His gaping wounds sealed together without a scar, pulled into place as if by invisible hands. His twisted limbs straightened and returned to their normal appearance as his bones knitted, and his bruises vanished. His fingers and toes grew back more slowly. The raw ends sealed and new fingers sprouted, complete with nails. The strangeness of his healing made some of the Truemen pale and turn away.
No Trueman, even if a Mujar healed them, could regrow lost parts. Those whom the sight did not unsettle leant closer to watch the phenomenon, muttering about 'image twisting' and 'world patterning'. Talsy ignored them, a lump blocking in her throat as Chanter's heart began to beat again, a pulse throbbing at his throat. He continued to lie cold and still, however, his eyes glazed. Remembering the Dolana, she pulled him as far as she could onto her lap, surprised by his lightness. He warmed, and she held him while he convulsed.
Chanter's contortions calmed and his features relaxed. He opened his eyes to look up at her. Another bucket of water splashed over them, and he only shivered. Talsy held up a hand to stem the next bucket, and the student stepped back, putting it on a table.
Chanter raised his hands and flexed them, examining his new fingers. The skin was still thin and tender, the nails pink and soft, but hardening. Shissar flowed through him softly now, a faint tingle deep within him. The air swelled as he called upon the Powers, and he rejoiced at their return to his command, filling the room with rushing wind and the faint sound of beating wings.
The doctors glanced at each other, and Jashon scowled. Sitting up, Chanter leant on a hand and bowed his head, his wet hair hiding his face. He knew that everyone held their breath except Talsy, who smiled and wiped the hair from his brow. Raising his head, he looked up at the doctors, his gaze flitting from face to face, meeting hard, unrepentant stares. Raising a hand, he held it out, palm up.
"No harm."
Jashon demanded, "What does he mean by that?"
Tranton shot his friend an impatient glance. "He won't harm us."
"We already know that!"
Chanter turned to Talsy with a faint smile. "Gratitude."
"Hey, wait a minute!" Jashon started forward, but Tranton held him back.
"It doesn't matter who he gives the gratitude to," Tranton said. "She's in as much danger as the rest of us."
Talsy gazed into Chanter's eyes, smiled and completed the ritual. "Wish."
He nodded. "Wish."
"Please will you protect the city from the Hashon Jahar?"
Jashon muttered, "Begging from a damned Mujar!"
Chanter cocked his head, and his smile broadened as he studied the girl. His eyes flicked to the doctors, then back to her. "Big Wish."
Jashon started forward again. "Big bloody favour we did you, you damned yellow monkey!"
Tranton pulled him back, the other doctors aiding him.
Talsy nodded, her eyes stinging at his gentle nature. A Trueman would have railed at his mistreatment and cursed his erstwhile tormentors for torturing him. A Trueman would also have made good his escape now, she reflected, or used the Powers to punish those who had harmed him and left the rest at the mercy of the Hashon Jahar. Then again, a Trueman would have given in to their demands in order to escape the pain.
She whispered, "Big Wish."
Chanter's eyes slid away, hidden by thick lashes. "Three days."
"You bastard!" Jashon roared, clawing his way towards the Mujar. "You'll protect the city until it's damned well safe!"
Talsy shot Jashon a hard glance before turning back to the Mujar. "For three days you'll protect the city, then you'll be free."
"Yes."
Jashon made inarticulate noises while his peers held him back. Chanter's eyes fell on the angry red wound on her arm, and he frowned. "You're hurt."
She shrugged. "It's just a scratch."
The Mujar rose to his feet, and several doctors stepped back. Tranton watched him with narrowed eyes. Talsy scrambled up and stood beside Chanter, who glanced around at the hostile men, then turned to the table. He dipped his hand into the bucket of water, took hold of her arm and raised it to trickle water onto it. The air filled with mist again, the light twisted in strange underwater visions, and the soft sound of running water mixed with the distant thunder of ocean waves. The manifestation of Shissar vanished, and Talsy looked at her arm, where only a narrow white scar remained.
Jashon started forward again. "Why the hell did he do that? You didn't wish for it!" He glared at her.
