T Southwell - Children of Another God

Sheera held a finger to her lips, whispering, "He has a fever. The wound is bad."

Talsy knelt beside her. "Is he one of the chosen?"

The old woman gestured for her to leave the shack and followed. Outside, she settled down to stir the stew again.

"We're not sure if he is. We found him a few days ago on our way here. He was with a party of women and children, all of whom had been slaughtered, but not by the Hashon Jahar. So we think he's chosen, although it won't matter soon; he's dying."

"How do you know the Black Riders didn’t kill them?"

Sheera shook her head. "There were many dead brigands amongst the fallen." She jerked her thumb at the shack behind her. "He was obviously a fighter. He had a great sword with him. We brought him here and I've been nursing him. But the wound grows worse, and a fever has now set in. Doubtless he'll be dead soon."

Talsy considered this, staring into the fire. "I have a friend who might help him, if he is one of the chosen."

"Then bring your friend, my dear, and let's find out. He hasn't woken since we found him, so we can't question him. If he isn't chosen he must be cast out."

Talsy nodded. There was no reason for Chanter to avoid these Truemen, who would not wish to harm him. In fact, she was curious about how they would react to him. Rising, she thanked Sheera for the food and trotted back along the rocky path. She arrived gasping at the rock where Chanter perched, chewing a blade of grass and gazing into space. He smiled when she approached and slid down to join her on the ground.

"Why the hurry?" he enquired as she strived to catch her breath.

She leant on the rock and grinned. "They're chosen!" He raised a brow, and she elaborated, "They don't hate Mujar. They were warned of the Black Riders' coming and fled their villages. The seers were given a vision or dream, and brought the good people to safety."

He nodded. "Good, then you'll have company for the journey."

"What journey?"

"We must continue westwards for the gathering."

Talsy glanced out to sea. "That's west, into the ocean."

"Yes. We must cross it to reach the western continent."

"Why?"

"You'll find out when we get there."

She shrugged it off, resolving to get it out of him later somehow. "Come on." Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the camp. "There's one who needs your help." She paused. "You will help him, won't you? He might be one of the chosen, and therefore worthy."

"Might be?"

"He's injured, and can't speak, but they think he is."

Chanter allowed her to tug him along, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. After the treatment he had received from Truemen in the past, she did not blame him for his mistrust, and glanced back often with a reassuring smile. On the camp's outskirts, he stopped and studied the people with wary eyes, reminding her that he had not willingly entered the presence of men in his true form before. Since the demise of his clan, he had been suspicious of Truemen, and rightly so. She tugged him forward.

The reaction of the chosen was mixed and surprising. Most stopped their work and conversations to stare at Chanter, and silence descended. Several youngsters ran and hid, peering from tents and shacks. One woman fell to her knees and sobbed with wild abandon, hiding her face in her skirt. Others moved to comfort her, and men who stood in Chanter's path backed away. An old man came forward and bowed with grave dignity, his wrinkled face wreathed in a gentle smile.

"Welcome, Mujar," he murmured. "We are honoured."

Chanter glanced at the old man, who lowered his eyes and retreated. Talsy led Chanter to Sheera's shack, eager to introduce him to the old woman with whom she had shared a strong rapport. Sheera looked up from her work, and her bland expression changed to one of amazement and joy. Dropping the spoon with which she stirred the stew, she rose with a soft cry and strode towards Chanter, lifting her arms as if to embrace him. The Mujar pulled his hand from Talsy's grip and stepped back.

The air swelled and filled with the soft beating of wings. Sheera stopped and lowered her arms, and the manifestation of Ashmar died away. Her eyes overflowed, and she brushed at the tears that coursed down her cheeks. She cast Talsy a look of deep gratitude before turning her gaze upon Chanter again. Stepping forward cautiously, she performed a creaky curtsy.

"You are welcome amongst us. I'm sorry I startled you, I mean you no harm." She looked at Talsy. "You didn't mention that your friend was Mujar, child. You should have."

Talsy glanced around at the gawping crowd. "I wasn't expecting this reaction."

"Then what were you expecting, foolish girl? Many of these people have known Mujar and lost them to the Pits, others have only heard legends." Sheera pointed at the weeping woman. "She loved one and lost him. The old man adopted one as his son, and lost him. The ones who are hiding have only heard the legends. You walk in here as bold as brass, towing a Mujar like a dog on a lead. What did you expect?"

Talsy shuffled in embarrassment. "What Mujar have you known?"

Sheera blinked away fresh tears. "I too, had one as a son. I hid him for many years, for I lived alone in the woods. He was my pride and joy, so beautiful and gentle. We had an understanding, not a bond. I gave him all the comforts he wished, just for his company. When the townsfolk found out about him, they came and took him away to a Pit. They wounded him terribly with a spear, but he would not fight, even though I begged him to."

"Why did you run at Chanter?"

"I… He looks so like him, I wanted to embrace him." She shook her head. "But it was wrong, I know. He is as wild and untouchable as my friend was. What bond do you have with him, that he allows you to touch him?"

Talsy glanced at Chanter. She had not realised that Mujar were so reluctant to be handled. He had been unwilling to approach her at first, she recalled, and he always kept his distance from Truemen. Only when he had agreed to clan bond had he lain beside her. Her hand rose towards the Mujar mark on her brow, but a glance at Chanter stopped her, for his eyes held a warning.

"We have clan bond," she said.

Sheera nodded and stepped aside, gesturing to the pot and stools set around the fire. "I offer comforts, Mujar. You are welcome at my table, humble though it is. Are you hungry?"

Chanter inclined his head and went over to settle on a stool. He glanced around at the staring people, most of whom averted their eyes or went back to their tasks, throwing surreptitious looks at him.

Sheera dished up a bowl of stew and handed it to him, her eyes filled with wonder. Chanter ignored her, and the others who still gaped at him from their hiding places.

Talsy sat on a stool next to him and asked, "How is the wounded man?"

The old woman looked blank for a moment. "Oh, he's a little worse."

Talsy glanced at Chanter. "Perhaps you should see to him now, before he gets sicker."

The Mujar paused, a spoonful of stew poised before his mouth.

Sheera protested, "There's no need. He'll be all right."

Chanter continued with his meal, ignoring Talsy's fretting. To distract herself, she asked Sheera, "How long did you know your Mujar?"

"On and off for four years. He came and went as he pleased, of course. Sometimes he would be gone for days or months. Then he would reappear and stay for several weeks. He always slept elsewhere, for some reason."

The old woman's ignorance surprised Talsy, who opened her mouth to explain why Mujar slept elsewhere. Chanter elbowed her, and she glanced at him. He shook his head.

"You mustn't speak of Mujar to outsiders."

"But -"

"No."

"He's right," Sheera declared. "If Kuran had wanted me to know, he would have told me."