Talsy woke shivering, and realised that she was 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 sent icy tendrils to chill her heart. Had he left her alone in the forest with wolves and dire bears? Her father's words of warning 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 before her face in the still, crisp night air as she searched the moonlit landscape.
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 like twanged strings. Panic gripped her, and she fumbled 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 scream 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 straight and true 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. Vaguely, she noticed that it was a magnificent animal, pitch black with a silver ruff and ice-blue eyes. The world froze. Silence clamped down like a giant hand, 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 and cling to him. "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 pried her arms away, then knelt before her. "It's okay. I'm not angry."
"You're not?" She looked up at him in amazement. "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 not mortal, 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 the iron filings. "Why did you leave me?"
Chanter sighed, allowing her cling to him and soak up his warmth. "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. Every living thing is my kin."
She glanced up at him. "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 as the injury vanished. Raising his head, he breathed the cold, 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 icy ground, drawing on Dolana. The Earthpower flowed into him with its chilling drain, sapped his warmth and snuffed 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, though 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 still air, tickled his nose with their mysterious temptation and filled his mind with 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 twisted and turned amongst the trees, claws gripping frozen ground and snow alike.
The wolves ran to meet him, tongues lolling in happy greeting. They fawned, tails down, ears laid back in adoration. 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 frigid wind that fingered their thick fur. Under a cold 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 turned 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 and sniffed the wind for clues. His footprints meandered through pristine snow, and he paused often, one paw raised, to gauge the possible danger ahead. Moving around a hill, he stopped to gaze in delight 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. Joyfully he bounded down the hill, panting steam as he loped towards the Lake's beckoning presence.
The rippling veil of its juncture blazed with rainbow colours, made up of the four elements whose powers were only visible to the creatures of this world. The swirling curtain of shimmering hues was light split by water, glittering with motes of Dolana that hung in the air. Chanter changed his form in a moment of icy hush, becoming a man again in order to enter the Lake. As he neared it, the god word that was the key to unlock 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 bleak midnight snowy 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 being stagnant, 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 gazed around at the strange 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 soft haze of pollen filled the sky; countless airborne seeds drifting like gilded dust motes in the sun. A velvet bed of bright aquamarine grass clothed the soil in a rich fur of sweet-scented succulence.
Plants like massive teardrops towered over neighbouring trees, their smooth skins mottled with patches of vivid azure bordered by lines of the purest ochre. A distant forest crept across the land, its dark crimson trees swimming through the soil as if it was a brown sea. Pale quasi-mushrooms gave respite to this riot of rich colour, their simple grey hoods, standing shoulder height, filled with canary-yellow frills. A fierce white sun glowed rich pink behind streaks of baby-blue cloud. Chanter looked away with watering eyes and shook his head, smiling. This was one of the weirder Lakes, it seemed. Although he had not been in one before, he could not imagine anything stranger.
Glancing around, he spotted a native of his world. The rainbow beast stood contentedly, its stilt-like legs pushed deep into the moist earth, drawing on its goodness. The beast turned its long, tubular head and regarded Chanter with glowing facetted eyes. Its delicate wings were spread to catch the young sun's bright rays, and its multi-hued skin shimmered like a butterfly's wing. It hooted a soft greeting through its snout, which lacked any form of teeth, but was used solely to suck up water and mud.
This was one of the lowest forms of beast on Chanter's world, which gleaned its nutrition from soil, water and sun, just like a true plant. It ranked low in intelligence, yet it regarded him with calm curiosity. Along its back, a dense mat of fronds overlapped like feathers. As the Mujar approached, it raised them, inviting him to pluck one and eat. Chanter was not really hungry, but did not wish to be impolite, and picked one. The creature's delicious scent made his mouth water, and it cooed with satisfaction as he munched the delectable frond.
Chanter noticed that the creature was in bud. A youngster hung beneath its belly, still connected to its parent, but soon to drop. The baby curled within a transparent bag of fluid, its long, delicate legs bent around its body, still soft and rubbery. When it was time, the bag would split, dumping the youngster onto the ground and severing its umbilical. Then it would take several hours for it to dry and its legs to harden so it could walk. It was easy to understand why the creatures of Shamarese chose to give birth in the Lakes. He could not imagine such a fragile youngster surviving in the harsh winter he had left behind.
