For the next three weeks, they lived a simple, peaceful existence Talsy would have happily continued. The day after Chanter marked her, she discovered the difference it made. The strange, beautiful creatures no longer fled her approach, but treated her with the same fearlessness they accorded Chanter. Delighted, Talsy stroked their velvet skins and the strange leaf-like fronds that grew on them like feathers. Up close, she discovered they had a delicious smell that made her mouth water. Chanter came to stand beside her, plucked a frond from the creature she was stroking and ate it.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, surprised when the beast merely glanced at Chanter.
He plucked another frond and held it out. "Try it."
She took it with an uncertain frown. "Doesn't it hurt them?"
"No."
Talsy nibbled the frond, which tasted as delicious as it smelt. Chanter smiled and plucked another for her, eating one himself.
"What are they?" she asked.
"Creatures of this world. The ones that were here before Truemen came."
"Where have they been?"
He shrugged. "Around. Living where there are no Truemen." He plucked another frond. "This one is a food beast. It lives on the earth, like a tree. You see that its legs are in the soil?"
She nodded. It was one of the stilt-legged species that pushed its legs into the ground and stood there all day.
Chanter explained, "It takes goodness from the earth, like a plant." He pointed at a beast that basked in the sun. "That one lives on the light, also like trees, and eats soil." He indicated a long, multi-coloured beast with a snake-like head. "That one is a predator. It eats the food beasts' fronds."
"It doesn't kill them?"
"No beast of this world kills other creatures."
"Except the Hashon Jahar," she said.
"Yes."
"But surely, without predators to control their numbers, there would be too many of them?"
"No, because they breed slowly."
The creature they ate hooted, and Chanter went over to another to continue the feast. Talsy gazed around at the peaceful vista, entranced. Food beasts absorbed goodness from the soil or sun, while predators wandered amongst them, plucking fronds. This was, she realised, a world without killing, bloodshed and pain. A perfect world. The frond she ate tasted like a sweet fruit. Different types of food beasts had different flavours, she discovered, and their fronds were bloodless.
"They're not really animals, are they?" she asked. "They're plants."
"In as much as they're not entirely flesh and blood, yes, they're partly plants. But they have brains and feelings; they mate and give birth in a similar way to your animals."
She frowned. "What do you mean, my animals?"
"Trueman animals. Horses, dogs, wolves."
"Did we bring them with us?"
"In a manner of speaking. The gods created them from the memories of the men who came in the silver bird that fell from the sky."
She stared at him in amazement.
After that, the food beasts provided all the nourishment they needed, and Talsy thrived on the new diet, regaining the weight she had lost. The balmy days were the happiest she had ever known. She frolicked on the beach with Chanter, played with the gentle sea creatures and, through Chanter, spoke to the sherlon. He taught her something of what it was to be Mujar, at one with this colourful world so rich with joy and laughter. She discovered the wonder of being truly free, not only from the constraints of Trueman society, but the stigma of being Trueman and feared by the wild beasts.
The only flaw in her utopia was that Chanter vanished into the sea every night. The first time she woke alone, she lay awake until he returned, wet and wild from the ocean. She realised, however, that she could never hope to tame a creature as wild as Chanter, and resigned herself to his absence when the call of the wild lured him away. She did not want to tame him, though. One of his best aspects was his wildness, which made him impossible to control, but gave him his strange allure.
Three weeks later, Chanter decided that they should move on. The Wish he had granted Mishak remained unfulfilled, and he still had to find Arrin, if he lived. He was certain that the boy would have headed up the coast to the next town, where he could earn the fare to cross the Narrow Sea. He knew that the chances of finding Arrin were slim, and Mishak might have succumbed to the Hashon Jahar too by now, yet he had to try.
Talsy packed her bag and mounted the black stallion, which carried her up the coastal road at an untiring canter. Within a few days, they passed two ruined towns, and at each one Chanter tested the wind and the earth for signs of Arrin. Deciding that Arrin would have continued up the coast if he did not cross the sea, they continued onwards.
Over the next two weeks, they encountered many scenes of death and destruction. The colourful creatures abounded, rooted amongst the debris of Truemen's downfall. Scavengers had already picked the ruins clean, leaving only bleached bones and fallen stones. In the months since Rashkar's fall, it seemed that the Hashon Jahar had wiped out almost all of the Truemen cities. Occasionally, they came across fields of skeletons, the remains of those who had fled the cities or armies sent to fight the Black Riders. On one of these fields, Chanter stopped beside a pile of bones and sighed. Talsy came to stand beside him.
