Talsy reached him first, panting from her run, and turned as the others approached. The first slaves came hot on the heels of the two chosen, their feet kicking up puffs of ash. At the sight of the slender Mujar standing amongst the dead trees, they fell to their knees in an ecstasy of gratitude and worship.
"Get up," Chanter snapped. "I'm not a god."
They scrambled to their feet, but for a few women overcome by weeping. Others helped them up, and they gazed with wonder at the legendary Mujar. Chanter looked past them at the soldiers, who had reached the edge of the web and paused. They turned to each other in a heated debate, the words of which were too soft to hear. Several slaves whimpered and moved to stand behind the Mujar. Chanter turned and walked away, the freed people hurrying beside him, glancing back often. They had only gone a few paces when the guardsmen came to a decision. With a collective roar of rage and frustration, they quit the tar and charged towards the dead forest. Slaves and chosen alike screamed and ran, except for Talsy, who stopped beside Chanter to gaze back at the men. The Mujar shook his head with sadness and regret.
"You are not chosen," he muttered, then addressed the ground. "Those are not mine."
The earth rippled, a wave of eager vengeance emanating from it as the Dargon heard his words. The soil opened beneath the soldiers' feet, and the leaders were swallowed with screams that ended abruptly. The men behind them tried to dash back to the tar, but the land became a strange and savage beast that gulped its prey with earthen mouths and crushed them with stone teeth. Most succumbed to a mercifully swift death, but two struggled with their legs trapped in the soil, shrieking. The ground rose around them and buried them.
Chanter turned to find Talsy staring after the vanished men, pity and horror in her eyes. She looked at him with confusion and shame.
"I thought Mujar didn't kill."
"I did not do the killing."
"You ordered it."
Chanter clasped her shoulder. "I gave no orders, I only disowned them. Their fate was brought about by their own deeds."
"I wish all Truemen were chosen."
"If that was the case, none of this would be happening, and the Black Riders would not exist." He paused, looking past her into the dead forest. "They were dead anyway. The Hashon Jahar will be here tomorrow."
"What about Kieran?"
"I hope he'll return safely to us before then. He's a resourceful warrior, so I think he will."
"I wish we could help him."
Chanter raised a brow. "I thought you didn't like him."
"I don't. You said we need him."
"Yes, we do. If you want to help him, why not ask Shyass?"
Talsy considered this, then shook her head. "No, I don't think I should. If he isn't in trouble, she'll be angry that I wasted her time."
"You learn quickly, for a Lowman. Indeed, the wind souls are not to be trifled with. I'm glad you have realised it. Call on them only when you are in grave danger, or trapped, as you were."
"They're so wild," she murmured.
"Nothing is quite as wild as the wind. No one can ever tame it."
"Isn't a Mujar wilder?"
He laughed. "Not even a Mujar is that wild. Have you not done an excellent job of taming me?"
"No, you're as free as you ever were; you just choose to stay with me."
"Free, yes, but wild? No, I was wild before I marked you, but no longer. Now I serve the chosen, and must bring them safely to the gathering. I have a purpose, which no Mujar ever had before, and it's because of you."
Talsy gazed at the distant city visible through the dead trees' black trunks. Her breath misted before her face as she sighed, thinking of the people trapped within it, condemned to die by the swords of the Hashon Jahar and hated by the land upon which they lived. Thousands of innocent children were doomed because of the sins of their ignorant, bigoted parents, who could now only await the fate they had unleashed upon themselves. The dead forest was testament to their destructiveness, and their wish to dominate and shape the world against its will. Until it fought back. A sense of doom suffused her, coming not only from the murdered trees. A strong foreboding filled the air and made her shiver at its sinister touch; an unsung funeral dirge for those soon to die.
