Talsy leapt up and raced towards the sound, drawing her knife. The scream came from the outsiders' camp, where three of the men toyed with a young girl, laughing as they pulled at her clothes. Talsy attacked the nearest man, slicing his arm. He roared and turned on her, his grimy face mottled with rage. A backhand blow sent her sprawling with a surprised grunt, and he came after her, his expression murderous. A black sword blade brought him up short, and he stumbled back, his incredulous gaze meeting Kieran’s lofty glower. The girl still struggled with the other two louts, and Talsy went after them.
Her knife gashed one man's chest, forcing him to release the girl, who wrenched free of the last thug and fled. Talsy brandished the knife at them.
"You're not chosen. You're imposters! Get out of our camp, right now!"
"We just wanted a bit of fun," one man said. "We meant no harm."
"You're scum!" Talsy shouted. "Mujar haters!"
The larger man's eyes glittered as he stepped forward. "What if we are? Who's gonna to make us leave, huh? You?" He sniggered. "Even the big fellow can't handle six of us."
Talsy glanced around. Kieran stood a few feet behind her, his sword dangling, his frosty gaze fixed on the ruffians. Beyond him, the camp's few mature men looked scared and irresolute, not an iota of courage or fighting skill between them. She faced the brigands, who smirked, clearly expecting to have fun once they had despatched the only warrior who stood between them and their prizes.
She also doubted Kieran’s ability to win against all of them, and said, "We're protected by a Mujar. Leave now, or he'll send you screaming with your clothes on fire."
The men glanced around and hefted their weapons. The other three joined them, and they conferred in hushed tones. Talsy marched towards them and flourished her knife, desperate to drive them away before they called her bluff.
"Go! Get out of here, you bastards!" she shouted.
Two men retreated towards their tents, casting many dark looks over their shoulders. Three remained, their sullen uncertainty swimming in wine. Its fumes had apparently reduced their brains to useless mush, rendering them incapable of rational thought. Egged on by the nudging and muttered insults of his comrades, one drew his sword.
"I'm going to gut you, Mujar bitch!" He advanced with staggering strides.
Something flashed past her, and a sword cut the air with a deadly swish. Blood pumped from the brigand's severed neck as his head went spinning. It bounced and rolled to her feet, and she stepped back from its eyes' glazed stare as the corpse collapsed, twitching and jerking. The two remaining ruffians tried to draw their swords, but Kieran sent one howling with a slashed arm and punched the other.
Footsteps made Talsy spin around as the fourth man lunged at her, his sword outstretched. She swayed aside, but the blade sliced into her flank. Kieran leapt at the thug and rammed his sword hilt-deep into the man's gut, the bloody blade emerging from his back. Kieran yanked it out, allowing the man to topple forward, then glared at the other two. They ran to join their companions, tearing down their tents and stuffing them willy-nilly into bags as they beat a hasty retreat. Talsy's legs turned to rubber, and she sank down in a heap. She crawled away from the dead man, shaking with shock. Kieran took her arm and pulled her to her feet, but she jerked free.
"Leave me alone," she said, hating his ability and self-confidence, but mostly his presence when she wished Chanter was there instead.
"You're hurt," he pointed out.
"I don't need your help."
Talsy tottered away, and Kieran stared after her, glancing every now and then at the fleeing brigands. Ignoring the dumb-struck stares of the mild-natured men who had watched so helplessly, she went to Sheera's tent. The old woman cleaned and bound the wound, clicking her tongue.
Talsy spoke through gritted teeth. "Chanter will heal it when he gets back."
Sheera shook her head, her hands busy with the bandage. "Wounds like this can go nasty. I hope he's not too much longer."
Talsy echoed the sentiment. When Sheera finished her ministrations, Talsy returned to her shack to flop down on the mattress. Her limbs trembled and her stomach was a tight knot that threatened to empty itself. That night she had no appetite, the fight fresh in her mind and the throbbing wound a constant reminder. She fell asleep with her knife within reach.
