The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God

by T C Southwell

  Talsy trotted to catch up as he headed for the forest, leaving Kieran to follow. “Why do you want him to come?” she asked, jerking her thumb at the black-clad warrior.

  The Mujar smiled. “He’s a friend of Kuran. He’ll be welcomed.”

  “But we don’t need him.”

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  “He’s an oaf,” she snapped.

  “No he’s not.”

  Chanter’s brusque assertion silenced her, and she followed him through the forest. He seemed certain of his destination, while Talsy was soon lost in the endless monotony of tree trunks. Dry leaves rustled under her feet, at times making the footing treacherous, for they were surprisingly slippery. The forest’s haunting melody surrounded them with soft birdsong and sighing leaves. The Mujar led them to a stand of five tall, straight, silver-barked trees growing together, like a family.

  Chanter stopped and raised his head, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the forest’s heady aromas. The birdsong that drifted around them in an overlay of living sound was interspersed with a woodpecker’s occasional hammering, a distant vixen’s bark and the faint chattering of squirrels. Without their footsteps’ rustling to hide it, the forest’s sounds seemed loud. He sensed the Kuran’s presence all around him, high amongst the leaves and nearby in the silvery trunks. It stretched away throughout the vast woodland, an intrinsic part of every leaf, bud and flower.

  Approaching the nearest tree, he summoned Dolana, and, in the moment of cold stillness, called forth the forest’s soul. Kieran gripped his sword hilt as Dolana’s icy clamp released him, and the forest groaned and sighed. Talsy shot the warrior a scathing look, and Chanter shook his head at her. A few minutes passed while the Kuran gathered, pulling in her vastness to concentrate her power around them. Kieran shifted, glancing around as the birds and woodland creatures fell silent. The gathering of a powerful Kuran filled the air with a preternatural charge, like the tension before a thunderstorm. It made Chanter’s neck hairs prickle and his scalp crawl. Talsy shivered in Dolana’s growing cold, which, unlike Chanter’s manifestations, built gradually, with far less power.

  The trees about ten feet away parted their branches high above to let in a shaft of sunlight. Chanter turned to face the Kuran as she became visible. Within the sunbeam, tiny sparkles floated like dust motes, swaying in a gentle dance. They gathered and multiplied, swirling to form an indistinct shape. Green and gold predominated, touched with hints of pink and blue and the barest tint of silver. The glimmers coalesced into pearly eyes that glowed with joy and a shining figure suffused with soft light. It sighed with beauty and flooded the forest with an awesome, placid power.

  Chanter bowed to the Kuran’s swaying presence, making a complicated gesture. “Greetings, wood sister.”

  A soft, sighing voice spoke almost beyond the reach of hearing. “Greetings, wood brother, blessed of Life. You have reason?”

  “I beg a favour, sister.”

  “A small one, be sure; the omens of death come.”

  “Indeed,” Chanter replied.

  Talsy tore her eyes from the Kuran to glance at Kieran, who frowned, as if puzzled. She turned back to the forest’s soul as the Mujar spoke again.

  “I need these five trees, dead.”

  “Ah.” A great sigh went through the wood, making Talsy shiver again at the ethereal beauty of the soul and her silvery voice. “A small favour, yes, an unhappy one.”

  “Regret, wood sister.”

  The iridescent form twisted, its pearly eyes turning to gaze through the forest. “Death is near; the path is clear.”

  Chanter waited until the Kuran faced him again. “We three ask.”

  “You three, friends all; a dear trio to Kuran.”

  “Yes.”

  “Beware, wood brother.”

  The trees moved together again, cut off the shaft of sunlight and snuffed out the sparkles. A form remained like a faint mist, dull in the dimness, then it thinned and vanished. A sigh went through the trees, and Chanter turned to the two Truemen.

  Talsy was confused. “She didn’t grant it?”

  “She can’t refuse a Mujar, I’m afraid. Asking was merely a courtesy.” Chanter sighed.

  “So what do we do now, fetch axes and chop them down?”

  He winced. “No, we wait. It won’t be long.”

  Chanter settled on a log and Kieran leant against a tree. Talsy fidgeted. The forest remained silent, waiting. After about half an hour, Chanter straightened.

