Broken World Book Two - StarSword (26 page)

Roth glanced at
the pensive Prince. "Why do I get the feeling that we're sitting in
the eye of a storm?"

"Because we
are. The Hashon Jahar are scouring the dregs of Truemen from this
world and the gods have ordained a gathering of the worthy, but
most of all, a Mujar has broken the law."

"What do you
mean?"

"Chanter broke
one of the laws when he brought Talsy back to life. He said that
there would be repercussions."

"What
sort?"

Kieran shook
his head. "I don't know."

"A pox on
Tyrander, he's caused more trouble than he's worth." Roth winced.
"Sorry, Highness."

"I never even
knew him. He just looks like me. Rest assured, I don't mourn
him."

Roth yawned,
trying to cover it with his hand, his eyes watering.

Kieran turned
to him. "Get some sleep, I'll stand watch."

"Thank you,
Highness."

Roth moved away
and stretched out, leaving Kieran to stare into the fire and dwell
on his thoughts. Far from the blue skies that hung over him, he
sensed that a storm had started to gather.

Talsy leant
back against the broad trunk of an old silk wood tree, the staff
cradled in her lap. Chanter sat opposite, cross-legged, in a
Mujar's supple way. She would rather have remained in his arms, but
he had made his discomfort known, forcing her to move away.

"Tell me the
difference between your power and the Staff of Law," she
demanded.

Chanter sighed
and smiled, toying with the fallen leaves. "I thought I had
side-stepped that question."

She shook her
head, smiling at his attempted evasion.

"It's hard to
explain."

"Try."

He fiddled with
a leaf. "The Staff of Law keeps order. It ensures that everything
grows or lives according to the gods' plan. It's more of a force
than a power. The staff has very little actual power. I control the
elements, as you know, and Life."

"Life?"

"Yes. When
Tyrander asked the Staff of Law what Mujar are, it told him that we
are Life. He misunderstood. We're not life as in a living creature,
we control it." He looked away, frowning.

Talsy leant
forward, her eyes on his profile. "You were about to tell me
something really big, and you changed your mind, didn't you?"

"Yes, but you
wouldn't understand, so don't ask me to explain it."

Her eyes
narrowed. "If I ask you'll tell me?"

He nodded. "But
don't."

"Okay. I
won't." She stroked the staff. "Tell me about the wingless silver
bird that fell from the sky."

Chanter looked
at her despairingly. "Aren't you tired?"

"No."

His gaze
dropped to the staff. "Of course you're not." He sighed. "But you
should rest. Give me the staff."

"No!"

"Talsy, give it
to me."

She pulled a
mutinous face. "You said I could keep it."

"I'll give it
back."

Reluctantly she
handed it to him, missing the warmth and comfort of it as well as
the energy it imparted. Chanter tossed it into the air. "Go
back."

The staff
vanished, and a nut dropped to the leaves beside him. He picked it
up and handed it to her.

"What's this?"
she demanded.

"The Staff of
Life."

"It's a
nut!"

Chanter smiled.
"Well if you knew what it was, why ask?" he teased, then relented
at her glare. "That's the form it chooses to take, a nut, or an
egg, sometimes a tiny seed."

Talsy studied
it, sensing a slight warmth from it and a gentle feeling of
well-being, but little else. She yawned. "Now I'm tired."

"Good. You need
to rest; you've been through a lot." He looked around as a shiver
passed through the ground.

"What was
that?" Talsy sat up in alarm.

"The beginning
of the repercussions. We should return to the camp. The people will
need shelter soon."

"From what?"
Even as she spoke, the forest darkened as the shafts of sunlight
were blotted out.

Chanter pointed
at the dark clouds that obscured the sun. "That."

Talsy tried to
get to her feet and found that her legs would hardly support her. A
terrible fatigue gripped her, making her eyes sag and the world
spin. Chanter rose and swept her up in his arms.

"Give me back
the staff," she muttered.

"No. You have
to sleep."

Ignoring her
slurred protests, he headed through the forest towards the camp.
She yawned and tucked the nut into her bodice, then laid her head
on his shoulder and closed her eyes, surrendering the unequal
battle against sleep.

