Broken World Book Three - A Land Without Law (20 page)

"There are
doctors. We have medicines to induce labour at nine moons if
necessary."

Chanter
groaned and rubbed his brow in frustration. "He won't allow it. If
he reaches the same stage at nine moons, being a crossbreed, that a
purebreed would reach at twenty, he'll be independent and aware. He
won't want to be evicted until he's ready, and he'll have the power
to stop it."

"How do you
know he'll have power? How do you even know that it'll be a
boy?"

"I'm
assuming," Chanter explained, "If he has half of my genes, he will
be a boy, and he'll have powers. If, by some miracle, Truemen genes
prove stronger, maybe he won't have powers, but he will be a boy,
since sex is decided by the father. Mujar provide all the genes for
their offspring. The plant gives only a blank egg, you see? We are
related to the Ishmak plant. On this world, there is no law
dividing plant from animal, all the creatures share both
properties."

"That's why
the plant had the same colours as you do!" she exclaimed. "Black,
gold and blue."

"Yes. The
Ishmak is the female of my species, and also a symbiote."

"What's
that?"

"The plant
produces its own seeds, future females, you could say. When the
young Mujar leaves the flower he carries the seeds with him until
they drop off and germinate, thereby dispersing them. The plant has
its own male parts that fertilise the seeds, Mujar have nothing to
do with that," he added, "although it cannot do so until one
arrives. An Ishmak will wait many years for a Mujar to find
it."

Talsy gazed at
him, fascinated. "So Mujar females are plant, and males are
animal."

"No, we're
both mixed. The Ishmak is more plant, we're more animal."

"No wonder we
couldn't find out where Mujar came from." She frowned. "But the
Ishmak is deadly, the old woman told me. How can it kill if it's
Mujar?"

"It's not.
Only males are Mujar, the Ishmak is a different species." He
sighed. "How can I explain this? It's so alien to you, there isn't
a way to explain it that you would understand."

"Try me," she
challenged.

"I'm related
to an Ishmak plant as you are to a monkey, different species, but
similar genes. You build cities, monkeys live in trees, yet you're
related. Mujar and Ishmak are related, but also symbiotic. The
plant provides a pod and an egg, Mujar disperse its seeds. Mujar
are all males."

She nodded, a
little confused. "But if you provide all the genes for your
offspring, he would be identical to you."

"Genetically,
yes. But the look of the child depends on the health of the plant
and the environment it grows in. Mujar come in many shapes and
sizes, but all have the same colouring."

"I see. But if
Mujar genes aren't used to having any competition, perhaps Trueman
genes will dominate."

He hung his
head. "Amongst Truemen, each parent provides half the genes, Mujar
provide all, so if they are equally strong, the child will be more
Mujar than Trueman."

"I don't mind.
He'll just be more perfect, and I want a boy, anyway."

"You can't do
it. Please listen to me. It will kill you."

"No. I won't.
This is my baby." Talsy jumped up and walked to the stream to stare
at the glittering water as Chanter had done earlier. Her mind
whirled with half-formed fears and the ragged remnants of her
earlier joy.

Chanter shook
his head and sighed. "Hope that nothing comes of your plan, little
fool. Perhaps the gods will spare you from your folly. I understand
you, I think, though Trueman emotions are as alien to me as mine
are to you."

"How can
something so terrible come from something so beautiful?"

"Easily. It
was not meant to be."

Pushing his
bleak words from her mind, she demanded, "Aren't you even a little
bit happy that you're going to be a father?"

"No." He
raised his head to look at her. "Mujar have no paternal instincts.
To me, it's simply a new threat to your life about which I can do
nothing."

"But you will
help me."

"Of course,
I'll do everything I can to save you, but I won't kill."

"You won't
have to." She forced a smile. "It'll be fine."

Talsy looked
up at the towering peaks of the mountains whose name no one knew
and wondered how they would overcome such a huge barrier. It seemed
impossible. After another two days in the shelter of the Kuran's
haven, during which Chanter had avoided her, the group had moved
on. A further five days of travel had brought them to the end of
the forest, where it had given way to rolling fields dotted with
boulders shed from the mighty slopes. The massive mountain range
stretched away in both directions, and they had seen no sign of
Trueman habitation for months. The grassland led up to sheer grey
cliffs, and snow capped the towering peaks.

