Before him was an opening large enough to step through, bent double. The heady scent redoubled, and he stripped off his clothes, throwing them aside. The walls glowed electric blue, and a pod lay split into quarters at the centre. Chanter was drawn to the pod's heart, where the quarters joined in a blood-red circle. As he stepped into the circle, he sank into it up to his waist. Overwhelming sensations flooded him, floating him away on a journey of wild pleasure.
Chanter roused as the erotic fragrance lessened, becoming aware that he was spent and weak. He had never been tired before, but, while it was an alien sensation, he knew he was exhausted. He was also numb from the waist down, yet he could still move. With great effort, he pulled himself from the soft embrace of what he now realised was flower's pistol, the female part. It released him reluctantly, leaving a thin film of shining slime on his skin. Collapsing on the silky blue floor, he waited for some strength to return to his trembling limbs. He stared at the vast red organ that had drawn him into its embrace. There could only be one reason for that. The Ishmak plant was the birthplace of Mujar. His seed would be used to birth another of his race – the child of a flower.
Now that the strange perfume that had drawn him in here no longer clouded his mind, he noticed the smaller pistols visible through holes in the stamen shaft. Pollen from the stamen head high above would pollinate these to create the plant's seeds. The filmy white petals had hidden them, sheltering them from the elements while the plant waited for a Mujar to trigger the petals' opening and the pollen's release. The pollen fell in a soft golden rain, settling on the waiting pistols. He looked at the pod and received a surprise, for it closed slowly. The quarters rose in unison, sealing as their edges touched.
Chanter found his clothes and pulled them on. The slime had dried to a film that crinkled when he moved and powdered when he rubbed it. By the time he was dressed, the pod was sealed tight and filling with liquid. The level rose gradually, creating a womb in which his child would grow. He touched its warm surface, as smooth and hard as glass. The Ishmak plant seemed far more than a mere vegetable. It generated warmth and provided a viable womb in which a child could flourish. It contained the four elements that made him, and every part of it reflected his colours. Or it had coloured him.
The pod was large enough to contain a Mujar, and he knew the boy would step from it almost full grown. Presumably the egg he had fertilised would swim up from the pistol and grow in the clear fluid, nourished by it. Since he had a navel, like Lowmen, there must be an umbilical cord to carry nourishment from the plant. A flash of memory broke into his thoughts. He stood, wet and empty, on a brown, twisted floor, beside a smashed, glass-like pod. He pushed through a dry, crumbling brown wall to emerge, shivering, into brightness, covered with something that clung to his wet skin, small black things that stuck to him with soft white fur. The memory slipped from his grasp, vanishing back into the darkness of his mind.
Being within the confines of an Ishmak plant again had triggered the recollection, and, faded though it was, he understood it. The Ishmak plant did indeed have a symbiotic relationship with Mujar. When the boy was almost full grown, the pod split, releasing the water within it and smashing as it fell into its segments. The newly born Mujar, confused and alone, stumbled around within the dried, almost dead flower, gathering its seeds, which stuck to his wet skin. He would push through the dried petals and emerge, carrying the Ishmak's seeds. These would slowly fall off, and his wandering would spread them far and wide. The Ishmak plant birthed a seed distributer, but why else were Mujar created? Why did they live a hundred years if they were born only to carry their mother plant's seeds? That part he did not understand at all.
Realising that he had been deep in thought for quite some time, he looked around. The pistols outside were furred with pollen and the pod full of clear fluid. The flower remained open, but he sensed that it waited. He went to the pod and laid a hand on its warm surface again. Silently he wished the child well, hoping that he would be born wise and stay free. It would be two years before his birth, and, until then, the Ishmak plant would protect him. That was why they were so dangerous, as he had sensed when he had neared it. Anything that trespassed on an Ishmak's leaves would be killed, except a Mujar. Vaguely, he remembered leaving someone behind to come here, but could not quite recall who. The numbing scent the plant had released when he had entered it seemed to have purified his mind.
