"I'm not Trueman."
Talsy was about to ask him what difference that made, then remembered all the Mujar who had been thrown into the Pits over the years. They had a right to hate Truemen, but she did not understand why Truemen hated Mujar. He seemed a god-like creature to her. A beautiful, perfect man endowed with magical powers, like a fairy tale wizard. Perhaps he would stay with them if she was nice to him. She found him far more attractive than any man she had ever met before. Talsy tore her eyes from his face to look around.
Shadows crept across the land to darken tree trunks and undergrowth, turning the snow grey. The Mujar's long strides ate up the miles with amazing speed, but a fair distance still remained. A wolf's mournful, wailing howl made her shiver, but it was a long way off. The Mujar exuded wonderful warmth that sent a rosy glow into her bones, and the pain in her leg seemed to have vanished, too.
Chanter longed to answer the wolves' cry and run for a while with his lupine brothers across the frosty, moonlit land. The chase, however, would end with the death of his brother the deer, with which he shared just as much affinity. He could only hope that this unfortunate situation, which his inattention had brought about, would not become any worse.
As soon as he had fulfilled her wish, he would be free to go. The girl indicated that he should turn to the left and he did, his feet sinking into deeper snow. He shared his warmth with his burden, whose shivers had long since stopped. She held him tighter, and he flinched as the arrowhead touched the back of his neck. He sensed the wolves' approach. They had detected him, and ran to greet him.
The sight of the pack rushing towards them made the girl stiffen in alarm and reach for the knife in her belt. Chanter forged a brief mind-lock with the lead wolf, warning him away, and the pack veered off, vanishing into the forest as quickly and soundlessly as they had appeared. The girl scanned the forest with wide, fearful eyes, the knife glinting in her fist.
"Where did they go?" she demanded.
"To hunt."
"But they were attacking us!"
"No."
She glared at him, looking suspicious and edgy. "I suppose you made them leave?"
"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."