"Arrin?"
He nodded. "Mishak's Wish has failed. He will never see his son again."
"If what we've seen is anything to go by, Mishak's dead, too."
"Probably. There are few left, though."
"Where are they?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
Talsy walked away. "So what do we do now?"
Chanter followed, carrying the bag. "We must head west, I believe."
"Why?"
"Just a feeling I have."
Talsy glanced at him. "Can't we return to the cave?"
"No. We'll travel west."
The stallion continued to carry Talsy along deserted roads and through devastated cities, towns and villages. Flattened tracts of ground and stream banks marked the Black Riders’ passage. The trampling of thousands of hooves had churned the grass to mud in broad swathes and created new roads that cut through forest and field. As Talsy and Chanter travelled westwards, the ruins became fresher. Scavengers still frequented some, which gave off the stench of death. The rainbow-hued creatures vanished, and they were forced to return to a diet of vegetables gleaned from the abandoned fields of sacked towns. Deer, sheep and cattle abounded, but Talsy found that she could no longer hunt them; the thought of killing sickened her. She threw away her hunting bow, keeping the knife only as a tool for digging and cleaning the vegetables they ate.
Three weeks of travel brought them to a rocky coastline and a ruined city. The town had been destroyed no more than a few days before, and flocks of vultures and crows wheeled over it. Chanter avoided it, and they travelled further up the coast before making camp. Talsy built a fire and put up her tent while the Mujar visited the abandoned fields to procure their supper. When he returned, she put the vegetables on to cook and settled on a rock beside him. Noticing smoke rising a few miles away, she pointed it out to him. He considered it.
"Could be another destroyed settlement."
"Maybe," she agreed. "But perhaps there are people there."
The Mujar glanced at her. "You long for your own kind?"
"Not really, but if there are people there, how did they escape the Black Riders?"
"Then we'll go and see, tomorrow."
The following morning, they set off up the coast, and within a few hours came across a huddle of tents and hastily erected shacks in a clearing by the beach. Talsy grew excited at the prospect of meeting people again, and especially finding out why they had been spared. Chanter stopped before they reached the settlement, and she slid from his back with the bag. He reverted to man form and, after studying the Trueman settlement, turned to her.
"Go and speak to them if you wish. I'll remain here unless you need me."
Talsy nodded, understanding his reluctance to enter the camp. Leaving the bag with him, she followed a narrow path that wandered through the rocks. People worked amongst the tents and shacks, cleaning skins, salting fish, cooking, washing or mending clothes. They stopped work to watch her pass, some greeting her with smiles and cheerfulness, belying the gloom and death that hung over the land. Most were young women, with a smattering of elderly crones and young boys. The few mature men seemed to be honest farmers or tradesmen. She wandered around until a friendly freckle-faced girl of about fifteen offered her a meal and took her to a crone cooking a pot of stew. The meaty aroma made Talsy's mouth water, and she accepted a bowl from the old woman and settled down on a wooden stool to consume it.
The matron smiled. "Hungry, are you, missy?"
Talsy nodded, her mouth full.
"I'm surprised you look as fit as you do, wandering alone in the wilderness. What happened? Was your party attacked by brigands?"
"No." Talsy frowned. "I had no party."
"You look too young to be a seer. Who warned you?"
"Warned me of what?"
The crone's smile dwindled, and her eyes grew wary. "You are one of the chosen, aren't you?"
Talsy almost touched the Mujar mark on her forehead. "Yes, I'm one of the chosen. How did your people escape the Black Riders?"
The old woman's smile broadened in relief. "We're all chosen here. I was the seer of my village, and I received the vision that told us to leave. Only good people who don't judge would be saved, I was told." Her smile vanished and she frowned. "I had to leave my son behind. The vision warned that if there was one amongst us who judged and hated, the Hashon Jahar would hunt him down and slay him."
Talsy, who had stopped eating to listen in rapt fascination, put her spoon down. "You mean, all of you are... You don't hate Mujar?"
"That's right. We're the chosen. There are five seers here, besides myself. Each had the same dream and brought their people out of the doomed villages. None of us hate Mujar."
"That's wonderful!" Talsy grinned. "Then you're all saved! You're the worthy!"
