The Broken World Book One - Children of Another God Page 4

  Chapter Three

  Talsy chopped carrots for supper. A week had passed since her father had dumped the Mujar in the corner. He did not breathe and had grown cool, yet his heart still beat. Several times, she had pleaded with her father to let him go, but Borak asserted that she did not know Mujar, and he did. She pulled a mutinous face as she mulled over the situation. What if he was wrong? Her questions had revealed that Borak only knew common folktales about Mujar. Maybe there was more to them than people thought. Had anyone ever bothered to get to know one, or had Truemen always discounted Mujar as stupid creatures with no purpose or use?

  Talsy swept the carrots into the pot and set it on the fire. Borak had trekked into the village that morning for supplies, and would be gone until dusk. She had returned early from her hunt with a fat snow grouse and set about preparing the bird for the pot. Cooking, hunting and cleaning were all her life consisted of, and probably ever would. Later, when she found a mate, there would be child rearing too. She would probably never leave this bitter valley or know any people other than the villagers and farmers here. Already her father had pointed out several men of the right age and breeding for her. He planned her life as if it was nothing to do with her. She merely dwelt in her body; her father had bred it and therefore owned it. That was the way things were.

  Talsy frowned, pondering while the stew bubbled. Her dull existence was no different from any other girl. She had no special talents or great beauty. There was nothing to set her apart from her peers, and she had no reason to expect anything more than what her father planned for her. The Mujar had come into her life like a cold mountain breeze, sweet and wild, but untouchable. It could be savoured in the instant it passed and then cherished as a memory, nothing more. He was trapped now, however. Borak had warned her not to touch the rope. According to him, the Mujar might use his powers to escape, maybe even hurt her, yet Borak had also said that Mujar never harmed anyone.

  The Mujar’s silent presence mocked her cowardice. He was probably the only chance she would ever have to change her life and explore the world; be someone; if he would take her with him, wherever he was going. Her father had said that all Mujar did was loaf around, pick through garbage and beg on street corners. This one had been going somewhere when she had trapped him, though, in the shape of a daltar eagle. Perhaps she should ask him. What harm could that do?

  Talsy approached the Mujar, stepping over his legs. Crouching, she grasped his chin and turned his head, brushing away the hair that hid his face. His helplessness, coupled with his perfection, was poignant. His eyes opened and gazed through her before drifting closed again. She patted his cheek, and his neck muscles jerked.

  Talsy touched the rope around his neck. A pulse beat under it, yet he had not breathed for a week. Her fingers found the knot, and she paused. What if he fought? He was strong enough to kill her even if he could not use his powers. Resolutely, she undid the knot, her stomach clenched. She pulled the rope away from his neck without removing the noose, so she could pull it tight again if necessary.

  The Mujar raised his head and inhaled. His eyes opened and focussed on her, then his hands flashed up to grip her wrists, making her wince. In a reaction that seemed instinctive rather than premeditated, he thrust her away. She held onto the rope, which tightened around his throat. He slumped, releasing her. Heart pounding, she paused to recover from her shock and pluck up the courage to loosen the rope again. The Mujar raised his head and opened his eyes again.

  “I want to let you go,” she said, scouring her mind for the right words. “But if I do, you owe me, right?”

  He nodded.

  Talsy licked her lips. “I want you to take me with you, wherever you’re going. I want you to stay with me, protect me.” She hesitated. “You’ll bond with me for your lifetime, or until I release you. And… you’ll obey me.”

  “No.”

  She was dumbfounded. Did he not understand the consequences of his refusal? How could he say no? “My father will throw you in a Pit if I don’t set you free.”

  He nodded.

  “You want to be free, don’t you?”

  He nodded again.

  “So do as I say.”

  “No.”

  She bit her lip, trying to think of a better bargain. Perhaps her offer was too harsh. “Okay, just… be my friend. Help me whenever I need it and do as I ask, as if you still owed me another Wish.”