The Mujar wandered on, nibbling the frond as he gazed around in wonder at the strange world. He passed a group of flat, saucer-like lime-green plants covered with crimson cups, and paused to glance in one. Most contained only sticky yellow nectar, but a few had trapped some crab-like animals with delicate wings made from strips of thin horn. The tiny beasts struggled, but were doomed, and Chanter shuddered a little as he walked by.
Here, it seemed, plants ate animals. He wondered if the animals ate plants, or something else, but intuition told him that on this world plants were the dominant species. He also reminded himself that he was no longer in his own world, and its laws did not apply. Here he might find himself on the menu, and, although the thought did not make him feel particularly threatened, it was prudent to be wary.
After a while, he realised that he was on path, the grass worn away to reveal pale soil of a peculiar dun hue. The Dolana seemed weaker on the path than at its edges, perhaps depleted by the constant traffic. Then again, what manner of creatures used it? He squatted to try to discern tracks, but the scratches only looked like tiny claw marks. Unconcerned, he wandered on, admiring the bizarre and ever-changing landscape. On this world, the terrain changed quite literally, for plants altered their colour periodically. The teardrop plants were now crimson and indigo, the spindly streamer trees had changed to puce, olive green and sienna. The sky had also darkened to a lovely shade of violet, and a glance at the sun showed him that it was going into eclipse with an irregularly-shaped moon. The pale blue clouds, oddly, glowed with soft light, akin to a sunset.
A scratching behind him made him whip around just as strong hands grabbed him and dragged him off the path. Surprised, he swung to face his attacker and found himself nose to snout with a Shamarese predator. The beast released him and stepped back, its sinuous torso curving as it dropped to all fours. Its large grey eyes slid away from his, and it spoke in its fluting language.
"No harm, Mujar. Bad things come along path."
Its speech was rudimentary and rather crude, but perhaps the translation mangled it. In his present form, Chanter knew he lacked a full understanding of his fellow creature's speech. The rainbow-hued predator watched him, awaiting his response. A long, graceful neck, whose mane of delicate transparent fronds drifted when it moved, supported its triangular head, and sharp white teeth filled its rather inflexible mouth. Its hands, now in service as forefeet, had long delicate fingers tipped with sharp white claws. The last two digits were bent back to support the leading edge of a filmy wing membrane that joined its abdomen halfway along its length. The wings looked inefficient, and were. The predator could fly, but only by commanding Ashmar. Unlike Trueman beasts, the creatures of Shamarese did not rely on physical design, they commanded their world as he did.
Chanter raised his hand, palm up, and replied in the predator's language, "No harm. What things use the path?"
The predator glanced past him. "Creatures of this world. Small, but annoying."
Chanter followed the predator's gaze. Thousands of the crab-like creatures scuttled along the path in single file, moving at a remarkable speed, their bony wings rustling. Their bright, orange and burnt umber shells glistened in the fading light, and bubbles frothed from their jaws.
"Where are they going?" Chanter asked.
"To the plasma sea."
"Why?"
"To feed. First time in this Lake, Mujar?"
Chanter nodded, unashamed of his ignorance. "Have you been in many?"
"Lots."
"I'd like to see this plasma sea. Is it dangerous?"
The predator snorted musically and shook its head. "This is the Lake of Renewal. Nothing is dangerous to us here. The plants feed on the animals, which eat the plasma sea, but they don't like the taste of us."
The predator's speech was improving, either with practice, or because Chanter was becoming used to it.
"I'd like to see it," he said.
The predator turned and walked away with a graceful, sinuous motion, rather like a four-legged snake. This was because its torso was longer than its legs, and it used that to lengthen its strides. The beast would not have a name, so Chanter decided to call it Nog, for his own reference. He also had no idea of the predator's sex. Shamarese creatures showed no outward signs of gender, since they lacked any form of external organs.
Chanter was disinclined to enquire on such a delicate matter, so opted to think of Nog as male. Nog wound his way through the strange plants, giving some a wider berth than others, and Chanter followed his lead. The world darkened as the moon swallowed the sun, and stars glimmered. Chanter gazed up at the amazing galaxy that filled this sky. A vast, sprawling nebula of young suns spiralled in an orgy of stellar creation. The stars were so thick that at the centre they made up a solid mass of white light.
