base bulked larger than a house, as pure white as driven snow. It appeared to be made up of filmy, translucent petals that overlapped. As he approached, the petals peeled back to reveal a crimson core, the true base of the mighty stamen, and released a heady scent that numbed his brain. In a dream-like state, he stepped onto the white petals and entered the flower's heart. The stamen's base was a golden tower, and the plant's lure washed all else from his mind, as if he had not existed until now.
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, pointing. '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
