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.
He returned to Talsy, his eyes downcast. 'That should be enough.'
She followed as he strode away. 'We'll send men to collect the wood.'
The Mujar nodded. 'Kieran will guide them.'
Talsy trotted to keep up with his long strides. 'What did the Kuran mean, 'death is near, the path is clear'?'
'The Black Riders are coming.'
'But we're the chosen!'
'There are unchosen hiding amongst us, and don't look at him,' he admonished as she glanced at Kieran. 'He's chosen. The men who attacked the girl are still nearby, and maybe others. We don't have much time.'
'Will the Black Riders kill the chosen too?'
'They'll kill all in their path.'
Suppressing a shiver, she followed him back to the camp, where he despatched Kieran to lead a group of men into the woods to fetch the planks. That task took the rest of the day, while Chanter paced the beach, waiting for his ship to come in. He stayed there all night, and his urgency worried Talsy.
The following morning, she tripped over Kieran on her doorstep again and cursed him as he walked off with quiet dignity. Hurrying to the beach, she found Chanter perched on a rock, gazing out to sea. In the distance, a low black object moved through the waves as if an invisible hand powered it. As it came closer, she made out more details, and it approached with remarkable speed. When it grated onto the sand, she frowned at it in dismay. The burnt-out hull reeked of smoke and soot, water sloshing in its bilges.
The chosen hauled the hull far up the beach, above the high tide mark. Chanter conferred with the shipwright, then invoked Dolana. The people gasped when the icy hush released them, and Chanter laid his hands on each fresh plank and formed it into a new rib or stem post. The men carried the pieces to the ship and held them in place, and Chanter used the Earthpower to weld the wood together.
At the end of the day, Chanter and the weary men stood back to admire the work that should have taken them a week. With the hull completed, all that remained was laying the deck and stepping the masts. After supper, Chanter returned to the beach to work on the ship all night. By morning, the deck beams were in place and half the decking laid. The chosen packed provisions aboard, barrels of water, sacks of potatoes and turnips, and hay for the animals.
The next day work continued, and Chanter used the powers to hasten it. Kieran slaved harder than anyone, and often he and Chanter worked side by side, dripping with sweat. The Mujar's strength was prodigious, but Kieran seemed to be a little stronger, although he tired when Chanter did not.
At lunchtime, the men returned to the camp, where the womenfolk had prepared a meal. Chanter and Kieran came to Sheera's hut and sat on the low wooden stools while the old woman ladled thick stew into their bowls. Kieran brought with him the musky smell of sweat, and Talsy wrinkled her nose as she sat next to Chanter. The Mujar remained odourless, even though he had sweated just as much as the warrior.
While they ate, Talsy pondered Chanter's toil, which seemed strange for a being who commanded the elements. 'Why can't you just command Dolana to build the ship?' she asked.
The Mujar glanced at Sheera and Kieran, then smiled. 'A ship is built of wood. Unlike stone, it isn't pure Dolana, it contains Shissar and Ashmar. I can't make it flow like rock, only form it into the right shapes, which must then be bound together.'
'But you could build one out of ice, for instance.'
'Yes,' he agreed. 'Ice can be crafted easily, for it is pure Shissar. I can cause it to take any shape I wish, but it would not be very comfortable as a ship on a long voyage. For that matter, I could cause the sea to freeze in a great pathway, but it's a long way to walk.'
Talsy cast Kieran a superior smile, but he seemed unimpressed, concentrating on his food. Sheera's faded brown eyes were wide with wonder, however. The Mujar spoke matter-of-factly, clearly unaware of the awe his words inspired in those around him, no matter how well they hid it.
Chanter's head jerked up, and his brows drew together. Talsy stared at him in alarm, and Kieran put aside his bowl. A faint rumbling came on the wind, like thunder or an earthquake. Or the drumming of thousands of hooves, growing louder. Chanter stood up and took hold of Talsy's arm, glancing at Sheera.
'Gather the chosen,' he said. 'Don't let them flee.'
The old woman hurried over to the other groups that stood in alarmed confusion, gathering them together with urgent gestures. Youngsters who had been playing in the forest ran back to the camp, yelling a warning. Other stragglers who had been in the woods gathering nuts and berries or answering the call of nature came running into the camp.
Talsy looked up at Chanter. 'You're going to protect them?'
'Yes.'
The Mujar strode to the middle of the settlement and stopped, his eyes searching the distant forest whence the rumbling came. The people gathered around him, gazing at him with fear and hope. Youngsters clung together and the older seers stood like bastions of calm amid a sea of whimpering dread. The faint thunder of hooves struck a familiar fear into Talsy's heart, and she clung to Chanter's hand, soaking up his calm.
Even though a Mujar protected them, the terror the Hashon Jahar engendered could not be denied, although his presence made it possible to stave off panic. Kieran had disappeared, and Talsy wondered if he had fled. She recalled the Kuran's prophetic words with a shiver. The Black Death approached. The unstoppable Hashon Jahar, against whom no Trueman city or town had ever stood. People wept and wailed, and Talsy stared at the trees as the crowd crept closer to the Mujar.
A finger of darkness seeped from the forest, flowing over the land's contours. The Black Riders approached at a full gallop. Flocks of sheep and goats scattered in panic, like flotsam swept before a dark wave. Young girls hid their faces, clinging to each other. Some tried to run, but older, wiser members of the group held them back. Many clasped their hands and prayed, closing their eyes to block out the approaching horror.
Talsy fought a strong urge to flee, swallowing the lump of terror in her throat. Chanter’s presence lent her the courage to stand still, and she told herself that no harm would come to her while she was under his protection. He shot her a warning glance, and she braced herself as the air screamed with raging fire, engulfing the people in the illusion of a massive conflagration. The manifestation winked out, and the crowd beat at their clothes in a desperate bid to put out the spectral flames that had licked over them. Many wept in hysterical terror and clung to each other.