  “It begins.”

  Talsy looked at the five trees and gasped. High above, the leaves of the chosen trees changed. The green faded from them, turning them first yellow, then red. They fell in a drifting rain, spinning and swaying to the ground. The trees groaned in almost man-like misery as they died, and a deeper hush fell over the woods, like a funeral dirge of silence. Talsy’s eyes burnt and hot tears spilt down her cheeks. Never had she thought to mourn trees, but it was part of the forest that died. Alhough it was an entity that lacked limbs and organs, flesh and blood, it was nonetheless alive and vibrant, and it suffered death no less than any Trueman. Chanter’s visage was grim.

  “Must we watch this?” She gulped.

  “Yes.”

  The fall of leaves ended when the branches were bare, and the wood died. As the sap withdrew, the boughs warped and twisted like hands writhing in agony, the wood screaming softly. Twigs snapped off and fell, branches split with harsh cracks and deep groans. The bark peeled off and fell in long strips down the golden trunks, and the yellow wood faded to grey. The five trees that, less than an hour ago, had been proud and green now stood as bare grey trunks.

  Silence fell, then another great sigh wafted through the wood, and birds sang again in the distance. Chanter walked over the red carpet of newly fallen leaves to the five dead trees and laid his hands on one, invoking Dolana. With it, he lopped off the branches flush with the trunk, and then sheared off the dead tree close to the ground. It tore a cloud of green leaves from its neighbours as it crashed down. Chanter split it into a dozen perfect planks, and repeated the procedure with the other four trees.

  He returned to Talsy, his eyes downcast. “That should be enough.”

  She followed as he strode away. “We’ll send men to collect the wood.”

  The Mujar nodded. “Kieran will guide them.”

  Talsy trotted to keep up with his long strides. “What did the Kuran mean, ‘death is near; the path is clear’?”

  “The Black Riders are coming.”

  “But we’re the chosen!”

  “There are unchosen hiding amongst us, and don’t look at him,” he admonished as she glanced at Kieran. “He’s chosen. The men who attacked the girl are still nearby, and maybe others. We don’t have much time.”

  “Will the Black Riders kill the chosen too?”

  “They’ll kill all in their path.”

  Suppressing a shiver, she followed him back to the camp, where he despatched Kieran to lead a group of men into the woods to fetch the planks. That task took the rest of the day, while Chanter paced the beach, waiting for his ship. He stayed there all night, and his urgency worried Talsy.

  The following morning, she tripped over Kieran on her doorstep again and cursed him as he walked off with quiet dignity. She hurried to the beach and found Chanter perched on a rock, gazing out to sea. In the distance, a low black object moved through the waves as if an invisible hand powered it. As it came closer, she made out more details, and it approached with remarkable speed. When it grated onto the sand, she frowned at it. The burnt-out hull reeked of smoke and soot, water sloshing in its bilges.

  The chosen hauled the hull far up the beach, above the high tide mark. Chanter conferred with the shipwright, then invoked Dolana. The people gasped when the icy hush released them, and Chanter laid his hands on each fresh plank and formed it into a new rib or stem post. The men carried the pieces to the ship and held them in place, and Chanter used the Earthpower to weld the wood togeth
er.

  At the end of the day, Chanter and the weary men stood back to admire the work that should have taken them a week. With the hull completed, all that remained was laying the deck and stepping the masts. Chanter returned to the beach after supper to work on the ship all night. By morning, the deck beams were in place and half the decking laid. The chosen packed provisions aboard, barrels of water, sacks of potatoes and turnips, and hay for the animals.

  The next day work continued, and Chanter used the Powers to hasten it. Kieran slaved harder than anyone, and often he and Chanter worked side by side, dripping sweat. The Mujar’s strength was prodigious, but Kieran seemed to be a little stronger, although he tired when Chanter did not.

  At lunchtime, the men returned to the camp, where the womenfolk had prepared a meal. Chanter and Kieran went to Sheera’s hut and sat on the low wooden stools while the old woman ladled thick stew into their bowls. Kieran brought with him the musky smell of sweat, and Talsy wrinkled her nose as she sat next to Chanter. The Mujar remained odourless, even though he had sweated just as much.

