swords, but Kieran sent one howling with a slashed arm and punched the other.

  Footsteps made Talsy spin as the sixth man lunged at her, his sword outstretched. She swayed aside, but the blade sliced into her flank. Kieran charged the thug and rammed his sword hilt-deep into the man’s gut, the bloody blade emerging from his back. Kieran yanked it out, allowing the man to topple forward, and then glared at the other two. They ran to join their companions, tearing down their tents and stuffing them willy-nilly into bags as they beat a hasty retreat. Talsy’s legs turned to rubber, and she sank down in a heap, then crawled away from the dead man, shaking with shock. Kieran took her arm and pulled her to her feet, but she wrenched free.

  “Leave me alone,” she said, hating his ability and self-confidence, but mostly his presence when she wished Chanter was there instead.

  “You’re hurt,” he pointed out.

  “I don’t need your help.”

  Talsy tottered away, and Kieran gazed after her, glancing every now and then at the fleeing brigands. Ignoring the dumb-struck stares of the mild-natured men who had watched so helplessly, she went to Sheera’s tent. The old woman cleaned and bound the wound, clicking her tongue.

  Talsy gritted, “Chanter will heal it when he gets back.”

  Sheera shook her head. “Wounds like this can go nasty. I hope he’s not too much longer.”

  Talsy echoed the sentiment. When Sheera finished her ministrations, Talsy returned to her shack to flop down on the mattress. Her limbs trembled and her stomach was a tight knot that threatened to empty itself. That night she had no appetite, the fight fresh in her mind and the throbbing wound a constant reminder. She fell asleep with her knife within reach.

  Talsy drifted in the sea’s cold embrace, and below her, Chanter sank into the blue depths, bound with gold. She screamed his name and swam down after him, but he sank too fast. She wailed, exhausted her air and inhaled sea water. Thrashing, she coughed and choked.

  Talsy woke as something shook her shoulder. A dark shape loomed over her, and his musky scent told her that he was Trueman. She grabbed her knife and stabbed him with all her strength. The man gave a stifled cry and recoiled, almost jerking the weapon from her grasp. She lunged at him again, but he sprang up and fled. Clutching the knife, she panted with terror and the aftermath of her dream, her wound throbbing. As her fear ebbed, she wondered why the thug had woken her instead of killing her while she slept or pinning her down and gagging her.

  Confused and uncertain, she rose and went to the door to peer out, clasping her injury. Moonlight silvered Kieran’s pain-twisted features, and her heart sank. He tried to bind his arm with a strip of cloth, using one hand and his teeth. She stepped out, staring at him.

  “What the hell were you doing in my shack?” she demanded.

  He clasped his shoulder. “You were screaming blue murder. I came to wake you before you woke the whole damned camp.”

  A pang of shame shot through her, but she swallowed the apology that hovered on her tongue. The fault was his for invading her tent and waking her.

  “You’d better let me bind that wound.”

  Talsy re-entered the shack and lighted a lamp. She gestured for him to sit on the mattress and knelt beside him with a strip of clean linen. Kieran pulled off his shirt to reveal a nasty gash in his upper arm. Talsy washed and bound it while he gritted his teeth and turned his head away. At least her knife was clean, so his wound was unlikely to become infected. When she finished, he pulled his shirt back on and rose.

  “Kieran.”

  He stopped in the doorway.

  “If I scream, bang on the door to wake me. Don’t come in here again. Understand?”

  The warrior nodded and left. She blew out the lamp and lay down, but her worries and aches her kept her awake. Visions of Chanter in another Trueman trap haunted her, and she tossed and turned in the tangled sheets for most of the night.

  Talsy woke at first light with gritty eyes and a pounding head. She stretched, wincing, then rose, thrust aside the curtain and tripped over something stretched across her doorstep. She sprawled with a curse, tearing the wound in her side as she was forced to throw out her hands to break her fall. Gasping with pain, she turned to find Kieran sitting up on a thin pallet, scowling at her.

  She glowered at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Making sure you’re safe.” He rose and gathered up his bedroll.

  “Well don’t! I don’t need your protection, so leave me alone!”

