Talsy entered a realm stranger than anything she had ever seen before. Mist shrouded the land, hiding its secrets behind a pale curtain. Huge flowers, whose petals glowed like mother of pearl, grew out of the vapour, shimmering in the muted radiance of a pale grey sky. The flowers reached her knees and brushed against her with fragile petals that her legs passed through. Each blossom was two paces broad, with four petals growing from a fluffy golden centre crossed by black lines that met their edges. The endless covering of flowers gave off a sweet perfume that hung in the still, warm air. The mist swirled just beneath their petals, disturbed by their passage. She clung to Chanter’s hand, afraid that if she let him go the mist would swallow him and leave her trapped forever in this ghostly realm. After several minutes, she got the impression that the pale land stretched away in every direction, clothed in mist and pearly flowers. She stopped and turned him.
Chanter smiled. “Like it?”
“It’s strange,” she murmured, “so utterly peaceful.”
“Yes, the dead like peace and quiet.”
The silence of the Lake of Dreams was not oppressive, but rather calming, the sort of place where you could sit and listen to the hush, be alone with your thoughts without feeling lonely.
“It’s all like this, isn’t it? Just mist and flowers and flat ground,” she said.
“Yes. A little drab and monotonous, I suppose.”
“It’s beautiful, in a strange way. Is this an entire world, with continents and seas? Are the only inhabitants the dead?”
He smiled again. “Yes, to both your questions. The dead sea creatures inhabit calm white seas. In fact, the seas themselves are made up of sea creatures’ souls, just as the mist that shrouds the land is the land creatures’ souls. There’s no wind or rain, and the sun only shines as it does now, through the mist.”
“Are the plants the only living things?”
“No, the plants are dead too. Everything here is dead, and even plants have a form of spirit, especially trees. What we’re walking through is the departed souls of Kuran. As I told you, they live forever unless destroyed, and if they do perish, this is where they come. The ground we’re walking on is made up of the departed souls of Dargon, the air we’re breathing is...”
“The souls of dead winds,” she finished for him. “But how can one kill a wind spirit?”
“Not easily, but the chaos destroyed many. They were poisoned by the corruption, just like the Dargon. One day they will be reborn into the world of the living, just like all the other souls.”
“So everything here... is dead?”
He nodded, unconcerned by how strange this all was. “The Lake of Dreams is the realm of the dead, nothing living inhabits it. The souls created it from nothingness, and fleshed it with their essence. Before the first souls came here, this Lake was just a void. Even now, everything is incorporeal, a ghost, if you like.”
She shivered. “Do we have to walk far?”
“We don’t have to walk anywhere if you don’t want to. We can step out any time.”
The Lake of Dreams was beautiful and peaceful, but also a little unnerving. Unwilling to admit this, she mustered her courage and shot him a smile.
“Let’s walk awhile.”
Talsy and Chanter’s disappearance alarmed Kieran, for there seemed no way to follow. The people behind him gasped and exclaimed, and he glanced at the two younger Mujar. Dancer smiled reassuringly, but Kieran hurried to the spot where Talsy had vanished.
He stood in a sun dappled forest, surrounded by vast, rough-barked trees. Fallen leaves clothed the ground, and an occasional clump of greenery or rotting log. Rich smells of humus and musty earth mingled with the sweet scent of forest flowers and the dark aroma of lichen and bark.
“Hello, Kieran.” A soft voice spoke behind him.
The Prince spun around, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword, then froze, his eyes widening in surprise. Dancer sat on a log, one knee bent, regarding him with sad eyes. He was not the young Dancer Talsy had rescued, but the tall, noble featured Mujar he had known in his childhood. Grey touched Dancer’s jet hair at the temples, and faint lines aged his handsome face. Kieran released his sword and straightened.
“Hello, Dancer.”
The Mujar tilted his head and studied the warrior Prince with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed, even after all these years. You always were a suspicious child, unwilling to trust, quick to judge. You never did forgive me for leaving you when you hurt yourself, did you?”
Instant denial sprang to Kieran’s lips, but he quelled it and shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
“You’re not one who forgives easily. You can’t even forgive your mother for being unable to stop your father giving you away.”
“No.”
“Yet you didn’t hate me,” Dancer said. “A strange combination, that. A puzzling one, for those who must judge, doubtless.”
“Are you dead?”
“Yes, I died in the Pit two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Dancer smiled. “You were so angry with me.”
“I thought you were my friend.”
“I was.”
Kieran frowned. “A friend wouldn’t have left me to die.”
“Mujar do. But you know that now, don’t you? I couldn’t help you, you had no Wish. And when they took me away, you did nothing to help me, either.”
“They would have killed me.”