As they walked, Nog explained, "The little shelled ones only make their journey to feed at eclipse, which happens every day. At this time, the plants are less vigilant, so it's safer. They feed, then return to their burrows in a rock cliff."
"Why don't they fly?"
"They can't. They've lost the ability."
"Why not travel at night?"
Nog glanced back. "It's too dangerous. Many of the deadlier plants become active at night. Eclipse is the safest time."
"Are there no intelligent creatures here?"
"Not animals, no. They're just mobile plant food, and if any of the plants are intelligent, we have no way of communicating with them."
Chanter shook his head in wonder. "What manner of god would create such a strange world?"
"One who likes plants?"
The Mujar smiled as Nog pushed through a barrier of black and red fronds, leading him onto the beach of a plasma sea. It stretched away to purple mountains on the horizon, an expanse of heaving, glowing, chaotic jelly-like liquid that seethed with life. A feeding frenzy was underway, and the brilliant amber plasma could hardly be seen for all the creatures that consumed it. The tiny crabs were piled three deep along the shore, shovelling the plasma into their mouths with their pincers.
Delicate, bird-like creatures strolled across the quivering surface on thin legs that ended in enormous feet, pecking at the plasma with long beaks. Several bloated, seal-like animals swam in it, kept afloat by air bags along their flanks and using flippers to paddle through the slime. Many other animals joined the feast, some of which defied description. Flying creatures swooped down to skim the surface and scoop up mouthfuls of plasma, others hung under balloons and dropped long tubes down to suck it up. All concentrated on eating as quickly as they could, and no squabbles broke out.
Chanter watched the scene with deep fascination. Perhaps strangest of all were the plants that grew along the edge of the plasma sea, fishing for their food with long whip-like appendages or sucker-covered tentacles. Some swiped at the flying beasts with almost invisible nets, others used suction to ensnare their prey. Surprisingly, there was little noise other than the occasional squeak of a trapped creature and the slaps and pops of the feeding plants. Chanter found the sight bizarre and slightly macabre, but this was a new experience, and he absorbed it in all its weird detail. Obviously none of these creatures, either plant or animal, had any control over the elements.
The animals were much like Lowman beasts, driven to eat and reproduce as much as possible to feed the carnivorous plants. They displayed a remarkable lack of intelligence in their inept attempts to avoid the plants' traps. The plants were far too alien for him to judge their intelligence, if any. From the air's poor quality, he deduced that the carnivorous plants relied upon their consumption of meat for energy, and did not use photosynthesis. What little air there was seemed to be the product of the aquamarine grass, which appeared to be a true plant. The whole system was rather chaotic and pointless, as if a bungling child god had started to create an impossible world, then grown bored and left it half finished. The plants were, in his opinion, monstrosities, and the animals ugly and ill designed.
Nog stood nearby, watching the scene without interest, and occasionally yawned or scratched. He showed no impatience, but was clearly growing bored as time dragged by, since he did not share the Mujar's fascination. A tentacle brushed him, and he bit it, causing it to writhe away.
"Tell me what you know," Chanter said.
"We could live on this world all our lives and not know everything about it. The animals feed on the many plasma seas, which seem to ooze from the ground, for it never runs out. The plants eat the animals, except for a few that are true plants, like the crimson forests and the grass. The plants never eat each other, but they do sometimes kill others to thin out the competition. Those further away from the seas use scent to lure their prey, and the animals here seem incredibly stupid. For the creatures of our world, this is a safe place, with good soil and plenty of sun and water. The plants don't harm us, perhaps because we are akin to plants as well as animals, and they don't see us as rivals." Nog stood on his hind legs, raising himself to Chanter's eye level. "I have not been home for some time. How fares Shamarese?"
The Mujar shrugged. "Little has changed. To return now would be folly."
Nog looked away. "I long to return. We all do."
"You will, soon enough."
"I'm old, Mujar. I feel certain my next journey will be to the Lake of Dreams."
Nog glanced up at the sky, where the sun emerged from behind the jagged moon. As the light increased, the animals feeding on the plasma disappeared with remarkable speed. The little crabs scuttled away, the flying creatures drifted upwards to the safety of the high ethers, and the others crawled, strode or wriggled into the undergrowth. Within minutes, the plasma sea was a calm pool of thick liquid. Curious, Chanter scooped up a handful and tasted it. The sickly sweet, bitter flavour made him grimace and spit it out. Nog's skin mottled and his neck fronds waved with amusement.
