“What’s wrong?”
She swallowed. “I-I didn’t bring the tinderbox.”
“Ah.” He rose and came over to squat beside the pile of wood. “You want to make this burn.”
Talsy nodded. “But without the tinderbox I can’t, so I can’t cook supper and…”
“And that’s your side of the clan bond.”
Talsy burst into tears as her tiredness and the feeling of inadequacy that had plagued her all day found release. The Mujar peered at her twisted face with obvious fascination. He wiped a tear from her cheek and tasted it.
“Shissar.”
Talsy gulped, distracted. “What?”
“Shissar. The Power of Water. It comes from your eyes. Sea water too, very strong.”
“Those are tears. Haven’t you ever seen someone cry?”
He nodded. “Yes, but not up close. Just a lot of wailing, hair-pulling and breast-beating.”
“When you were in a clan?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to them?”
Chanter shrugged. “They died.”
“How?”
“Black Riders.”
Talsy sniffed, wiping her nose. “Why didn’t you protect them?”
“They didn’t want me to.”
She pondered his reaction to her tears again. “Have you never cried?”
“No.”
“Even when you were a child?”
Chanter shook his head. “I was never a child.”
“But… How were you born?”
“I don’t know.” He indicated the pile of wood. “Do you want this to burn?”
“Yes, but without the tinderbox…”
Chanter placed his hand on the wood. The air filled with a roaring crackle, and a wave of scorching heat and thick smoke enveloped her. Talsy yelled and jumped up. The sounds and sensations vanished, and Chanter gripped her flailing arms, forcing her to stop flapping them.
“It’s all right,” he said.
Talsy swallowed another yell and looked around at the peaceful forest. A faint taste of soot lingered on her tongue, and the wood burnt merrily.
Chanter released her. “I should have warned you. The manifestation of Crayash can be frightening, I suppose.”
She took a deep breath to steady her tattered nerves. “No, I should have known nothing can harm me when I’m with you.”
Chanter laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. “Is that what you think?”
“Isn’t it true?”
His smile faded. “You’re a strange creature; perhaps because you’re still young. One day, you too will hate Mujar.”
“No. Never.”
He wiped a tear from her cheek. “Such certainty.”
Talsy lowered her eyes, startled by his touch. Chanter returned to his rock to gaze into the fire. She quelled a pang of disappointment that surprised her and rummaged in the bag for her pots. While she waited for the meat to cook, she pondered him. Since he had agreed to clan bond, he seemed more talkative and friendly. Already she knew her father was wrong about Mujar in several ways. They were not stupid or emotionless, nor were they like animals. The more time she spent with Chanter, the more god-like he seemed.
Chanter ate the stew, washed his bowl in the snow and handed it back to her. After putting away the equipment, she arranged the bedding in the tent and crawled into it, waiting with bated breath for the Mujar to join her. Dusk crept across the land, sending long fingers of shadow between the trees, and Talsy shivered as the night chill invaded the tent. Chanter sat by the fire and stared into the gathering darkness, clearly oblivious to her expectancy and rapidly freezing extremities.
When she could bear it no longer, she called out, “Chanter? Are you coming to sleep?”
He shot her a startled look, then nodded and rose.
Talsy tensed as he eased into the tent and lay down beside her, propped up on one elbow. The temperature rose with his presence, and when he took her cold hands and rubbed them, his were warm. She wriggled closer to soak up his warmth and make it quite clear that she was willing to participate in any other activities he might desire. He glanced at her, and she shivered, her heart pounding. This close to him, she discovered that he smelt only of his clothes’ damp leather.
He said, “Go to sleep.”
Talsy’s eyes stung. He did not find her attractive. She was just a smelly Trueman girl, not clean and pure like him. She closed her eyes, pretending she had not expected anything else, and rested her cheek on his chest. Within a few minutes, sleep washed her away on midnight waves.
As soon as the girl slept, Chanter moved away, covering her with a fur. The warmth he had given her would stay with her for a while, perhaps all night. He backed out of the tent, almost tripping over one of the silly strings that held it up. The relief of escaping Dolana’s drain was immense. Mujar could not lie on the ground like Lowmen. Not for long, anyway. Of course, the little innocent in the tent did not know that.
