Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law

by Southwell, T C

  The burning tar that covered most of Chanter forced Kieran to approach his head, his eyes flinching from the great wound in the Mujar's belly. The stallion appeared to be asleep, stretched out on his side. Kieran gripped the glossy mane and shook him.

  "Chanter, wake up! You're free of the tar!"

  The Mujar's eyes opened to gaze up at Kieran with understanding in their depths, and he made a feeble attempt to rise, but flopped back. His forelegs were twisted at odd angles, and Kieran crawled back to fetch the water skin, dismayed by how little of the precious fluid remained in it. Pulling the stallion's legs straight, he poured water over them, retreating as the horse thrashed and kicked. The fire continued to blaze on his haunches, where earth blood soaked the hair. When Chanter stopped thrashing, Kieran tried to roll him onto his chest so his contact with the ground was lessened, but he was too heavy.

  Kieran looked up in alarm at the sound of hooves, puzzled when several riderless horses galloped up. They trailed broken reins and carried empty saddles, slowing as they approached the Mujar, whickering in greeting. Kieran rose and went to the nearest animal, hoping for some rope with which to haul Chanter to his feet. He searched in vain through the saddlebags of three horses before turning away in frustration, and received a shock. The stallion had vanished, and the Mujar lay in his place, clutching the wound in his belly.

  As the tar had burnt away, the grip of Dolana had lessened until Chanter was able to change into a man once more. Kieran ran up and slipped his hands under the Mujar's shoulders, lifting him into a sitting position. Chanter sighed as the Dolana drained from him, taking with it the terrible weakness and its sickly warmth. Kieran grabbed the water skin to wet the wound in Chanter's belly, but he thrust it aside.

  "Wait."

  Chanter probed the wound with shaking fingers, found a chunk of rock that he plucked out and dropped, then pushed his fingers deeper to find another. The pain tore through him, making him grit his teeth as he pulled out a second stone. Kieran picked out stones until he could find no more, then poured water over the injury, holding Chanter as he arched in the agony of healing.

  A second group of horses galloped up and joined the growing throng, these ones free of the trappings of slavery.

  Kieran looked at Chanter. "Did you call them?"

  The Mujar nodded, grimacing at the slowness of the healing. The water was finished, but the wounds were only half healed.

  More hoof beats drummed the earth, and this time the horses that burst from the forest bore riders. Talsy leapt from the piebald before it stopped, running to kneel beside Chanter. She flung an accusing look at Kieran as she pulled out her water skin.

  "What happened?"

  "We fell into a tar pit." Kieran gestured at the crater, his head still pounding. "We were running from the Torrak Jahar, and we fell in."

  "You idiot," she snapped, pouring water onto the half healed wounds in Chanter's stomach. "Why didn't you go around it?"

  The Mujar groaned as he convulsed again, unable to speak until the spasms subsided, then he gritted, "I didn't sense it in time... not Kieran's fault."

  Talsy stroked the hair from Chanter's brow, shooting Kieran a glare. They helped the Mujar to his feet, and his strength returned as the Earthpower released him. Talsy frowned at the blackened crater and the splatters of burnt earth scattered about. Some trees still smouldered, and black smoke rolled up from the dregs of burning tar.

  "So where are the Riders?"

  "Gone." Kieran nodded at the crater. "They were in the tar when I used the sword to set it alight."

  "While Chanter was in it?"

  The Mujar put a hand on her arm. "He did the right thing. Crayash cannot harm me, it freed me from the tar."

  Brin came over, his face grim. "We must go before the Torrak Jahar come."

  Kieran nodded. "As soon as we find the stone."

  "You didn't get it?" Talsy rounded on him, her eyes bright.

  "I did, but it fell when we went into the tar," he said, rubbing his head. "It's around here somewhere."

  The Aggapae divested the last of the tame horses of their tack. Brin bellowed for Shan, who came running, and sent him to search for the stone with his colt, then turned to the Mujar. "If we take these horses with us, they can disguise our tracks. We can send them away in groups, the Torrak Jahar won't know which prints to follow. Perhaps two will carry you and Talsy if you're too tired."

