Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law

by Southwell, T C

  “Trees and plants shall grow upon the earth, yielding their bounty to those who must eat.”

  In the chaos, the soft wind rose to sweep the clouds into long streaks across the sky. Dying trees bent in the wind, dry branches snapping off to crash down. As the golden light hissed through them, greenness sprouted from their twigs. Leaves unfolded and spread to catch the sun, rattling in the growing wind. A spatter of rain wet the soil, and a billion seeds sprouted at once. They sent eager roots into the fertile soil and raised delicate, questing shoots to the sunlight and wind.

  The blackened land became furred with greenness, and long dead forests burst into life. New shoots twisted towards the sun, lashed by the wind. In a distant land, a group of men felling a forest looked up as the golden fire hissed past, the rising wind ruffling their hair. The mighty tree they had just cut creaked and groaned, and they gaped as the wound in its trunk sealed up. Many flung down their wizard-made tools of Dolana and fled, the wind beating their backs as if to drive them away.

  The wilting forest giants the woodcutters had felled rotted away in a moment, giving back their precious goodness to the land that had birthed them. In their place, a million seedlings burst from the fecund soil, opening fresh young leaves. The Kuran’s power enveloped the Lowmen with her fury and joy, and the air filled with her sweet power, a green mist that speeded all growing things to sprout.

  The men cowered as the wind howled through the forest and the earth shook. The forest people raised their faces and fell to their knees to dig in the rich earth and savour the winds of change. They held out handfuls of soil in homage to its power, smiling with joy at its coming. All over the land, the chosen fell to their knees in gratitude and worship, revelling in the cleansing wind that rose to a howl of fury. They dug their hands into the forgiving earth and clung to it as the wind shrieked.

  The ninth law hissed away with a savage crackle of fire as Dancer brought the staff hammering down. “The guardians of this world shall protect their dominions.”

  The staff rose, the writing changed, and Dancer read the tenth law. “The beasts shall dwell within their own realms.”

  The staff smashed down, and the law sizzled away on its golden fire. The staff rose, the writing changed, and Dancer’s voice rose to a shout. “No creature of this world shall kill another!”

  The fire hissed away with the thunderous boom, the staff rose, the writing changed, and Dancer shouted, “No creature of this world shall practice deception!”

  The chosen cowered from the young Mujar, whose eyes glowed with power, his face lighted by the god words he spoke. The staff rose, the writing changed, and Dancer cried, “No creature of this world shall take what is not rightfully theirs!”

  The guttural god words filled the watchers with awe and fear. The staff’s booming crashes cracked the floor stones. The fire hissed away with a savage snarl of flame, brighter and hotter than before. The staff rose, the writing changed, and Dancer cried the fourteenth law.

  “Unon isharak megan Mujar! None shall harm Life!”

  As if to punctuate the words already bathed in fire and heralded by thunder, a crackle from outside drew everyone’s attention to the windows. A great wind invaded the valley and howled around the castle. It battered the windows and swept into the hall with a cold, fresh breath that scoured the darkest corners and filled their hearts with joy. Talsy gasped, clinging to Travain as the wind moaned around them. Travain stared at his father, who stood behind Dancer, as unmoved by the wind as the young Mujar. Dust and leaves blew in through the doors and windows to cover the floor, carried by the winds of change. Talsy turned her face to it and savoured it, revelling in its sweet power that blew away the dirt and stagnation and replaced it with the thrill of the wild.

  Out in the chaos, the golden laws flashed over the land. A deer that hunters had recently brought down leapt up as its wounds healed and vanished, to bound away into the growing wind. The hunters cursed the wind and shielded their faces from its stinging power, staggering under its pushing force. They clung to trees as the wind rose to a screaming fury, and several were swept away with cries of anguish. The men gaped as herds of extinct beasts appeared from the air, galloping wild and free, brought back from oblivion.