  While they ate, Talsy pondered Chanter’s toil, which seemed strange for a being who commanded the elements. “Why can’t you just command Dolana to build the ship?” she asked.

  The Mujar glanced at Sheera and Kieran, then smiled. “A ship is built of wood. Unlike stone, it isn’t pure Dolana, it contains Shissar and Ashmar. I can’t make it flow like rock, only form it into the right shapes, which must then be bound together.”

  “But you could build one out of ice, for instance.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Ice can be crafted easily, since it is pure Shissar. I can cause it to take any shape I wish, but it would not be very comfortable as a ship on a long voyage. For that matter, I could cause the sea to freeze in a great pathway, but it’s a long way to walk.”

  Talsy cast Kieran a superior smile, but he seemed unimpressed, concentrating on his food. Sheera’s faded brown eyes were wide with wonder, however. The Mujar spoke matter-of-factly, clearly unaware of the awe his words inspired in those around him, no matter how badly they hid it.

  Chanter’s head jerked up, his brows drawing together. Talsy stared at him, and Kieran put aside his bowl. A faint rumbling came on the wind, like thunder or an earthquake; or the drumming of thousands of hooves. As it grew louder, Chanter stood up and took Talsy’s arm, glancing at Sheera.

  “Gather the chosen,” he said. “Don’t let them flee.”

  The old woman hurried over to the other groups that stood in alarmed confusion, gathering them with urgent signals. Youngsters who had been playing in the forest ran back to the camp, yelling a warning. Other stragglers who had been in the woods gathering nuts and berries or answering the call of nature came running into the camp.

  Talsy looked up at Chanter. “You’re going to protect them?”

  “Yes.”

  The Mujar strode to the middle of the settlement and stopped, scanning the forest whence the rumbling came. The people gathered around him, gazing at him with fear and hope. Youngsters clung together and the older seers stood like bastions of calm amid a sea of whimpering dread. The faint thunder of hooves struck a familiar fear into Talsy’s heart, and she clung to Chanter’s hand, soaking up his calm.

  Even though a Mujar protected them, the terror the Hashon Jahar engendered could not be denied, although his presence made it possible to stave off panic. Kieran had disappeared, and Talsy wondered if he had fled. She recalled the Kuran’s prophetic words with a shiver. The Black Death approached; the unstoppable Hashon Jahar, against whom no Trueman city or town had ever stood. People wept and wailed, and Talsy stared at the trees as the crowd crept closer to the Mujar.

  A finger of darkness seeped from the forest, flowing over the land’s contours. The Black Riders approached at a full gallop. Flocks of sheep and goats scattered like flotsam swept before a dark wave. Young girls covered their faces, clinging to each other. Some tried to run, but older, wiser members of the group held them back. Many clasped their hands and prayed, closing their eyes to block out the approaching horror.

  Talsy fought a strong urge to flee, swallowing a lump. Chanter’s presence lent her the courage to stand still, and she told herself that no harm would come to her while she was under his protection. He shot her a warning look, and she braced herself as the air screamed with raging fire, engulfing the crowd in the illusion of a massive conflagration. The manifestation winked out, and the people beat at their clothes in a desperate bid to put out the spectral flames that had licked over them. Many wept and clung together.

  Chanter raised an arm and pointed to the beach on the left of the camp. Blue fire shot from the sand with a whump, rising ten feet high. It followed Chanter’s finger as he turned to guide the firewall. The Hashon Jahar thundered across the fields beyond in a long line, riding four abreast.

  The leaders turned to follow the edge of the fire, trying to outrun it, but Chanter’s fire kept pace with their steeds. The firewall reached the sea to the right of the camp and entered it in a cloud of steam that obscured the flames. The Black Riders halted on the shore, their steeds rearing and cavorting, splashing into the waves before turning away. The line slowed and stopped, and the Riders that still emerged from the wood spread out to encircle the camp just beyond the wall of fire.