"I'm Sheera, and I'm proud to be amongst the chosen," the old woman went on. "I knew a Mujar when I was young, and I saw him dragged away and flung into a Pit. You'll find that almost everyone here has either known a Mujar or is the child of one who has. We know they're good, simple people, and we have nothing against them. Only the proud and ignorant condemned them, and now they've paid the price. It's a terrible thing, of course. My son was a foolish boy, he wouldn't listen to me when I told him about Mujar."
Sheera turned at a groan from the shack behind her and excused herself to rise and enter it. Talsy ate the stew without tasting it. Just as Chanter had said, the fate of the world had indeed changed. She gazed around the camp. Over a hundred people lived here, all touched by the peace and humility of Mujar, destined to continue the Trueman race. Surely there were more in other settlements like this all over the land. Flocks of sheep and goats, as well as a herd of cattle, grazed in the grassland around the camp. Soon it would become a village, keeping the Trueman race alive.
Talsy finished her stew and entered the shack to ask Sheera the questions that burnt in her mind. The old seer sat beside a thin pallet, bathing the brow of the man who lay on it. He was stripped to the waist, his skin beaded with sweat above his tatty brown trousers. Dark brown hair was plastered to his forehead, and crooked brows frowned above a proud nose. His features had an air of quality and breeding about them. Lean muscle ridged his broad-shouldered torso, and a blood-stained dressing was strapped to his flank.
Sheera held a finger to her lips, whispering, "He has a fever. The wound is bad."
Talsy knelt beside her. "Is he one of the chosen?"
The old woman gestured for her to leave the shack and followed. Outside, she settled down to stir the stew again.
"We're not sure if he is. We found him a few days ago on our way here. He was with a party of women and children, all of whom had been slaughtered, but not by the Hashon Jahar. So we think he's chosen, although it won't matter soon; he's dying."
"How do you know the Black Riders didn’t kill them?"
Sheera shook her head. "There were many dead brigands amongst the fallen." She jerked her thumb at the shack behind her. "He was obviously a fighter. He had a great sword with him. We brought him here and I've been nursing him. But the wound grows worse, and a fever has now set in. Doubtless he'll be dead soon."
Talsy considered this, staring into the fire. "I have a friend who might help him, if he is one of the chosen."
"Then bring your friend, my dear, and let's find out. He hasn't woken since we found him, so we can't question him. If he isn't chosen he must be cast out."
Talsy nodded. There was no reason for Chanter to avoid these Truemen, who would not wish to harm him. In fact, she was curious about how they would react to him. Rising, she thanked Sheera for the food and trotted back along the rocky path. She arrived gasping at the rock where Chanter perched, chewing a blade of grass and gazing into space. He smiled when she approached and slid down to join her on the ground.
"Why the hurry?" he enquired as she strived to catch her breath.
She leant on the rock and grinned. "They're chosen!" He raised a brow, and she elaborated, "They don't hate Mujar. They were warned of the Black Riders' coming and fled their villages. The seers were given a vision or dream, and brought the good people to safety."
He nodded. "Good, then you'll have company for the journey."
"What journey?"
"We must continue westwards for the gathering."
Talsy glanced out to sea. "That's west, into the ocean."
"Yes. We must cross it to reach the western continent."
"Why?"
"You'll find out when we get there."
She shrugged it off, resolving to get it out of him later somehow. "Come on." Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the camp. "There's one who needs your help." She paused. "You will help him, won't you? He might be one of the chosen, and therefore worthy."
"Might be?"
"He's injured, and can't speak, but they think he is."
Chanter allowed her to tug him along, a hint of reluctance in his eyes. After the treatment he had received from Truemen in the past, she did not blame him for his mistrust, and glanced back often with a reassuring smile. On the camp's outskirts, he stopped and studied the people with wary eyes, reminding her that he had not willingly entered the presence of men in his true form before. Since the demise of his clan, he had been suspicious of Truemen, and rightly so. She tugged him forward.
The reaction of the chosen was mixed and surprising. Most stopped their work and conversations to stare at Chanter, and silence descended. Several youngsters ran and hid, peering from tents and shacks. One woman fell to her knees and sobbed with wild abandon, hiding her face in her skirt. Others moved to comfort her, and men who stood in Chanter's path backed away. An old man came forward and bowed with grave dignity, his wrinkled face wreathed in a gentle smile.
"Welcome, Mujar," he murmured. "We are honoured."