Chanter turned his head to gaze at the red-faced doctor with expressionless eyes. "Clan bond."
"Clan…" Jashon spluttered into silence.
Tranton tugged on his arm. "Why don't we go and tell the governor of your great success. I'm sure he'll be delighted."
Jashon allowed Tranton to lead him away, and Talsy looked up at Chanter again. "Thank you."
He smiled. "You kept your promise."
"As did you."
"It was your Wish."
A slither of fear chilled her gut. "Is it fulfilled now?"
Chanter gazed at her, looking puzzled, as if she was a strange creature he did not understand, but something prompted him to try a little longer.
"No. You suffered harm and fled to save yourself. I was merely a distraction. I tried to protect you, and failed. The Wish is not yet fulfilled."
She sighed with relief. "I'm sorry… about what you went through."
He picked up his jacket from the table beside him and shrugged it on. "It's over now. Already the memory dims."
"Do Mujar have such a short memory?"
Chanter bent to pull on his boots, which he had found under the table. "When it comes to unpleasant things, yes."
Talsy took his hand and headed for the door. "Let's leave this awful place."
Several doctors stepped into their path, and one said, "The Mujar can't leave. He'll escape."
Chanter hung back, frowning at them. Clearly he would not allow anyone except Talsy near him now, and she did not blame him. She glared at them.
"He's granted the Wish and he'll fulfil it. Unlike you, he has honour. You think that standing in his way will stop him if he really wants to leave? Get out of the way!"
They parted, and she led Chanter into the street. The doctors followed, and the Mujar eyed them warily. The men served as a barrier between Chanter and the populace, which turned out to be just as well. Soon, pedestrians recognised a Mujar and shouted insults, waving their fists. Some tried to get at Chanter, but the doctors fended off the crowd until guardsmen arrived, drawn by the commotion. Chanter scanned the skyline while Talsy clung to his hand, afraid that he would turn into a bird to escape the threat. He pointed at a roofed wooden platform atop tall a grey stone tower.
"We'll go there."
The doctors explained the situation to the guardsmen, clearly concerned about the Mujar's safety. At their request, the troops formed a cordon around Chanter and Talsy to protect them from the angry mob. A few people threw rotten fruit and dung while the rest shouted insults. Chanter headed for the tower, the soldiers and doctors who surrounded him shooting him hateful looks. Talsy ducked the missiles, and the doctors shielded them from most of it, their robes becoming splattered with dung. They shouted in protest, but the guardsmen could do little to stem the filthy barrage. The gate guard at the base of the tower let them in, and the guardsmen stayed outside to keep the mob at bay.
Talsy followed Chanter up a spiral stairway, her legs aching by the time they reached the top. The tower afforded a panoramic view of the city and the land beyond the walls.
A lookout scowled at them. "What are you doing here?" His eyes narrowed when he spotted Chanter, and he reached for his sword.
Talsy said, "Stop, or you die."
He hesitated, shooting her an angry, puzzled look.
"He's here to protect the city from the Hashon Jahar," she explained, "and people still want to hurt him. He needs to stay up here for his protection, or do you want the Black Riders to destroy this city?"
The mob's shouts confirmed her statement, and he released his sword hilt. "Filthy Mujar."
She glared at him. "Go down and tell the soldiers to send for reinforcements and bring us food and wine."
The scowling lookout opened his mouth as if to protest her high-handed orders, then apparently thought better of it and headed for the staircase, shooting a last glare at Chanter. The Mujar wandered to the edge of the platform and gazed out across the land, his face deadpan.
She went to stand beside him. "Is it three days from now, or from when the Hashon Jahar arrive?"
"Three days of protection is exactly that. Waiting doesn't count."
"How will you do it?"
Chanter smiled. "Wait and see."