"It's poison to us, Mujar. Lucky you're undying."
Chanter wiped his mouth, wishing there was water to rinse it with, since the plasma left a nasty aftertaste he sensed would linger for some time. "Where did they all go?" He gestured to the plasma, indicating the vanished beasts.
"Underground. It's the only place that's safe from the plants, unless they use their roots to hunt as well. Apart from the flyers, they all have warrens of burrows not far from the beach, and live together in communities. The little shelled ones live further away, but I'm not sure why."
"Are there many of our people here?"
"Lots, but they stay away from the plasma seas. It's more peaceful on the plains."
"Show me."
Nog spread his wings. "Quicker if we fly."
The predator ran along the beach and leapt into the air, invoking Ashmar. Chanter followed, changing into an eagle with a rush of wind and the faint sound of beating wings, his invocation of the Power stronger than Nog's. Again he experienced the split second of stretching and shrinking, along with a flood of information to guide him in the use of his new shape. The plants shrank away from his power, showing an alien dislike for it.
Nog led Chanter across the plasma sea, floating higher without effort and using his wings to drive himself forward. The thin, calm air lacked winds and thermals on which to soar. Unlike Nog, the Mujar could not use Ashmar to defy gravity, but had to beat his wings to keep himself aloft. Passing over the jungle at the sea's edge, they soared above sparsely wooded land covered with aquamarine grass. A craggy cliff that spewed a crystal waterfall into a black pool passed below, and they climbed higher to glide above a plateau of velvet blue-greenness.
Chanter swooped down to land close to a scattered host of rainbow-hued beasts. He changed back into a man and gazed at the gentle animals with a deep sense of fondness and kinship. It pleased him to see so many creatures from his world feeding in the sun, even in this alien land. Those closest to him hooted soft greetings, and several came closer and raised their fronds, offering food.
Their delicious scent made Chanter's mouth water, and his stomach growled. Nog plucked fronds and munched them, and the Mujar followed suit. Some of the beasts had young at foot, spindly babies with overlong legs and necks that spread immature wings to catch the sun. The youngsters stayed close to their parents, learning from them. Shamarese beasts cared for their offspring for many years, and stayed together as a family group until the parents died, then the youngsters would seek mates.
Chanter folded his legs and sat down to watch the mating dance of a pair of rainbow beasts. They gambolled around each other with fluid grace, their stilt-like legs looking too delicate and ungainly to perform such athletic antics. They had invoked Ashmar, and used it to leap and float in lazy arcs, fanning the air with their wings to propel themselves in a stately display of elegance. Their rainbow skins glowed with excitement and ardour, to impress their mate with their beauty and allure. Chanter surmised, from the duration and complexity of their courtship, that this was their first attempt. Their chests glowed deep crimson, indicating that they were in blossom.
Their dance slowed until they stood with twined necks, then they broke apart and reared. In unison, their chests swelled and burst open, blossoming into flowers of pale, iridescent delicacy filled with a soft, pulsing glow. The flowers puffed out fine, glittering filaments, merging in a golden cloud of pollen as the beasts pressed together in a quick movement, then dropped to all fours again.
The flowers, open only for the moment of pollination, wilted and shrivelled, the petals dropped off and the skin sealed once more. The flowers' exotic scent drifted to Chanter on the still air, a strangely familiar fragrance, even though he had not smelt it before. The pair walked away together, then stopped to push their pointed legs into the soil and spread their wings, settling down to feed.
A pair would breed twice, maybe three times, in their lives. No more offspring were needed in a world where creatures only died of old age or the occasional accident. Chanter compared them to Truemen's savage predators, whose swift, graceful forms were good to wear, but their cruel ways repulsed him. Trueman animals had to breed at an extraordinary rate to keep their races from extinction, since they were hunted or died from starvation and disease. It seemed an unfortunate life path; an endless cycle of mating, feeding, birthing and dying, all to feed others, or to keep others from overpopulating the world. Truemen had, for the most part, opted out of this cycle, but although they were rarely preyed upon, they still bred at a remarkable rate.