Chanter glanced at the old man, who lowered his eyes and retreated. Talsy led Chanter to Sheera's shack, eager to introduce him to the old woman with whom she had shared a strong rapport. Sheera looked up from her work, and her bland expression changed to one of amazement and joy. Dropping the spoon with which she stirred the stew, she rose with a soft cry and strode towards Chanter, lifting her arms as if to embrace him. The Mujar pulled his hand from Talsy's grip and stepped back.
The air swelled and filled with the soft beating of wings. Sheera stopped and lowered her arms, and the manifestation of Ashmar died away. Her eyes overflowed, and she brushed at the tears that coursed down her cheeks. She cast Talsy a look of deep gratitude before turning her gaze upon Chanter again. Stepping forward cautiously, she performed a creaky curtsy.
"You are welcome amongst us. I'm sorry I startled you, I mean you no harm." She looked at Talsy. "You didn't mention that your friend was Mujar, child. You should have."
Talsy glanced around at the gawping crowd. "I wasn't expecting this reaction."
"Then what were you expecting, foolish girl? Many of these people have known Mujar and lost them to the Pits, others have only heard legends." Sheera pointed at the weeping woman. "She loved one and lost him. The old man adopted one as his son, and lost him. The ones who are hiding have only heard the legends. You walk in here as bold as brass, towing a Mujar like a dog on a lead. What did you expect?"
Talsy shuffled in embarrassment. "What Mujar have you known?"
Sheera blinked away fresh tears. "I too, had one as a son. I hid him for many years, for I lived alone in the woods. He was my pride and joy, so beautiful and gentle. We had an understanding, not a bond. I gave him all the comforts he wished, just for his company. When the townsfolk found out about him, they came and took him away to a Pit. They wounded him terribly with a spear, but he would not fight, even though I begged him to."
"Why did you run at Chanter?"
"I... He looks so like him, I wanted to embrace him." She shook her head. "But it was wrong, I know. He is as wild and untouchable as my friend was. What bond do you have with him, that he allows you to touch him?"
Talsy glanced at Chanter. She had not realised that Mujar were so reluctant to be handled. He had been unwilling to approach her at first, she recalled, and he always kept his distance from Truemen. Only when he had agreed to clan bond had he lain beside her. Her hand rose towards the Mujar mark on her brow, but a glance at Chanter stopped her, for his eyes held a warning.
"We have clan bond," she said.
Sheera nodded and stepped aside, gesturing to the pot and stools set around the fire. "I offer comforts, Mujar. You are welcome at my table, humble though it is. Are you hungry?"
Chanter inclined his head and went over to settle on a stool. He glanced around at the staring people, most of whom averted their eyes or went back to their tasks, throwing surreptitious looks at him.
Sheera dished up a bowl of stew and handed it to him, her eyes filled with wonder. Chanter ignored her, and the others who still gaped at him from their hiding places.
Talsy sat on a stool next to him and asked, "How is the wounded man?"
The old woman looked blank for a moment. "Oh, he's a little worse."
Talsy glanced at Chanter. "Perhaps you should see to him now, before he gets sicker."
The Mujar paused, a spoonful of stew poised before his mouth.
Sheera protested, "There's no need. He'll be all right."
Chanter continued with his meal, ignoring Talsy's fretting. To distract herself, she asked Sheera, "How long did you know your Mujar?"
"On and off for four years. He came and went as he pleased, of course. Sometimes he would be gone for days or months. Then he would reappear and stay for several weeks. He always slept elsewhere, for some reason."
The old woman's ignorance surprised Talsy, who opened her mouth to explain why Mujar slept elsewhere. Chanter elbowed her, and she glanced at him. He shook his head.
"You mustn't speak of Mujar to outsiders."
"But -"
"No."
"He's right," Sheera declared. "If Kuran had wanted me to know, he would have told me."
"Kuran?" Talsy's brows rose. "But -"
"Talsy..." Chanter shook his head, and she scowled at him, annoyed.
"What?"
The Mujar put aside his plate and took her arm, tugging her from her stool. When they were out of earshot of the Truemen, he stopped and turned to her.
"Tell them nothing of what you know. It's only you I told."
"Why? A Kuran is a forest guardian, not a name."
He nodded. "The Mujar she adopted did not give his real name. A Mujar's name gives a small amount of power to anyone he tells it to, so most are reluctant to give it. The secrets I told you are for you alone, understand? You may tell them my name, because coming from you it gives them no power over me, but nothing else."
"Why did you tell me?"
"Because we had clan bond. If they question you, tell them to ask me. They won't."
She scowled. "You don't trust them?"