  Far from shore, upon the wind-tossed waves of the blue ocean, fishermen pulled in nets filled with struggling fish and drowning dolphins. The golden law rippled overhead, and the wind shrieked down upon them with avenging fury, capsized their boat and tossed them into the stormy sea. The net shredded and the dolphins swam free. On a beach, a group of hunters smashed the heads of helpless seal pups, killing them for their valuable fur. The law sizzled through the sky, and the wind picked them up and flung them into the sea.

  In a distant land, an army of twisted creatures led by Truemen soldiers invaded a town of chosen, intending to steal their land, rape the women, and plunder their few possessions. The laws scythed overhead, and the wind screamed in their wake. It enveloped the warriors in a howling storm so strong it sent them staggering back, forcing them to retreat its vengeful wrath. The chosen fell to their knees and dug in the soft brown soil, raising hands smeared with mud. Driven by an urge they did not understand, they used the wet soil to trace a circle on their brows, drawing a cross through it.

  Talsy sensed the wind’s growing power. Twenty laws had been read, a fraction of the thousands to come, but she knew that the one she dreaded drew near. She could sense the direction of the writing that now instructed the beasts in their ways. She caught Chanter’s eyes, which were full of sorrow and gentle pain. Fear gripped her heart, and she turned to embrace Travain.

  “Don’t be afraid,” she said, the wind carrying her words to him. “I love you, Travain; you’re a child of the gods.”

  The crossbreed’s eyes widened with realisation, and he turned to look at his father. The staff rose, the fiery words changed, and Dancer read the next law. “Yay isharak teshon ejan toh yinja! All shall breed only with their own kind!”

  The staff hit the ground with a mighty boom, and golden fire spat from the twentieth line, hissing across the room. As it touched Travain, his back arched and his mouth opened in a soundless cry that Talsy filled with her scream. His eyes glazed and rolled back, and he shuddered as he crumpled.

  “Chanter!” Talsy shrieked, clutching her limp son. “Help me!”

  The Mujar appeared at her side, placed a hand on her shoulder and forced her to meet his eyes. “He will not die.”

  “He’s dead!”

  “No.”

  “He has no pulse, he’s not breathing!”

  “He’s not dead. He cannot die, his Mujar blood will save him.”

  His calm insistence alleviated her fear somewhat, but her anguish knew no bounds. “What will happen to him?”

  “I told you, he will change.”

  “Into what?”

  “Take him to his bed. Kieran will help you.” He summoned the Prince with a curt gesture, waiting until the staff’s resounding boom faded and Dancer read next law. He spoke in the brief silence between the laws, and Kieran nodded, slid his arms under Travain and carried him out. Talsy trotted beside him, clinging to her son’s hand.

  Wind and dead leaves filled Travain’s room. She slammed the window shut, denying it entry, and knelt beside the bed in the ensuing calm. Travain lay as still as the dead, his skin pale. She held his hand to her cheek and wept.

  In the chaos, a herd of manhorses that galloped through the wind crumpled, ploughing into the ground as their lives were snatched from them. Manbulls fell where they stood in the cities, slumped at their labours and sprawled in the fields. Their death was instant and painless. Manants plunged from the skies, dead long before they hit the ground. Entire colonies died where they stood, turning their vast mud citadels into tombs. The law shimmered overhead, and bear-wolves, wolf-cats, pig-sheep, lizard-birds, goat-cows, dog-cats, and all those whose ancestry was lost in time, died. They fell in the forests and on the green-furred plains. They dropped from
the sky and turned belly up in the sea, surrounded by the sprouting of new life. Timid purebreds walked amongst the fallen, twisted bodies of those who should never have been born, and knew their folly.

  Talsy knelt beside Travain’s bed. The staff’s booming shuddered the walls, and the sheets of golden fire flashed through the room as each law was read. That which she had put into action, and would save the world from destruction, would also rob her of her son. The wind howled and rattled the windows, demanding to be let in. She ignored its plaintive whining and held the cooling hand of her dead son. Already he seemed to rot. His cheeks had sunk, his eyes had become hollow and his flesh melted away. A white substance, like cobweb, formed on his skin, and she brushed it away.

  “Talsy.”

