Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law

by Southwell, T C

  Drummer stayed for only a few hours, and several days later Dancer brought two hundred timid brown people who wore nothing but scraps of leather and paint. The young Mujar set out again immediately, and Chanter quickened the pace once more, making Talsy wonder if this was to become a wild stampede for the safety of the Lake of Dreams. Drummer returned again with a few exhausted, starving people, staying only long enough for a meal. Kieran greeted a family amongst them, and introduced its members to Talsy as the people who had helped him escape Queen Larina’s city. The Prince took them under his wing and offered them all he had to spare by way of clothes and food.

  As the journey progressed, the two young Mujar spent less time away and brought fewer people, many of whom bore the scars of battles and suffering. The newcomers told tales of death and destruction only a few days behind, and mild panic infected the chosen. The horses moved at a brisk trot, and drovers goaded protesting oxen to keep up, the wagons bouncing over the rough terrain. Dancer and Drummer delivered a few more people into the fold, then went out to search no more.

  They camped after dark and set out again at the crack of dawn, eating meals in the wagons. The days passed in an endless travel. Wagon wheels creaked and rattled, horses snorted and oxen lowed. Chanter forbade the use of whips, forcing drovers to cajole and wheedle their tired animals to move. The herds of sheep and cattle dwindled with their slaughter, and many wandered off into the wilderness. People stared behind with wide, expectant eyes, and even Talsy caught herself glancing back, expecting the Black Riders to crest the horizon at any moment, heralded by the dreaded thunder of their hooves. The three Mujar rode the winds above, watching over their charges as they led them on.

  After another week of forced marching, when all but a few were ready to drop from exhaustion, Chanter called a halt on a vast plain of sighing golden grass. In the distance, a faint blue mountain range stood against the pale sky. Amongst the peaks, a broad plateau nestled, a shimmering golden line drawn across the hazy blue. The sight of their destination filled Talsy with excitement and fresh hope, banishing the fatigue that had become part of her life. Chanter waited as the cavalcade rumbled to a halt, flanked by Drummer and Dancer. He gestured for the people to gather around, and spoke to the multitudes for the first time. His soft words carried to all of them.

  “You have followed me as chosen, though many of you are not. Welcome to the Lake of Dreams.”

  A low murmur went through the crowd as people looked around in confusion at the expanse of dry grass stretching away in every direction.

  Chanter continued, “Those who choose to enter the Lake may bring nothing, but must enter it alone.”

  A great groan came from the Aggapae, and many raised their voices in protest.

  Chanter turned to them. “You, who are the friends of horses, rest assured, your beasts will be waiting on the other side. You may have no companions during the testing. Do not cling to each other, but enter separately, for if you cling to one who fails, you shall perish with them. The gods of this world would adopt you, who are the children of another god, but, before they do, you must be worthy of the love and gifts they will bestow upon you. You will step from the Lake onto the Plains of Redemption.” He pointed at the distant plateau. “There.”

  “How long will we be in the Lake?” Kieran asked.

  “To you it may seem long, but in this world, only a few hours will pass.”

  “What sort of tests will they be?” Shern called.

  “For each it will be different, according to his or her past. For some it will be short. Those who are not worthy will fall quickly to the gods’ wrath.”

  “What will happen to those who fail?” a woman asked.

  “They will stay in the Lake of Dreams, and join the rest of the dead.”

  Groans and cries of anguish greeted this, and many people turned away, shaking their heads in anger or denial.

  Chanter said, “No one must enter the Lake if he or she does not wish to. The choice is yours, but any who do not enter the Lake know the fate that awaits them here.”

  A belligerent man demanded, “So if we stay here we die, and if we go in we die. What choice is that?”

  “Only the unchosen will die in the Lake of Dreams, but any who don’t enter will certainly perish. The gods will not suffer the unworthy to live, so it is your hearts that will decide your fate. Be assured, the Lake of Dreams is not a place to fear.”

