Chanter groaned as consciousness returned on a wave of pain. Someone had kicked him, making the spear shaft grate against his bones and tug at his insides. A red froth bubbled from the wound, and he coughed up more, pain shooting through him. He opened his eyes to gaze around at the destruction. Nothing remained of the camp but a tangled mess of wood and cloth splattered with blood. Twisted bodies lay amongst the wreckage, their glazed eyes staring from gaping faces.
Once again, he lay amongst the dead on a killing field as the gathering mist of souls hung over the ground. A fleeting glimpse of a ragged grey figure told him that his presence had summoned Marrana here to gather the chosen’s' souls, as she had on the icy mountain slopes so long ago. Her duty was almost done, the mist dispersing as she strode away, an upright, ethereal figure clad in tattered robes.
The Hashon Jahar had dismounted, and their steeds lay on the ground or stood with hanging heads. Many Riders wandered about, others stood staring into space, and some sat beside their mounts. Now that the killing frenzy had left them, their faces had reverted to blank black masks with sightless eyes.
Unlike Mujar, whose life force was so powerful it made them immortal, the Hashon Jahar were undying because they were not alive, and only one being commanded the dead. Marrana. A strange power animated them, granting them the semblance of life. They seemed to have little awareness of individuality, and worked together as if one mind ruled them all. The screaming soul faces they wore when they slaughtered belonged to their prior victims, condemned to witness the horror of their kind's destruction.
Chanter wondered if he could escape, since the Hashon Jahar took no interest in him. Gripping the spear head, he tried to pull it out, but only moved it a few inches before he flopped back, Dolana sapping his strength. A Rider noticed his movement and wandered over to stare down at him with granite eyes. Chanter lay still, hoping it would lose interest. Instead, the Rider's interest seemed to spread to others nearby, and they wandered over to stand around the Mujar. One placed a boot against Chanter's shoulder and pushed him back against the ground. The spear shaft tore his flesh before it broke, and he groaned as he was forced onto his back.
With a creak of armour, a second Rider knelt and pulled the Mujar's arm away from his torso, holding it down. Another raised its spear and thrust it through Chanter's hand, pinning it to the ground. The Mujar groaned. The pain dulled his senses and, combined with Dolana's enervating drain, made him helpless. He understood what it must be like in a Pit, surrounded by earth blood, so heavy and weak that lifting a hand would be a supreme effort. The Hashon Jahar repeated the procedure with his other hand, then his legs. As if four spears were not enough, they thrust another through his belly and a sixth through his throat. Apparently satisfied that he was as near to dead as they could make him, they wandered away.
Kieran looked up, then jumped to his feet and dragged Talsy to hers. The drumming of hooves came faintly on the wind, and she glanced around in alarm. He loped to a gnarled tree with many low branches and climbed it, reaching down to haul her up after him, then push her ahead. Talsy climbed as quickly as she could, gasping as her hands slipped on the rough bark, the branches too thick to grip properly. Kieran hung onto her jacket when she slipped, pushing and pulling her up the tree. When he was satisfied that they were high enough, he thrust her into a fork and squeezed in beside her. She wrinkled her nose at him.
"Go sit somewhere else, you smell."
He shot her a hard glance. "Shut up."
"I will -"
He clamped a hand over her mouth, and her struggles at this indignity almost dislodged them.
Kieran held her tighter and grated, "Stop it!"
The hoof beats drew nearer, loud in the forest's stillness, and she subsided, trying to pry his hand away finger by finger. Four Black Riders came into view below, walking, their heads turning to scan the forest with blank eyes. They seemed drawn to the tree in which she and Kieran hid, and Talsy sent a silent prayer to the Kuran. The Hashon Jahar halted their steeds below, and she was certain they could somehow sense them. Kieran eased his grip a little, allowing her to stare downwards, terror gripping her heart. The Riders sat perfectly still, as if waiting for a sign.
A faint green haze crept between her and the Riders, drawing a veil around the tree in which they sheltered. The scent of wood and rich soil wafted up from it, and tiny sparkles glittered like dust motes. The forest Kuran answered her prayer, sending gentle fingers of herself to dim the Black Riders' senses. They waited for what seemed like an eternity, then the Hashon Jahar walked away.