Chapter Eight
Talsy spent the night snuggled close to Chanter on the soft pallets the soldiers brought up, safe from Dolana's creeping cold. Good food and wine filled their bellies, and her only regret was that he only held her, but she was content. When the stomp of feet on the stairs woke her in dawn's cool light, she found her cheek cushioned on his arm, pressed close to him. Sitting up, she stretched. Chanter remained prone on the pallet, his eyes closed. He opened them when a group of panting people emerged from the stairway, a wheezing Tranton leading them.
Jashon followed, scowling, then a man in a gold-trimmed purple cloak. Tranton introduced him as Cusak, the governor, and he eyed them with a belligerent expression. Chanter gazed at something in the sky. Several advisors joined the crowd, then two servants with trays laden with steaming bowls of porridge, bacon, eggs and hot milk. The smell of food made the Mujar sit up at last and take an interest. He and Talsy ate while the governor fidgeted, looking sour.
"You could have been the richest man in the city, Mujar. Do you mock me with your free aid?"
Talsy glanced at Chanter, who ignored the man. She said, "He can't be bribed."
"I know," Cusak said. "No one can make a Mujar help. He'd have stood by and watched us all die."
"That's right. If you help them they'll help you, but you can't force them."
Cusak snorted. "They mock us with their powers and reward us for good behaviour as if they're better than us."
"They are."
Jashon snarled, "They're damned worthless yellow -" He broke off as Tranton elbowed him.
Cusak paced around, glaring at the Mujar, who concentrated on his meal. "Why only three days?"
Chanter glanced up. "It's enough."
"What do you mean, enough? What if the Hashon Jahar are still there after three days?"
The Mujar shrugged and spooned his porridge.
Cusak reddened and stepped towards him. "Answer me, damn you!"
Talsy stood up and blocked his way. "He granted you three days, and he means that it's enough to repay you for freeing him. No Mujar will be trapped by a limitless promise of aid, it takes away their freedom." She remembered, with deep shame, her attempt to make him stay with her indefinitely, which in turn reminded her of the finite nature of the clan bond. How would she react, on the day he broke it and left? Would she also be angry and curse him?
Cusak snarled, "And then the Black Riders will attack us anyway."
"If they're still waiting."
"You'll die too. Doesn't he look after his clan?"
Talsy opened her mouth to answer, but Chanter said, "No harm will come to my clan."
The governor's eyes narrowed. "If your clan is still in the city, you'll have to stay, won't you?"
The Mujar nodded. "But only she will be safe."
Talsy's heart swelled, and tears burnt her eyes. It did not matter that it was the clan bond that made him take care of her, or that his feelings towards her were a mystery and likely to remain so. If, indeed, he had any. Her affection for him could not be denied, and his loyalty to their bond filled her with joy.
Cusak looked incensed, and Jashon burst out, "You bastard! You -" He broke off as the governor held up a hand.
Cusak spoke calmly. "Mujar, what if I offered you clan bond?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I have a clan."
"Her?" Cusak gestured at Talsy. "I can offer you much more. Better comforts, more food, anything you want."
"No." The Mujar raised an impassive gaze.
Cusak approached Chanter, who rose to his feet and backed away.
Talsy stepped between them again. "Leave him alone. If you harm him now, you break the Wish and he'll leave you with no protection at all." She had no idea if this was true, but it sounded good, and stopped Cusak in his tracks.
The governor glared at her, his hands clenched. From his thunderous expression, she knew that the only thing he found more irritating than an obstinate Mujar was an uppity slip of a Trueman girl. Unable to threaten Chanter, he focussed his anger on her.
"You're an insolent little bitch."
Tranton plucked at the governor's sleeve, distracting him. "Your Grace, how long before the Hashon Jahar get here?"
Cusak swung away, scowling. "The last scout said a couple of hours, no more."
Talsy returned to her meal, and Chanter sat beside her, shooting the governor guarded looks. Cusak leant on the railing and glared at the distant forests beyond the cultivated fields around the city. When he finished his food, Chanter rose and went to lean against the rail on the far side of the tower. Talsy joined him, and he glanced at her.
"They should not stay here."
