'Yes.'
Talsy studied the Mujar's impassive face, torn between disbelief and awe. Moonlight threw pale fingers over the snow when at last her home came into view, a cabin huddled between a shed and a log pile, all covered with snow. As the Mujar headed towards it, her father emerged, armed with a spear. He stared at them for several moments before calling, 'Talsy, is that you?'
'Yes, Papa.' She waved, immensely proud of herself.
'Are you all right?' Her father hurried closer, lowering the spear.
'I broke my leg, that's all. A bog boar attacked me, but I still got supper.' She waved the hare. 'This nice man helped me.' With a quick smile at her saviour, she explained, 'This is my father, Borak.'
Her father fell into step beside them, glancing at the Mujar, but clearly unable to see much in the gloom. Flinging open the cabin door, he admitted them into a cosy room that a roaring fire in a crude stone hearth and several oil lamps lighted. Dried clay filled the gaps between the logs that formed the walls, and two fur coats hung on hooks beside the door.
A soot-blackened stove stood in one corner, next to a barrel of water and a basin atop a scarred table. Battered tin cups and bowls filled the shelves on the wall beside it. A curtained alcove housed a copper tub, and a narrow bed covered with a patchwork quilt was visible through the solitary interior doorway. A pair of overstuffed, cloth-covered chairs faced the hearth, and another table stood beside the stove with a chair on either side of it.
Borak gestured to a bed against the far wall, and the Mujar lowered Talsy onto it, stepping back. Borak leant over his daughter to examine her splinted leg.
'I'm very grateful to you, stranger.' He said over his shoulder. 'You'll stay the night, of course. It's bitter outside, and not safe with the wolves about.'
Chanter frowned at the Lowman's strange offer of free comforts, and hesitated when he would have turned to leave. Borak, a vast bear of a man with a bushy brown beard and thick brows, straightened and swung around, apparently made suspicious by Chanter's silence. His brown eyes raked Chanter, and he stepped back.
'Mujar!'
Chanter raised his hands and retreated towards the door, wishing only to escape the cabin and the implied threat of the Lowman's horrified tone.
'Stop right there, buster!' Borak snatched the arrow from his daughter and brandished it, circling to cut Chanter off. The lamps and fire flared as the Mujar reached for Crayash, but Borak leapt at him and stabbed the arrow into his arm. Chanter gave a soft cry and collapsed, all the Powers once more out of his reach. He panted, his eyes unfocussed, the agony transfixing him.
Borak leant over him and spoke garbled words, and Chanter stared at him in confusion. He writhed as Borak yanked the arrow out and the world sprang back into focus, fresh agony shooting up his arm. The Lowman pinned him to the floor with a boot on his throat and brandished the arrow in his face.
'Now you owe me, Mujar,' he snarled, 'Gratitude, right?'
Chanter nodded, shivering as the Earthpower sank frigid tendrils into his flesh. 'Wish.'
Borak grunted and lifted his foot, brushing his mustard yellow leggings as if touching a Mujar had soiled him. The girl sat up and stared at Chanter with wide eyes, clearly surprised by her father's cruelty.
'Did you have to hurt him, papa?'
Borak kicked Chanter in the ribs, making him grunt. 'Mujar scum. He can do much more than carry you home, lass. You had to make him do that, didn't you?'
'Yes,' she admitted.
'He'd have left you to the wolves, girl. Mujar have no feelings. I'm glad you got him. Another one for the Pit.'
Chanter sat up, freeing himself from most of the Dolana. The slight warmth of Crayash ignited in his bones, dispelling the numbing cold that had so swiftly invaded him whilst the man's boot had held him down. Trapped again by gratitude, he looked up at the Lowman.
'Wish.'
'Shut up, damned Mujar scum,' Borak snarled.
Chanter bowed his head so his hair fell forward and blocked out his tormentor's hateful expression.
The Mujar’s meek acceptance amazed Talsy. Surely he could see he need not be grateful to people who kept sticking a gold-headed arrow into him and then demanding a wish when they pulled it out? She turned to her father as he sat beside her to remove her splints.
'Watch him,' Borak admonished. 'He might try to slip away.'
'Why did all the lamps and the fire get so bright just now?'
'He reached for the Power of Fire, probably to burn a hole in the door so he could escape.'
She shivered. 'Or to burn you.'
'No, Mujar don't kill. In fact, they don't like to harm anything. That's why they leave the forest and come into towns looking for food.' Borak chuckled as he undid her leggings. 'Ironic, isn't it? They can do anything, kill at a touch, but they're cowards. Damned yellow-bellied beggars. Imagine if a Trueman had their powers, what he could do with them. Hell, they can't even be killed.'
'Yes, I imagine a Trueman would rule the world with those powers.'
'Damn right!' He met her accusing gaze. 'Well, he could do a lot of good in this world.'
'And a lot of bad. It's lucky for us they don't like to harm others, or they'd rule the world.'
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