  The people murmured and argued amongst themselves, and he waited for them to settle. Talsy approached him, gazing up at him with excited eyes.

  “Where is it?”

  He smiled and turned to gesture towards the mountains. “Right there.”

  “All I see is a plain of grass.”

  “Have you as little faith as they?”

  “I believe you, I just can’t see it.”

  His smile widened. “Of course you can’t. It’s here.”

  Chanter placed his hand on empty air and leant against nothing. Talsy circled him, walking through what he leant upon as if it did not exist. Yet certainly Chanter rested his weight upon something that was tangible to him.

  She smiled at his teasing. “Show me.”

  Chanter straightened and took her hand, then turned to the crowd once more. They quietened, looking uncertain and fearful. “I shall open the door now,” he said. “Those who would be tested, follow me, one at a time.”

  Facing the distant mountains, he made a gesture with his free hand and spoke two guttural words. Shooting a smile at Talsy, he stepped forward, and she went with him, clinging to his hand. She walked across the same stretch of grass she had traversed moments before, but within two steps, the sunlit world vanished.

  Chapter Twelve

  Talsy entered a realm stranger than anything she had ever seen before. Mist shrouded the land, hiding its secrets behind a pale curtain. Huge flowers, whose petals glowed like mother of pearl, grew out of the vapour, shimmering in the muted radiance of a pale grey sky. The flowers reached her knees and brushed against her with fragile petals that her legs passed through. Each blossom was two paces broad, with four petals growing from a fluffy golden centre crossed by black lines that met their edges. The endless covering of flowers gave off a sweet perfume that hung in the still, warm air. The mist swirled just beneath their petals, disturbed by their passage. She clung to Chanter’s hand, afraid that if she let him go the mist would swallow him and leave her trapped forever in this ghostly realm. After several minutes, she got the impression that the pale land stretched away in every direction, clothed in mist and pearly flowers. She stopped and turned him.

  Chanter smiled. “Like it?”

  “It’s strange,” she murmured, “so utterly peaceful.”

  “Yes, the dead like peace and quiet.”

  The silence of the Lake of Dreams was not oppressive, but rather calming, the sort of place where you could sit and listen to the hush, be alone with your thoughts without feeling lonely.

  “It’s all like this, isn’t it? Just mist and flowers and flat ground,” she said.

  “Yes. A little drab and monotonous, I suppose.”

  “It’s beautiful, in a strange way. Is this an entire world, with continents and seas? Are the only inhabitants the dead?”

  He smiled again. “Yes, to both your questions. The dead sea creatures inhabit calm white seas. In fact, the seas themselves are made up of sea creatures’ souls, just as the mist that shrouds the land is the land creatures’ souls. There’s no wind or rain, and the sun only shines as it does now, through the mist.”

  “Are the plants the only living things?”

  “No, the plants are dead too. Everything here is dead, and even plants have a form of spirit, especially trees. What we’re walking through is the departed souls of Kuran. As I told you, they live forever unless destroyed, and if they do perish, this is where they come. The ground we’re walking on is made up of the departed souls of Dargon, the air we’re breathing is...”

  “The souls of
dead winds,” she finished for him. “But how can one kill a wind spirit?”

  “Not easily, but the chaos destroyed many. They were poisoned by the corruption, just like the Dargon. One day they will be reborn into the world of the living, just like all the other souls.”

  “So everything here... is dead?”

  He nodded, unconcerned by how strange this all was. “The Lake of Dreams is the realm of the dead, nothing living inhabits it. The souls created it from nothingness, and fleshed it with their essence. Before the first souls came here, this Lake was just a void. Even now, everything is incorporeal, a ghost, if you like.”

  She shivered. “Do we have to walk far?”

  “We don’t have to walk anywhere if you don’t want to. We can step out any time.”

  The Lake of Dreams was beautiful and peaceful, but also a little unnerving. Unwilling to admit this, she mustered her courage and shot him a smile.

  “Let’s walk awhile.”