  “Endless Wishes.”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  She groaned. “Damn it, do you want to go to a Pit?”

  “No.”

  “Then give me your word, and I’ll let you go.”

  “No.”

  Talsy pulled the rope tight, and he slumped. She jumped up and paced the room in a quandary. She had not expected him to refuse her offer of freedom with a few strings attached. Perhaps her father was right. There was no way to bind a Mujar and force him to do anything he did not want to do. Yet there had to be. If she was going to escape the life of drudgery her father planned for her, she must find a way to bind the Mujar. For the moment, however, she was stumped.

  No solution came to her before her father returned, so at dinner she questioned him again.

  “Papa, tell me more about Mujar.”

  Borak paused in his chewing to contemplate her. “You’re not getting attached to him, are you?”

  “Of course not. He’s just a thing that sits in the corner. How can anyone get attached to that?”

  “Well, I’ve pretty much told you everything I know, lass.”

  “You said that the hill clans sometimes bond with Mujar.”

  “Yes, it’s a sort of mutual thing. Food and shelter for work. Mujar are quite content to spend their lives in drudgery.”

  Talsy frowned. “But I thought freedom was important to them.”

  “It is.” Borak wiped a dribble of gravy from his beard. “The bond is only for as long as the Mujar wishes it, you see. They’re free to leave any time they want, so they haven’t given up their freedom. They value comfort, as they call it. Food, shelter, clothes. They don’t need them, they just enjoy them. Try to make them do something, and they’re gone.”

  Talsy pushed a chunk of meat around her plate. “So it’s more like a bargain, not a bond.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely a bond, make no mistake. A Mujar will fight for his clan, if asked to, and a clan a Mujar protects is very safe.”

  She looked up. “But you said they won’t kill.”

  “No, they don’t need to.” Borak sighed. “You have no idea of the power a Mujar wields. He controls the elements. He can surround his village in a wall of fire twenty feet high and sustain it until the threat goes away. He can make the wind blow so hard the enemy can’t make headway against, or he could part the earth and make an impassable crevasse. He doesn’t need to kill. That’s why it’s such a waste that these soulless beggars have so much power.”

  “So they can’t be forced, but they can be bribed?”

  Borak smiled and shook his head. “Not really. They think differently to us. If you offered a Mujar two years of comfort to protect your village from a marauding clan, he’d just turn into a bird and fly away. That would be bribery. It doesn’t work. Only if he feels he owes you a favour will he do it. So, a Mujar lives with a clan for two years, does his work and gets his comforts. Then a marauding tribe comes along, and the elders ask him for protection. The Mujar will grant it and protect the clan. There’s a subtle difference, do you see it?”

  Talsy nodded. “Yes. You have to earn their favours. You can’t buy them.”

  “That’s it.”

  “It’s almost like… they’re the masters and we’re the slaves. If they feel we’ve been good they’ll reward us.”

  Borak grunted, looking annoyed. “You could say that. Only the hill clans make those kinds of bonds, probably because they have no pride.”

  “But they do get a lot in return. Almost like having a pet god.”

  Bora
k banged the table, making the crockery jump. “They’re not gods! Don’t go getting any ideas like that! They’re useless bastards!”

  “Only because they won’t let us use them.”

  He glared at her. “Anyone who licks the arse of a Mujar isn’t fit to be called a Trueman. They have no pride! No emotions! They’re damned indestructible scum!”

  “But they rule the world.”

  “They don’t rule anything! They sit around doing absolutely nothing all their lives. They don’t have a will of their own, and no one can inflict his will on them.”

  Talsy concentrated on her food, losing interest in the discussion. She had her answer, although it did not please her. Borak scowled at her. Her withdrawal from the conversation left him in the lurch just as he warmed to his subject. She finished her meal in silence, unwilling to continue the dispute.