"They're not clan."
"They're chosen!"
Chanter said, "Perhaps not all are worthy. The seers did the choosing. They may have made mistakes, or brought their sons and daughters who are not worthy. Many, learning that it would save them, will have pretended to be chosen. We'll have to be careful."
"Surely they wouldn't dare to harm us?"
"When cornered, even the most timid creature will fight more fiercely than you ever thought possible."
"But they're not cornered," she protested. "They're saved!"
"They'll blame Mujar for the deaths of their friends and families, and their hatred will grow stronger than ever. They'll be looking for vengeance."
Talsy gazed up at him with despairing eyes. "Can't you tell if they're chosen?"
"No." He turned away. "Come, let's go back, my food is getting cold."
Talsy trailed after him back to the camp where Sheera waited, looking a little nervous. As the Mujar sat down to continue his meal, she asked, "Did I do something to offend?"
"No."
Sheera relaxed and filled his bowl with another lavish helping of steaming stew. Chanter finished it and thanked her when she would have heaped more into his bowl. Talsy noticed that he spoke the ritual 'gratitude', but did not offer a Wish. A plate of food, she supposed, was not a big enough favour to earn one.
Talsy turned to him. "Will you help the sick man now?"
Sheera protested, "No, child, the Mujar owes him no favour. You cannot ask for such a Wish."
"But he may be one of the chosen, and if so, he's -"
"Have you forgotten our little talk already?" Chanter interrupted.
"No, but -"
"Good." He smiled. "I'll look at him."
Sheera rose and held aside the flap of cloth that covered the shack’s doorway, admitting the Mujar and Talsy. The old woman followed and knelt beside the pallet to peel the bloody dressing from the wound. The ugly injury looked like a spear thrust. It seeped clear fluid, and an area of reddened flesh surrounded it. The man lay as before, his skin beaded with sweat. Chanter knelt beside him and examined him with his eyes, then turned to Sheera.
"Leave us."
The old woman obeyed, pulling the cloth across the door behind her. In the subsequent gloom, the Mujar leant closer to touch the skin at the base of man's throat.
"He's marked."
Talsy glanced at him, then at the jagged scar on man's throat. "What do you mean?"
Chanter traced the scar. "He bears the mark of a Kuran. He has done some great service for a forest soul."
"So he's chosen?"
"He may be the most worthy of all these people, apart from you, of course." He cast her a gentle smile.
Talsy scrambled to her feet. "I'll get some water."
Hurrying out, she almost bumped into Sheera, who stood outside, holding a pail of water. Talsy shot her a smile and took it before returning to Chanter's side. The Mujar filled a cup and poured it onto the wound as he invoked Shissar. The humble shack came alive with soft swirling mist, hissing rain and splashing water mixed with the crash of waves. Chanter laid his hands on the wound, and the seeping redness vanished. The edges drew together and sealed in a pale scar. The man's skin cooled as his fever subsided, and a little colour invaded it.
Chanter sat back as the stranger's eyelids flickered, then opened to reveal the blackest eyes Talsy had ever seen. His expression changed to one of fearful surprise when he spotted Chanter, and he thrust himself back against the wall, banging his head on it. The Mujar watched him with narrowed eyes, and Talsy's heart sank. The man licked his lips, his gaze darting between them.
"Mujar." He hesitated, glancing at Talsy. "Who are you?"
"Friends."
"What's happened? Where am I?"
"You were found wounded in the forest and brought here. We healed you," Talsy explained.
"My people?"
"Dead."
He stared at Chanter. "Why did you help me?"
"You carry the mark of a Kuran. You are one of the chosen."
"Yes." The man ran a hand through his damp hair. "We left our village, but we were attacked in the forest. Could I have some water?"
Talsy gave him a cup of water, and he gulped it down, finishing two more before he turned his attention to his wound and fingered the scar on his flank.
"Why were you marked by a Kuran?" Talsy asked.
"A what?" He looked confused.
"A forest soul."
The man shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You helped a forest."
"I saved one, yes, because I lived in it. A bunch of woodcutters started felling the trees, and I chased them out. In a fit of spite, they set fire to the woods, but I stopped it with a firebreak. Then I taught them a lesson they'd never forget. On the way home, a bolt of lightning struck me."
Chanter nodded, studying the man.
Talsy asked, "Did you save the trees only because you lived amongst them?"
"No, not entirely. I was raised in the forest, I didn't want a bunch of idiots cutting it down."