Snow began to fall in a shifting veil between her and the doomed city, greying the night and covering the ground with its pale shroud. Chanter raised his face to its frigid touch. The flakes settled on his features and gathered in his hair as he closed his eyes. Talsy shared his joy at the soft snowfall, the healing touch of frozen water that fell in a billion uniquely patterned flakes, each a wonder of artistry. The enchantment of snow and land filled her with its wild rapture, and her soul longed to fly as free as the wind that played with the drifting flakes, making them dance between the blackened trees. The fall of Shissar promised renewal for the dead land under the glow of moonlit clouds. The sweet vigour of the untamed was somehow stronger for its rebellion. Talsy held out her hand to catch a dainty flake, admiring its fragile beauty in the instant before it melted. Such was nature, to create something so exquisite for a mere moment of wonder, then destroy it as swiftly as it had been born.
Chanter grinned at her, his eyes bright. "Come, run with me. Feel the wildness of Mujar. There shall be life here again, in the memory of trees."
The Mujar stepped away and raised his arms in an open-handed gesture of giving and restoration. Earthpower filled the air, summoned from the ground by his silent call, as cold as the snow that fell from above. He turned, scattering the magic with a sweep of his arms, sending it into the trees to fan the spark of life that nestled deep within their roots in the bosom of the frosty earth. She sensed the rising Earthpower like a tide pouring from the soil, carrying in its freezing magic the bounty of life. It rose within her like a warm wash of blood, defying the chill that nipped her skin.
Brimming with sudden joy that made her want to weep and laugh, she followed Chanter's dancing steps as he twirled amongst the blackened trunks, the Earthpower swirling around him like a mantle. Where it touched, green shoots sprouted from the charred bark, twisting and swelling. Others thrust up through the thin crust of snow, dancing to the unheard music the Mujar spread about him. A wondrous strength infused Talsy as the burgeoning of a pure, unfettered magic lifted her spirit and cleansed her soul.
The wild magic flooded the air and brightened the starlit landscape, turning the snow into a bed of sparkling crystals that formed a pristine backdrop to the stark black trunks now furred with greenness. The scent of new life added its sweet tang to the glittering air. The rustle of growth and the creak of swelling wood as sap rose to invigorate the trees were like faint music to which the Mujar danced. She laughed and danced with him, the spell of freedom enthralling her with an ecstasy that buoyed her up and carried her feet lightly over the snow in his footsteps.
With a swift burst of iciness, he became a black wolf and gambolled through the snow, his breath steaming from a wide, panting mouth gleaming with white teeth. Broad paws crunched the snow in a meandering track as he soaked the forest with life-giving magic. A spreading green wave followed the dancing Mujar, and Talsy's laughter mingled with Chanter's panting yelps of joy. The squeaking shush of their feet on the crisp snow was a soft beat to the music of happiness. A distant wild cry came from the living forest in a mournful, wailing call that drifted on the air amid the falling snow. The wolf pack came running to greet Chanter, and she laughed at their playful capering, so full of joy and wonderful wildness.
Surrounded by the pack of lithe, bounding wolves, she followed Chanter in his dancing run, which had almost taken them halfway around the distant city. Ahead, dead trunks loomed, behind them living trees thrust out new-born branches. As a small part of this miracle, Talsy experienced the ecstasy of Nature and the pure, untamed joy of life as never before. The trees' restoration brought a sensation of being at one with the land, as if her flesh was soil and her blood the water that fed all the growing things that yearned for the sun. Un
der the star-sprinkled skies with their gentle fall of snow, she experienced a rebirth, a purification of body and soul as the wind tugged at her hair and chilled her skin.
Talsy ran as one with the wolves, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground, buoyed by the flow of Earthpower and the life it bestowed. A black wolf with flame-blue eyes and the joyful prance of a pup led the way, drawing in his path the beauty of life. He summoned from the land the power to recreate that which had been lost, bringing back the forest destroyed by Lowmen savages with fire. Never had she been in the midst of so much power and joy. The land rippled under her feet as growing things thrust up from the soil.
This was the power of Mujar, as much a part of the land and trees as the forest itself. What she could sense was but a fraction of it, yet it was enough to make her life before this pale into insignificance at the beauty of this moment, when death became life, springing as eternal as hope as it flooded from the soil. Like a vastly accelerated springtime, the forest was reborn verdant and fecund. Only the blackened treetops, too burnt to be restored, told the story of the fire that had once destroyed this forest.