Dancer sighed. “Would they? Had you pulled out the spear that impaled me, do you think I would have let them harm you? What do you think the First Chosen would have done in that situation? Did she not save Chanter many times, risking her own life to do so? Didn’t she offer to give her life for his? Yet was she allowed to die? No. You lacked the courage of your convictions. You would not risk your life for mine. Things might have been very different had you helped me then. If you had owned her courage and love for Mujar, you might have been the First Chosen. Many Truemen had the opportunity to prove their worth, but they all failed, like you.”
“Are you angry with me?”
The Mujar frowned. “No, not with you. You simply lacked the courage to save me, or perhaps you didn’t love me enough. Maybe it was even because I had let you down. Whatever your reasons, it wasn’t because you hated me. But I was angry with your father.”
“Why?”
“Because he told them about me. He betrayed me.”
“No!”
Dancer nodded. “It was his way of punishing me for not helping you, who were the son of his king, whom he loved. He learnt to hate me, though he hid it well. I saw it in his eyes. He was unchosen.”
Kieran slumped against a tree, remembering that day with startling vividness. Dancer’s torn and bloody body, the sneering mob that had paraded him through the village, impaled upon a spear, shorn and smeared with filth. The way Dancer’s eyes had sought his father and clung to him.
“I thought he loved you,” he muttered.
“He did, at first, but I was a great disappointment to him, in more ways than one. So he became bitter, and started to hate me.”
“Why didn’t you tell them? They’d have believed you; everyone knows that Mujar never lie. They’d have flung him into the Pit with you.”
“Because I forgave him,” Dancer murmured. “That was my gift.”
Kieran raised his eyes. “And I never forgave you.”
“No. You grew bitter. It ate at you like a festering wound, yet you couldn’t hate me. How that confused you. You longed to hate me for leaving you in the forest, but you could not. Your bitterness bred distrust and fear, so you became a warrior to overcome it, and succeeded well, but never conquered it.” He paused, shifting his weight. “You never learnt that bitterness cannot be conquered with courage. To this day you carry it with you.”
Kieran bowed his head, knowing, as he had done for many years, that his bitterness was wrong. “I shouldn’t have been angry with you for leaving me in the forest. I had done nothing to earn your help, at the time. I wasn’t worthy. I should be asking your forgiveness, for not trying to save you from the Pit.”
It seemed as if a great weight lifted from his shoulders as he accepted his mistake, and years of harbouring a grudge against the man he had loved so much dissolved in an instant.
“It’s a wonderful thing, forgiveness,” Dancer said.
“Yes,” Kieran said, staring at the golden leaves that covered the forest floor. “I should have done it then. Do you forgive me?”
Silence answered him, and he glanced up to find himself alone, the forest silent and still but for distant bird calls and the faint rustling of leaves high above. A wave of sadness engulfed him. For years, he had mourned his friend and mentor, wished that he had saved him, and tried to hate him for his neglect that day in the forest. Now the sorrow rushed back in a fresh tide, keener than before, but tempered by a sense of peace. Dancer had released him from his guilt, and a hot lance of forgiveness cauterised his festering bitterness.
Kieran stepped back, and staggered. He stood upon the heaving back of a food beast under a blazing sun, the sea stretching away in every direction. A scream jerked his head around. Talsy lay at the very edge of the beast, half in the water, clinging to it as she stared down at something below with wide eyes. Kieran yanked his sword from its scabbard and leapt to grab her tunic and pull her out of the sea as his sword rose to meet the threat. He glimpsed a huge, rising shape beneath the waves, a curved mouth filled with pointed teeth, and swung the sword in a killing stroke.
Realisation hit him like a bucket of cold water, and he loosed the blade, allowing it to spin away into the water. The predator reached the surface and broke through. Its white teeth fastened onto a frond at the food beast’s edge and bit it off. It floated nearby, its vast ray-like fins drifting around it in a glowing veil of many colours. Kieran stared at it, amazed by its beauty and lack of fear. He glanced around for Talsy, but he was alone. He turned back to the predator that languished in the waves. Edging nearer, he knelt and stretched out a hand to touch skin ridged with tiny patterns. A sense of well-being and friendship invaded him, a gentle joy amid a vast wellspring of knowledge. He stroked it.
“I never meant to hurt you, you know.”
An emanation of understanding and affection tingled through him, then the predator slipped away and dived into the inky depths.
Kieran rose to his feet, stepped back and tripped, falling backwards onto stony ground. He lay on a rocky shore, tied down hand and foot with stout ropes to stakes driven into the ground. A few feet away, waves pounded the golden sand, and a hot sun burnt down on him. Gulls swooped and mewed, sailing the empty blue skies on slender, rippling wings. He strained at the ropes, then gave up this futile endeavour and turned his head to study his surroundings. Far down the beach, a man wandered, his footprints washed away by the waves. Kieran licked dry lips and called for help. The man looked up and approached. The strange Mujar’s face bore the marks of age, and silver touched his hair. He gazed down at Kieran with sorrowful eyes.