Talsy drifted in sea's cold embrace, and below her, Chanter sank into the blue depths, bound with gold. She screamed his name and swam down after him, but he sank too fast. She wailed, exhausted her air and inhaled sea water. Thrashing, she coughed and choked.
Talsy woke as something shook her shoulder. A dark shape loomed over her, and his musky scent told her that he was Trueman. She grabbed her knife and stabbed him with all her strength. The man gave a stifled cry and recoiled, almost jerking the weapon from her grasp. She lunged at him again, but he sprang up and fled. Clutching the knife, she panted with terror and the aftermath of her dream, her wound throbbing. As her fear ebbed, she wondered why the thug had woken her instead of killing her while she slept or pinning her down and gagging her.
Confused and uncertain, she rose and went to the door to peer out, clasping her injury. Moonlight silvered Kieran’s pain-twisted features, and her heart sank. He tried to bind his arm with a strip of cloth, using one hand and his teeth. She stepped out, staring at him in horror.
"What the hell were you doing in my shack?" she demanded.
He clasped his shoulder. "You were screaming blue murder. I came to wake you before you woke the whole damned camp."
A pang of shame shot through her, but she swallowed the apology that hovered on her tongue. The fault was his for invading her tent and waking her.
"You'd better let me bind that wound."
Talsy re-entered the shack and lighted a lamp. She gestured for him to sit on the mattress and knelt beside him with a strip of clean linen. Kieran undid his shirt and pulled it off, revealing a nasty gash in his upper arm. Talsy washed and bound the wound while he gritted his teeth and turned his head away. At least her knife was clean, so his wound was unlikely to become infected. When she finished, he put his shirt back on and rose to leave without looking at her.
"Kieran."
He stopped in the doorway.
"If I scream, bang on the door to wake me. Don't come in here again, understand?"
The warrior nodded and left. She blew out the lamp and lay down, but her worries and aches her kept her awake. Visions of Chanter in another Trueman trap haunted her, and she tossed and turned in the tangled sheets for most of the night.
Talsy woke at first light with gritty eyes and a pounding head. She stretched, wincing, then rose, thrust aside the curtain and tripped over something stretched across her doorstep. She sprawled with a curse, tearing the wound in her side as she was forced to throw out her arms. Gasping with pain, she turned to find Kieran sitting up on his thin pallet, scowling at her.
She stared at him in angry disbelief. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Making sure you're safe." He rose and gathered up his bedroll.
"Well don't! I don't need your protection, so leave me alone!"
Kieran strode away, his back stiff with indignation, either from the embarrassment of being caught sleeping on her doorstep or her harsh words. Talsy glared at his retreating figure, angered by his assumption that he was her self-appointed guardian in Chanter's absence.
At breakfast, she glowered at him until he excused himself and took his bowl of porridge to eat elsewhere.
Sheera raised her brows at the angry girl. "What's going on between you and Kieran?"
"Nothing. He's an oaf, and he hangs around me."
Sheera smiled, her eyes twinkling. "You should be glad, young miss. He's a handsome man, well-mannered and clean. I would be flattered to have such a warrior concerned for my safety."
Talsy snorted, casting her a withering glance. "I'm not. He smells and has no manners at all. I have Chanter. Why would I want a Trueman?"
"Because Cha
nter is Mujar." Sheera leant forward. "He's of another race, child. He can never be what you want him to be."
"Of course he can!"
Sheera shook her head, looking sad. "Ask Marla, the woman who loved a Mujar. She had many years of misery, for he did not stay with her."
"What Chanter and I have is different. He won't leave me, ever." Her hand rose to the mark on her forehead, and she snatched it away.
Sheera noticed the gesture. "What's that on your brow?"
"Nothing. A clan tattoo."
She eyed it. "And does it bind you to the Mujar?"
"Yes."
"But not he to you."
Talsy hesitated, remembering Chanter's warning. "Ask him."
"That would do me no good at all, as you well know."
She shrugged and spooned her porridge, hoping that the questions were at an end, but the old woman's eyes narrowed.
"Have you lain with him?"
Talsy gasped. "No!"