  She turned at the sound of Chanter’s voice. He stood in the doorway, and Kieran sidled out.

  “He’s dead,” she sobbed.

  “No, he only seems dead. Mujar can’t die. Come away now, you must leave him in peace.”

  She leapt up and flung herself at him, pounding his chest. “He’s dead! He’s already rotting! You lied! Look at him!”

  He gripped her wrists. “No. I’m not going to keep saying it. He’s not dead, nor is he rotting.”

  Talsy wept while he held her close and stroked her hair. He turned and pulled her outside, closed the door and locked it. Kieran waited in the corridor, and Chanter pushed her into his arms.

  “Look after her. I must return to Dancer.”

  Kieran nodded and led her to her room, where he persuaded her to lie down and sat beside her. The wind howled outside, and had invaded the room to litter the floor with leaves. Talsy wept until she fell asleep, exhausted, and Kieran kept vigil at her bedside.

  For three days and nights, Dancer read the laws, and the staff boomed ceaselessly against the floor. The golden fire hissed through the walls and out into the world. The wind howled and hammered at the windows and doors, and burst in to scatter leaves over the floors. At times, it rose to screaming fury, then died away to a breeze. The clouds raced overhead, torn and twisted by the winds of change. The land shivered almost constantly now, as its fabric reformed and adjusted to obey the laws.

  Towards the end of the third day, Kieran urged Talsy to get up and go downstairs to witness the last laws. Though many people had left during the reading, requiring food and sleep, most had returned for the final laws, which ordered things so small that most would not have imagined there were laws to govern them. The golden fire spat from the base of the staff, and the floor was cracked and worn into a depression beneath the pounding of its metal-shod foot.

  Talsy stared at it, numb with grief. Dancer intoned the laws quietly now. The fire reached the last few lines, then finally, the very last one. The staff rose, the golden words changed, and Dancer read the last law. The staff struck the ground, and golden fire spat from the lowest line of writing, hissing away as the boom shuddered the building. The golden lines of writing vanished. Dancer stared at the empty air, then released the staff and stepped back, staggered and collapsed. Chanter caught him, lowering him into a chair. Dancer’s eyes closed and his head drooped, his hands curled in his lap.

  Talsy was puzzled, for Mujar never tired. Her interest sparked, she went over to the young Mujar. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Chanter looked up and smiled. “Nothing. He’s been wielding Dolana for three days. He’s a bit numb.”

  Dancer sighed and straightened, his dazed expression fading as he looked around. “It’s over?”

  “Yes,” Chanter said, “it’s over.”

  “Good. I’m starving.” The youngster jumped up and headed for the door, darting past the people who filed out. Talsy contemplated the room where history had been made. The great staff hung above the hollow it had worn in the floor, its lines of law glowing faintly. Every now and then a line brightened, then dimmed again.

  She glanced at Chanter. “Why does it do that?”

  “It’s keeping the world in order. Even now, men are discovering that mating with animals is fruitless, and animals are turning away from those they should not breed with. Somewhere, rain is falling as it should, trees are growing, and streams are running downhill. The earth blood is sinking deep into the earth, new Kuran are coming into being, flowers are opening to the bees, fish are spawning, night is falling, and all is well in the world.”

  Talsy watched the flashing lines. Mostly, the ones near the bottom of the staff, the minor laws, brightened and dimmed. The topmost line seemed brighter than the rest, glowing steadily.

  She pointed at it. “Why is the first law active?”

  “Because it’s being broken, even now.”

  “By whom?”

  “Travain.”

  Talsy swung to face him. “How? Tell me!”

  He sighed. “A part of him is dying, the rest is still alive. The staff is doing its best to kill him, but it can’t.”

  “What’s happening to him?”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I told you he can’t die, but he must change. The law will not tolerate a crossbreed, so he must become pure.”

  “Pure what?” she demanded, already knowing the answer.

  “Since that’s the part of him that can’t die, he’ll become pure Mujar.”

  “You knew!” she accused. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I didn’t want to upset you.”

  “I want to see him.” She swung away, but he grabbed her arm.