Chanter contemplated the bargain he had made with her. The food she had provided was good, but he did not need the tent or the slow pace. Then again, he was in no hurry. Her offer of comforts was not the reason he had accepted clan bond with her. It had been the desperation with which she had begged for it. He had never known a Lowman to beg, or to look at him with such respect and admiration. Even his clan had treated him as a servant.
Chanter sat on a rock beside the dying fire and remembered his life with the clan. They had not asked much of him, only an occasional trip into the cesspit and digging graves for their dead. Since the shaman had forbidden him to use the Powers, he had wondered why they let him stay. He had had a hut, hot food and even an occasional mug of beer. The food had filled the empty void of his belly, and, although he did not need it, it was a comfort.
The hut had kept off the rain, but he had not needed that either. He sometimes wondered why he longed for things he did not need, but there was no answer to that question. The bed was the best thing the clan had given him, a wooden platform on which he could lie without Dolana’s drain. Mujar did not need to sleep, but they could if they wished.
A distant howl drifted on the wind, and he smiled. The wolves were hunting.
Chapter Four
Talsy woke shivering, alone. Silver moonlight shone in through the tent flap. She pulled her coat close and crawled outside. Cold ashes filled the fire pit, and Chanter was gone. Fear chilled her heart. Had he left her alone in the forest with wolves and dire bears? Her father’s warnings echoed in her mind as she scanned the frozen landscape for a sign that he was out there, relieving himself on a tree perhaps. The cold tent told her that he had been gone for some time. Her breath steamed in the still, crisp night air.
An owl hooted nearby, making her jump. The stillness closed in behind the sound, pressing on her ears. He could not have left her. He would not. A wolf howled close by, the mournful sound sharp in the hush, making her nerves jangle. Panic made ger fumble amongst her belongings for her hunting bow. The small arrows would not be much use against wolves, but they might be a deterrent. She needed fire. Tears of terror and self-pity stung her eyes. Chanter had promised to protect her. It had been her Wish. Surely a Mujar would not break a Wish? The wolf howled again, closer, and dread twisted her innards with icy talons. Mujar did not care.
The wolves were coming, and her only chance of survival was the Mujar who had abandoned her. The trees in the vicinity were too straight and slippery to climb. A flitting lupine shape caught her eye amongst the trees, and she notched an arrow.
“Chanter!”
Her shout tore the night’s hush like the cry of a dying hare, high and despairing. It did not matter how much noise she made now, the wolves had her scent.
“Chanter!”
A black wolf loped towards her from the trees. She stepped back, tripped over a rock, and took aim as she stumbled. The arrow flew with a savage hiss, burying itself in the wolf’s chest. The animal leapt sideways and collapsed. It lay still only for
a moment, then rose to its feet as she notched another arrow. It was a magnificent animal; pitch black with a silver ruff and ice blue eyes. The world froze. Silence clamped down, and the air seemed to solidify in her lungs. She was paralysed, unable to breathe or move. Then it vanished and she gasped, sobbing as she finished notching the arrow with desperate haste.
The black wolf was gone, and Chanter stood there, an arrow protruding from his chest. He pulled it out, a trickle of blood running from the wound. White teeth flashed as he forced a smile. “You call me, then shoot me when I come?”
Talsy dropped the bow and ran to fling her arms around his neck. “There was a wolf!”
“A big black one?”
She nodded, her cheek pressed to his chest. “Yes!”
“So you shot it.”
“Yes.”
“And why do you think I had an arrow in my chest a moment ago?”
She pulled away to look up at him. “You… That was you?”
Chanter nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Oh… god.” Her knees buckled and she sank down, clinging to his legs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you…” A flood of tears choked off her words. Now he would leave, for she had done the unforgivable. “Please forgive me!” she wailed. “I didn’t know!”
Chanter bent and prised her arms away, then knelt. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”
“You’re not?” She looked up at him. “But I shot you!”
He shrugged. “It didn’t hurt much.”
“But I could have…”
“Killed me?” He chuckled. “Highly unlikely, my little clan. I’m immortal, remember? I am the undying, accursed Mujar.”
