He turned to scowl at her. “How’s... Father?”
“Still unconscious.” She smiled and took his hand, ignoring his sullen expression. “Would you like to ask me some questions?”
“I’d like to ask him some.”
“He might not answer you.”
“Why?”
She sighed. “It’s complicated. Sometimes I don’t understand him, either. I’ve told you that Mujar don’t raise their young, haven’t I?” He nodded, and she continued, “Chanter has no paternal instincts. To him, you’re my son. He doesn’t feel any responsibility for you. Perhaps it would have been better if I’d never told you he was your father, then you wouldn’t have expected him to act like one. Also, you said some things, when you were young. You called him names, so he thinks you’re unchosen. Do you hate him?”
His eyes narrowed as he considered this, and her heart sank. “I don’t know. I always wanted him to talk to me, to teach me things, but instead he looks at me like I’m a bug that just crawled out from under a rock and shat on his lunch. He’s never given me a reason to like him.”
“No, he hasn’t, but he doesn’t hate you, he just... He thought your birth was a mistake, and I think perhaps he’s a little wary of you, because you have Mujar powers and a Trueman mind. He once told me that a battle between two Mujar would tear the world apart, but it would never happen because of the way they are, peaceful. I think he wanted to avoid any kind of confrontation with you. He thought you were violent. He also told me that you’d inherited the Mujar rage, which you couldn’t control like he can, and that made you hate all of us. Is that true?”
Travain gazed across the battleground with a distracted air. “Rage,” he muttered. “Yes, perhaps I have. I’ve always been angry, with you, and him, and everyone who looked at me like I was a freak. The children who wouldn’t play with me, the animals that ran from me. Your love and sympathy weren’t enough. I blamed you for making me different. I was lonely and angry and I wanted him to notice me. That’s why I burnt you when you wanted to punish me for burning the cook. I knew he’d come to help you. I didn’t burn you very much.”
Remembering the power of his fire during the battle, Talsy nodded. “Why did you save us?”
“When you got angry before you left the valley to find the trapped Mujar, you said some things, about me, and your own life, that made me realise that I wasn’t the only one suffering. You said your death would change nothing, and that you’d failed. I didn’t want you to die, or him to suffer, so I followed you. I didn’t intend to do anything. I’ve always been afraid to venture into the chaos, but when you faced it unafraid, without power, it... shamed me. Then when I saw him trying to sacrifice himself to save you, I knew I could do what he couldn’t.”
She squeezed his hand. “He’ll be proud of you.”
“You think so?”
“He should. I know I am, but no one can predict a Mujar.”
Travain scowled and pulled his hand from hers. “I wish I was an ordinary Trueman, not a freakish crossbreed.”
“An ordinary Trueman wouldn’t have been able to save us. Blame me for your strange parentage, not Chanter.”
“But he’s to blame as much as you, yet he won’t accept me.”
“No, he’s not.” Talsy found a rock to settle on and launched into an explanation of his conception and her reasons for it. At the end of her halting monologue, he stared at the ground. She waited for his reaction, but then Kieran came over to inform her that Chanter was awake. Talsy left Travain to ponder her words and hurried back to the camp. Chanter sat on a pack, clasping his head.
She knelt to peer into his face. “Are you all right?”
“Apart from a splitting headache,” he groaned.
“Do you want some water?”
“No, it won’t help.” He rubbed his brow and sighed. “My injury is healed, but it’ll take a little while for my brain to get over its outrage.” He glanced around, wincing. “What happened?”
“Travain saved us.” Talsy’s heart swelled with pride.
“Travain?” He looked puzzled. “Why?”
“Because we’re his parents, silly. He couldn’t let me die, or you suffer. He’s not unchosen, just angry and confused.” She explained what had happened, and what Travain had said to her afterwards. Chanter frowned, his eyes roaming over her face.
At the end of her story he asked, “Do you understand this?”
“Of course, it’s pure Trueman emotions.”