  Talsy gazed out of the window, chewing her lip. Her father climbed aboard the cart while the skinny pony waited between the shafts. Two weeks had passed, and at last Borak was going to the village again for supplies and to chat to his cronies in the tavern. She had endured the wait with well-concealed impatience. Her father had only left to hunt, but then she had had to go with him. She recalled the day they had hunted a bog boar, leaving early in the morning. To hunt such a dangerous animal required a bit of ingenuity, and a long forgotten, but clever hunter had come up with a fairly safe method. It involved building a rude platform in a tree beside a bog boar trail. A barbed harpoon attached to a strong rope was then tied to the base of the tree.

  The hunter waited on the platform for several freezing hours until a bog boar wandered past. Then he had to throw the harpoon accurately enough to impale the animal so the barbs found purchase in its flesh. After that, all he had to do was wait for the bog boar to die. This could take hours, or, if the throw was really bad, days. One unfortunate hunter had hooked a bog boar’s hind leg, and the enraged beast had kept him trapped in the tree for three days until a wolf pack chanced along and dispatched it.

  Borak’s throw had killed the beast in less than an hour, and they had dragged the carcass home to freeze on the roof. It had provided food for several weeks.

  Talsy had kissed and hugged her father goodbye with such effusion he had raised his eyebrows, and her heart ached. If her plan worked, she might never see him again. As soon as the cart rattled away down the frozen road and vanished behind a belt of forest, she approached the Mujar. She loosened the rope with shaking hands, excitement and nervousness vying within her. She had decided to release him even if he left her behind. He did not deserve to be thrown into a Pit.

  As the rope fell away, the Mujar raised his head and inhaled. He opened his eyes and shoved her away, leaping up. Talsy sprawled with a yelp. He headed for the door, crossing the room in a few long strides, and she thought she had lost him. Then he slowed and turned. His pale eyes swept the cabin and settled upon her, a frown tugging at his brows.

  Talsy held her breath, wondering what he would do. He walked back to her, and she scrambled to her feet, her heart hammering. His eyes raked her, and she was acutely aware of her tousled hair, scuffed sheepskin boots and coarse woollen shirt stuffed into worn leather leggings. When his eyes met hers, his expression was perplexed, as if his inspection had told him nothing about her.

  “Gratitude.”

  “Wish.”

  He inclined his head. “Wish.”

  Talsy licked her lips. “I... I want clan bond with you.”

  “What clan?”

  “Me. I-I want to serve you, give you comfort… I can hunt, provide food, build shelter, cook…”

  The Mujar held up a hand. “One person isn’t a clan.”

  “Two people… you and me. I-I can provide all the comfort you require. Anything. Just take me with you!” The last words were a desperate plea.

  He regarded her with flat, blazing eyes. “And in return?”

  “Er...” Talsy hesitated, uncertain. “Help? Transport?”

  He appeared to consider, turning away. He scanned the room again, his eyes lingering on the fire. “Do you understand clan bond?”

  “Yes. You’re free. If you want to leave, you will.”

  He nodded, then pinned her with a hard stare. “That’s not a Wish.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No. It’s an offer of bargain, of service.”

  Talsy racked her brains for a suitable Wish. She did not want to waste this valuable favour he was bound to grant in return for freeing him. “Um… protection?”

  “From what?”

  “Anything. Whatever comes along.”

  “If I accept clan bond with you.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Talsy bit her lip. “Then I’ll make a different Wish.”

  Chanter approached the fire, holding his hands out to it. The flames leapt, tickling his fingers. It was good to be free of the collar. The Powers answered his call, filling him with their comforting presence. He considered the Lowman girl’s bargain. Normally he would not have accepted, for one person was not a clan, nor was two. The comforts she offered were tempting, but he could manage without them. That her Wish was part of the bargain made it hard to refuse. He owed her a lot of gratitude for freeing him, but he had another Wish to fulfil, and she would slow him down. There was no time limit on the first Wish, however, so what difference did it make? She watched him, wringing her hands.

  He inclined his head. “I accept clan bond, and your Wish protects you.”