“It’s not funny!” She rubbed tears from her cheeks. “I thought you’d left me to the wolves. I was all alone!”
“Ah, yes, I was on my way back. I thought you’d be getting chilly about now.”
“The wolves might have come while you were gone!”
“No.”
Talsy sniffed, snuggling up to him as if he was a magnet and she was iron filings. “Why did you leave me?”
Chanter sighed. “Two reasons. Mujar don’t like lying on the ground for any length of time, and we also don’t need to sleep. I was running with my brothers, the wolves, enjoying the night.”
Talsy revelled in his warmth and the comfort his arms imparted. Her boldness surprised her, for she had always shied away from men, distrusting their intentions. With Chanter, she had no such qualms; in fact, his closeness was reassuring and seductive.
“Why don’t you like to lie on the ground?”
“I’ll teach you the ways of Mujar, but not right now. It’s the middle of the night, and you need to sleep. We have a long journey tomorrow.”
“Why do you call the wolves your brothers?”
“Because they are,” he replied. “Every living thing is my kin.”
“That’s why you won’t kill them.”
He nodded. “Something like that. Are you warm?”
“Yes.”
“Then go and sleep.” Chanter stood up, pulled her to her feet and pushed her towards the tent. Talsy crawled inside, expecting him to follow, but found herself alone.
“Chanter?”
The forest’s stillness answered her, and she turned to poke her head outside. The Mujar had vanished as silently as the wind. Fear chilled her again, but she quelled it, retreating once more into the tent to snuggle under the furs, comforted by his lingering warmth.
Chanter paused to look back at the tent, alone and alien in the wilderness. Bending to scoop up a handful of snow, he waited until it turned to water in his palm, then rubbed it on his wound. A flash of pain accompanied the healing, making him gasp a cloud of vapour. Raising his head, he breathed the crisp air, nostrils flaring as he savoured its purity. He sensed the wolves nearby, searching for a scent of quarry. Crouching, he placed his palms on the ground, drawing on Dolana. The Earthpower flowed into him with its chilling drain, sapped his warmth and snuffed out the Crayash within him. Before it became too strong, he wielded it, like cracking a whip, with a flick of his mind.
The air solidified, and he changed within the utter silence that surrounded him for that instant. The change required little power. A mere enhancement of his wish brought it about, and his mind conjured the required shape from his racial memory. The lupine form was one he enjoyed, and used often for land travel, although flying was easier. The change included his clothes as a part of his wish, so he would not be naked when he changed back into a man. His skin prickled as fur covered it in a thick, warm pelt, and he experienced vague shrinking and stretching sensations as his shape shifted. The procedure took only a moment. He adjusted to his new form’s strange balance, and his paws sank into the snow, its icy crispness making his pads tingle.
A million scents floated on the air, tickled his nose with their mysterious temptation and imparted a wealth of knowledge. Crayash warmed him again as he set off across the snow. Settling into a steady lope, he followed the scent paths that led to the pack. The sinuous grace of his wolf form delighted him, as it always did, with the effortless joy of the four-footed. The scent tracks of snow hares, weasels, mice and ground squirrels flashed past as he loped across patches of snow and ice. The musty scent of tree bark mingled with the faint redolence of soil, wherein he sensed the slow movements of moles, worms and a sleeping vixen curled around her warm cubs.
A fat snow hare leapt from his path and bounded away across the frost-hardened snow, then paused, panting as its fear leaked away. Chanter padded up to it and touched its timid mind with gentle greetings as the hare sniffed noses with him. Like all his brothers, the hare knew he was Mujar and did not fear him, even when he took the form of its greatest enemy. Leaving his small brother, he continued at a fast lope, his tail a rudder as he weaved amongst the trees, claws gripping frozen ground and snow alike.
The wolves ran to meet him, tongues lolling. They fawned, tails down, ears laid back. The leader crawled on his belly, his mate beside him, to lick Chanter’s frosted muzzle. The Mujar gambolled amongst them, put them at their ease and invited them to play. They followed him in a frisky dance of wolf kinship and joy. Lesser animals rolled on their backs in ritual surrender, inviting him to bite their throats. Wolf lore required him to snarl and bristle, which sent the youngsters into frenzies of delight at his attention.