“Good, because I don’t.”
She sighed, smiling. “Because you’re a damned Mujar! He just wants you to love him, that’s all.”
“But I do, just as I -”
“Just as you love everything, I know,” she interrupted. “But he needs more than that. He needs your guidance and friendship.”
“He has no Wish -”
“He’s your son!” She quelled her angry outburst with an effort, taking a deep breath. “Okay, you don’t relate to that, but you owe him now. He saved you from the Torrak Jahar.”
He nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”
“Good.” She relaxed, relieved by his acquiescence. “His wish is -”
“That’s not for you to decide. Let him ask.”
“All right.” Rising to her feet, she glanced over at the spot where she had left Travain, but the black expanse was empty save for the toiling Aggapae. “Where is he?”
“He flew off,” Kieran said.
“Damn!” Talsy swung away, scanning the skies. “Maybe he needs time to think about what I told him.”
“That’s one very confused kid,” Kieran commented, and she silently agreed, but it was hardly surprising considering the conflicts he had to deal with. The one person who could really help him was his father, but, true to Mujar nature, Chanter was singularly disinterested in Travain’s plight. There was certainly no malice in his indifference, only a complete lack of understanding of Trueman emotions, so he failed to see the problem or what he could do to help. Talsy resolved to speak to Travain and explain how to use his Wish, lest he ask the wrong questions and receive inscrutable Mujar answers.
They camped on the plains for the remainder of the day, giving the Aggapae time to see to their dead and recover from the battle. Talsy worried about Travain, and kept an eye on the sky until it grew dark.
The next day, they trudged onwards across the plain, drained by the sorrow of their loss. The Aggapae had been reduced by almost half, and over a hundred riderless horses followed them in a forlorn herd. Chanter took wing once more to guide them, refusing Talsy’s plea to search for Travain.
The chaos continued to take its toll. Chaos beasts and the ever-present danger of the tainted Powers killed ten more men and four horses. One man died lighting a campfire that exploded in his face, another was engulfed during the night by living stone, dead when they found him in the morning. A third fell prey to a manant attack, carried off and killed before Chanter could singe the beasts and rob them of flight. Talsy’s longing for the valley’s safety grew to monumental proportions, and at night unwanted tears of tiredness and dejection squeezed from her stinging eyes.
One last ordeal befell them before they reached the valley, in the form of a blast of hot wind that brought a strange, foul smell upon it. The bad wind burnt their eyes and throats, stung their noses and made them cough and sometimes retch at the acrid stench. The terrible heat made men and horses alike sweat, dried their mouths and caused a dreadful thirst that drained their water supplies. Many wrapped cloths around their faces to try to ward off the stink, but this helped little, and Talsy found that it only made her claustrophobic. Chanter would do nothing to help, since the wind was not really harmful and stopping it meant wielding the corrupted Powers.
When at last the mountains that guarded their valley loomed in the distance, a great sigh of relief went through the chosen, and the horses found a little more energy to hurry homewards. Chanter’s wall parted, and they rode into the tranquillity and normality of t
he green vale. A tumultuous welcome awaited them within its gentle slopes. The chosen rushed out to greet the returning warriors with flagons of wine, sweet pastries and warm bread.
The Aggapae veered off to join their people in the tent village on the plains, jumping from their steeds to sweep wives and sweethearts into their arms, the horses neighing joyful greetings to the mares. Nort strutted proudly into his herd, welcoming the whickers of his mares with glad squeals. While all this excitement was going on, a prelude to the sadness that would follow when the Aggapae counted their losses, Talsy, Kieran and the few surviving chosen trudged the last few miles to the village that nestled against the side of the valley, accompanied by those who had come to meet them. There they were accorded a hero’s welcome, hugged and kissed by friends and relatives. Sheera hugged Talsy until she squeaked in protest and Shern kissed her soundly on both cheeks. Kieran was the least approachable, for he carried the comatose young Mujar curled in his arms like a child.
