Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law (33 page)

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.”

“
I don’t understand.”

“
Then you’d better start pondering the problem, if you want to
live.”

Kieran stared
at him, confused, and the old Mujar gazed out to sea again.

Talsy wandered
through the pearly flowers, absorbing the astounding peace of the
Lake of Dreams. Although they had walked for some time, the
landscape remained constant, with no landmarks to gauge their
progress. She wondered if they were going in circles when three
hazy golden lights appeared beside them. She clutched Chanter’s
arm, drawing his attention to the lights. The Mujar smiled.

“
What are those?” she asked.

“
Souls.”

“
Whose?”

“
They’re Truemen, but there’s no way of knowing the names they
bore in life. Even they don’t know,” he explained,
unperturbed.

“
How do you know they’re Truemen souls?”

“
Mujar are brighter.”

Talsy studied
the hazy lights, searching for some identity, but finding none.
“Can’t they speak?”

“
They can, but they probably have nothing to say.”

“
Then why are they following us?”

He shrugged.
“Curiosity, perhaps. They can’t harm you. There’s no need to be
afraid.”

“
Haven’t they seen living people before?”

“
Not in the Lake of Dreams. Few of the living ever venture in
here. It’s the place of the dead, and for some reason the living
fear the dead.”

“
They’re creepy, not frightening.” She shivered. “Could they be
people I used to know?”

He shook his
head. “Truemen dead have no memories. They wouldn’t know you now,
even if they did once.”

“
I thought the mist was the souls of the dead?”

“
It is, but they can become visible if they choose. Those that
aren’t interested in us have remained mist, only these few have
chosen to show themselves.”

“
Can we leave now?”

“
Sure.” Chanter spoke a word and stepped forward. In one stride
they left the Lake of Dreams and emerged onto a windswept plateau
surrounded by towering, snow-capped peaks.

Talsy looked
back, expecting to see some trace of the Lake from which they had
just come, but only a panoramic vista of distant golden plains
greeted her. She walked back a few steps, straining her senses to
detect some tangible evidence that the Lake even existed, but found
nothing. Chanter watched her with a smile, amused by her
antics.

“
You can’t sense it.”

“
But you can,” she said. “And how do you know the god words
that let you in and out? You said you couldn’t speak the language
of the gods.”

“
I can’t. The words come to me when I need them and vanish
afterwards, like when I stopped the stone from climbing the trees
where you hid.”

She nodded.
“How will the chosen get out?”

“
They’re in the gods’ hands, and when their testing is over,
those who survive will come forth at the gods’ behest.”

“
And if the gods choose to give us entry into the Lakes, as you
said they might, will we also know the god words when we wish to
enter them?”

“
Of course,” he said. “How else would you? You’ll also be able
to sense them; otherwise you wouldn’t be able to find
them.”

She brushed
aside a lock of hair, turning to face the bitter wind. “When
Truemen are no longer a threat to the creatures of this world, the
lakes won’t be needed anymore, will they? Not as havens from us.
Why don’t the gods just incorporate them into the rest of
reality?”

Chanter
chuckled and found a rock to settle on, the wind whipping his hair.
“So many questions, as usual, my little clan.” He pondered the
bleak landscape. “For one thing, the gods can’t incorporate the
lakes into this reality, since they’re part of a different
dimension. For another, if they incorporated the Lake of Dreams,
the dead would inhabit the same dimension as us, and walk the world
as ghosts. They dwell in the lake until they’re reborn to learn
more of life’s lessons. The other lakes are new, created to protect
the creatures of this world, but the Lake of Dreams has been here
since creation.”

“
And what happens when they’ve learnt everything that there
is?” she asked.

“
Then they join with the gods to become part of the great
spiritual union. Those who learn the lessons poorly will be sent
back again and again, others will progress quite quickly, but for
all, it takes many lifetimes. The old souls are always the wisest,
and most of the chosen who will survive this test will be old
souls, like you. Some younger ones will succeed too, usually those
who have suffered much and learnt their lessons
swiftly.”

Talsy was
startled. “I’m an old soul?”

“
Very old, but even you have much to learn. A soul dwells in
many forms during its long ascension, starting off as a tiny spark
in the lowliest of creatures. Gradually it’s reborn into more and
more complex creatures, learning and suffering along the way. When
finally it’s born into a man, it becomes self-aware, and sometimes
retains vague memories of its past lives, which usually come to it
in dreams. Have you ever had dreams of flying or running from
danger?”

“
Yes, occasionally.”

“
Those are memories of past lives when you were able to fly as
a bird, or perhaps were hunted as a rabbit or deer. Once it reaches
this ultimate stage, the soul is reborn many times to ensure that
the final lessons are learnt. A soul must attain great spiritual
awareness before it’s worthy of joining with the gods, and many
fail.”

“
What happens to them?”

“
They’re cast into the Lake of Fire, and destroyed.”

Talsy frowned
at him, rubbing her arms with a shiver. “Which god will we become
part of, yours, or our own?”

He smiled up
at her. “After this, you’ll be the adopted children of my gods, and
live according to their laws.”

Talsy turned
away to gaze across the bleak landscape, searching for some sign of
the chosen emerging from the Lake of Dreams. “How long before the
others arrive? And where are Drummer and Dancer?”

“
They’ll be along. They’re either still ensuring that the
chosen enter the Lake, or they’re exploring it. The young are
curious.”