Talsy relaxed with a sigh, pulling Kieran’s hand away. He returned her glare, not bothered, it seemed, by her anger. She turned her back on him and tried to ignore him, which was difficult since they were crammed into the fork. As soon as the green haze dispersed, she tried to move away.
Kieran held her back. "Wait."
"It's safe," she said. "The Kuran has withdrawn her power."
He glanced down. "There's no hurry. We're still safer up here."
"I need some fresh air."
"You've spent too long with a Mujar, girl. You don't smell so good yourself."
Talsy gasped at his effrontery, wrenched free and moved to another branch. "Just because we share the same tree doesn't mean we have to sit on top of each other."
"Except that I might have to stop your flapping mouth again."
"You’re the most disgusting, boorish, moronic bully I've ever had the misfortune to meet," she stated.
"Apart from you, you mean," he shot back.
Talsy seethed, unable to think of a rejoinder. Kieran seemed to be endowed with an above average intelligence, for a man.
"You're right," she agreed. "I have spent too long with a Mujar. I've forgotten just how unpleasant a Trueman can be."
"Ah, well, compared with a Mujar we're all flawed. Haven't you realised it yet? Mujar are perfect in every way. That's why Truemen hate them. They make us look like a bunch of bull-headed savages. They epitomise all that's pure and good, and are quite subservient, which you must enjoy."
Talsy wished that she could kick him, but her perch was too precarious. "I prefer Chanter's company to yours any day."
Kieran sighed and shook his head. "He'll break your heart, without meaning to, of course. Loving a Mujar is like loving the wind. No one can hold onto something that wild."
"I don't want to hold onto him."
"He won't stay -"
"He will!" She scowled at him. "He'll never leave me. He told me so himself, and Mujar don’t lie."
"I was going to say, he won't stay with you at night."
"Because of the Dolana, but there's ways around that."
Kieran shifted, leaning closer. "Not just because of the Dolana, because they don't sleep. They run free at night in animal form."
"How do you know so much about Mujar?"
Kieran looked pensive, as if considering how much to tell her about his past. "I grew up with one. He taught me many things about Mujar. My father loved Dancer like a brother, but still he would not stay. It broke my father's heart when they took him to the Pit."
A pang of pity went through her, but her anger still simmered. "Well, all this has nothing to do with my relationship with Chanter."
Talsy started to climb down, but he pulled her back, ignoring her protests, pushed her into the fork and pinned her there. She seethed, knowing the futility of fighting him, and they sat cramped in the fork until the afternoon. When he decided it was safe to climb down, she made a bee-line for the edge of the woods to check on the Hashon Jahar. He gripped her wrist and towed her deeper into the forest.
"They're still there," he said. "We'll look tomorrow."
Chanter gazed up at the stars, so cold and beautiful against the night sky. The Hashon Jahar would leave him trapped by Dolana, and, if no one helped him, rain would heal his flesh around the spears, holding him forever. Dolana's warning had stopped, allowing him the peace to seek a dreamless sleep, and he hoped that Talsy was safe rather than dead.
Chanter became aware of movement in the shadows around him. Inky figures walked across the moon-silvered soil, and beasts heaved themselves to their feet with a jingle of harness. The Hashon Jahar were on the move again. They mounted their tireless steeds and formed up into rows and columns. Chanter knew where they were going. They answered the same silent call as he did, guided by the gods to the gathering. The steady clop of hooves passed him, row upon orderly row of animated statues of stone and earth blood. Chanter wondered if his purpose, granted by choosing the girl, was done.
From the sounds of their hoof beats, he knew that the column of Black Riders wound through the rocks and onto the beach. He envisioned the moonlight glinting on their armour and the silken hides of lifeless horses. They would enter the sea, and the waves would close over them as they rode down the sandy sea bed, forging through the water, their passage marked by a swathe of phosphorescence. They would move with great torpidity through the dark ocean depths. Weeks or months from now, however, they would emerge onto the shores of the western continent to conclude their work on this world.
Talsy woke stiff and cold, and threw off Kieran’s cloak with a grunt of annoyance. She had not asked for comforts from the surly warrior, nor did she want any. The dawn chill prickled her skin with goose bumps, but she ignored it to rise and stretch. Kieran studied her with the idle, disinterested gaze of a man watching gold fish in a bowl. Annoyed by his unwanted help and unwelcome surveillance, she snorted and strode away through the forest, back towards the camp by the shore. Kieran rose and followed.