"Don't do it," Sheera warned. "Take some advice from an old woman. Don't lie with a Mujar."
"Why?"
She sighed, putting aside her bowl. "It will break your heart. Ask Marla why she's never married, never had children. She'll explain it to you."
"He doesn't seem to want me, anyway," Talsy muttered, her cheeks warming with embarrassment even as she hoped that Sheera could explain why this was so.
The old woman paused, as if on the verge of telling her something, then said, "Good, let it remain so."
Talsy spent the day on the beach, scanning the sky for the first glimpse of the returning Mujar. That evening, when Sheera renewed the dressing on Talsy's wound, she shook her head at the puss that filled it, unaffected by her lotions and poultices.
"Those damned brigands and their dirty blades," she muttered. "They need only wound you, and you can die. This is the same sort of infection Kieran had."
Talsy gritted her teeth as the seer dressed the wound again, wishing Chanter would return soon. His prolonged absence worried her.
While they were eating breakfast the following morning, an eagle soared into the camp and landed close by with a few powerful backstrokes. Talsy ran to greet him even before the wind of his transformation died. She refrained from embracing him in front of the others and contented herself with placing a hand on his chest. He smiled and patted her head, a gesture she would have thought demeaning from anyone else.
"Did you find a ship?" she demanded, impatient for good news.
He nodded, scanning the peaceful camp. "Not much of one, but it will help. We'll have to cut trees and rebuild most of it. It's burnt to the waterline."
Talsy's heart sank. The prospect of taking trees from the forest dismayed her. Chanter headed for the fire where Sheera and Kieran sat, their cooling breakfasts forgotten. He settled on a stool after directing a brief smile at each of them, and Sheera dished up a bowl of porridge for him. While Chanter ate, Talsy recounted the events that had occurred in his absence, the highlight of which was the fight with the thugs. At the end of the story, he inclined his head to Kieran.
"Gratitude."
The dark-eyed warrior studied his porridge with unwonted ferocity as Talsy launched into the tale of his bungled attempt to rescue her from a bad dream. The Mujar's eyes twinkled, although he cast her a look of gentle reproof.
After Chanter called a halt to Sheera's seemingly endless supply of rather tasteless porridge, he healed their wounds and announced that he was going into the forest to speak to the Kuran. The ship, he told them, would arrive within the next few days, borne on ocean currents that he commanded. That gave them time to cure and bend the wood in readiness. According to Sheera, there was a shipwright amongst the chosen who was eager to contribute his services. To Talsy's surprise, Chanter asked Kieran to accompany them.
Talsy trotted to catch up as he headed for the forest, leaving Kieran to follow. "Why do you want him to come?" she demanded, jerking her thumb at the black-clad warrior.
The Mujar smiled. "He's a friend of Kuran. He'll be welcomed."
"But we don't need him."
"Why don't you like him?"
"He's an oaf," she snapped.
"No he's not."
Chanter's brusque assertion silenced her, and she followed him through the forest. He seemed certain of his destination, while Talsy was soon lost in the endless monotony of tree trunks. Dry leaves rustled under her feet, at times making the footing treacherous, for they were surprisingly slippery. The forest's haunting melody surrounded them with soft birdsong and sighing leaves. The Mujar led them to a stand of five tall, straight, silver-barked trees growing together, like a family.
Chanter stopped and raised his head, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the forest's heady aromas. The birdsong that drifted around them in an overlay of living sound was interspersed with a woodpecker's occasional hammering, a distant vixen's bark and the faint chattering of squirrels. Without their footsteps' rustling to hide it, the forest's sounds seemed loud. He sensed the Kuran's presence all around him, high amongst the leaves and nearby in the silvery trunks. It stretched away through the vast woodland, an intrinsic part of every leaf, bud and flower.