When at last they reached the living trees that marked the beginning of Chanter's run, Talsy flopped down gasping, reaching out to stroke the smooth fur of the grey wolves that pressed close around the Mujar. They paid her no heed, but raised their muzzles to howl a savage song. Chanter stood panting, then, in a flash of Dolana, became a man again, gazing at the tall city walls that guarded and imprisoned the people within. The magic ebbed back into the earth whence it had been summoned, and, with a wave of his hand, he sent the wolves away. They frolicked towards the twisted trees of an angry Kuran, and he sank down beside her. His skin glowed and his hair glittered with the strange wild power he possessed.
Now she understood how his nights in the wilderness restored him, for she was sure that her skin glowed and her hair glittered just as his did.
"This is Life," he whispered into the night's stillness and the forest's lingering enchantment. "This is the joy Lowmen have lost. Only Nature holds it in such abundance, yet it's free for all who wish to partake. No other joy is so strong and pure. No other power can uplift as much as Life."
"That's what Mujar are, isn't it?" She gazed at him. "You are Life itself."
He nodded. "Mujar are redemption, as the Hashon Jahar are retribution."
"And Lowmen have the choosing. Life or Death."
"They have chosen Death, little one. You alone had the wisdom to choose Life, and in doing so you saved your race." He nodded at the distant city. "But they have chosen Death by sowing it, and with the dawn, it comes."
Talsy glanced at the horizon, where the first faint streaks of rosy glow heralded the morning sun. "What about Kieran?"
"He'll find a way, never fear. But now we must return to the chosen and lead them away from here before the Black Riders come."
Chanter jumped up, and she rose to her feet, staggering with sudden fatigue. He put out a hand to steady her, smiling.
"The Earthpower has drained you, that's all."
Nodding with numb weariness, she followed him through the trees, pushing aside needle-laden branches that showered her with snow. The tingling was a strange sensation that drained her, even as it invigorated her. She tramped after him on flaccid legs while her being oozed energy and she thrummed with life. The exertion had warmed her, but soon the slow pace allowed the chill back into her hands and feet.
Chapter Five
By the time they reached the campfire, Talsy shivered. The chosen huddled around the wagon or lay under it, and Shern gave a glad cry when they appeared, while the slaves stared at Chanter with wide eyes. Talsy was glad to hold her hands to the fire and soak up its warmth. The Mujar went to the injured slave, who lay amongst his fellows, clutching a quarrel that protruded from the pad of muscle on his side. The others scrambled away, and the wounded man stared at Chanter with a mixture of fear and awe. The Mujar sank to one knee, scooped up a handful of snow and trickled the water over the wound, then laid a hand upon it. With a swift jerk, he yanked out the bolt, unnoticed by the slave. The soft mist of Shissar filled the air, and the wound healed.
Chanter stood up, leaving the man to examine the puckered red scar, and approached Shern. "We must leave here now. It's not safe. The Black Riders are coming."
Shern nodded. "We'll need horses."
"No, you will walk. There are enough here to carry all the provisions in the wagon, or to pull it."
The seer went to tell the new chosen, who rose and gathered up the baggage. They stamped out the fire and followed Chanter up the road, the women towing tired, weepy children and the men trudging with bent heads under their burdens. Few had slept that night, and weariness added to their load as dawn paled the sky and the stars winked out one by one.
Several miles up the road, Chanter called a halt, and the people slumped to the ground. Most curled up in their blankets to sleep, huddled together for warmth.
The Mujar turned to Talsy. "Wait here. I'll be back soon."
"Where are you going?"
"To see if Kieran needs any help."
"Be careful."
Chanter smiled and cupped her cheek, then turned and ran a few steps before leaping into the air. The gust of Ashmar swirled powder snow from the road, and a barred daltar eagle rose on wide wings. He soared above the trees with the effortless grace of the giant bird whose form he had assumed.
Shern came to stand beside her, his gaze following the Mujar until he vanished. "I never thought to see a Mujar, you know. He's amazing."
Talsy smiled. "Yes, he is."
