T Southwell - Children of Another God

Borak tugged at her leggings. "Damned yellow monkeys. They don't have the brains to use what they're given. It's wasted on them. They're no better than animals, remember that. They're freaks. Useless, brainless, spineless freaks."

Talsy glanced at the Mujar. "I think he's beautiful."

"Oh, sure, but only on the surface. Deep down, they're empty, just living shells."

"That's hard to believe. He doesn't seem stupid, only very gentle."

Borak grunted. "Why isn't he saying something in his defence, then? He'd have left you in the forest, make no mistake. He wouldn't have helped you if you hadn't used the arrow to make him." Her father peeled aside her leggings to reveal a swollen, discoloured limb.

"I asked him about that. He said that he didn't owe me anything. After all, we throw them in the Pits. Why should they help us?"

"They never helped, even before that. Don't waste your pity on him. He doesn't deserve it. He wouldn't even understand it."

Borak patted his daughter's hand, then rose and kicked the Mujar, making him flinch and look up. "Wish, you damned monkey."

Chanter nodded. "Wish."

"Heal my daughter's leg."

Chanter glanced at the girl, confused. Why did they not use the Power of Shissar to heal her? The shaman of his clan had never asked him to heal the sick, and he had always assumed that Lowmen could do it themselves. Still, if they wanted him to do it, he owed gratitude, and healing was easy. He went over to the bed and knelt beside it, and Borak crossed the room to rummage in a drawer. Chanter examined the girl’s swollen limb, running his slender hands over it in a feather-light touch that made her shiver. Glancing around, he spied a water jug on the table and rose to fetch it. Borak stepped into his path and brandished the arrow, making Chanter step back in alarm.

"Where do you think you're going, Mujar?"

Chanter pointed at the jug. "Shissar."

Borak eyed him. "Water, eh? All right, take it."

Chanter poured a cup of water, giving Borak a wide berth as he returned to the girl's side. He dipped his hand into the cup, and the cool Power flowed into him in a liquid tingle. Pain shot up his arm, and he bowed his head to hide his grimace. As soon as it passed, he scooped up a handful of water and trickled it onto the girl's leg, then laid his hand on it and let the Shissar flow through him in a river of glittering sweetness. It brought visions of waves and spume, rain and running brooks, the silken touch of water.

Talsy gasped as the room seemed to fill with mist and her sight blurred as if she was under water. The faint thunder of surf mixed with the trilling gurgle of a running creek and the soft whispering hiss of falling rain. It vanished, leaving her mouth filled with the sweet, clean taste of water, and she stared at the Mujar. He sat back, removed his hand and met her gaze. The gentle glow in the depths of his eyes struck her. The softness bespoke infinite compassion and unspoken wisdom, mixed with a strange, passive emptiness.

Borak stepped up behind him, whipped a thin rope around his neck and pulled it tight. The Mujar's hands flashed up to grip it, then he released it with a hiss, as if burnt. He slumped, his eyes closed and his hands fell to his sides.

Borak chuckled as he tied the rope. "Now he's not going anywhere."

"What's wrong with him?" she demanded, concerned that the Mujar sat so still, his head bowed.

"I heard about this method, and it certainly works, wouldn't you say?"

Talsy shook her head, became aware that her leg no longer hurt and glanced at it. Her limb was slim and straight once more, as if it had never been hurt. She flexed it, finding it as good as it ever was. The Mujar had healed her completely and painlessly, and his reward had been entrapment and cruelty.

"What have you done to him?"

Borak settled into a chair in front of the fire, filled his pipe and lighted it, his eyes twinkling. "Gold, lass. There's a thread of gold in that rope, and now he's trapped by it. Odd effect it has on them. Makes them all sleepy and helpless. We'd have used it to enslave the useless bastards, but they turn into zombies at the touch of gold, no good for anything. Still, as long as that's around his neck, he can't do anything. Come spring, I'll take him to the Pit over at Mercher's Crossing."

Talsy stared at the Mujar, who seemed oblivious to his fate. Her father's cruelty shocked her, and she did not understand his hatred. "Why can't we just let him go? He's done nothing to us. In fact, he helped us."

"Helped us?" Borak made a rude noise. "We helped ourselves, lass. He wouldn't have done anything if we hadn't made him. These damned yellow monkeys don't deserve to live, and we can't even kill them. Only a few years ago, we discovered that gold has this effect on them, but now they're almost all in the Pits." He puffed a cloud of smoke. "Maybe the medical school will pay to cut this one up and find out what makes them tick before they throw him in the Pit."

"No, papa! Please let him go!"

Borak shook his head. "You're too young to remember how we tried to bring them into our society. We offered them money, luxuries, anything they wanted, just for their help. The bastards weren't interested. They wouldn't use their damned Powers unless they owed us, and they don't need our help."

"But…" Talsy glanced at the Mujar again. "We can't feed another person until spring. It's hard enough finding food for us."

"We don't need to feed him. Mujar can't die. Not of anything. Believe me, we tried. No poison works on them, and you can't drown, suffocate, strangle – hell, nothing works. Why do you think we throw them in the Pits? Even then they don't die until their hundred years are up. They just can't get out, that's all."

"But… why do they eat then? And why don't they fly out of the Pits as birds?"

Borak tapped his pipe. "We don't know. We know very little about them, except that they can control the elements and can't be killed."

Talsy chewed her fingernails. "And change their shape."

"Yeah, that too."

"But if you could force him to help me by using the arrow, why didn't people do that before, if offering them money didn't work?"

"It's been tried. Everything has, even blackmail and torture. The trick with the gold will work once or twice, maybe three times tops, then they get wise to it. After I stuck him with the arrow, he was watching me. That's why I left the arrow on the table and used the rope instead. The manifestation of their powers gives a little bit of warning, but not always enough. If I'd come near him with that arrow again, he'd have turned into something really small, a bird maybe, then used fire to burn a hole in the door and escape."

Talsy nodded. "Then they're not stupid."

"Stupid enough to be grateful in the first place. A Trueman wouldn't be grateful if you'd done that to him, he'd be bloody furious."

Chanter listened to the distant beating of his heart and the swish of blood rushing through his veins on its endless errand. The sounds were the only comfort in the strange, dead world in which he found himself. The rope made it hard to breathe, but he did not need to. He could sense the Powers, but they were all beyond his reach, shying away as if a wall blocked them. Dolana flowed under him, its cold tendrils denied. No Crayash warmed him, allowing his flesh to cool, and Ashmar swirled around him, out of reach.

For someone who had used the Powers all his life, called on them whenever he needed them and, in moments of extreme danger, unwittingly invoked them, their absence was frightening and strange. The instant the rope had tightened around his neck, the world had blurred and receded. Not as bad as the arrow in his flesh, for there was no pain this time, but similar. Time had become meaningless, just another part of the world with which he had no contact. The two Lowmen mumbled in the distance, and a calm, helpless rage dwelt in him.