They camped on
the slopes while Chanter took wing as an eagle, returning hours
later with news of a pass. The next day, they travelled for many
leagues along the foothills until they came to a deep, steep-sided
canyon that led into the mountains. They walked for several days
amongst the rocky peaks, following narrow, torturous goat trails
that wound through the mountain range in a bewildering web of
aimless paths, many of which ended in sheer cliffs or small patches
of hardy grass.

Freezing winds
howled down the snow-clad slopes, making the journey more arduous,
and the harsh land took its toll on horses and riders alike. The
horses had to be clothed in blankets at night, and the people
shared the tents for warmth. Talsy shared with Mita, Kieran with
Taff and Brin with Shan, but the Mujar was content to stand guard,
unaffected by the cold. With no grass to eat, the horses grew thin,
and the Aggapae insisted that everyone must walk, so the horses
carried only the baggage. Though tiring, the constant exercise
helped to ward off the chill, and the rocky terrain made riding
dangerous anyway.

They
encountered no chaos beasts in this hostile land, but the earth's
periodic trembling caused rock slides that thundered down the
slopes with deadly force. They had to pick their way through the
debris of avalanches and rock slides several times, and the horses
struggled to traverse the shifting stones and tumbled ice and snow.
Kieran muttered at Chanter's lack of aid during these times, but
Talsy knew that the Mujar saw no need to help when they could
manage. Chanter suffered from a typical Mujar lack of motivation,
and seemed to forget his abilities until faced with a situation
that demanded them. Mujar did not flaunt their powers, or use them
unnecessarily.

Inevitably,
they came to a yawning crevasse, newly opened by the shifting
ground, which was dizzyingly deep and too wide to jump. Kieran
turned from his inspection of it to shoot the Mujar a triumphant
look, somehow pleased that, after all their toil, Chanter would be
forced to help at last. Talsy countered his gloating with a
scornful glance, daring him to make some cutting remark that she
could slap down with a scathing comment.

The Trueman
group withdrew, leaving the Mujar poised on the edge of the chasm,
tugged by the wind. He bent and pressed his palms to the ground,
the icy clamp of Dolana adding to the mountain's chill and its
brief stillness halting the wind, after which it howled with
renewed fury. He straightened, holding the reins of Earthpower, and
the rock at his feet shimmered and thrust out in a broad tongue
that spanned the gap and formed a bridge across it.

Chanter led
the way across, and the rest followed, the Aggapae coaxing their
reluctant horses. Once they were safely on the far side, the rock
bridge shrank back and re-joined the mountain once more. Chanter
led them down winding goat trails that webbed the rocky terrain.
Topping a final ridge flanked by slopes of scree, the travellers
stared out across the blue-hazed, rolling hills of the Kingdom of
Zare.

Even from this
distance, pockets of sickness were visible as spreading spots of
brown eating up the green. The ravages of man were also evident as
long fingers of denuded, blackened ground reaching into the forests
to pluck out their souls. Chanter did not dwell on the sight, but
started down the other side while the chosen stared in wonder at
the spectacle below.

Vosh frowned
at the depleted larder in amazement and annoyance, glancing at the
pot-bellied child whose sharp teeth had munched their way through
two month's supplies in one.

Law's
prodigious appetite had kept Letta busy since his arrival, baking
bread and cooking food to satisfy his endless hunger. The labour
brought her great joy, however, something Vosh could not deny her.
Her pride in the boy's rapid growth stemmed from her ability to
provide the nutrition he required to achieve it. Like every mother,
she revelled in her power to nurture the growing young. Law had
refused to allow his silky white hair to be cut or washed, but the
seeds had all dropped off, which improved his appearance
somewhat.

When not
eating, the boy spent his time exploring the citadel, trudged its
endless tunnels and mapped everything he met with his hands. Vosh
was certain that the boy never slept, for his comings and goings at
night often disturbed the Trueman's sleep. The child's appetite
seemed to include everything, and his hungry brain absorbed
information like a sponge.