That night they placed him on a bed, and Sheera clucked over him and spent most of the night repairing his torn clothes. Talsy and Kieran retired to their beds as soon as they had eaten, too tired to share their story with those eager to hear it, or even to worry about where Travain or Chanter had disappeared to.
The following morning, Kieran carried the young Mujar down to the lake. Talsy went with him, hoping for a sign of Chanter or Travain. When they reached the lake, she gazed into its depths, glimpsing an occasional silver flash of a fish.
Kieran looked down at his burden. “I suppose I just chuck him in?”
“I think so.”
“Good thing he can’t drown.”
Talsy smiled at this incongruous comment. The tall warrior shifted his burden, swung him once, and hurled him into the calm water. The young Mujar sank like a stone, trailing silver bubbles. When the bubbles stopped and the lake regained its glassy surface, they wandered back to the castle. Talsy paused in the doorway to trace the Mujar mark in the rock, wishing she could remember the day Chanter had raised its sheer walls from the valley’s bedrock. She had been carrying Travain at the time, however, and the events of those months were blurred and faint in her memory.
Chapter Nine
Three days later, Chanter appeared and stayed for two days, basking in Sheera’s delighted pampering. He left the day Travain returned, as if he sensed his son’s impending arrival. Talsy spent many hours trying to explain to the boy how he should word his Wish, but Travain appeared self-absorbed and distant.
Hoping that he had at least listened, she gave up bombarding him with advice and concentrated on trying to re-establish the bond she had lost. This proved just as difficult, for he seemed to regard her attempts at friendship with distrust, although he was no longer so rude. After four days he left, and Talsy wondered about the Mujar in the lake, wishing Chanter would return to be there when he emerged. Every day, she spent several hours on the shore, searching for some sign of his impending emergence.
Law dreamt that he was back in the sea, lying on a soft, muddy bottom, surrounded by the pure glitter of untainted Shissar. In his dream, his limbs were no longer stiff with the creeping sickness of corrupted Dolana. The pleasant dream never changed, and he pondered his previous dreams, of jolting sensations and the touch of tainted Powers, but those had stopped.
The Dolana beneath him gleamed pure silver, and little fish nibbled at his skin. The golden light had retreated to the back of his mind, where it crouched like a slumbering beast, ready to pounce at the first touch of corruption. As time passed, he wondered about the never ending dream, strange in its unchanging monotony. Since Mujar did not get bored, he found the relaxing environment quite comfortable, not wishing to wake into the hellish world of torture he had left behind.
One day a fish brushed against him, startling him into an involuntary movement, and he realised that he could control this dream. Fascinated, he moved some more, discovering the joy of swimming in the clear water, and explored his environment. He found that the water was fresh and the lake quite small, filled with fish. Changing his shape to that of a sleek otter, he chased the fish playfully, revelling in his freedom.
Law grew bolder, and surfaced to explore the shore, which was as untainted as the water and mud at the bottom of the lake. A nearby forest was rich with the gentle power of a young Kuran, whose presence reassured him. He spent more time on the shore, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the peaceful birdsong. He wondered if this idyll was a gift from Antanar, to keep his children from suffering. Sometimes Lowmen came to the lake with children who shrieked as they played in the water, while the adults talked, or caught a few fish for their supper. If any glimpsed the blind otter, none bothered him, and he became less afraid of them. Once again, Law was tempted by thoughts of cooked food and a soft bed, and, since this was a dream, he wondered if any harm could come to him.
Talsy discovered the blind otter one day as she wandered along the shore, gazing hopefully into the water. Its eyes were sealed shut, and she wondered how it survived. Moved by its plight, she brought food for it and left it on the shore, for the shy beast slid into the water when she approached. Every day she brought food, and sometimes hid in the bushes to watch it eat. Two weeks had passed since the young Mujar had been flung into the lake, but Chanter could not tell her when he would emerge, only saying that he would when he was ready.
