"Not talking, eh? Well, that makes a pleasant change."
"Go away."
"Ah, that didn't last long. You can't sit here until he comes back, the tide's coming in. He told me to look after you, and that's what I'm doing."
"He told you to guard me," she retorted, "not order me around."
"Well I reckon guarding you includes not letting you get washed away by the tide."
Talsy's defiance crumbled, and she turned to bury her face in his chest, clinging to his cold, metal-studded armour.
"I miss him already," she mumbled.
Kieran's heart ached as he stared at the rolling ocean, whose cold waves lapped his knees and spray settled over them in a soft mist. He wished that she would turn to him for more than a moment's comfort, but that wish was unlikely to come true. Her heart belonged to the Mujar, and all he could do was share in her suffering.
He murmured, "I'll always be here."
Sweeping her up off the wet sand, he carried her back to the camp.
Chanter swam through the shafts of sunlight that probed the ocean with long fingers of radiance, swallowed far below by the darkness of the depths. The surge of passing swells rocked him in this vast watery cradle, and shoals of silver fish darted from the murk before him and vanished behind him as he swam. The distant song of whales echoed through the brine, bringing with it images of giant shadowy creatures wallowing amongst the waves. He powered for the surface, broke through into sunlight with a shower of spray and flew before plunging back into the water in a welter of foam. Diving again, he revelled in the water's caress against his sleek form, unbalanced only slightly by the missing fin tip, which already the sea's power had set about restoring. Layers of warm and cold passed him and currents tugged at him, pulled him sideways and down, slowed his progress, then speeded it.
For two days, he had searched without pause, questing through the sun-dappled sea for a tiny fragment of cold stone no different from the rest of the ocean floor. The few sea spirits he had encountered had been unable to help, and the silver sea men were equally ignorant, although they had promised to search. The dolphins had begged him to join their play, but nothing could turn him from his purpose, and their sadness had followed him long after he had left them behind.
A change in the song of the sea made him pause as a tale of woe joined the silvery web of endless melody, telling of death and pain. Turning towards its source, he followed the thread of sorrowful verse. The dark and mournful chant corrupted the brightness and joy of the sea's celebration of Life with its anguish. Diving into the depth's black stillness, he tasted Dolana's taint amid the dancers of light. Drawn by the call of pain, he shot through the brine, flukes lashing. The Earthpower below grew stronger, draining his energy with its powerful chill, telling of something amiss in the world of the sea.
Chanter found a gaping chasm torn in the sea bed, inflicted by the weakening of the Dolana that held the bedrock together. The chilling Earthpower slowed him. It welled up from the earth's hot bowels, released by the weakening of the bonds that had held it below. Earth blood oozed from the chasm, forming giant globules that broke away and floated upwards. They spread across the foaming waves and quelled their wild racing with a blanket of sluggish blackness. Fish caught in the rising oil died as their gills were clogged with it, suffocating within their watery domain. The spreading blackness cut off the shafts of brilliance that probed the depths, throwing an immense pall that starved a million tiny creatures of vital light. The poisons released into the water killed a billion more, and currents carried it far and wide, spreading the death and suffering.
The Mujar dived down to the chasm, changing his form to a man to stand beside the wound. In the icy darkness with its tiny dancing lights, he used the wild Earthpower to heal the terrible rent. Drawing back together the parted sheets of rock, he twisted them into each other to bind the injury shut. The ground shivered as the wound healed, and a deep growl rumbled through the sea. Chanter rose to the surface, taking on the sleek grey shape again to burst from the waves in a glad leap. The great oil slick drifted away, borne by winds and currents that would carry it to land.
Chanter set off on his search once again, satisfied that no more earth blood would leak from the wound to poison the world.
Kieran gazed at the distant, forlorn figure of the girl who stood staring out to sea. For a month, Talsy had endured Chanter's absence stoically, trying to hide her misery behind a facade of silence. For the most part, he had left her alone, unwilling to intrude on her unhappiness. Life in the camp had settled to a steady rhythm disturbed only by the weather and occasional small discoveries. Like the nest of eggs he had found and watched for a week, wondering what would emerge. The deformed young that had stumbled from it in utter confusion had shocked him, a mixture of bird and lizard unsure of whether to spread their tiny wings or run under the nearest rock. He had put an end to their misery with swift strokes of his knife, and buried the pathetic remains so Talsy would not find them. He had told Brin about it, but not the girl.
Brin joined him, shaking his head at the vigilant girl at her windy post. "She's miserable without him."
Kieran nodded. "It's sad."
"Sadder for you."
He sighed. "How can I compete with a man like him?"
"He's not a man." Brin squatted beside him. "He's Mujar. He may look like a man, but he's a creature of this world, and what she has is more like obsession than love."
"You seem to know a lot about it, considering your people didn't even recognise him when you saw him."
Brin shrugged. "We have our legends. The reason Jesher didn't believe he's Mujar was because of the missing hand."
"He lost it when the staff was broken."
"Mujar don't keep handicaps like that. They grow new limbs, just like a tree when you cut a branch."
Kieran stared at the Aggapae. "Then why...?"