At the edge of the forest, her heart leapt. The Black Riders had vanished as if they had never been. She ran through the dew-wet fields towards the camp, her spirits lifted by the prospect of finding Chanter and releasing him from whatever predicament he was in. Before she entered the settlement, the battlefield stench hit her, churning her empty stomach. She slowed, averting her eyes from the torn bodies, most battered beyond recognition.
Talsy searched the debris with flinching eyes, while Kieran lifted broken walls to peer beneath them and pulled aside ragged cloths that covered mangled remains. His lack of reaction, other than a slight paling of his lips, told her that he was hardened to such sights. Talsy gave a cry of horror when she found Chanter, and ran to kneel beside him, her throat tight with anguish. She pulled out the spear that pierced his throat and lifted his dusty head onto her lap, stroking the tangled hair from his bloody face. He smiled at her, then grimaced as Kieran pulled a spear from his hand.
She turned to the warrior. "Be gentle!"
He paused. "It's hard to be gentle when pulling spears from a man's body."
The coldness of Chanter’s flesh shocked her, and she chafed his free hand to try to warm it. When he had removed the other spears, Kieran squatted beside the Mujar and considered the broken shaft protruding from his chest. After some contemplation, he lifted Chanter and pulled the spear out of his back, since the shattered shaft made it impossible to pull through. The spear head came free with a grating of metal on bone and a gush of fresh blood. Talsy looked away as her stomach made a determined effort to hurl its contents out of her mouth. Kieran dropped the spear and slipped his arms under the Mujar, lifting him. He strode down the beach, followed by Talsy, her brow wrinkled with worry. Kieran lowered Chanter into the sea, holding on when he convulsed with the agony of healing.
"Slowly!" Talsy cried. "Don't you know healing is more painful for Mujar?"
"That’s why it's better to get it over with."
Chanter writhed as the water closed over his wounds, his face twisted as he groaned through gritted teeth. Talsy and Kieran ducked a little when the air swelled and filled with the sound of beating wings, the Mujar's power running wild with his pain. Kieran braved the manifestation with admirable aplomb as waves washed over the hole in Chanter's chest and his convulsions increased. The manifestation of Ashmar winked out and the paroxysms ebbed, and the lines of pain smoothed from Chanter's face. The healing had been swift in the sea's powerful embrace.
The Mujar opened his eyes and smiled, then a flash of Shissar engulfed them and Kieran held a sleek, finned blue-grey creature. With a powerful lash of its flukes, the dolphin slipped from his grasp and powered away into the sea, vanishing beneath the waves. Talsy stared after him in confusion, while Kieran waded back to shore.
She followed him, grumbling, "He's never done that before."
Kieran glanced at her. "He needs to be free for a while."
Talsy paused in the shallows to gaze out to sea. The dolphin leapt from the waves, summersaulted and crashed back into the water with a mighty splash. She smiled and plodded up the beach after Kieran, glanced around for the ship and groaned when she found it. The Black Riders had reduced it to firewood. Even the original burnt hull and copper-bound keel were smashed. The mast lay snapped in two amid tangled rigging and torn sails.
Talsy sank down in the soft sand as a wave of despair washed over her. "What are we going to do now?"
Kieran kicked the broken wood. "Build another."
"How? There aren't any people to help with the work. The three of us can't build a ship. Even if there are other survivors, we don't have the time."
"The Mujar can do it alone."
"He can't command wood like he can ice or stone, he told us."
The warrior picked up a twisted piece of copper. "Then let him build it out of ice or stone."
"Ice perhaps, but a stone ship would never float."
"It would if the hull was thin enough."
She frowned, pondering this idea. "But stone would be too brittle. It would crack."
"If he can command the stone to form a ship, he can stop it from cracking."
Talsy stared out to sea, where Chanter frolicked in the waves. Why had he not thought of this before? Then again, Mujar were not inclined towards things mechanical or constructing Truemen objects. She remembered how even erecting a simple tent had baffled him. Chanter was a creature of the wild world, with no need to create devices of Truemen design. Only when burdened with helpless Truemen was he forced to turn his hand to building. Perhaps this was the reason Truemen compared Mujar to animals, for they had no use for the trappings of so-called civilisation.