  Kieran strode away, his back stiff, either with embarrassment for being caught sleeping on her doorstep or her harsh words. Talsy glared at his retreating figure, angered by his assumption that he was her self-appointed guardian in Chanter’s absence.

  At breakfast, she scowled at him until he excused himself and took his bowl of porridge to eat elsewhere.

  Sheera raised her brows at her. “What’s going on between you and Kieran?”

  “Nothing. He’s an oaf, and he hangs around me.”

  Sheera smiled, her eyes twinkling. “You should be glad, young miss. He’s a handsome man, well-mannered and clean. I would be flattered to have such a warrior concerned for my safety.”

  Talsy snorted, casting her a withering glance. “I’m not. He smells and has no manners at all. I have Chanter. Why would I want a Trueman?”

  “Because Chanter is Mujar.” Sheera leant forward. “He’s of another race, child. He can never be what you want him to be.”

  “Of course he can!”

  Sheera shook her head, looking sad. “Ask Marla, the woman who loved a Mujar. She had many years of misery, for he did not stay with her.”

  “What Chanter and I have is different. He won’t leave me, ever.” Her hand rose to the mark on her forehead, and she snatched it away.

  Sheera noticed the gesture. “What’s that on your brow?”

  “Nothing. A clan tattoo.”

  She eyed it. “And does it bind you to the Mujar?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not him to you.”

  Talsy hesitated, remembering Chanter’s warning. “Ask him.”

  “That would do me no good at all, as you well know.”

  She shrugged and spooned her porridge, hoping the questions were at an end, but the old woman’s eyes narrowed.

  “Have you lain with him?”

  Talsy gasped. “No!”

  “Don’t do it,” Sheera warned. “Take some advice from an old woman. Don’t lie with a Mujar.”

  “Why?”

  She sighed, putting aside her bowl. “It will break your heart. Ask Marla why she’s never married, never had children. She’ll explain it to you.”

  “He doesn’t seem to want me, anyway,” Talsy muttered, her cheeks warming even as she hoped Sheera could explain why this was so.

  The old woman paused, as if on the verge of telling her something, then said, “Good, let it remain so
.”

  Talsy spent the day on the beach, scanning the sky for the first glimpse of the returning Mujar. That evening, when Sheera renewed the dressing on Talsy’s wound, she shook her head at the puss in it, unaffected by her lotions and poultices.

  “Those damned brigands and their dirty blades,” she muttered. “They need only wound you, and you can die. This is the same sort of infection Kieran had.”

  Talsy clenched her teeth as the seeress dressed the injury again, wishing Chanter would return soon. His prolonged absence worried her.

  While they were eating breakfast the following morning, an eagle soared into the camp and landed close by with a few powerful backstrokes. Talsy ran to greet him even before the wind of his transformation died. She refrained from embracing him in front of the others and contented herself with placing a hand on his chest. He smiled and patted her head, a gesture she would have thought demeaning from anyone else.

  “Did you find a ship?” she asked, impatient for good news.

  He nodded, scanning the peaceful camp. “Not much of one, but it will help. We’ll have to cut trees and rebuild most of it. It’s burnt to the waterline.”

  Talsy’s heart sank. The prospect of taking trees from the forest dismayed her. Chanter headed for the fire where Sheera and Kieran sat, their cooling breakfasts forgotten. He settled on a stool after directing a brief smile at each of them, and Sheera dished up a bowl of porridge for him. While Chanter ate, Talsy recounted the events that had occurred in his absence, the highlight of which was the fight with the thugs. At the end of the story, he inclined his head to Kieran.

  “Gratitude.”

  The dark-eyed warrior studied his porridge with unwonted ferocity as Talsy launched into the tale of his bungled attempt to rescue her from a bad dream. The Mujar’s eyes twinkled, although he sent her a look of gentle reproof.

  After Chanter called a halt to Sheera’s seemingly endless supply of rather tasteless porridge, he healed their wounds and announced that he was going into the forest to speak to the Kuran. The ship, he told them, would arrive within the next few days, borne on ocean currents that he commanded. That gave them time to cure and bend the wood in readiness. According to Sheera, there was a shipwright amongst the chosen who was eager to contribute his services. To Talsy’s surprise, Chanter asked Kieran to accompany them.