  Talsy and Chanter’s disappearance alarmed Kieran, for there seemed no way to follow. The people behind him gasped and exclaimed, and he glanced at the two younger Mujar. Dancer smiled reassuringly, but Kieran hurried to the spot where Talsy had vanished.

  He stood in a sun dappled forest, surrounded by vast, rough-barked trees. Fallen leaves clothed the ground, and an occasional clump of greenery or rotting log. Rich smells of humus and musty earth mingled with the sweet scent of forest flowers and the dark aroma of lichen and bark.

  “Hello, Kieran.” A soft voice spoke behind him.

  The Prince spun around, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, then froze, his eyes widening in surprise. Dancer sat on a log, one knee bent, regarding him with sad eyes. He was not the young Dancer Talsy had rescued, but the tall, noble featured Mujar he had known in his childhood. Grey touched Dancer’s jet hair at the temples, and faint lines aged his handsome face. Kieran released his sword and straightened.

  “Hello, Dancer.”

  The Mujar tilted his head and studied the warrior Prince with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed, even after all these years. You always were a suspicious child, unwilling to trust, quick to judge. You never did forgive me for leaving you when you hurt yourself, did you?”

  Instant denial sprang to Kieran’s lips, but he quelled it and shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’re not one who forgives easily. You can’t even forgive your mother for being unable to stop your father giving you away.”

  “No.”

  “Yet you didn’t hate me,” Dancer said. “A strange combination, that. A puzzling one, for those who must judge, doubtless.”

  “Are you dead?”

  “Yes, I died in the Pit two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” Dancer smiled. “You were so angry with me.”

  “I thought you were my friend.”

  “I was.”

  Kieran frowned. “A friend wouldn’t have left me to die.”

  “Mujar do. But you know that now, don’t you? I couldn’t help you, you had no Wish. And when they took me away, you did nothing to help me, either.”

  “They would have killed me.”

  Dancer sighed. “Would they? Had you pulled out the spear that impaled me, do you think I would have let them harm you? What do you think the First Chosen would have done in that situation? Did she not save Chanter many times, risking her own life to do so? Didn’t she offer to give her life for his? Yet was she allowed to die? No. You lacked the courage of your convictions. You would not risk your life for mine. Things might have been very different had you helped me then. If you had owned her courage and love for Mujar, you might have been the First Chosen. Many Truemen had the opportunity to prove their worth, but they all failed, like you.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  The Mujar frowned. “No, not with you. You simply lacked the courage to save me, or perhaps you didn’t love me enough. Maybe it was even because I had let you down. Whatever your reasons, it wasn’t because you hated me. But I was angry with your father.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he told them about me. He betrayed me.”

  “No!”

  Dancer nodded. “It was his way of punishing me for not helping you, who were the son of his king, whom he loved. He learnt to hate me, though he hid it well. I saw it in his eyes. He was unchosen.”

  Kieran slumped against a tree, remembering that day with startling vividness. Dancer’s torn and bloody body, the sneering mob that had paraded him through the village, impaled upon a spear, shorn and smeared with filth. The way Dancer’s eyes had sought his father and clung to him.

  “I thought he loved you,” he muttered.

  “He did, at first, but I was a great disappointment to him, in more ways than one. So he became bitter, and started to hate me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell them? They’d have believed you; everyone knows that Mujar never lie. They’d have flung him into the Pit with you.”

  “Because I forgave him,” Dancer murmured. “That was my gift.”

  Kieran raised his eyes. “And I never forgave you.”

  “No. You grew bitter. It ate at you like a festering wound, yet you couldn’t hate me. How that confused you. You longed to hate me for leaving you in the forest, but you could not. Your bitterness bred distrust and fear, so you became a warrior to overcome it, and succeeded well, but never conquered it.” He paused, shifting his weight. “You never learnt that bitterness cannot be conquered with courage. To this day you carry it with you.”