She faced him,
envying his immunity to the freezing wind. “I’m cold.”

He held out a
hand. “Come, I’ll share my Crayash with you.”

She cuddled up
to him, and they waited on the vast grassy plateau for the chosen
to emerge from the Lake of Dreams.

Kieran had
lain on the beach for five days, and he wondered if Talsy was
worried about him yet. She had Chanter to comfort her, however, and
he was all she had ever wanted. In the last few weeks, he had
noticed the tender, covetous glances she had given the Mujar, and
knew that their relationship had progressed beyond friendship. A
part of him pitied her hopeless infatuation with the cold-hearted
alien; another resented the Mujar for the ease with which he held
her unwanted love. Either way, he had lost her, for as long as
Chanter gave her even part of what she longed for, she would never
turn from him.

Raising his
head, he looked around for the elderly Mujar who had stood vigil
over him for the last few days. Chanter stood on the wet sand, the
waves lapping his feet as they rushed up the beach and then
retreated with a sigh. Hunger and thirst had weakened Kieran; in
fact, he hardly had the strength to raise his head. Hours of
struggling had chafed his wrists raw, and his skin had reddened in
the sun, then blistered and cracked. Soon he would die, of that he
was certain, and the old Mujar would watch him with expressionless,
uncaring eyes. He almost hated the unman who had stood by and
watched him suffer. Even though he knew the Mujar had not tied him
down, he would not set him free, either

Kieran let his
head fall back with a groan, closing his eyes against the endless
glare of the sky. A shadow fell on him, and he looked up into
Chanter’s pitiless face.

“
I’m going now,” the old Mujar said. “You haven’t found the way
to be free, and soon your time will be up. It seems I’m wasting
mine.”

Kieran tried
to speak, croaked, and tried again. “Wait.”

The Mujar
paused in the act of turning away.

Kieran begged,
“Give me a clue, please.”

“
No.”

“
Damn you!”

Chanter tilted
his head. “Do you hate me now?”

“
No,” the Prince growled, “I’m indifferent, just like
you.”

“
Good. But that won’t save you.”

“
Then what will?”

“
I can’t tell you that.”

Chanter turned
and walked away, his footprints wiped out by the waves. Kieran
stared after him, his last hope dwindling with the retreating
figure. He strained at the ropes with the last of his strength,
flopping back with a groan. Turning his head, he watched the Mujar
shrink as the distance between them increased. Chanter did not look
back. The Prince closed his eyes and relaxed, resigning himself to
his fate. He wondered why Mujar were so inexplicable. What made
them stand by and watch a man die when they could so easily help
him? He remembered Dancer’s sorrowful eyes and rueful words. No
Wish. He had wanted to help, but could not without a Wish. He had
fled to escape Kieran’s suffering, because he loved him. It made no
sense. Yet when Kieran had watched him dragged away, beaten and
bleeding, making no attempt to help him, Dancer had forgiven him.
The Prince smiled, remembering the wonderful fulfilment of
forgiveness.

Opening his
eyes a slit, he searched the empty horizon for the distant figure
of the old Mujar. Peace invaded him, his anger ran away like rain
soaking into parched earth, and he whispered, “I forgive you.”

Kieran
stumbled from the Lake of Dreams and fell to his knees on the cold
grass of the plateau. A chill wind stung his skin and tugged at his
clothes as he looked around in confusion. A swift examination found
no sunburn, and no chafe marks on his wrists. His hunger and thirst
had vanished as if by magic, and he looked up. Talsy hurried
towards him, Chanter following more slowly. He rose to his feet
before she reached him, returning her hug somewhat
distractedly.

“
I made it,” he muttered, still dazed by the
transition.

“
Of course you did!” she exclaimed. “Chanter said you
would.”

“
I don’t understand.”

“
Don’t you?” Chanter studied the Prince.

Kieran
gathered his wits and met the Mujar’s steady gaze. The silence hung
between them like a veil, then Kieran nodded. “Perhaps I do. Is
that what it’s all about? Forgiveness?”

Chanter
smiled. “That was your lesson. Each is tested in a different way.
Forgiveness, love, tolerance, compassion, or courage.”

“
I didn’t know that!” Talsy protested. “Why was I
chosen?”

“
You forgave. No one knows what their weaknesses are before the
gods test them. At times you got angry, but that’s allowed.
Strangely, Kieran was chosen because of his indifference. He didn’t
hate us, even though he never forgave his friend Dancer for
abandoning him in the forest.”

“
I have now,” Kieran said.

“
Ah, you saw him?”

The Prince
nodded. “I feel so much better.”

Chanter
clapped Kieran on the shoulder, and the Prince smiled without any
trace of his previous tension.

The Mujar
said, “Forgiveness is the greatest gift of all, next to love. It
washes away bitterness and anger, fills the soul with peace and
tranquillity, and negates the reasons for strife. Merely by
forgiving our inaction and accepting our strange ways, Truemen
could have earned the help they so desperately longed for, but
instead, they hated us. For Mujar, forgiveness is natural, although
we do feel anger when we are made to suffer at the hands of others
for no reason. It’s hard to explain. We forgive those who torture
us, but rage at their cruelty. Almost, we’re angry with the god who
created you so imperfect, so unforgiving.”

“
It’s difficult to forgive someone who walks away and leaves
you to die,” Kieran muttered.

“
Tests are never easy. If they were, there would be little
point in having them. Do you feel at peace with yourself
now?”