Turning away, he climbed out of the tower and onto the surrounding carpet of fine hairs. Above him, the stamen sagged, its pollen gone. With a final glance back at the pod containing his embryonic offspring, he walked across the filmy petals and out onto the broad golden ones. With a soft, rustling slither, the white petals rose, layer upon layer, twisting into each other to form the layered cocoon he had originally seen. Chanter walked away along the golden, black-edged path, realising how far he had come to get here, and how vast the Ishmak plant was. He had spent almost the whole day in the flower, for the sun sank behind him in brilliant red and gold glory.
Chanter made his way rather unsteadily along the petal. It seemed an age before he stepped onto the leaves, as long fingers of dusk stretched across the land. The friendly glow of Crayash in the distance guided him, and, as he neared it, he gained strength, the Powers becoming tangible once more.
Talsy sat beside her camp fire and stared across the plant, where Chanter had vanished. After a day alone, she was a little anxious about him. When the afternoon had worn on and he had not returned, she had tackled the problem of how to build a fire in the plains. A hunting expedition had bagged an antelope, and she had racked her brains for what to use as fuel. Scouring the plains, she had come across a pile of dried dung, which she had discovered burnt well, making hot coals. Adding dry grass to make flames, she had cleaned her kill and set it over the fire to cook. Now the succulent smell of roasting meat made her mouth water.
A rustle made her look up. Chanter stumbled into the light and flopped down beside the fire. He looked tired, his eyes dull, the lean lines of his face gaunt. Drawing up his knees, he hugged them and stared into the flames.
Talsy swallowed, unsure of whether to speak to him, then blurted, "Are you all right?"
The Mujar raised his head, his eyes focussing on her rather vaguely. The lack of recognition in them alarmed her. He licked his lips and coughed. "Yes."
"What happened?"
"I can't tell you."
"You were gone the whole day."
His gaze returned to the fire. "I know."
Chanter appeared to be preoccupied with deep thoughts, and she decided it was best to leave him alone. Instead of pestering him with questions he quite obviously was not going to answer, she cut some cooked meat from the carcass, wrapped it in bread and handed it to him. He consumed it in a few bites, apparently without tasting it. His eyes drooped, as if he was exhausted, alarming her further. Mujar never became tired. Had the plant poisoned him? Nothing could kill him, but she knew that some things had an effect on him, like gold. She studied him as he sat dull-eyed, his head nodding with fatigue, until she could bear it no longer.
"Are you tired?"
He nodded, then his eyes became alert and he glared at her. "Go to sleep."
Talsy put away the meal's remains and spread her pallet in the tent, stretching out on it. She waited for him to join her, but fell asleep alone, shivering in the chill.
When the cold morning light woke her, Talsy was alarmed to find herself alone and freezing. Crawling from the tent, she looked around for Chanter. At first she could not find him, and her alarm grew, then she spotted him lying on the plant's nearest leaf, fast asleep. Unnerved, she hurried towards him, but the waves of hostility emanating from the plant reminded her of his warning about it.
She stopped and called, "Chanter!"
For several moments he did not react, then, to her relief, he jerked awake and sat up. He waved her back. "Stay away."
As Talsy retreated, her gaze drifted past him and she gasped, pointi
ng. "Look!"
Where the slender stamen had been yesterday, now there was a massive golden monolith shaped like teardrop. Overlapping layers of petals glimmered in the sun, each edged with black and veined with blue. Chanter stared at it for a long time before he rose to his feet and stepped off the leaf to approach her. He appeared to be normal again, the tiredness gone, along with the blank look in his eyes. He walked past her to the dead campfire and sat down, looking up at her.
"Let's eat."
Talsy cut slices of cold meat and wrapped them in bread, and he tore at it. Curiosity filled her, but Chanter obviously was not going to volunteer anything. She made herself a sandwich and settled down to eat.
"What happened?"
He glanced at her. "I can't tell you."
"What did you find?"
"A big flower."