By the time
Chanter reached the river, the rebels were awake and alarmed.
Thunder rumbled almost constantly and lightning strobed the sky in
flashing fingers of fire. Thick black clouds marched overhead,
heavy with unshed rain. The air had thickened with the tension of
the coming storm, a thrill of building power waiting to be
unleashed. The ground shuddered and shivered like the skin of a
fly-bitten horse.

Chanter marched
up to Kieran and dumped Talsy in his arms. "Take her."

"What the -?"
Kieran looked down at his unexpected burden.

"Don't worry,
she's asleep."

"In this?" He
winced at the din around them.

"She's
tired."

The Mujar swung
away, and the sleeping girl cuddled up to Kieran like a kitten. He
stared after Chanter in confusion, but he left without a backward
glance. The Prince turned his back to the icy wind that sprang up
to lash the trees. Roth struggled to keep his fire alight, and the
Queen's ladies tried to shelter her with shawls. Kieran glared at
the Mujar, who had stopped at the forest's edge.

"You picked a
fine time to go wild."

Chanter turned
to face the camp, where the rebels tried to make shelters out of
blankets and clothes. He shook his head and smiled.

"Such little
faith."

Summoning the
Earthpower, Chanter gestured. The icy stillness clamped down for a
moment, holding even the raging wind in its thrall. Then the
manifestation vanished and the gale howled with renewed fury,
moaning through the trees like a lost, tormented soul. Stone thrust
up all around the chosen with a deep grating and grinding. Some of
the women shrieked as the rock walls rose and curved inwards to
form a rough shelter with a sloping roof. The only one unaffected
by the sudden appearance of the warped bedrock was Kieran, who
studied the structure with interest and satisfaction. Those not
already under the shelter hurried to join their fellows, gathering
around Roth's fire.

The black
clouds released their burden, and rain slashed down in a hissing
veil. Amid the thunder, lightning rent the sky with stark
brilliance and deafening cracks, illuminating trees torn by the
wind in a fury of unfettered power. It screamed through twisting
branches, sweeping torrents of rain into curtains of greyness.
Chanter turned away, rain streaming down his upraised face as he
revelled in the storm's wild power. The wind tugged at him, urging
him to join its race across the land and taste the savagery of its
freedom.

Using the
Dolana he still held, the Mujar became a black wolf with
silver-blue eyes. He declined the wind's invitation, for there were
others who needed his help now, and trotted into the forest. Within
its protection the storm's muted fury roared overhead, and green
leaves stripped from the lashing branches fell with the rain. His
paws squelched on sodden earth, and trees around him creaked and
groaned as they stood against the wind's might.

Kieran laid
Talsy on a pile of blankets at the back of the stone shelter,
pulling some over her. Her slumber was so deep that he pressed a
finger to her throat to assure himself that a pulse beat there. He
removed the blood-stained bandages on his arms and leg, revealing
pale scars, and lay beside her to share his warmth. He glared at
Kamish when the Queen approached and knelt beside the sleeping
girl, gazing at her in wonder.

"Roth told me
that she lives again," she murmured. "A miracle."

Kieran nodded.
"Yes."

The Queen
brushed tangled hair from Talsy's cheek. "Have I lost both my sons,
Kieran?"

"You never had
me."

She bowed her
head. "No, I never did. Much as I longed for you, your father
denied me my second son. For the sake of his succession, so there
would be no doubt or fighting, he gave you away."

"You didn't
stop him."

"I would have
if I could, be he was the King."

Kieran gazed
out at the storm. "Jossa was my father, and he raised me well. You
have no claim on my affections."

The ground
shivered as she nodded. "No, you're right, I have none. I lost
Tyrander not long after you. I named him Tyran, which means
'wanted' or 'precious', a name very like yours. But by the time he
reached the age of seven, I called him Tyrander, the unwanted. Even
at that age he was evil. At eighteen he poisoned his father and
took the throne, keeping me prisoner. Your father paid for his
mistake, as have I."

Kieran shot her
a hard look. "He cast me out to be raised as a peasant. But it was
a good thing, or I might have turned out just as bad as
Tyrander."

"No, I don't
think so. You were different from the moment you were born, even
though you looked the same."