Approaching the nearest tree, he summoned Dolana, and, in the moment of cold stillness, called forth the forest's soul. Kieran gripped his sword hilt as Dolana's icy clamp released him, and the forest groaned and sighed. Talsy shot the warrior a scathing look, and Chanter shook his head at her. A few minutes passed while the Kuran gathered, pulling in her vastness to concentrate her power around them. Kieran shifted, glancing around as the birds and woodland creatures fell silent. The gathering of a powerful Kuran filled the air with a preternatural charge, like the tension before a thunderstorm. It made Chanter’s neck hairs prickle and his scalp crawl. Talsy shivered in Dolana's growing cold, which, unlike Chanter's manifestations, built gradually, with far less power.
The trees about ten feet away parted their branches high above to let in a shaft of sunlight. Chanter turned to face the Kuran as she became visible. Within the sunbeam, tiny sparkles floated like dust motes, swaying in a gentle dance. They gathered and multiplied, swirling to form an indistinct shape. Green and gold predominated, touched with hints of pink and blue and the barest tint of silver. The glimmers coalesced into pearly eyes that glowed with joy and a shining figure suffused with soft light. It sighed with beauty and flooded the forest with an awesome, placid power.
Chanter bowed to the Kuran's swaying presence, making a complicated gesture. "Greetings, wood sister."
A soft, sighing voice spoke almost beyond the reach of hearing. "Greetings, wood brother, blessed of Life. You have reason?"
"I beg a favour, sister."
"A small one, be sure, the omens of death come."
"Indeed," Chanter replied.
Talsy tore her eyes from the Kuran to glance at Kieran, who frowned, as if puzzled. She turned back to the forest's soul as the Mujar spoke again.
"I need these five trees, dead."
"Ah." A great sigh went through the wood, making Talsy shiver again at the ethereal beauty of the soul and her silvery voice. "A small favour, yes, an unhappy one."
"Regret, wood sister."
The iridescent form twisted, its pearly eyes turning to gaze through the forest. "Death is near, the path is clear."
Chanter waited until the Kuran faced him again. "We three ask."
"You three, friends all, a dear trio to Kuran."
"Yes."
"Beware, wood brother."
The trees moved together again, released from the power that held them, cut off the shaft of sunlight and snuffed out the sparkles. A form remained like a faint mist, dull in the dimness, then it thinned and vanished. A sigh went through the trees, and Chanter turned to the two Truemen.
Talsy was confused. "She didn't grant it?"
"She can't refuse a Mujar, I'm afraid. Asking was merely a courtesy." Chanter sighed.
"So what do we do now, fetch axes and chop them down?"
He winced. "No, we wait. It won't be long."
Chanter settled on a log and Kieran leant against a tree. Talsy fidgeted. The forest remained silent, waiting. After about half an hour, Chanter straightened.
"It begins."
Talsy turned to face the five trees and froze in wonder. High above, the leaves of the chosen trees changed. The green faded from them, turning them first yellow, then red. They fell in a drifting rain, spinning and swaying to the ground. The trees groaned in almost man-like misery as they died, and a deeper hush fell over the woods, like a funeral dirge of silence. Talsy's eyes burnt, and hot tears spilt down her cheeks. Never had she thought to mourn trees, but it was part of the forest that died. Though it was an entity that lacked limbs and organs, flesh and blood, it was nonetheless alive and vibrant, and it suffered death no less than any Trueman. She turned to Chanter, whose visage was grim with grief.
"Must we watch this?" She gulped.
"Yes."
The fall of leaves ended when the branches were bare, and the wood died. As the sap withdrew, the branches warped and twisted like hands writhing in agony, the wood screaming softly in pain. Twigs snapped off and fell, branches split with harsh cracks and deep groans. The bark peeled off and fell in long strips down the golden trunks, the fresh yellow wood faded to grey. The five trees that less than an hour ago had been proud and green now stood as bare grey trunks.
Silence fell, then another great sigh wafted through the wood, and birds sang again in the distance. Chanter walked over the red carpet of newly fallen leaves to the five dead trees and laid his hands on one, invoking Dolana. With it, he lopped off the branches flush with the trunk, then sheared off the dead tree close to the ground. It tore a cloud of green leaves from its neighbours as it crashed down. Chanter split it into a dozen perfect planks, and repeated the procedure with the other four trees.
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