Talsy nibbled her bread. "Why has it closed now?"
"I can't tell you."
She sensed that he was unhappy about avoiding her questions, for he studied his food too hard. "Something happened to you. Why were you so tired last night?"
"I can't tell you."
"Mujar never get tired."
He shot her a quelling look, but Talsy was not giving up yet. "Tell me!"
His brows drew together. "No. It's not for you to know."
"Why?"
"Because you're not Mujar."
Talsy stared at him, stunned. "Why must you have secrets?"
The Mujar shook his head and concentrated on his food. She finished her meal in sulky silence, shooting him angry looks.
Finally she burst out, "At least tell me why you won't tell me."
He sighed. "No."
"Can't you even tell me what sort of plant it is?"
"It's called an Ishmak plant."
"And it's important to Mujar."
"I didn't say that."
She snorted. "If it wasn't, you wouldn't be trying so hard to keep secrets about it."
He glowered at her. "And if you weren't so nosy I wouldn't have to argue about it."
Talsy rose and stuffed her bedding into the bag with unnecessary vigour. "What do you think I'm going to do, run off to the nearest city and tell them your secrets? Do you really think I would betray you?"
"No, I know you wouldn't." His tone softened. "It's just not something I can tell you, and I doubt that you'd understand."
"I might."
"I can't tell you."
"Are you allowed to keep secrets from your clan?"
He nodded, smiling. "Yes. You have secrets, and I don't pry."
"You're not interested. I would tell you anything you asked."
"Okay, why were you so desperate to leave your home?"
Talsy sighed, knowing that he only asked to steer her off the subject, but her curiosity seemed doomed anyway. "I wanted to escape a life of drudgery. A Trueman girl has little to look forward to. My father would have selected a suitable mate for me, who would have paid him for my first child. The second I could keep, if I wished. I would have had to care for my father until his death, then I would have been alone, raising my children. Or I could live with a man, like the woman in the forest, but most men don't want to be burdened with a wife, they prefer to breed a child and raise it."
"What will your father do now?"
She shrugged. "He's young enough to have another child."
"In the clan it was different. All the men looked after the women, who could bear children to whomever they wished."
"That sounds like a better life."
"Is that what you're looking for?"
She nodded. "And some adventure, to see the world."
He rose and picked up the bag. "Well, you're certainly doing that."
Talsy hurried after him when he strode away. Evidently he was not going to turn into the stallion just yet. In a way, she did not mind, for it meant that she could talk to him while they walked. She reached his side and tried to match his strides.
"You've never told me where we're going."
"You've never asked."
She smiled. "Well, I'm asking now."
"We're going to Rashkar, to rescue a boy from King Garsh's army."
"Is that the other Wish?"
He nodded. "His father is the one who sent the men to rescue me from my clan's killing field."
"How do you know he's in Rashkar?"
"That's where King Garsh trains his troops."
Talsy skipped a few paces to catch up. "How will you free him?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen what I'm up against yet."
"What happened at the Ishmak plant?"
He smiled and shook his head at her ploy. "I can't tell you."
They passed the Ishmak plant's vast acreage, staying away from its edges. Herds of animals grazed in the distance, vast moving masses of brown or gold. The beasts also stayed away from the plant. In the afternoon, they left its border and struck off towards the distant mountains. By nightfall, Talsy's legs ached, and she wondered if Chanter had made her walk as punishment for arguing about the Ishmak plant, but discarded the notion. Mujar would not stoop to such pettiness.
The following day, he took the form of the black stallion again, and they galloped towards the mountains. Three days of travel brought them to the foothills, where Chanter cantered up the steep rocky slopes with ease. Talsy wondered if he would simply gallop up the sheer rock face ahead, but when they reached it, he stopped. She slid off with the bag and held her breath through the brief cold stillness of Dolana, then Chanter stood before her again. The mountains loomed over them, slabs of grey rock thrust up from the earth and shaped by wind and rain. The range stretched away in either direction like the vast stone backbone of some gigantic beast. Chanter gazed at the tall cliffs, his nostrils flared as the bitter wind whipped his hair. Flags of cloud flew from the snowy pinnacles, stretched and torn by the wind.