The greetings over, he sprang away through the forest, the pack leader at his shoulder. Over moonlit snow they ran, as free as the wind, as wild as the mountains they called home. They raced down icy valleys in showers of powder snow and along rocky ridges to taste the wind that fingered their thick fur. Under a black sky a-glimmer with a million stars, they loped through the pale moonlight that bathed a frozen land. The song of earth, wind and sky mingled with the soft panting of steaming breath to form a rhapsody of joyful freedom. Ice crystals tinkled and shushed beneath running feet, frost rimed whiskers and fur. The pack breasted a ridge and looked down upon a sweeping valley where a herd of deer huddled in a copse.
Chanter sat down, his breath steaming. The lead wolf approached, fawned and licked Chanter’s muzzle in a loving farewell before he led the pack down the steep slope towards the sleeping deer. The Mujar rose and padded away. The moonlight’s magic held him in its spell. He frolicked in a deep snowdrift and gambolled down a slide of soft powder, leaping and shaking the snow from his coat. Icicles sparkled and virgin snow glittered like a bed of diamonds. A shy fox ran to greet him and played with him for a while, then slipped away to hunt mice and hares. A lone stag huffed and shook his antlers at the black wolf before realising what he was, then stepped closer to snuffle him, a world of gentle innocence in his liquid eyes. Chanter padded on, heading westwards, deeper into the mountains.
Cresting a low hill, he sensed a strange emanation of power in the distance that called to him like a siren’s song. The emanation was unvarying and powerful, tugging at his senses. He trotted towards it, opened himself to its strange tingle an
d sniffed the wind for clues. His footprints meandered across pristine snow, and he paused often, one paw raised, to gauge the possible danger ahead. Moving around a hill, he stopped to gaze at the power’s source.
A Lake hung before him, the invisible veil of its portal cutting through a rocky slope. It stretched away in both directions, fading into the distance until it vanished, leaving the reality of this world. As luck would have it, he had found its centre quite by chance, a rare happening. Lakes were hard to find, since they moved slowly around the world. No one knew where they were exactly, although the creatures that used them knew their approximate location. Chanter had never encountered one before, and the prospect of a new experience excited him. He bounded down the hill, panting steam as he loped towards the Lake.
The rippling veil of its juncture blazed with rainbow colours, made up of the four elements. The swirling curtain was light split by water, glittering with motes of Dolana that hung in the air. Chanter changed his form to a man again in a moment of icy hush. As he neared the Lake, the god word that unlocked the portal sprang into his mind, and he spoke it. Without the word, he would have merely passed through the shining curtain and remained in this world. At his command, the bright veil parted, and he stepped into a warm, balmy day on another world.
The transition from snowy midnight landscape to tropical midday lushness stunned Chanter. As he paused to soak up the Lake’s ambience, he noted its strong, pure Powers. The soil glowed with Dolana that was almost too powerful, chilling his feet. The plants shimmered with Shissar, testament to this world’s purity. He sensed an imbalance, however, which discomfited him a little after his world’s perfectly balanced Powers.
Dolana and Shissar dominated, and the sun’s Crayash made his skin tingle pleasantly, but Ashmar was weak. The thin, lifeless air was calm almost to the point of stagnation, and he missed the cold wind he had left behind. For the creatures of Shamarese, it posed no problem, but he wondered if a Lowman would be comfortable in this world. Even as he pondered that, he wondered why he did. Lowmen were no concern of his, and were not allowed in the Lakes. Dismissing his unease, he scanned the landscape.
From its bright, warm sun and profusion of life, he guessed it was one of the Lakes of regeneration, like the Lake of Birth or Renewal. A vista of burgeoning growth stretched away in all directions, plants and trees so alien they defied description. Bulbous growths supported disk-shaped leaves of brilliant magenta, turquoise and indigo. Tall spindly trees draped the air with long streamers of vermilion, maroon and saffron. A haze of pollen drifted like gilded dust motes in the sun. Bright aquamarine grass clothed the soil in a rich fur of sweet-scented succulence.