  The girl grinned. He dismissed her odd emotional response and held out a hand, palm up.

  “No harm.”

  “What… What does that mean?”

  “It means I shall not harm you.”

  “Oh.” Her brow wrinkled. “But I thought Mujar couldn’t harm anyone.”

  “We don’t like to hurt people, but we can.”

  “I see.”

  “And you?” he enquired.

  “What?”

  “What’s your answer?”

  Talsy stared at him, then it dawned on her, and she cursed her stupidity. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t try to harm you.”

  He hesitated. Evidently her reply was wrong, or at least, badly phrased. He seemed to come to a decision. “I’m called Chanter.”

  Talsy had the impression that his name was not something he gave to just anyone, and remembered his refusal to give it to her before.

  She smiled. “I… My name’s Talsy.”

  Chanter studied her as if he tried to plumb the depths of her soul with his brilliant eyes, and she shivered. He surveyed the room again, then went over to the water jug, filled a cup and sipped from it. Talsy rushed to gather provisions, stuffing a tent and cooking utensils into a bag. After donning her best fur coat, sturdy boots and gloves, she picked up her hunting bow and quiver. Staggering under the bag’s weight, she went to the door and dumped it.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going to carry that?”

  She nodded.

  “How far?”

  Talsy considered. How far would she get in the snow with such a heavy bag? Without it, however, she could not provide the comforts she had promised.

  Struck by a thought, she asked, “Are you hungry?”

  Chanter inclined his head, and she gave herself a mental kick. Of course he was hungry after not eating for three weeks. She took the pot of last night’s stew from the window ledge and set it on the fire. Several hours remained before her father returned, so she had time. Chanter wandered around, fingered the steel teeth of her father’s wolf traps and inspected the collection of hunting spears propped up in a corner. He then sat at the table and watched her, making her face grow warm.

  When the stew was hot, he ate a copious amount with great relish, scraping the bowl clean. She led the way outside and closed the door behind him.

  “Which way?” she asked with a smile.

  He pointed. “That way.”

  Talsy slogged away in the direction he had i
ndicated, her feet sinking into deep snow. The course led away from the village in the next valley, and would take them deep into wild forests. The bag dug into her shoulder, but then it was lifted off her and she swung around.

  Chanter shouldered it and met her eyes. “Transport.”

  Talsy grinned and preceded him along the trail, her heart buoyant. She had never been so happy in her life. All eighteen winters of it.

  Although her spirits remained high, by late afternoon her legs ached and her throat and lungs burnt from gasping frigid air. Chanter set a gruelling pace she found hard to match, and he often had to wait for her to catch up. Although there was no impatience in his eyes at these times, she strived to walk faster. When she stumbled up to him for the umpteenth time, gasping, he looked concerned.

  “Rest. You’ll injure yourself.”

  She sank down on a rock. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

  “No.”

  “I’m slowing you down.”

  He nodded. “Of course. If not for you, I’d fly.”

  Talsy gazed at the sky. “I wish I could.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll travel faster.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll see.”

  When her gasping eased, he led her onwards at a far slower pace. Talsy was amazed by his stamina. She had always thought she was fit and strong, but he made her seem weak. Refusing to give in to her exhaustion, she pushed herself to the limit of her endurance and tried not to show it. By the time he stopped at sunset, her muscles protested every step and her head swam. She erected the tent, eager to provide the comforts she had promised.

  The Mujar tried to help, but the tent seemed to baffle him, and he did more damage than good. When he pulled it askew for the fifth time, she begged him to leave it alone. He sat on a rock while she finished pitching it and collected firewood. After arranging the wood, she rummaged in her bag for the tinderbox she was sure she had packed. Some minutes later, she came to the conclusion that it was not in the bag at all. Despair flooded her. Without a fire, she could not cook the food she had brought and provide Chanter with the comforts she had promised – her side of the bargain. If she failed, he might leave. Talsy turned stricken eyes on the Mujar, whose eyebrows shot up.