  Kieran bowed his head, knowing, as he had done for many years, that his bitterness was wrong. “I shouldn’t have been angry with you for leaving me in the forest. I had done nothing to earn your help, at the time. I wasn’t worthy. I should be asking your forgiveness, for not trying to save you from the Pit.”

  It seemed as if a great weight lifted from his shoulders as he accepted his mistake, and years of harbouring a grudge against the man he had loved so much dissolved in an instant.

  “It’s a wonderful thing, forgiveness,” Dancer said.

  “Yes,” Kieran said, staring at the golden leaves that covered the forest floor. “I should have done it then. Do you forgive me?”

  Silence answered him, and he glanced up to find himself alone, the forest silent and still but for distant bird calls and the faint rustling of leaves high above. A wave of sadness engulfed him. For years, he had mourned his friend and mentor, wished that he had saved him, and tried to hate him for his neglect that day in the forest. Now the sorrow rushed back in a fresh tide, keener than before, but tempered by a sense of peace. Dancer had released him from his guilt, and a hot lance of forgiveness cauterised his festering bitterness.

  Kieran stepped back, and staggered. He stood upon the heaving back of a food beast under a blazing sun, the sea stretching away in every direction. A scream jerked his head around. Talsy lay at the very edge of the beast, half in the water, clinging to it as she stared down at something below with wide eyes. Kieran yanked his sword from its scabbard and leapt to grab her tunic and pull her out of the sea as his sword rose to meet the threat. He glimpsed a huge, rising shape beneath the waves, a curved mouth filled with pointed teeth, and swung the sword in a killing stroke.

  Realisation hit him like a bucket of cold water, and he loosed the blade, allowing it to spin away into the water. The predator reached the surface and broke through. Its white teeth fastened onto a frond at the food beast’s edge and bit it off. It floated nearby, its vast ray-like fins drifting around it in a glowing veil of many colours. Kieran stared at it, amazed by its beauty and lack of fear. He glanced around for Talsy, but he was alone. He turned back to the predator that languished in the waves. Edging nearer, he knelt and stretched out a hand to touch skin ridged with tiny patterns. A sense of well-being and friendship invaded him, a gentle joy amid a vast wellspring of knowledge. He stroked it.

  “I never meant to hurt you, you know.”

&nb
sp; An emanation of understanding and affection tingled through him, then the predator slipped away and dived into the inky depths.

  Kieran rose to his feet, stepped back and tripped, falling backwards onto stony ground. He lay on a rocky shore, tied down hand and foot with stout ropes to stakes driven into the ground. A few feet away, waves pounded the golden sand, and a hot sun burnt down on him. Gulls swooped and mewed, sailing the empty blue skies on slender, rippling wings. He strained at the ropes, then gave up this futile endeavour and turned his head to study his surroundings. Far down the beach, a man wandered, his footprints washed away by the waves. Kieran licked dry lips and called for help. The man looked up and approached. The strange Mujar’s face bore the marks of age, and silver touched his hair. He gazed down at Kieran with sorrowful eyes.

  “Please help me,” the Prince begged.

  The Mujar shook his head. “No Wish.”

  Kieran slumped back. “No, of course not.”

  The stranger settled on a rock close by and gazed out to sea, his eyes narrowed to slits. Kieran struggled against the ropes again.

  The Mujar turned to look at him. “My name is Chanter. I lived a hundred years ago, and was flung into the Pits when I was only ten years old. For ninety years I was trapped in freezing darkness, unable to move, unable to see, hungry and thirsty for sustenance I could never attain.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kieran said. “Why did your gods let you suffer so?”

  The Mujar looked startled. “They needed my rage. The suffering of their land and creatures was not enough to order your destruction. They needed my anger to hand down to future generations of Mujar.”

  “You’re very talkative, for a Mujar,” Kieran commented.

  The strange Chanter smiled. “I’m dead. I have no secrets now, and if you don’t figure out how to get out of those ropes, you soon will be too.”