  Chanter shook his head. "I'm not tired, but I would rather travel by air for a while."

  "We'll need one to carry that damned stone," Kieran growled, "it weighs a ton."

  Chanter approached the horses, who gathered around to snuffle and nudge him in delight, giving low wickers of greeting and squeals of excitement. He communed with them, shared their thoughts and feelings, communicating his need to their eager, generous minds. They vied for the honour of aiding him, nipped and pushed each other aside to be chosen by him, but when he returned only two followed.

  "This one will carry Talsy." He indicated a pretty palomino mare that arched her neck and pranced. "The other will carry the stone, but he'll need a saddle."

  Kieran saddled the big bay while the others joined the search for the stone, beat the bushes and parted the long grass, bent double to peer at the ground. Thorn found it amongst the trees, and Shan strutted with pride at his colt's talent for sniffing out pieces of the staff. As Kieran and Brin lashed the stone in place aboard the bay, a distant thunder of hooves came drifting on the wind, and the horses shifted as they scented it.

  "Time to go." Kieran tugged the rope tight and headed for the piebald as the others mounted.

  Chanter became an eagle and took wing, heading for the distant mountains, and the herd followed, shielding the chosen in their midst.

  Law lay on his bed and listened to the swirling golden light in his head. Its whispers seemed to be meaningless words blended in a jumble, yet the more he strived to make sense of them, the more sure he became that they could make sense, if only he could understand them. The light and its mysterious whispers preoccupied him, filling his time with contemplation.

  Letta's call cut through his concentration and snatched him from his musings. Another meal was ready, and he rose to stretch and yawn before making his way to the eating chamber. Despite his lack of exercise and healthy appetite, the young Mujar's physique remained slender and whipcord.

  Sitting at the table, he ate the bowl of stew Letta had prepared, ignoring her affectionate pats on his head. Since the new women's arrival, several changes had taken place. Vosh had become enamoured with a buxom brunette, and Letta had ordered him to leave their chamber and go and live with the woman. Vosh had protested that it was as much his chamber as hers, and easily big enough for them all. Letta had adamantly demanded his absence and pointed out that, since it had been enlarged and improved for him, it was in fact Law's chamber. The argument had been settled when Letta had asked Law who he wished to stay, and he had chosen her. Vosh muttered that of course the Mujar would choose her, she did the cooking. Letta insisted that it was because she was Law's mother and Vosh had cuckolded them both.

  Since then, Law had hardly seen Vosh, and his sole duty now was to go to the semi-ant's great food stores when Letta told him to and order the workers to bring more food to his chamber. They gave him the best food, and Letta created wonderful meals from it. Law was content. He wanted nothing more than that which he received in his home. Letta made friends with some of the new women, though not the buxom brunette, and they visited her often to chat and enjoy her food. At these times, Law retreated to his sleeping room and Letta defended his privacy from her friends’ curiosity.

  Law had almost finished his meal when Vosh came in, braving Letta's indignant glare to approach his foster son. Letta frowned at his pallor and haggard look as he sat opposite the Mujar and leant forward.

  "Law, there's something going on in the hive. The workers are running around in confusion, the warriors, too. They can't tell me much, but I think somethin
g's wrong with the queen, and I think I know what."

  Law spooned his food with a shrug, but Letta demanded, "What's wrong with the queen?"

  "It's those grubs, the ones the men sired. They've reached maturity, and I think they've attacked the queen."

  "Why would they attack their own queen?"

  "They're a different breed. They're half Trueman. The grubs must have matured into warriors and young queens, and they're trying to take over the hive." Vosh thumped the table. "I knew they'd be dangerous; I tried to warn her! They're clever, and they want to rule the hive. There must be some fertile males amongst them, and evidently they don't wish to leave this hive and establish their own, as they should. If they kill the old queen, the workers and warriors will accept their rule."