"I don't know. They must go to the sea to heal such a great loss. Perhaps he had no time."
"No, he took us to the valley. So that's why he chose to come here first."
Brin sifted sand through his fingers. "When he returns, he'll be whole again."
"Talsy will be happy." The Prince gazed at the distant figure.
Brin rose and clapped him on the back. "Come, let's eat."
On the vast golden plains of an abandoned continent, a giant, withered flower drooped under the hot sun. Within the cool shelter of his pod, the Mujar child kicked, fighting the creeping lethargy that stemmed from a lack of energy imparted by the plant. Not yet fully formed after eighteen months, the young Mujar stood on the brink of awareness and independence, but as yet had not crossed the line. The plant's dying leaves soaked up sunlight, but the vast mat had dwindled to a small portion of its original size, starved of water by the world's corruption. No rains had fallen on the plains for almost a year, and the only thing left alive was the hardy Ishmak plant. As its supply of moisture had soaked away into the ground the plant had sent urgent roots down in search of more, following trails of dampness that ended in rocky strata.
Its outer leaves had started to curl and blacken two months before, crumbling as they dried. Now the few that remained struggled to support the fleshy flower and its precious, fragile occupant. The outer petals were dry and hard, their moisture drawn back into the plant to keep it alive. The flower's vivid colours had faded to a uniform pale brown, and the towering stamen had crumbled away, leaving a stump protruding from the top of the folded flower. The drying process was normal, but it was six months too early. The Ishmak's seeds were fully formed, nestled in their bed of white hair. The creature meant to carry them far into the world was not ready to emerge, however.
The Mujar child kicked again, and his foot hit pod's the hard side and sent a shaft of pain through him. For a moment he lay still, stunned by this new sensation. The golden light that filled his mind swirled and whispered, seeking release from the prison of his skull. He kept his eyes closed, denying it the freedom it craved. The
light burnt against his lids, rebounding back into his brain's recess. The umbilical pulsed as the flower fed him what little energy it had, sacrificing itself to nurture this creature without whom its seeds would rot within its decaying shell. The child curled his limbs and slumbered, floating in his pod's precious water.
Not far from the dying plains, a colony of semi-ants filled a valley with a gigantic nest that spanned it from ridge to ridge. Months ago, a tiny queen on her maiden flight had mated with a creature of this world, equally small and even more harmless than the ant queen. The creatures that had hatched from the queen's eggs had resembled neither animal, however, and grew to a massive size compared to their parents. The breeding of two alien species had spawned monsters unrivalled in survival and defence. They had developed a poison twenty times more virulent than the ants’ and an ability to live on sunlight if necessary.
The young queens spawned from this colony, blind and somewhat clumsy creatures of deformed appearance, had mated with drones from yet another crossbreed of insect origins. The new breed was far larger, armoured in chitin, armed with poison and cursed with a cunning intelligence. A young queen of this new breed returned to her mother's colony and slew her, assuming her position. With the speed of insect breeding, successive queens bred larger and larger offspring. Each generation was more ferocious than the last, and returned to usurp the old queen.
Now the colony was a well-established citadel of hardened mud that choked the valley. Workers had cleaned out the trees and used the wood pulp to build bastions of defence against intruders. Secure within it, the mighty queen laid an egg every few minutes to swell the ranks of her massive army. She was the size of a large dog, but her offspring had already reached the measure of a full grown man, and the new queens soon to hatch would be larger still.
The wild world had spawned its first creatures of chaos. In the mountains, hunting cats had mated with wolves, their young already fierce and deadly. Dire bears had bred with bog boars, and raised massive cubs with tusks and claws. As yet, these young were no real threat. The worst crossbreeds were still to be born, and they would be those with Trueman blood.
The semi-ant colony was ready to unleash its first wave of death in a swarm of winged warriors sent out to find food and clear the way for new ant cities ruled by the young queens still in their eggs. The swarm found creatures with which to do battle that rivalled themselves in fierceness and armament. They brought some back to the nest as slaves, wrapped in cocoons of silk gleaned from spider ancestry. Searching further afield, some warriors crossed the sea and fell upon a Trueman village, taking prisoners. These were brought back to the nest and found to be clever, so the queen bred with them.
Talsy raced down the beach, grinning with unadulterated joy as a sleek grey shape powered through the breakers with lashing strokes of his flukes to beach himself on his smooth pale belly. Chanter transformed in a haze of Shissar and stood up, banishing the water on his skin with a flick of his hands. Talsy flung herself at him, forcing him to step back or be bowled over. He held her, patting her back. After several minutes she released him, keeping hold of his hand without noticing that it was his right one.
"You didn't find it." Her happiness became tinged with disappointment.
"No." Chanter glanced up the beach at the Aggapae and Kieran, who waited, unwilling to intrude on the happy reunion.
"That means you'll have to go back!"
"Yes."
"Damn it, Chanter! How hard did you look?"
He turned his head to squint at the sea. "I searched every reef and abyss, almost to the other side. That piece of staff is as well hidden as it was when it lay upon the shores of the inland sea, a pebble amongst millions."
"We must keep trying."