Letta had
given him lessons in culture, history and writing, all of which he
had mastered with consummate ease. To teach him to write, she had
only to guide his hand through the shape of the letter, and after
just one try he had mastered it. The boy's silence was her only
concern, for he rarely spoke, and when he did it was usually a
monosyllable.

The coating of
dried fluid that Law had received from his mother plant started to
crack after a month in the hive. His growth had stretched it to its
limit, thinning the white silk considerably. As it had cracked and
peeled, a raging itch set in, and Law had spent two days scratching
and picking at it, leaving a trail of flakes and white hair.

At first,
Letta had been worried that the child had a disease, but when he
remained healthy, she had set about aiding him in his endeavour
with a tub of warm water and a scrubbing brush. This time, the boy
had welcomed the bath, and between him and his foster mother, they
had divested him of every trace of hair.

What had
emerged from the tub had taken even Vosh by surprise. The hairy
white grub had been transformed into a creature of surpassing
ugliness, with a pot belly and scrawny limbs, his skull covered
with golden fuzz. His dead white skin had added to his bizarre
appearance, and only his delicate features had redeemed him from
utter ugliness.

Letta had
given him a pair of Vosh's old trousers, which hung on him. He had
tied them at the waist with string to prevent them from falling
down, and they had added to his grotesque appearance. Vosh had
wondered anew at his breeding, but was unable to guess his
parentage, and had decided to wait until he had grown some more.
Within a few days, his skin had darkened, and by the end of a week
had turned a pale golden shade.

Vosh frowned
at the boy, who seemed unaware of his presence. Letta had gone out
to tend to a man who had been wounded in an encounter with one of
the wingless guards. He was certain that she had left a feast for
Law, as she always did, but the boy had clearly consumed it all.
Vosh glanced at the larder door, which had been pried open, then at
Law, who was engrossed in a bag of biscuits. Vosh approached the
boy, who turned at the sound of footsteps, his mouth full.

Vosh grabbed
Law's arm to drag him from the larder. Law's reaction to this
surprise attack on his person caught Vosh completely off guard. The
boy yelped, and an explosion of fire flung Vosh across the room.
The air screamed with it, and for an instant the room seemed to be
filled with an inferno, then it winked out. Vosh stopped beating at
his clothes to find that Law had scuttled into a corner and
crouched there, his hands clasped over his head in an attitude of
utter terror and submission.

Vosh
approached the child cautiously, nursing his burnt hands, and
squatted nearby. "Hey, it's okay. It's me, Vosh. I didn't mean to
give you a fright. I'm not going to hurt you."

Law curled
into a tighter huddle.

"Come on, Law.
I'm not angry, it was my fault. It must be terrible to be blind,
and not know who's grabbing you. I shouldn't have done it."

An hour of
wheedling, coaxing and begging failed to draw the boy from his
corner, and Vosh gave up. When Letta returned, she scolded Vosh for
his stupidity, then tried for two more hours without success.
Finally they decided to leave him alone, hoping that his hunger
would draw him out eventually.

The golden
light whispered in Law's head, confusing him. The flash of power
that his fright had summoned confused him even more, but frightened
him as well. He had no idea where it had come from, or how he had
caused it. Vosh had been angry with him for being in the larder,
and the strange power that had burst from Law had burnt him. The
boy decided never to raid the larder again, and nor did he want to
cause the fire to appear again, the thought scared him.

In the privacy
of their sleeping chamber, Vosh told Letta what had happened. "It
was the strangest thing. I'm still convinced that his mother was a
caterpillar, or something like it, but now I think his father was a
fire wizard."

"That's
possible," Letta mused. "We saw one before we were brought here,
remember? Since the night of golden lights, many Truemen have
gained powers."

"Pity I never
did." Vosh chuckled. "Still, it puts a new light on our son. He
could be very useful with those powers. With him on our side we
could take over here, hold the Queen to ransom, so to speak. They
wouldn't dare to keep us as slaves if we had the power to burn
their precious colony and all their revolting grubs."