“Please help me,” the Prince begged.
The Mujar shook his head. “No Wish.”
Kieran slumped back. “No, of course not.”
The stranger settled on a rock close by and gazed out to sea, his eyes narrowed to slits. Kieran struggled against the ropes again.
The Mujar turned to look at him. “My name is Chanter. I lived a hundred years ago, and was flung into the Pits when I was only ten years old. For ninety years I was trapped in freezing darkness, unable to move, unable to see, hungry and thirsty for sustenance I could never attain.”
“I’m sorry,” Kieran said. “Why did your gods let you suffer so?”
The Mujar looked startled. “They needed my rage. The suffering of their land and creatures was not enough to order your destruction. They needed my anger to hand down to future generations of Mujar.”
“You’re very talkative, for a Mujar,” Kieran commented.
The strange Chanter smiled. “I’m dead. I have no secrets now, and if you don’t figure out how to get out of those ropes, you soon will be too.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Then you’d better start pondering the problem, if you want to live.”
Kieran stared at him, confused, and the old Mujar gazed out to sea again.
Talsy wandered through the pearly flowers, absorbing the astounding peace of the Lake of Dreams. Although they had walked for some time, the landscape remained constant, with no landmarks to gauge their progress. She wondered if they were going in circles when three hazy golden lights appeared beside them. She clutched Chanter’s arm, drawing his attention to the lights. The Mujar smiled.
“What are those?” she asked.
“Souls.”
“Whose?”
“They’re Truemen, but there’s no way of knowing the names they bore in life. Even they don’t know,” he explained, unperturbed.
“How do you know they’re Truemen souls?”
“Mujar are brighter.”
Talsy studied the hazy lights, searching for some identity, but finding none. “Can’t they speak?”
“They can, but they probably have nothing to say.”
“Then why are they following us?”
He shrugged. “Curiosity, perhaps. They can’t harm you. There’s no need to be afraid.”
“Haven’t they seen living people before?”
“Not in the Lake of Dreams. Few of the living ever venture in here. It’s the place of the dead, and for some reason the living fear the dead.”
“They’re creepy, not frightening.” She shivered. “Could they be people I used to know?”
He shook his head. “Truemen dead have no memories. They wouldn’t know you now, even if they did once.”
“I thought the mist was the souls of the dead?”
“It is, but they can become visible if they choose. Those that aren’t interested in us have remained mist, only these few have chosen to show themselves.”
“Can we leave now?”
“Sure.” Chanter spoke a word and stepped forward. In one stride they left the Lake of Dreams and emerged onto a windswept plateau surrounded by towering, snow-capped peaks.
Talsy looked back, expecting to see some trace of the Lake from which they had just come, but only a panoramic vista of distant golden plains greeted her. She walked back a few steps, straining her senses to detect some tangible evidence that the Lake even existed, but found nothing. Chanter watched her with a smile, amused by her antics.
“You can’t sense it.”
“But you can,” she said. “And how do you know the god words that let you in and out? You said you couldn’t speak the language of the gods.”
“I can’t. The words come to me when I need them and vanish afterwards, like when I stopped the stone from climbing the trees where you hid.”
She nodded. “How will the chosen get out?”
“They’re in the gods’ hands, and when their testing is over, those who survive will come forth at the gods’ behest.”
“And if the gods choose to give us entry into the Lakes, as you said they might, will we also know the god words when we wish to enter them?”
“Of course,” he said. “How else would you? You’ll also be able to sense them; otherwise you wouldn’t be able to find them.”
She brushed aside a lock of hair, turning to face the bitter wind. “When Truemen are no longer a threat to the creatures of this world, the lakes won’t be needed anymore, will they? Not as havens from us. Why don’t the gods just incorporate them into the rest of reality?”
Chanter chuckled and found a rock to settle on, the wind whipping his hair. “So many questions, as usual, my little clan.” He pondered the bleak landscape. “For one thing, the gods can’t incorporate the lakes into this reality, since they’re part of a different dimension. For another, if they incorporated the Lake of Dreams, the dead would inhabit the same dimension as us, and walk the world as ghosts. They dwell in the lake until they’re reborn to learn more of life’s lessons. The other lakes are new, created to protect the creatures of this world, but the Lake of Dreams has been here since creation.”
“And what happens when they’ve learnt everything that there is?” she asked.