Shamarese animals bred late in life and died after their final offspring was fully grown. They enjoyed their lives, explored and learnt, sang under the moon and played in the sun, never knowing prey's terror or hunter's hunger. They possessed profound knowledge and were at one with their world, with no need to reshape or ravage it. Sadly, they were now forced to live in the Lakes to escape Trueman savagery. Most of the beasts here were not breeding, just living in safety.
Chanter looked around for Nog, who had wandered off to play with another of his kind. The Mujar sighed, saddened that here, amongst his kind, he was almost an outcast, welcomed, yet wearing an enemy's form. The stifling calm engendered a creeping lethargy that made him want to stretch out in the sun and close his eyes, but the cold of Dolana prevented him. He gazed at the rainbow beasts again, frowning. There was something odd about them, but he was unable to fathom it. He watched Nog play with his friend for a while, then turned to study the basking beasts again.
Some wandered about, talking to neighbours in their hooting speech, others played with their young or indulged in mutual grooming with their mates. Then it struck him. Only three kinds of rainbow beasts were here, all of whom drew nourishment through their root legs and occasionally ate mud. A few predators like Nog moved amongst them, but no others. Curious, he sent a ripple through the Dolana to Nog, rather like throwing a pebble to catch someone's attention. Nog slouched over with his swaying gait, settled on his haunches beside Chanter and tilted his head in a quizzical fashion.
"Where are the rest of our people?" Chanter asked.
"Not here," Nog said. "This Lake is not suitable for plant eaters. There are no edible plants here. Even the grass is poison, and I wouldn't advise anyone to try to eat one of those animal hunters."
"Of course. I should have guessed."
"Most of the plant eaters are in the Lake of Joy, which is filled with food. Great fruits the size of a Lowman house grow there, and there's only one species of native beast, similar to a clandar, but much bigger."
Nog named a Shamarese beast that spent most of its life as a fat, pearly-skinned grub that fed on fruits and tubers. It metamorphosed into a winged creature that looked a lot like a massive transparent flower. When they blossomed, they performed a complicated aerial ballet during which the males released their pollen, then the females laid their eggs and they all died - a little like Lowman butterflies.
"I'd like to visit it one day," Chanter said.
"It's not as interesting as this Lake, and dull compared to some of the others."
"Tell me about them."
"That would take a long time, Mujar."
"I have time." Chanter frowned, remembering the Lowman girl. "Is time the same here as in Shamarese?"
"No. It passes a little slower here."
The Mujar glanced at the sun, which had moved a fair distance across the sky since his arrival. He had been here longer than he had thought. "Then I should leave soon. But tell me one more thing. Doesn't the imbalance here bother you?"
Chanter had discovered that his awareness of the lack of Ashmar became more acute as time passed. The warm stillness was debilitating, even for him, and he wondered how the other beasts coped.
Nog's skin flushed in a smile. "There's a night wind on this world. The days are a little unpleasant, but the nights are glorious."
"The Ashmar grows stronger?"
"No, it can't, of course. This world lacks Ashmar, but when the night wind blows you hardly notice the scarcity. It's hard to describe. The wind is cold and screams across the land in a fury, invigorating whatever it touches. It's an angry spirit that fears the sun."
"Strange." Chanter glanced at the sun again. "Tell me a little more about the Lake of Joy."
Nog gave a fluting snort. "It is ill named, if you ask me. I only went there once, and I wouldn't visit again. As I said, it's a place of food, but there's so much that the air is always filled with the stench of rot. Like this world, it's dominated by plants, but it's hot and humid, lacking in Dolana. I never saw solid ground, only a bubbling quagmire of mud that produces a profusion of plants so huge and dense we have to perch atop them to find the sun. None of the Lakes are as perfect as Shamarese."
"I suppose not. Does this world have a name?"
"Probably, but we call it Dyanga."
Chanter smiled at the name, which meant 'breathless'. He rose and stretched. "I suppose I must go back."
"Rejoice that you can." Nog regarded him wistfully. "How much longer will it be?"
"It has begun."
Joyful colours raced across the predator's skin. "That is welcome news. The others will be pleased."
Chanter inclined his head. "Perhaps I'll see you again."
"Perhaps. Farewell, Mujar."
Nog returned to his friend, leaving Chanter to gaze around at this strange world one last time. As soon as he decided to leave the Lake, a new god word sprang into his mind, and he spoke it as he stepped forward.