Law ate the fish the woman left, curious about her reasons. He knew she was a woman from her size and scent, and that, too, allayed his fears. A woman had never harmed him, and he still remembered Letta’s soft hands and good cooking. The strange woman seemed well-intentioned, and he let her watch him eat to show his appreciation, although raw fish was not really to his taste. Each day, he allowed her to come a little closer, until he let her put the food before him and ate it while she sat nearby.
One day she touched him, making him start, but she only stroked him and spoke soothing words. Law decided that if the people in his dream were kind and gentle there was little point in hiding his identity from them. Still, he was wary of being caught again, knowing now the danger of spears. The fact that the girl did not have one reassured him, but, having sensed the hatred of the men who had attacked him in his forest, he did not allow that to lull him too much.
Talsy strolled down to the lake for her daily meeting with the tame otter, well pleased that the creature had become used to her and no longer scuttled away at her approach. She found the sleek animal basking on a log and sat down close by, placing her offering of fish next to it. The otter raised its head, turning towards her. She wondered if she should catch it and try to find out why it was blind, maybe heal it if she could. Noticing that the otter seemed uninterested in the food, she shoved it closer.
The air swelled, filling with the misty wetness of Shissar, the sound of rushing water and soft hiss of rain. Talsy recoiled with a gasp, startled by the unexpected manifestation. When she looked again, a man lay on the log, propped up on one arm. The face he turned towards her was that of a young god, breath-taking in its beauty and youthful perfection. His eyes were closed, and his shorn hair spiked with wetness that gleamed on his flawless golden skin. She stared at him, struck by his air of wildness that was so much stronger than Chanter’s, poised on the brink of flight at the slightest hint of danger. Sensing his extreme wariness, she remained where she was and held out a hand, palm up.
“No harm.”
He appeared to study her, then swung his legs off the log and sat up, holding out a hand, palm up, in the ritual gesture.
“No harm.” He had a soft, lilting voice, a fraction higher in timbre than Chanter’s but with the same musical tone.
Unable to think of anything intelligent to say, she stammered, “I-I’m Talsy.”
The youth inclined his head in acknowledgement, and she found herself inexplicably nervous. He perched on the log like a cat coiled to spring, his lean muscles ridged with tension. Apparently he was not overly reassured by her offer of safety, and she wondered
who had betrayed him in the past. As the silence lengthened and the Mujar’s nostrils flared with unease, she searched her numb brain for something to say.
“You - are you better?”
“Better?” He frowned, tilting his head. “Than what?”
“I mean... are you well?”
“Yes. Are you a dream?”
“No.” Nervous laughter bubbled in her at his strange question. “No, I’m not. I - we rescued you, from the city. Do you remember?”
“I remember much pain.”
“Well, you’re safe now; no one will harm you here.”
He turned his head slowly, as if looking around. “Then this must be the sacred land of Marrana, the place of the dead. How is it that she came for me so soon?”
“She didn’t! You’re not dead, how could you be? Mujar can’t die for a hundred years.” Aware of the foolishness of her words, she cursed her inadequacy to deal with this lost young Mujar, who looked confused. Realising that she was not equipped to handle the situation, she whispered, “Chanter, help me.”
The youngster’s head jerked around, and he rose a little unsteadily to his feet. “That’s a Mujar name.”
“Yes. He’s my friend, don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid. Why should I be?” His tension belied his words, yet he did not seem frightened, just nervous.
A rustle of wings made her turn as a raven landed behind her, transforming in a rush of wind. Chanter frowned at the young Mujar for a moment, then looked at Talsy.
“You need help?”
“Yes, well...” She shook her head, baffled by the way he ignored the youngster. “He needs help. He’s confused; he thinks he’s dead.”
Chanter glanced at the youth, who stood motionless on the lake shore. “He’s been through a trauma. He’s still recovering.”
“Well help him! Tell him where he is. I don’t know how to.”
Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law Page 16