The dolphin powered to shore and beached in the breakers. The faint mist of Shissar engulfed him as he transformed, and he stood up in man-shape once more and walked up the beach towards them. By the time he reached Talsy, he was dry. His hair glittered and his skin glowed with health. The Mujar flopped down in the sand beside her, shooting her a smile before turning to gaze at the dejected warrior who stood amid the wreckage of the ship. Chanter brushed hair from his face and studied the debris with a slight frown.
"What do we do now?" Talsy asked, curious to compare his ideas with Kieran’s.
The Mujar pursed his lips. "I could build a ship of ice, and lay the wood on it to keep the cold from you."
"What if there are more survivors?" Kieran asked.
"Then I'll make a ship big enough for all of us."
Kieran approached and knelt before the Mujar, and his wariness struck Talsy afresh. "What about a ship of stone. Could you build it?"
Chanter smiled. "Certainly, but would it float?"
Kieran explained his theory, and the Mujar studied the drawings the warrior sketched in the sand. When he finished, Chanter nodded.
"I can build it, but first we must find out how many of the chosen survived."
Kieran rose, a hand on his sword hilt. "I'll start looking."
As he turned away, Chanter also stood. "Kieran." The warrior swung back, and the Mujar bowed his head. "Gratitude."
Kieran made a vague gesture, clearly uncertain of what to do. Chanter smiled and raised a hand in the palm up Mujar sign that betokened surrender, or friendship in this case, Talsy guessed. Certainly it was a gesture that meant no harm.
"Wish."
The warrior frowned, glancing at Talsy, then at the Mujar. "You healed me when I had no Wish. You don't owe me now."
Chanter shook his head. "Wish."
Kieran pondered for a moment. "I have some questions."
"Ask. Three only."
Kieran gestured to Talsy. "Why is she Mujar marked?"
"She is the First Chosen, worthy of the mark."
Kieran’s expression was unreadable, his dark eyes intent under lowered brows. "Why must we go west?"
"For the gathering."
"What's the gathering?"
"All the chosen and free Mujar must come together at a place appointed by the gods for the final confrontation."
"What confrontation? With whom?"
Chanter shook his head. "You have asked three questions."
"I suppose I'll find out," Kieran muttered. "If I live to see it."
He marched off, and, as soon as he was out of earshot, Talsy turned to Chanter, but he wagged a finger at her when she opened her mouth.
"Don't you start."
"You said you'd answer me!" She scrambled to her feet and trotted after him when he headed down the beach in the opposite direction to Kieran.
"I said you could ask, not that I'd answer," he called over his shoulder, sprinting away.
Talsy made a futile attempt to catch him, but was soon left panting far behind. As she stopped, Chanter sprang into the air and turned into gull that sailed high on the breeze. She watched him, thwarted yet uplifted by his freedom.
After regaining her breath, she slogged through the soft sand in search of survivors, staying close to the camp while Chanter and Kieran searched further afield. When the three returned to the ship's wreckage, they had found twenty-two chosen. Most were youngsters who had run fast and hidden in small places, but a few adults had survived, amongst them Sheera, to Talsy's delight. The old woman had crawled into a hole in the rocks by the camp and gone unnoticed.
As they sat around a fire and ate a meaty stew Sheera had prepared from her scattered supplies, Chanter considered the chosen.
"So, twenty-two it is. Pitiful few, but better than none."
"There may be more wandering around in the wilderness," Talsy pointed out.
"No, the Hashon Jahar will leave no one alive, including these if we don't flee now. The only reason these few remain is because the Riders were not so thorough in their search. They know that many more Hashon Jahar will pass this way, and they will kill any they find. Tomorrow I'll make the stone ship. We have no time for anything else. The chosen must gather provisions for the journey."
Talsy nodded, saddened by the thought of those who would be left behind to die.
In the morning, Chanter helped to bury the dead by opening a great pit in the ground and closing it over the bodies. There was no time to mourn them, and, while the people picked through the debris for useful items like pots and pans, blankets, clothes and utensils, Chanter went back to the beach with Talsy and Kieran. He pondered, then turned to Kieran.
"Draw the ship again."
Kieran obliged, and the Mujar watched as he drew it from every angle. Chanter thought for a moment longer, then walked down to the shoreline. Placing his palms on the wet sand, he invoked Dolana. The freezing solidity lasted longer than usual, then the Mujar straightened, his hands outstretched as if holding invisible ropes. His stance was relaxed, but a deep frown furrowed his brow. A low grinding started deep within the earth, sent vibrations under their feet and rippled the calm sea beyond the breakers.