"Why? Oh." She remembered her reaction to her first experience of a manifestation of the Powers. The thought of these cruel, proud men cowering in terror at Chanter's power appealed to her, and she was tempted to say nothing. Chanter frowned, and she sighed, rolled her eyes and approached Tranton. Not caring whether they took her advice or not, she informed the hirsute man of Chanter's warning, leaving him to persuade the governor, if he could. Evidently he was unsuccessful, for Cusak stayed, though a few of the advisors left.
The wait seemed much longer than two hours. Tension stretched the time, the atmosphere thick with hatred and resentment. Cusak glared at Chanter, and Talsy glowered back, irked by his lack of gratitude on top of everything else. Jashon's thin face was fixed in a permanent scowl, while Tranton studied the scene with a supercilious smile. Chanter watched the wheeling crows, apparently disinterested in the Truemen and their ill-concealed emotions. His nostrils flared as the breeze lifted the hair from his neck.
The water used in his healing had washed off the blood, and no sign of his ordeal remained. Once again, he reminded Talsy of a wild creature gazing out of a cage, longing for the freedom of the wide open spaces that beckoned from without. Granting her Wish had trapped Chanter, but in three days he would be free again. She was certain that he would waste no time quitting this horrible city and the company of its hateful inhabitants. The Truemen's rancour galled her, and their sullen silence ate at her nerves.
When Cusak stiffened, it was almost a relief. He pointed across the fields. "There they are!"
Everyone stared at the distant trees, and the black line that obscured their base, like deep shadow. Too deep. The blackness seeped from the forest like darkness at dusk. Talsy's heart pounded and her blood turned cold. Just the sight of them, even from this distance, was unnerving. The Black Riders. Hashon Jahar. Riders of Death. They had many names, and stories of their utter ruthlessness preceded them, carried by those who fled the carnage on swift steeds to warn others.
Few escaped the Hashon Jahar, and those who did survived only a short time before the Black Death caught up with them. Some said that they were invincible, that they killed only for the pleasure of it and did not bother to loot the towns they vanquished. Others told stories of village headmen who went out to meet the Black Riders and offer their surrender, but never returned, and their villages were destroyed. No one knew exactly who they were, but most thought they were a savage tribe from the south, intent on conquering the entire continent.
Everything about them was black, from their steeds to their skins. No cit
y, fortress, town or village had withstood their attack. No one had ever survived, except… She looked at Chanter.
"You've seen them before, when they wiped out your clan."
He nodded.
"Did they know you were Mujar?"
"Yes."
"Who are they? Why didn't they throw you in a Pit?"
Chanter's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the distant Riders, and he frowned, clearly considering her questions. "It would be better to ask what they are, not who."
"You mean they're not Truemen?" Talsy's mind raced. "If they're not Truemen, what are they? Are they of this world?"
He glanced at her. "Yes."
"Why do they slaughter us? What do they want?"
"I can't tell you that."
Talsy watched the approaching blackness. The leaders left the trees and moved towards the city in a column that stretched all the way back to the forest. They moved at a gallop, the speed of their advance making the column look like a black snake gliding towards the city. Shiny armour and jet blades flashed in the sunlight; tall lances stitched the landscape like black thread on green silk.
The thunder of their horses' hooves came faintly on the wind, bringing with it deep dread. In the city below, a hush fell as people listened to death's approach. Many looked up at the tower where the Mujar stood, one man against an army. Talsy glanced at him again. His eyes looked like slits of sky. A thought struck her like a thunderbolt out of the blue, and the question trotted off her tongue unbidden.
"Do they die?"
He hesitated, perhaps surprised by her question, and closed his eyes as if loath to answer it. When he opened them again, he gazed at the approaching menace. "No."
"They're immortal, like you!"
"No." He turned to face her. "Not like me."
"How many creatures of this world are immortal?"
"They're not immortal."
"You just said…"
He shook his head, frowning. "I can't tell you any more."
The Black Riders crossed the cultivated land around the city, the rumble of their hooves growing louder. The horses continued at a full gallop, apparently tireless. The city's populace stood still, riveted by the approaching thunder. Talsy wondered how close Chanter was going to let them get. Cusak turned to glare at the Mujar.
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