"It could take a lifetime." Chanter raised a hand to smooth back his hair, and she looked down at the one she held.
"Your hand!"
He smiled as she examined the appendage. "I'll need all my powers to face the coming chaos. I can't stay a cripple."
"You mean you could have grown a new one any time you wanted?"
"Of course."
"So why didn't you?"
He shrugged. "It was a punishment for my crime."
Talsy snorted and pulled him up the beach. "Come on, let's tell the others. We'll have a feast tonight to celebrate."
Chanter let her drag him towards the waiting men, shaking his head in answer to their silent question. Their shoulders slumped as they turned to walk back to the camp at the edge of the jungle. They feasted that night on roasted meat, but only Talsy was truly happy, the others forced cheer through a mantle of gloom.
Chapter Six
Chanter stayed ashore for a few days, spending the time with Talsy. Kieran watched her happiness with bitter eyes and fretted at the delay, avoiding the pair as much as possible. Silence had always been his ally, and he had never been a man of many words, now he became one of fewer still. The Aggapae, though friendly, spent most of their time grooming and pampering their horses, or communing with them, as was their way. To ease his boredom, he joined their hunts while Chanter was around to guard Talsy, and even Shan came along for the ride.
As soon as Talsy fell asleep each night, Chanter left the camp on swift paws that carried a flitting wolf across the land. Roaming the moonlit shore, he found hunting cats running with wolf packs and wolves in dens with dire bears. Stags rutted with goats and bog boars, stray dogs mated with deer. The beasts' confusion was pitiful, and without the laws that had always guided them, they were at the mercy of the growing chaos. He avoided the distant Trueman city with its twinkling lights, unwilling to witness the horrors that were being perpetrated there. What the animals did in innocent confusion, men did for personal gain or idle curiosity.
On the seventh day, Chanter returned to the sea. Talsy walked with him to the edge of the waves, biting her lip as she strived to hide her sorrow. He stopped at the water's edge and turned to her.
"Two moons, then I'll return, with or without it."
"No. Find it and bring it back."
"You're sure?"
She nodded. "You must find the stone. That's more important than anything. That way you won't have to leave again."
He bent to kiss the Mujar mark on her brow. "If you need me, just call."
"I will," she promised, forcing a smile.
Chanter walked into the sea, pausing to raise a hand before he dived under the waves, to reappear as a sleek grey shape that clove the surf and headed out to sea. She watched until he vanished into the distance, then walked back to the camp under the Prince's watchful eyes.
In a distant city, the first boy foal was born. The new crossbreed had the body of a horse and the torso of a man, and was as developed as a seven-year-old child. His mother rejected him, lashing out with flinty hooves whenever he came near. His father, a burly farmer, was well pleased with his new acquisition, although his wife was irate at the creature's conception. After soothing his wife with promises of wealth and leisure, the farmer purchased more mares. The boy foal was raised on his mother's milk, and soon learnt to talk, but was banished from the farmer's house and forced to live in the stables.
The farmer bragged of his new offspring at the local inn, and learnt of another man's success with several cows, who had dropped boy calves shortly before. They had men's bodies and bull's heads. The manbulls were intelligent, and their father planned to sell them into slavery as warriors and gladiators. They grew at an astonishing rate, attained the stature of teenage boys within a few months and showed the promise of immense size. Unlike the mare, the cows had accepted them and raised them without fuss. Another tale was bandied of a goat farmer's get, with a man's body and a goat's hind legs, interesting, but useless.
Chanter glided through the brine, propelled by an occasional flick of his tail. For a month, he had roamed the ocean from one end to the other and found nothing. With the passing of days and nights of endless searching, his sense of hopelessness grew, slowing his progress
until now he swam with languid fluke strokes. He might search the sea for the remainder of his life and never find a fragment of stone in the immense land under the sea.
Like the land above, it rose and fell in hills and valleys, towering mountains and deep chasms, but darkness veiled it. With his extra senses, the darkness did not hamper his progress. He could find his way along the seabed, but the staff was invisible to him unless he got close to it. When he had retrieved Kieran's sword, its utter deadness had drawn him, since it was a weapon of the Hashon Jahar. The staff had no such properties, however, only a strong emanation of Dolana that a Mujar could sense close by.
Chanter let the current carry him along a shoreline he had travelled before in his fruitless search. Although he had no hope of restoring the staff to its duty, his promise to Talsy drove him on. Finding the staff was her Wish, and he did not want to fail her. He recalled how she had urged him to use his powers, yet even they could not aid him in this quest. The water spirits and sea men had found nothing, which in itself was so strange that he wondered if the wind had been playing one of its games with him. Playful though winds were, however, they did not usually lie.
A jarring note in a thread of the sea's song roused him from his musing, and he tuned an ear to listen. The fragile web of melody shivered with a jangling of horror, pain and death. Alarmed, he swerved to follow the dark melodic thread of terror. Lashing his flukes, he increased his speed tenfold and shot through the water, his sleek shape parting it with barely a ripple. The call for help led him along the shoreline and further out to sea, growing stronger and more frantic with every moment. Now he could identify the distressed ones, his form brothers, dolphins.
Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law Page 10