Talsy watched him with a frown. Had he been alone, he would have simply flown over them, but she tethered him to the ground. Now she understood why freedom meant so much to him. For Mujar, it was so much more than for Truemen. Only if he left her would he be able to soar over this stone barrier with a Mujar's freedom. To try to scale these sheer cliffs would be impossible. There were expanses of smooth rock that even a spider could not climb, and above that was ice. Chanter turned and walked along the edge of the cliff, his eyes scanning the heights. She wondered what he was looking for, and was puzzled when he stopped before a rock face as sheer as any other and turned to her.
"We'll cross here."
Talsy eyed the cliff. "How will we climb that?"
"We won't. We're going through it."
She scanned the rock for a tunnel, shooting him a frown.
He smiled and pointed upwards. "See, it's not as high as the rest."
The top of the cliff was appreciably lower than the peaks on either side of it, but still loomed high above them, sheer and icy. She shot him another puzzled look, and he chuckled.
"What, don't you think I'm a demigod anymore?"
"You're going to make a tunnel!"
He shook his head. "Mujar don't go underground. We can't without falling foul of Dolana, otherwise the Pits wouldn't hold us."
"Then I don't understand."
"You'll see. Hold your breath."
Talsy did so, and Chanter bent and pressed his palms to the ground. As he straightened, frigid, utter stillness clamped down. Everything froze, the air becoming a solid pressing force against her skin, like being trapped in ice. The manifestation of Earthpower was stronger than ever, frightening in its intensity. She staggered and gasped as its freezing grip released her, shivered and rubbed her chilled skin. Chanter looked contrite and came over to share his warmth. The tingles of Crayash soon banished the cold, and his method of sharing it never failed to delight her.
In addition to his closeness, he seemed to feed warmth into her as if he was a conduit to a roaring fire. The clasp of his hands on hers soon warmed her blood and made her tingle, but that was
not solely due to the warmth he imparted. She released him with a grateful smile, and he faced the mountain. He controlled Dolana, but had not wielded it yet. He studied the stone barrier with a vaguely irritated expression, as if making a path through it was a mere inconvenience, and a task in which he took no pleasure. The difference between Mujar and Truemen struck her afresh. A Trueman would have revelled in such power and used it lavishly, with great showmanship and enjoyment, to impress others and accrue power and wealth. Chanter, if anything, looked a little sad.
With a soft, creaking groan, the rock tore apart. The split started high above and descended to the ground, the stone shimmering as it parted. The gap widened until it was about four feet broad, the sides and floor as smooth as glass. A few feet ahead, the gap narrowed and joined together again. Chanter picked up the bag and walked into the fissure, Talsy close behind, resisting the urge to grab the back of his jacket and hang on. As he proceeded, the rock parted before him, keeping pace with his strides. She glanced back and shivered. The stone closed silently behind, sealing as if it had never been sundered. They walked through a narrow canyon whose sheer, sparkling sides rose so high that the sky was a small boat-shaped splash of blue.
Black spots and brown stripes patterned the walls, along with glittering crystal seams and a thousand shades of grey in swirling, abstract patterns. The rock's cold chilled her, and she wondered if the closing walls would crush her if she lagged behind. Although they traversed the bottom of a deep pit, he was able to control the Dolana that must be pressing in on him from all sides. He seemed unaffected, but he set a fast pace, as if eager to quit the mountain's bosom.
It seemed like many hours later when the rock ahead parted to reveal a blue sky and tumbled, rock strewn slopes. Talsy stumbled out after the Mujar, shivering. The seamless sweep of grey stone behind her seemed pristine, and the ground had not even shuddered in protest. Chanter dropped the bag and turned to take her hands until her teeth stopped chattering, whereupon he released her with a smile.
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