Kieran turned
away. "It doesn't matter. It's not about blame or revenge. I just
don't know you."

Kamish nodded
and started to move away. Kieran frowned, curious despite himself.
"What does my name mean?"

She smiled. "It
means 'brave', or 'valiant'.

Chanter found
the chosen huddled in a narrow gulley, trying to shelter under a
sodden collection of tents and blankets that they had strung across
the chasm. The wind ripped gleefully at the coverings, allowing the
driving rain to penetrate and soak the people under it. Children
wailed as lightning illuminated the forest almost constantly now,
and thunder all but drowned out the wind's screams as it savaged
the treetops. Rain fell in torrents, and already dozens of rivulets
flowed across the muddy ground.

Chanter wielded
Dolana, the icy stillness once again freezing the storm's fury,
then released it to ravage the forest in vengeance. The bedrock
beneath the chosen thrust up through the running mud, carrying them
with it. Most screamed in terror, clutching one another as they
were lifted from the danger of the rapidly filling gully. Chanter
shaped the rock into walls and a roof to shelter the battered and
sodden chosen, who stared about in wonder at the earth's
transformation.

Sheera released
her hold on Shern to peer into the greyness. "Chanter!"

Shern glanced
around. "Where is he?"

"Out there
somewhere."

"Call him!"

"I just did,"
she snapped. "If he doesn't want to come, he won't."

Shern gestured
at the wet, shivering people, some holding weeping children. "We
need fire. All the wood is wet."

She leant
further out of the cavern. "Chanter! We need you!"

The sheets of
rain made it impossible to see more than a few paces outside, and
lightning stabbed her eyes. She jumped as a huge black wolf trotted
out of the deluge and stopped to gaze up at her with fire-blue
eyes. Shern recoiled with a curse, reaching for his knife, but
Sheera raised hand.

"No, wait." She
studied the wolf, who sat. "I think it's him."

Shern looked
wary. "Ask him."

"We're cold,
Chanter. May we have some fire?"

The wolf's eyes
flicked past her to the huddle of sodden people who shivered within
the shelter. His gaze came to rest on a few branches someone had
gathered earlier in the hopes of building a fire, now soaked. The
air filled with the screaming inferno of Crayash, and the wood
burst into flames. Sheera turned to thank the wolf-Mujar, but
Chanter had vanished into the storm once more.

Sheera joined
the others around the fire, some stripping off wet cloaks and
holding the children close to soak up the warmth. A few settled
down to eat, their clothes steaming.

She swapped a
look with Shern. "Something's going on. This storm isn't natural,
and the earth is shaking."

He nodded. "At
least we're safe for now. Let's just hope the Black Riders don't
come by."

"I wonder
what's caused this."

Shern took a
loaf of bread from his satchel and offered her half. "I don't know,
but I pity anyone out in it."

"At least
Chanter's safe."

The Mujar loped
up a steep hill, striving to gain height and freedom from the
trees. The storm's fury lashed the forest until it seemed to cower,
trees bending under its rage. Some fell, their roots ripped from
the shivering earth, and tore into their neighbours, pulling them
down too. Rivers rose, broke their banks and tore out more trees,
washing away soil and rocks.

His tongue
lolled as he padded up the slope, his steaming breath whipped away
by the wind. He had to soothe the storm's fury and lessen its
unbridled power to minimise the damage it was doing.

The law of the
land had been broken, a major one whose name rode within the storm
like the distant tolling of a gargantuan bell. The lashing trees
whispered its name; the wind screamed it and the thunder roared it.
The Staff of Law reminded all who would listen of the law that had
been broken, reinforcing its forbidding.

"Life and Death
shall never mingle. Forbidden. The dead shall not return to
life."

Chanter
scrambled over rain-washed rock, leaving the trees' shelter to face
the storm's naked power. He staggered under its might, resuming his
man shape to cling to the stone with fingers instead of claws.
Raising his face to the raging elements, he reached out with his
will, took hold of the wind and calmed it a little. The
repercussions could not be completely stilled, though it was within
his power to do it. The world must vent its fury and spend itself
to find order again. So he gentled the wind and lessened the rain,
but allowed the storm to continue.