  "But surely the queen's warriors will defend her?" Letta frowned.

  "I think they are, and there's a big battle raging down there. But they won't be able to protect her. You know how it works. The queen lays her eggs in batches, thousands at a time. By the time a batch reaches maturity, most of the old workers and warriors are ready to die. They're at least half insect still, and they don't live all that long. There must be some younger ones there, but if the entire new batch is attacking the queen, they'll fail. Once they've killed the queen, they'll come for us."

  "Why would they want to harm us?"

  "Because we're outsiders," he said. "We don't fit in. They'll see us as useless intruders. The old queen brought us here to breed with; the young queens won't need us for that."

  "Well, Law can just command them, like he did before, can't he?" Letta glanced at her foster son.

  Law paused to contemplate a chunk of meat on his spoon, a blob of mingled silver, gold and blue, then ate it. Vosh seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but he had nothing to say, and besides, no one had asked him a question. The running of the hive did not concern him, that was the semi-ants' domain, and they ran it however they chose. Vosh's hands clenched, but he kept his tone level.

  "Law, will you help us?"

  The Mujar considered this. "No Wish."

  "No Wish? After all we've done for you? Fed you, clothed you, given you a place to stay?"

  Law pondered again, while Vosh waited on tenterhooks. "The creatures of this hive have sheltered and fed me since your last wish, not you."

  "Letta cooks for you!"

  "Letta, yes, not you."

  "Okay." Vosh turned to Letta. "You ask him."

  She said, "Law, Wish."

  "Wish," he allowed.

  "Protect us from the manants."

  The Mujar turned his head in her direction. "Granted."

  Vosh slumped. "You'll command the new queens? Make the same deal with them as you did with the old one?"

  Law shrugged, scraping the last dregs of gravy from his bowl. "If that is Letta's Wish."

  "If she wants to go on living, it is."

  Letta raised her chin and opened her mouth, but Law pushed away his bowl and stood, turning towards the door. Vosh jumped up and followed, catching his arm.

  "Wait until the battle's over, Law. It could be dangerous to go down there now."

  The Mujar turned his head towards the Trueman. "None of the creatures of this hive would harm a Mujar."

  "Well, maybe not intentionally, but if they're fighting, you could get hurt."

  Law tugged his arm from the man's sweaty grip. "I will go now."

  Vosh stepped back, and Law sensed his irritation at what he clearly took to be arrogance on Law's part, when the Mujar was simply stating facts. Letta had asked for a Wish, and he saw no point in delaying his journey to the centre of the hive. He had no notion of fighting and battles, bloodshed and killing, and was curious. His inborn knowledge told him that no natural creature would harm Mujar, save Truemen.

  The Mujar walked down the tunnel that led in the direction of the queen's chamber, guided by his inner sight. Workers scurried past, giving way to him, and the warriors that guarded tunnel convergences stood aside to let him pass. He sensed their confusion and anxiety, frowning. The tunnel's still air was rich with pheromones and the mingled scents of fear, danger and aggression. The odour grew stronger as he went deeper, becoming mixed with sorrow, death and a deep underlying warning he did not understand. The alarm indicated a danger to the hive, yet no intruders menaced it. He continued on into the citadel's bowels, uncaring that the light this far down was insufficient for normal eyes.

  Law arrived at the entrance to the queen's vast chamber, which its towering air vent lighted. The workers adjusted the vent to keep the temperature exactly right by either opening or blocking it. Now it was open, and the lance of sunlight fell on a grisly scene. Law allowed the image to form on his inner eye, amazed and horrified by it. Thousands of mangled and torn warriors and workers littered the floor. The sound of chitin-armoured heads and jaws clashing together filled the room with scraping, clicking and crunching as the semi-ant warriors fought. The giant queen lay helpless behind a wall of defenders, their huge mandibles locked with the jaws and pincer hands of the creatures they battled.