  Although the Hashon Jahar were only a few hundred feet away, the heat shimmer warped them, and Talsy could not make out any details. Their horses pranced and pawed the ground, snorted and shook their manes. Thousands of Riders surrounded the camp, too many to count, a seething sea of glinting armoured forms. As they had been at Horran, they were silent but for the thud of hooves and jingle of armour. They slowed into immobility, facing the fire. A great sigh went through the crowd, and pale faces smiled as Chanter turned from the wall.

  He frowned at Talsy. “We must launch the ship and sail as soon as it’s ready. Tell them.”

  Too shy to address the masses herself, she went in search of Sheera. The old seeress shouted the instructions to those nearest her, who passed it on. Men and women broke from the group around Chanter and headed for their various tasks, throwing nervous glances at the Hashon Jahar. Talsy headed back towards Chanter, noticing several rough-looking men beyond him, revealed by the thinning crowd. Fear gripped her heart as she recognised one of the brigands who had attacked the girl, and she broke into a run, pushing people aside.

  “Chanter! Look out!” she yelled.

  The man lunged, thrusting a spear into the Mujar’s back. The bloody head sprouted from the centre of Chanter’s chest, and he doubled over, clutching it. Time seemed to slow as he struggled to keep his feet, turning to face his attackers. Fire exploded from him and engulfed the men, but a long club fell through the flames and struck the side of his head. The Mujar’s knees buckled, and the protruding spear flipped him onto his side as he hit the ground.

  The firewall vanished in a whump of sucked-in air. Bedlam erupted as the chosen ran screaming towards the beach. Talsy fought her way towards Chanter, buffeted by the panic-stricken people who raced past her. The men bent over Chanter, clubbing, kicking and spitting on him. The Hashon Jahar moved. As if a silent signal spurred them, they leapt forward in a charge. Many of the steeds reared in their eagerness, loosed from their riders’ restraint. Long lances lowered, and swords flashed in the sunlight. Talsy tried to reach Chanter, but the wild-eyed stampede forced her back. The Black Riders crossed the scorched line where Chanter’s fire had been and converged on the camp. The thunder of their hooves drowned out her desperate cries as she shouted his name.

  An arm snapped around her waist and yanked her off her feet with enough force to punch the air from her lungs. She drew her knife, kicking and squirming. Kieran ran for the shelter of some shacks, ignoring her struggles and bellowed abuse.

  “There’s nothing you can do for him!” he yelled. “He doesn’t need your help!”

  Kieran ducked around a hut and paused, holding her tight against his side, then drew his sword.
Talsy pressed her knife against his arm, but he knocked it from her fist with a painful blow that made her clutch her stinging hand. Her curses were inaudible over the screams of the fleeing and the defiant shouts of those who turned to fight with whatever weapons they could find. The Hashon Jahar entered the camp in a wave of pounding death, their mounts smashing down shanties and people alike. For the first time, she was able to make out details.

  Each Rider might have been another’s twin, and identical armour covered slab-like torsos. Their chargers stood over eighteen hands tall, broad-shouldered beasts with long tangled manes and tails. They were as alike as their riders, who guided them with curved bits and barbed spurs. Their eyes might have been carved from granite, yet their hides rippled with muscle and their manes flew in the breeze. The Riders’ faces, visible through the slits in their visors, were twisted with suffering.

  Kieran cursed and pressed back against the shack. The Hashon Jahar thundered past, chasing chosen. Talsy was certain his long black sword would do him no good, no matter how great a warrior he was. A Rider came around the side of the shack and raised its weapon. Talsy yelled a warning, and Kieran plunged his blade into the steed’s shoulder. The horse staggered, thick black liquid oozing from the wound. Its legs buckled, and it collapsed, its rider falling with a clatter of armour. Kieran edged towards the back of the hovel, but Talsy knew it was only a matter of time before more Black Riders found them.

  Pain washed through Chanter in a gentle tide. The dark curtain of unconsciousness rose to reveal a world of blood and dust and death. Black Riders rode over and around him; their steeds’ hooves thudded beside him, some battering him as they passed. The spear through his chest weighed him down, and Dolana had seeped into him while he was unconscious. It robbed him of much of his strength and the ability to wield any other Power. Screams rent the air in a ghastly din that the drumming of hooves underscored.