"Do you hate Mujar?"
"No." He shot Chanter a wary glance. "My father was friends with one. He used to take me into the woods as a child. He taught me many things about the trees and animals. When I was eleven, he was taken to a Pit."
"What's your name?" Talsy ignored Chanter's hard look.
"Kieran."
Talsy smiled and introduced herself and Chanter. Kieran had relaxed while they talked, but when the Mujar rose to leave, he looked nervous again. Chanter paused to eye him in a puzzled manner before pushing aside the cloth. Talsy rose to follow, and Kieran climbed to his feet, clearly stiff from days of lying on the thin pallet. He banged his head on the roof, and Talsy turned to glance up at him in surprise. She and Chanter could stand in the shack, but Kieran had to hunch over, and rubbed the back of his head.
Outside, he towered over them, at least six inches taller than Chanter and dwarfing Talsy and Sheera. The old woman studied him as he stood blinking in the sunlight, then turned to Talsy.
"Is he chosen?"
"Yes."
Kieran spotted the stew pot and helped himself to a bowl, sitting on one of the stools. Sheera picked up a bundle and held it out to Chanter.
"These are for you. Gifts from the people."
The Mujar took the bundle and squatted to open it, pulling out a new pair of black leather leggings and a silver-studded vest. He smiled at Sheera, his eyes alight.
"Gratitude."
Sheera blushed, and Talsy grinned. While Chanter went into the forest to change, Talsy sat by the fire and Kieran put away copious amounts of stew. Sheera explained that a shack had been made available for her, waving aside her protests that she had a tent.
"Nonsense, child, you've brought us a great gift. The least we can do is see to it that you're looked after. Will the Mujar stay with you at night?"
Talsy shook her head. "I don't know. Sometimes he does, for he knows I don't like to be alone, but other times he leaves."
"Well, I doubt he'll stay now that you have all of us around you."
Talsy doubted it too, and experienced a pang of sadness. Chanter returned, clad in his new clothes, and stayed in the camp until dark, when Talsy was installed in her shack. He paced around the cramped interior before settling by the door when she lay down on the mattress.
Talsy woke alone, but, as she sat down to breakfast with Sheera and Kieran, Chanter returned in the shape of an eagle and transformed. He consumed the humble porridge hungrily, then took her arm and led her away from the camp. In the forest's quiet, he perched on a log and looked up at her.
"You have a job to do."
Talsy settled on the ground at his feet. "I do?"
He nodded. "You must tell these people to find, or build a ship in which to travel to the western continent."
"Why?"
"We have to get to the gathering."
"What's that?"
"You'll see,” Chanter said. “We'll need a big ship to carry a hundred and fifty people, although by the time we leave, there may be more or less."
"Why are you being so mysterious?"
He smiled. "I don't have all the answers; I just know we must go."
Talsy toyed with a leaf skeleton. "To build a ship, we'll need wood, and that means felling trees. Also, it will take time."
"I know. Last night I went to the harbour up the coast, but there are no big ships there. I'll search further afield, but I'll be gone awhile. If we have to build one, I'll speak to the Kuran of this forest, and she will give me trees."
She glanced around at the sun-dappled forest. "There's a Kuran here?"
"Yes, but she's not angry like the one near Jishan. Truemen have only taken a few of her trees."
"How long will you be gone?"
"A few days," he said. "You'll be safe with these people. They have no reason to harm you."
"So what must I tell them?"
"That they must gather the things they'll need to build a ship, other than wood. Canvas, rope, whatever. It will be needed to repair any ship I find, anyway."
He rose to his feet, and impulsively she hugged him. He patted her back until she released him and stepped back to gaze into his eyes.
"Don't be long."
Chanter smiled and walked away to spring into the air. With a rush of wind he vanished, and a daltar eagle rose into the sky on powerful wing strokes.
When Talsy told Sheera of Chanter's plans, she called a meeting of her peers, and the word soon spread. Talsy missed Chanter, and several times caught Kieran’s dark gaze upon her, which she found unnerving. The following day, a party of men went to the ruined town up the coast and returned with rope and canvas, copper nails and tar.
Nobody objected to the Mujar's plans, and the chosen set to work making sails and rigging. Kieran went hunting and brought Sheera a buck for her stew pot, then vanished the next day. The old seeress told Talsy that he had gone to find his sword. She was glad to escape his eyes, which seemed to dwell on her far too often, and spent her time making sails with the other women.