  The queen's constant release of a powerful command scent brought a stream of fresh warriors to defend her, called from all parts of the hive to fight for their monarch and mother. Workers tended her vast leathery abdomen, but her foreparts moved in agitation as she sensed her impending doom. This had caused her to order some of her workers into battle too, but the slashing, serrated fangs that protruded from the attackers' under-slung jaws killed them swiftly.

  The floor oozed with mangled, fleshy workers. Fallen warriors' armoured carapaces mixed with the sticky fluid, their wings crushed and torn. The stench of blood and flesh mingled with the fighters' pungent aromas and the queen's sweet scents. To his senses, the cavern seethed with a mass of glittering blue Shissar, streaked and ribbed with broken Dolana, and Crayash distinguished the living.

  The muddled perception defied his brain to unravel it, and he tried to make sense of it. The queen's bulk stood out, but her ring of protectors disappeared into the melee and the attackers surged to and fro. The attackers' details were lost to Law's limited perception, but their forms seemed grotesque and ponderous, far larger than the semi-ants; well-armed and vicious.

  As Law hesitated, part of the defenders' wall collapsed, and several manants charged over the struggling warriors towards the queen. Workers rushed to block the way, only to be slaughtered in seconds. Warriors flooded into the breach to confront the attackers, forcing them back with the fury of their devoted protection. The queen exuded fear now in a sickly scent, waves of muscular contractions rippling her form, but she was unable to move from her bed. Her warriors raced to her defence, pouring into the chamber to fight their way to her side, but the battle was already lost.

  The original breach gave way again as the manants discovered tactics in their short battle experience. Warriors flung themselves at the threat, reckless in their desperation, but the attackers reached the queen's egg-filled abdomen and slashed its fragile skin with razor teeth. Workers strived to block them, but the manants ripped them aside and continued to rend the queen's quivering skin. She clicked words of terrible sorrow and regret, calling out for mercy, but her children only slashed more fiercely at her wounded flank, and blood poured from it.

  When the queen ceased to move, an abrupt stillness fell over the cavern. The warriors, deprived of their sovereign, stopped fighting and were slain without resistance; the workers froze and waited for death. The queen's command scents cleared, and the attackers slowed their killing frenzy as they realised that the battle was over. The manants pushed aside the remaining semi-ant warriors, lost and docile now, to gather around their mother's bulk and assure themselves that she was dead. Law sensed that the new creatures, more mammal than insect, were equally male and female, and all fertile. The insects' matriarchy had fallen away with the birth of this new generation, along with their segregation and class distinction. All the manants were warriors, workers and potential breeders.

&nb
sp; Having achieved their aim, the citadel's new masters milled in confusion, clearly uncertain of the next step. The hive's orderly running had ceased the moment the queen died, and the new creatures, unable to produce command pheromones, could not order the old workers and warriors. These stood aimlessly, bereft of their lifelong purpose of tending and guarding the queen, feeding her and caring for the eggs she laid and the grubs that hatched from them.

  When the manants became aware of the motionless Mujar, a wave of interest went through them. They approached to gather before him and study him. Law had no fear, secure in the knowledge that no creature would dare to harm a Mujar. A manant whose sex Law could not determine stepped forward.

  "What are you?" it enquired.

  "I am Mujar," Law supplied, surprised that they did not know.

  Soft, slurred clicking came from the manants. They used the language their nurses had taught them, but it was difficult for their distorted mouthparts to produce. Law used his tongue to simulate the clicks the semi-ants' mandibles' made, but far more accurately than Vosh had done.

  "What are you doing in our hive?" the manant asked, its strange feelers twitching.

  "I live here, with your fathers, who are Lowmen."

  Another muted hubbub arose at this, and the speaker used louder clicks to be heard. "Show them to us."

  The creature's tone contained an element of threat, and Law scowled at it. "You will not harm them or cast them out. They will live here with you, in peace. This Wish was asked of me, and now I have fulfilled it."

  The manants paused in apparent confusion, then the speaker clicked, "Who are you to command us?"