Broken World Book Four - The Staff of Law (37 page)

Chanter
stepped back. “I wish you both long life and happiness, and many
strong sons to bring you the joy you deserve. I’ll expect an
invitation to the wedding, and don’t let her give you too many
black eyes, Kieran.”

“
I’m learning to duck faster.”

“
Good.” Chanter leant forward to kiss Talsy’s brow. “Remember,
you’ll always be my little clan. I won’t desert you. Don’t be sad,
share my joy.”

Chanter swung
away and headed for the archway with long strides. A dam of emotion
burst inside Talsy, clogged her throat and flooded her heart with
pain. She sobbed, struggling to get free of Kieran and run after
Chanter. She wanted to throw her arms around him and hug him one
last time. He had not said goodbye properly. A kiss on the brow was
not enough to comfort her in the years of estrangement to come.
Kieran hung onto her with some difficulty.

“
Stop it, Talsy. Let him go.”

“
No,” she sobbed. “I just want say goodbye, that’s all. Let me
go! Cha-”

Kieran clapped
a hand over her mouth and growled in her ear, “Don’t call him
back!”

She wrenched
her chin from his grip and cried, “Chanter, wait!”

Unable to
disobey the slight command the name he had given her bestowed, the
Mujar stopped and turned. A look of despair and horror twisted his
face, and he fell to his knees, raising his hands in supplication.
Behind him, the archway winked out of existence. The two young
Mujar who played beyond it turned to stare at their father. Chanter
sank back on his haunches, his hands drawing together before his
chest in the palm up gesture as his eyes clung to the blue sky. He
became still, and his eyes closed. Talsy screamed as his golden
skin and black hair and clothes faded to grey.

“
Chanter!” Talsy jerked free of Kieran’s lax hold and ran to
the Mujar. She dropped to her knees and reached for his hands,
recoiling with a strangled cry. “I’m sorry! Oh, God, I’m so sorry!
Chanter!”

With trembling
fingers, she touched his outstretched hands. The cold stone made
her cringe, but she clung to him as if to will life back into
him.

Raising her
head, she shouted, “No! Don’t do this! Don’t punish him for my
mistake! Take me! If it’s vengeance you want, take me, not him!”
She slumped against the statue that had been the Mujar. Her sobs
tore through her in great racking wails. “Don’t do this... Don’t
punish him like this...”

Beyond
Chanter’s frozen form, the two Mujar spun away and leapt into the
air. A rush of Ashmar ruffled the grass as they rose on beating
wings. They dwindled as they flew towards the mountains that ringed
the valley and out into the world beyond. This was the freedom
Chanter had longed for, and her stupidity had denied him the gift
he so richly deserved.

Talsy looked
up at Kieran, a world of grief and anguish in her heart. He cursed
and knelt beside her, pulled her into his arms and stroked her
hair, and she hid her face in his chest.

“
He can’t die, he can’t,” she wept.

“
Don’t hope. You’ll drive yourself mad with grief, and I
couldn’t bear to lose you too.”

“
He isn’t in the Lake of Dreams.”

“
No.” Kieran held her close. “He’s right here, and this is
where he’s going to stay.”

Talsy clung to
him as the chill wind tugged at them, and Kieran gazed at Chanter’s
statue, frozen forever in his last gesture of supplication.

Epilogue

After two
years of hopeless waiting, Talsy obeyed Chanter’s wish and married
Prince Kieran. They lived in the Mujar castle beneath the winding
banners of blue silk that bore the vanished emblems of Staff and
Mujar. Talsy bore Kieran four sons, and visited Chanter’s statue
every day with fresh flowers to place in front of him. She often
spent long hours talking to him, brought her children to play
beside him in the spring sunshine and brushed the snow from him in
winter. Several times, Kieran or her sons had to retrieve her
shivering form from the hillside in the depths of winter, when she
could not leave the statue, haunted by the terrible grief that
never truly died. Ordal grew into a handsome man who resembled his
father closely and possessed a gentle, patient nature. Talsy loved
him to distraction, but every time she looked at him it brought her
sadness.

Talsy was not
the only one to pay homage to Chanter’s statue, and often his stone
form was waist deep in flowers. Without Chanter, Talsy’s spirit
died, and after the birth of her last son she grew frail and
sickly. Drummer visited on rare occasions, basked in the little
garden and brought a vestige of comfort with him. The glass vial of
Chanter’s tears stayed beside Talsy’s bed, and each night she
lifted it to the light and looked deep into its glowing depths.

The people in
the valley multiplied, and many left to build new cities. Danya’s
daughter, Traya, married an Aggapae warrior and bore three
blue-eyed daughters with raven hair. Ordal wed a pretty girl and
gave her five strapping sons who were all the image of him. Talsy
lived to be sixty-two, and then died quietly in her sleep. Kieran
obeyed her last wish and buried her beside Chanter on the hillside.
In his grief and loneliness, he took the Starsword from its place
on the wall and drove it into the ground in front of the statue,
leaving it standing in the earth.

Two weeks
later, he followed his beloved wife into the grave, and his sons
buried him beside Chanter’s statue. Flanked by the graves of the
two legendary people who had saved the world with him, the statue
became a shrine for many years, until Kieran’s eldest grandson
decided to quit the valley and its sorrow. He led the people from
it, and, as the cavalcade passed out through the gateway in
Chanter’s wall, it closed behind them, locking away the valley and
all its secrets.

They made a
new home on a lush plain near a forest, and there the people
thrived, obeyed the gods’ laws and living peaceful lives. The vial
of Chanter’s tears was handed down from generation to generation in
the Prince’s family, a cherished heirloom whose origins became
legend. The prophecy of the Staff of Law haunted them, and a
hundred and fifty years after Talsy’s death, a strange new star
appeared in the sky, growing brighter each night...

The tale will
continue…

****

About the
author

T. C.
Southwell was born in Sri Lanka and moved to the Seychelles with
her family when she was a baby. She spent her formative years
exploring the islands – mostly alone. Naturally, her imagination
flourished and she developed a keen love of other worlds. The
family travelled through Europe and Africa and, after the death of
her father, settled in South Africa. T. C. Southwell has written
over thirty novels and five screenplays. Her hobbies include
motorcycling, horse riding and art, and she earns a living in the
IT industry.

All
illustrations and cover designs by the author.

Contact the
author at [email protected]

Acknowledgements

Mike Baum and
Janet Longman, former employers, for their support, encouragement,
and help. My mother, without whose financial support I could not
have dedicated myself to writing for ten years. Isabel Cooke,
former agent, whose encouragement and enthusiasm led to many more
books being written, including this one. Suzanne Stephan, former
agent, who has helped me so much over the past six years, and
Vanessa Finaughty, good friend and business partner, for her
support, encouragement and editing skills.