Chanter soared over the green carpet of trees, his wings twitching as he adjusted his flight upon the varying air currents. Much of the snow had melted in the morning sun, leaving only patches in deep shadow. Gliding over the ragged line where the twisted trees joined the new forest he had recreated, he headed for the city. The rough stone square marked the centre of the black web, packed with dull roofs. Turning away, he avoided flying over the dried earth blood and glided along the edge of the forest. Many people stood on the walls and gazed out at the new forest, probably wondering how it had come into being overnight.
Perhaps they thought it was another facet of the land's fight against them, this sudden regeneration of the trees they had killed. In a way it was, for he was as much a part of the land as the trees. How could he ever explain what he was to Talsy? To say that he was Life was but a small part of it. How could she understand that he was a part of everything, which was why he could command the elements? His explanation had only confused her, he knew. Such an alien concept was hard for one such as her, from a race that had lost the ability, to understand. As Kuran were the forests' souls and Dargon souls of the land, the Shanar souls of the wind and Quaral souls of the sea, he was a soul of the world.
A glitter amongst the trees to the east drew his attention, and his sharp eyes picked out the swift, flashing movement of the blackness that advanced on the city. The column of Hashon Jahar stretched away into the forest, moving at a trot, their lances set upright in their stirrups. Pale morning light gilded the Riders' armour, flashed on lances and sheened the sleek hides of their mounts. They moved with the unswerving certainty of an unstoppable force, row upon orderly row, four abreast. He swooped lower to glimpse their blank stone countenances and the black eyes that stared sightlessly ahead. Silent but for the steady thunder of hooves, they travelled bannerless and unheralded through a land that neither welcomed nor rejected them.
As they emerged from the forest, the townsfolk scurried about in a frenzy of activity. The purposeful movement of soldiers mixed with the panicked flight of women and children seeking refuge. The first four lines of Hashon Jahar stopped, and the next four rode around to flank them, then the next peeled off to stop on the other side of the first. Gradually they spread out, forming a line four deep that almost surrounded the besieged city. Chanter tilted his wings to soar over the Black Riders' heads, a witness to the coming
destruction. The line became still, their formation complete.
On the wall, soldiers rolled barrels to the edge and beat wooden plugs from them. Streams of pale liquid gushed into the moat, and Chanter veered away from the terrible stench that arose. Strange equipment was dragged into place atop the wall, and soldiers manned the odd machinery, unarmed but for the handles and tubes they held. Chanter swooped low to skim in front of the line and glimpse the Hashon Jahar's stone faces as they became animated. The blank visages transformed into the tortured faces of the Lowman souls trapped within the stone warriors, condemned to witness their people's destruction. These silently screaming faces had given rise to the myth that the Black Riders were a tribe of savage Lowmen, when in fact they wore the faces of those they had slain.
The horses reared, pawing the air, their necks arched in eagerness as they fought the bits that held them. The line of Hashon Jahar leapt forward as one, spurred by an inaudible command. The thunder of galloping hooves shuddered the air, a sound to put fear into the bravest Lowman heart. The line of lances lowered, as if to impale the wall before them, but Chanter knew this was not the case. Atop the wall, fire ignited in the soldiers' hands and burning brands were hurled down into the earth blood moat. With a great thump, the moat burst into flames, a sheet of fire leaping from the flammable liquid that had been poured down. It raced around the city, almost as presentable as the fire walls he had created in the past.
The Black Riders slowed, reining in their steeds before the bright flames, and stopped. Clouds of thick black smoke rolled up to shroud the city in a choking veil. Through it, streams of fire jetted from atop the wall, the strange machinery revealing its purpose as the Lowmen sent burning liquid over the Riders. Those that caught fire staggered back from their lines, falling as their steeds went down in silent, thrashing heaps.
Some Riders lay burning where they fell, their horses as motionless as they, others rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames. A triumphant cheer went up from the city as the number of Hashon Jahar caught by the fire grew, then the line wheeled as one and rode back to the edge of the forest, where they turned to face their target once more. The damaged Riders lay where they had fallen, some moving, others still.
Broken World Book Two - StarSword Page 7
