T Southwell - Children of Another God

Mishak shook his fist at the dwindling dot. "You bring my son back, you scum!"

This was the main reason Truemen hated Mujar. They commanded the elements, and could perform feats that Truemen would describe as magic, yet they had the souls of beggars. They lacked pride, ambition, and even self-respect. Nothing could hold them. They vanished whenever they chose, taking on the form they required, for the only thing they seemed to value was freedom. They did not love, nor did they have loyalty or honour. They did not use their powers for good or evil, but lived their hundred years without purpose, content never to use the magic Truemen so envied.

Hill clans were the only people who sometimes struck bargains with Mujar when they found them. In return for food and shelter, Mujar would work in the fields or do menial jobs such as digging cesspits and graves. They would not fell trees, but they were not averse to chopping dead wood. Mujar seemed content with this dull existence, and would live out their lives without ever using their powers.

Mishak banged into the house, angry with himself and Chanter. Envy could eat a man's soul. He considered what he could do with just a tenth of a Mujar's power, and wondered why it was wasted on these pitiful unmen. When the first Mujar had appeared almost three hundred years ago, begging in towns and digging in the rubbish for scraps, Truemen had pitied them and given them food and shelter. Then some mishap had caused a Mujar to use his power, and pity had turned to fear.

Mishak brewed a pot of tea and settled before the fire. Their fear had lessened when people had discovered that Mujar were harmless. Unless abused or tortured, they would not use their powers against a Trueman. Nor would they help people, however. No amount of riches could buy their aid, nor did blackmail work, and even torture had failed. Some people had given Mujar comforts and earned Wishes, but they were scorned as traitors who became servants of the soulless yellow scum and worked for their favours. Trueman pride had bred envy and hate, and Mujar were chased from the cities.

Women had tried to conceive children with Mujar powers, but their bellies had remained empty and Mujar were reviled for this too. Deemed a burden to society, Mujar were beaten until they fled. They had returned again and again, however, moving from city to city like a plague Truemen could not cure. Attempts to kill them had proven futile, and their unwanted presence had continued until someone had thrown one into a Pit. That had been the beginning of the end of the Mujar scourge.

Mishak sat back and sipped his spicy tea. The little luxury calmed his hatred and restored his good humour. At least he had one who now owed him. Only a Mujar could save his son, and if Arrin lived, Chanter would bring him home.

Talsy crept through the forest, her eyes scanning the undergrowth for her quarry. The snow hare had come this way. Its tracks wandered amongst the trees, small marks that must lead to their maker. A snow hare would make a good meal for herself and her father. She pushed through a clump of frozen bushes, flinching at the icy leaves' chill touch. A thick fur jacket and leather leggings kept her warm and protected her from sharp branches, but her fingers were stiff and her feet numb with cold. As soon as she had killed the snow hare, she could return to the cabin's warmth to defrost.

Emerging into a clearing, she followed the tracks across it, then froze as the hare appeared on the far side, nibbling the withered grass that poked through the thin layer of snow. Notching a hunting arrow into her bow, she took aim and loosed it with a soft buzz. The arrow impaled the hare with a thud, and it screamed piteously, kicking up puffs of snow. She headed towards it, stopping as low humming whine came from the bushes ahead. It rose to a frenzied scream, and a bog sow burst from the undergrowth, scattering ice. The sow's engorged udder told Talsy that she had young, and the hare's scream had sounded like a distressed piglet.

Talsy leapt aside as the bog sow charged, but the huge tusked pig's armoured snout struck Talsy's leg, sending her sprawling. She lay still, hoping that, since the sow was a herbivore, she would leave once she was certain that there was no threat to her piglets. The sow scraped the ground with her tusks, snuffling as she circled the girl, prodding her. Talsy winced, but remained immobile. Her jacket protected her torso from the bruising tusks, but her legs would be blue tomorrow. Still, if she moved, she would be dead.

Four fat piglets trotted into the clearing, and their mother turned to them with a low maternal grunt. Talsy's mouth watered as she remembered the taste of bog boar piglet. Their two hundred pound mother loomed over them, however, a killer when aroused. The bog sow, apparently satisfied that her babies were safe, turned and led them away, and Talsy relaxed with a sigh. As she tried to stand up, however, a lance of pain stabbed up her leg, and she sank down again with a cry. From its unnatural angle, her left leg was broken between knee and ankle, and the slightest movement sent shafts of pain through her. She lay panting steam, waiting for the agony to subside so she could think.

When it dulled, she raised her head and looked around, knowing that to lie on the frozen ground for too long was certain death. Gritting her teeth, she crawled towards the trees. Two pieces of wood to splint her leg, another for a crutch, and she would be able to make it home. By the time she reached the trees, she shivered, cold sweat sliming her skin. Shock made her giddy, and she stopped often to rest so she would not faint.

Amongst the trees, she found a sapling and cut through the bark with her skinning knife, snapped it off and set to work stripping off the branches and shaping it into a splint. She worked quickly, for the day waned and she still had a long journey home. At dusk, her father would search for her, but after dark the wolves would be hunting too. Her arrow pinned the dead hare to a tree, and the scent of its blood would attract predators.

After binding two sticks to her leg with the leather thong from her jacket, she looked for a larger sapling to use as a crutch. A rustle of wings made her swing around in alarm, wrenching her leg. Stifling a whimper, she stared at the huge barred daltar eagle that had landed in the clearing, its black talons sunk into the hare's fur. After a moment of stunned surprise, she pulled another arrow from her quiver and notched it. Eagles were tough and stringy, but it would be a long time before she could hunt again. The raptor's wings remained spread as it tried to tug the hare free. Beautiful though the bird was, she and her father had to eat. The eagle would provide two meals, in a stew. Although its great black and white barred wings blocked her view, she aimed for where the body should be and let fly.

The arrow's vicious hiss ended in a meaty thud that warmed her heart. The eagle leapt into the air with a powerful downbeat, then fell, it long pinions splayed across the snow. Talsy smiled. If she waited long enough, she could probably bag a few ravens too. She returned to her task of finding a crutch, spotting a suitable sapling not far off.

By the time she had cut the wood to the right length, her hands were numb and shivers cramped her gut. Lying on the icy ground was definitely unpleasant. With the crutch's help, she pulled herself upright, hopping. She hobbled over to her kills and tied the hare to her belt, then pulled the eagle closer by one wing. The bird flapped, jerking free, and Talsy reached for her knife. The eagle turned its head to look up at her, not with the hot yellow glare of a daltar, but with piercing, brilliant blue eyes. A rush of wind rustled the bushes and the air filled with the sound of beating wings. Talsy recoiled in shock, her crutch skidded and she fell, twisting her broken leg. Dizziness washed over her in a sickening wave, and she clasped her thigh with a groan, striving to stem the wave of pain that washed up it.