The sand bulged as the soil had done before, swelling into a pregnant hummock that broke open and birthed a wall of grey rock. It rose, shimmering as it formed a broad rampart some fifty feet long and ten feet wide. The Mujar studied it, tilting his head this way and that like a bird appraising a juicy worm. The stone flowed and melted as if unseen hands moulded it. It stretched, becoming vaguely boat-shaped, and pulled apart to form a concave surface within. The sides rose higher as he thinned the rock, then he broadened it, and it rose on a short keel.
Chanter walked around the crude boat-shaped rock, ran his hands along the hull and stroked the rippling stone. Again the ship changed, the hull swelling to form a broad base and higher freeboard. The stone rippled as he caressed it, and imperfections disappeared. He raised his head, and a mast shot skyward, straight and round, two booms sprouting from it like branches. Like oil spreading across still water, the stone closed over the gaping hull to form a deck, and a hatchway appeared, steps leading below.
The Mujar stepped back and glanced at Kieran, who approached, raising a hand to touch the glistening hull.
"Don't touch it!" Chanter's sharp command made Kieran jump back. The Mujar smiled, adding, "It's dangerous in its present state."
Kieran looked annoyed and embarrassed. "How thick is the stone?"
Chanter held up three fingers.
"Too thick," Kieran said. "It'll sink. Make it this thick." He held up two fingers. "And make the mast and booms hollow if you can."
The Mujar scowled at his creation, and the ship's surface sloughed off, sliding down to the keel in layers. The mast and booms thinned like wax melting in the sun, the outer layers running down to join the rest of the excess in the keel. Chanter glanced at Kieran again, and he gave a somewhat dubious nod. The Mujar leant forward and kissed the hull. Where his lips touched, the cross and circle of the Mujar mark formed, sealing the stone. The shimmer vanished, leaving dull grey bedrock sprinkled with the slight glitter of embedded crystals and seamed with occasional streaks of brown.
Commanding the Earthpower again, he caused the ship to move down the beach with a grating of stone and sand, sliding into the sea. The tie with the bedrock that had birthed it broke, and the vessel floated free, bobbing sluggishly. It sat too low in the water, however, and rolled even in the calm sea. The first hint of a storm or a large wave would capsize it, but, with the Mujar to control the weather, there was little chance of that. Chanter turned to beam at Talsy, obviously proud of his first attempt at creating such a complicated artefact, and its flaws could not detract from his achievement. It took years of training to learn the skills of a shipwright, and, considering his lack of education and mechanical aptitude, it was a miracle that the ship floated at all.
She returned his smile, deciding that her reservations were best left unsaid. "It's beautiful."
He cast a critical eye over it. "I wouldn't call it that, but it will do."
"What would have happened if Kieran had touched it?"
"I'm not sure. No one's ever done it. He might have been frozen by the cold, or maybe lost his hand in the stone."
Talsy shivered, glancing at Kieran, who studied the ungainly vessel with a jaundiced eye.
"It's a real tub, I'm afraid, but I'm no shipwright," he said, taking responsibility for its design, which was fair enough, since he had drawn the pictures Chanter had used as a guideline. "I think it'll handle like a sick mule and roll like a pig, so I hope you don't get seasick."
"Perhaps we should name it the Mulish Swine, after you," she suggested, earning a glare from Kieran and a stern glance from Chanter.
They set sail late that afternoon, their meagre supplies stored aboard and lashed in place. Below decks, the ship boasted crude stone bunks and tables with benches, even rude partitions that separated the men and women. Washing facilities consisted of a bath that could be filled with sea water and drained out of the side of the ship, and a simple drop toilet. The attention to detail was surprising and welcome, something no one had expected of the Mujar.
As the ship turned away from the land, the sea before it calmed, and a brisk wind sprang up to fill the square ice sail that formed between the two long booms at Chanter's command. Fortunately, the wind came from astern, for the ungainly vessel would not have survived the slightest list. Despite her shortcomings, the water foamed at her bow as the ship headed out to sea at a creditable speed, driven by wind and currents. Ahead lay the distant, unknown western continent, where they must travel to the Plains of Redemption and be tested by the gods.