  “No, you must not. It will only upset you.”

  She blinked back tears. “What will he be like?”

  “Like me, like Dancer. When he wakes he will be Drummer, not Travain.”

  “But he’s still my son. He’ll always be my son!”

  “Yes, you bore him, so he’ll always be your son.”

  “But he’ll be Mujar.”

  “Utterly,” he agreed.

  “Will he know me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You do!” she said. “You don’t lie, but you evade. You know what he’ll be like, tell me!”

  “I would say that he won’t know you. Mujar don’t remember their birth.”

  “Until they return to a flower.”

  “Yes, that’s true. I’m only guessing, but be prepared. No pure Mujar has ever been borne by a woman. He may not know you’re his mother, but I’m not sure, which is why I said I don’t know. It is neither a lie nor an evasion, but the truth.”

  She glanced up at the staff. “So when his transformation is complete, that law will dim?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why can’t I see him?”

  “He’s not a pretty sight. His Trueman flesh is dying. I’ll take care of him, he’s my son too.”

  Her heart warmed at his claim, but she knew that he was only saying it to make her happy. Still, it sounded good. “How long will it take?”

  “I don’t know.” He smiled at her suspicious look. “How could I? This has never happened before. A week, maybe two, I would guess.”

  Talsy became aware of the stillness around them. The wind had died, leaving a strange hush that seemed quieter for the lack of its howling. Outside, stars twinkled in an inky sky, and two guttering torches shed soft light in the vast chamber. She regarded the ancient staff with its glowing lines.

  “How long can it remain here?”

  “Not too long.” He bent and scooped sand from the floor, holding it out. “See? Already it starts.” The sand in his palm was blood red.

  She nodded. “So you’ll send it back where it belongs, then what?”

  “Then we journey to the Lake of Dreams, and beyond that, the plains where the wingless sliver bird fell from the sky.”

  “That’s where we’ll be tested?”

  “No, they will be tested in the Lake of Dreams, but not you. You’ve already passed the tests they’ll face.”

  “In the lake?” she asked, puzzled. “Underwater?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “There’s no water in the La
ke of Dreams.”

  “Then why is it called a lake?”

  He shrugged. “Because the gods call it that.”

  “So what is it?”

  Chanter went to a chair and settled on it with a sigh, inviting her to perch on his knee. When she did, he asked, “Have you ever wondered where the creatures of this world have gone to? Did you see any in the chaos?”

  “No. Where did they go?”

  “There are secret places on this world. Places you can neither see nor enter, but the creatures of this world, including Mujar, can see and enter them. They are called Jasha, a god word that, roughly translated, means lake. They are part of this world, yet not, for they are in another dimension parallel to this one. The gods created them to protect their creatures from Lowmen. It would be better to call them planes, portions of another dimension that dissect this one. There are many Jasha, and they all have names. Some have special purposes too.” He paused, looking thoughtful.

  “The Lake of Renewal, for instance, is where most of the creatures of this world go to procreate, give birth and raise their young. There are several used for this purpose, the Lake of Birth, the Lake of Life and so on. Then there is the Lake of Joy, a place of great bounty, where the creatures of this world go to relax and play. You may also have noticed that you never see a dead creature of this world, and that’s because they go to a lake to die, and that’s the Lake of Dreams.”

  Talsy shivered, and he held her tighter. “It’s not a place to fear, but rather one of great beauty. It’s also called the sacred land of Antanar, by Mujar. That’s where all the souls of your people dwell, and mine, awaiting rebirth. The chosen will be tested there by the souls of Mujar, Truemen, and other creatures of this world. The tests will be visions of the dead, but those they meet in the Lake of Dreams won’t be the ones killed in the gods’ retribution. Their souls are still trapped by the Hashon Jahar, and will only be released upon the Plains of Redemption, after the final test. Unfortunately, after a delay of seven years, we’ll have to detour to enter the Lake of Dreams. The lakes drift, moving slowly around the world, though they stay on land. The Lake of Dreams is no longer on the way to the Plains of Redemption.”