T Southwell - Children of Another God

Three weeks later, Chanter decided that they should move on. The Wish he had granted Mishak remained unfulfilled, and he still had to find Arrin, if he lived. He was certain that the boy would have headed up the coast to the next town, where he could earn the fare to cross the Narrow Sea. He knew that the chances of finding Arrin were slim, and Mishak might have succumbed to the Hashon Jahar too by now, yet he had to try.

Talsy packed her bag and mounted the black stallion, which carried her up the coastal road at an untiring canter. Within a few days, they passed two ruined towns, and at each one Chanter tested the wind and the earth for signs of Arrin. Deciding that Arrin would have continued up the coast if he did not cross the sea, they continued onwards.

Over the next two weeks, they encountered many scenes of death and destruction. The colourful creatures abounded, rooted amongst the debris of Truemen's downfall. Scavengers had already picked the ruins clean, leaving only bleached bones and fallen stones. In the months since Rashkar's fall, it seemed that the Hashon Jahar had wiped out almost all of the Truemen cities. Occasionally, they came across fields of skeletons, the remains of those who had fled the cities or armies sent to fight the Black Riders. On one of these fields, Chanter stopped beside a pile of bones and sighed. Talsy came to stand beside him.

"Arrin?"

He nodded. "Mishak's Wish has failed. He will never see his son again."

"If what we've seen is anything to go by, Mishak's dead, too."

"Probably. There are few left, though."

"Where are they?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Talsy walked away. "So what do we do now?"

Chanter followed, carrying the bag. "We must head west, I believe."

"Why?"

"Just a feeling I have."

Talsy glanced at him. "Can't we return to the cave?"

"No. We'll travel west."

The stallion continued to carry Talsy along deserted roads and through devastated cities, towns and villages. Flattened tracts of ground and stream banks marked the Black Riders’ passage. The trampling of thousands of hooves had churned the grass to mud in broad swathes and created new roads that cut through forest and field. As Talsy and Chanter travelled westwards, the ruins became fresher. Scavengers still frequented some, which gave off the stench of death. The rainbow-hued creatures vanished, and they were forced to return to a diet of vegetables gleaned from the abandoned fields of sacked towns. Deer, sheep and cattle abounded, but Talsy found that she could no longer hunt them; the thought of killing sickened her. She threw away her hunting bow, keeping the knife only as a tool for digging and cleaning the vegetables they ate.

Three weeks of travel brought them to a rocky coastline and a ruined city. The town had been destroyed no more than a few days before, and flocks of vultures and crows wheeled over it. Chanter avoided it, and they travelled further up the coast before making camp. Talsy built a fire and put up her tent while the Mujar visited the abandoned fields to procure their supper. When he returned, she put the vegetables on to cook and settled on a rock beside him. Noticing smoke rising a few miles away, she pointed it out to him. He considered it.

"Could be another destroyed settlement."

"Maybe," she agreed. "But perhaps there are people there."

The Mujar glanced at her. "You long for your own kind?"

"Not really, but if there are people there, how did they escape the Black Riders?"

"Then we'll go and see, tomorrow."

The following morning, they set off up the coast, and within a few hours came across a huddle of tents and hastily erected shacks in a clearing by the beach. Talsy grew excited at the prospect of meeting people again, and especially finding out why they had been spared. Chanter stopped before they reached the settlement, and she slid from his back with the bag. He reverted to man form and, after studying the Trueman settlement, turned to her.

"Go and speak to them if you wish. I'll remain here unless you need me."

Talsy nodded, understanding his reluctance to enter the camp. Leaving the bag with him, she followed a narrow path that wandered through the rocks. People worked amongst the tents and shacks, cleaning skins, salting fish, cooking, washing or mending clothes. They stopped work to watch her pass, some greeting her with smiles and cheerfulness, belying the gloom and death that hung over the land. Most were young women, with a smattering of elderly crones and young boys. The few mature men seemed to be honest farmers or tradesmen. She wandered around until a friendly freckle-faced girl of about fifteen offered her a meal and took her to a crone cooking a pot of stew. The meaty aroma made Talsy's mouth water, and she accepted a bowl from the old woman and settled down on a wooden stool to consume it.

The matron smiled. "Hungry, are you, missy?"

Talsy nodded, her mouth full.

"I'm surprised you look as fit as you do, wandering alone in the wilderness. What happened? Was your party attacked by brigands?"

"No." Talsy frowned. "I had no party."

"You look too young to be a seer. Who warned you?"

"Warned me of what?"

The crone's smile dwindled, and her eyes grew wary. "You are one of the chosen, aren't you?"

Talsy almost touched the Mujar mark on her forehead. "Yes, I'm one of the chosen. How did your people escape the Black Riders?"

The old woman's smile broadened in relief. "We're all chosen here. I was the seer of my village, and I received the vision that told us to leave. Only good people who don't judge would be saved, I was told." Her smile vanished and she frowned. "I had to leave my son behind. The vision warned that if there was one amongst us who judged and hated, the Hashon Jahar would hunt him down and slay him."

Talsy, who had stopped eating to listen in rapt fascination, put her spoon down. "You mean, all of you are… You don't hate Mujar?"

"That's right. We're the chosen. There are five seers here, besides myself. Each had the same dream and brought their people out of the doomed villages. None of us hate Mujar."

"That's wonderful!" Talsy grinned. "Then you're all saved! You're the worthy!"

"I'm Sheera, and I'm proud to be amongst the chosen," the old woman went on. "I knew a Mujar when I was young, and I saw him dragged away and flung into a Pit. You'll find that almost everyone here has either known a Mujar or is the child of one who has. We know they're good, simple people, and we have nothing against them. Only the proud and ignorant condemned them, and now they've paid the price. It's a terrible thing, of course. My son was a foolish boy, he wouldn't listen to me when I told him about Mujar."

Sheera turned at a groan from the shack behind her and excused herself to rise and enter it. Talsy ate the stew without tasting it. Just as Chanter had said, the fate of the world had indeed changed. She gazed around the camp. Over a hundred people lived here, all touched by the peace and humility of Mujar, destined to continue the Trueman race. Surely there were more in other settlements like this all over the land. Flocks of sheep and goats, as well as a herd of cattle, grazed in the grassland around the camp. Soon it would become a village, keeping the Trueman race alive.

Talsy finished her stew and entered the shack to ask Sheera the questions that burnt in her mind. The old seer sat beside a thin pallet, bathing the brow of the man who lay on it. He was stripped to the waist, his skin beaded with sweat above his tatty brown trousers. Dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead, and crooked brows frowned above a proud nose. His features had an air of quality and breeding about them. Lean muscle ridged his broad-shouldered torso, and a blood-stained dressing was strapped to his flank.