“Then they join with the gods to become part of the great spiritual union. Those who learn the lessons poorly will be sent back again and again, others will progress quite quickly, but for all, it takes many lifetimes. The old souls are always the wisest, and most of the chosen who will survive this test will be old souls, like you. Some younger ones will succeed too, usually those who have suffered much and learnt their lessons swiftly.”
Talsy was startled. “I’m an old soul?”
“Very old, but even you have much to learn. A soul dwells in many forms during its long ascension, starting off as a tiny spark in the lowliest of creatures. Gradually it’s reborn into more and more complex creatures, learning and suffering along the way. When finally it’s born into a man, it becomes self-aware, and sometimes retains vague memories of its past lives, which usually come to it in dreams. Have you ever had dreams of flying or running from danger?”
“Yes, occasionally.”
“Those are memories of past lives when you were able to fly as a bird, or perhaps were hunted as a rabbit or deer. Once it reaches this ultimate stage, the soul is reborn many times to ensure that the final lessons are learnt. A soul must attain great spiritual awareness before it’s worthy of joining with the gods, and many fail.”
“What happens to them?”
“They’re cast into the Lake of Fire, and destroyed.”
Talsy frowned at him, rubbing her arms with a shiver. “Which god will we become part of, yours, or our own?”
He smiled up at her. “After this, you’ll be the adopted children of my gods, and live according to their laws.”
Talsy turned away to gaze across the bleak landscape, searching for some sign of the chosen emerging from the Lake of Dreams. “How long before the others arrive? And where are Drummer and Dancer?”
“They’ll be along. They’re either still ensuring that the chosen enter the Lake, or they’re exploring it. The young are curious.”
She faced him, envying his immunity to the freezing wind. “I’m cold.”
He held out a hand. “Come, I’ll share my Crayash with you.”
She cuddled up to him, and they waited on the vast grassy plateau for the chosen to emerge from the Lake of Dreams.
Kieran had lain on the beach for five days, and he wondered if Talsy was worried about him yet. She had Chanter to comfort her, however, and he was all she had ever wanted. In the last few weeks, he had noticed the tender, covetous glances she had given the Mujar, and knew that their relationship had progressed beyond friendship. A part of him pitied her hopeless infatuation with the cold-hearted alien; another resented the Mujar for the ease with which he held her unwanted love. Either way, he had lost her, for as long as Chanter gave her even part of what she longed for, she would never turn from him.
Raising his head, he looked around for the elderly Mujar who had stood vigil over him for the last few days. Chanter stood on the wet sand, the waves lapping his feet as they rushed up the beach and then retreated with a sigh. Hunger and thirst had weakened Kieran; in fact, he hardly had the strength to raise his head. Hours of struggling had chafed his wrists raw, and his skin had reddened in the sun, then blistered and cracked. Soon he would die, of that he was certain, and the old Mujar would watch him with expressionless, uncaring eyes. He almost hated the unman who had stood by and watched him suffer. Even though he knew the Mujar had not tied him down, he would not set him free, either
Kieran let his head fall back with a groan, closing his eyes against the endless glare of the sky. A shadow fell on him, and he looked up into Chanter’s pitiless face.
“I’m going now,” the old Mujar said. “You haven’t found the way to be free, and soon your time will be up. It seems I’m wasting mine.”
Kieran tried to speak, croaked, and tried again. “Wait.”
The Mujar paused in the act of turning away.
Kieran begged, “Give me a clue, please.”
“No.”
“Damn you!”
Chanter tilted his head. “Do you hate me now?”
“No,” the Prince growled, “I’m indifferent, just like you.”
“Good. But that won’t save you.”
“Then what will?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Chanter turned and walked away, his footprints wiped out by the waves. Kieran stared after him, his last hope dwindling with the retreating figure. He strained at the ropes with the last of his strength, flopping back with a groan. Turning his head, he watched the Mujar shrink as the distance between them increased. Chanter did not look back. The Prince closed his eyes and relaxed, resigning himself to his fate. He wondered why Mujar were so inexplicable. What made them stand by and watch a man die when they could so easily help him? He remembered Dancer’s sorrowful eyes and rueful words. No Wish. He had wanted to help, but could not without a Wish. He had fled to escape Kieran’s suffering, because he loved him. It made no sense. Yet when Kieran had watched him dragged away, beaten and bleeding, making no attempt to help him, Dancer had forgiven him. The Prince smiled, remembering the wonderful fulfilment of forgiveness.
Opening his eyes a slit, he searched the empty horizon for the distant figure of the old Mujar. Peace invaded him, his anger ran away like rain soaking into parched earth, and he whispered, “I forgive you.”
Kieran stumbled from the Lake of Dreams and fell to his knees on the cold grass of the plateau. A chill wind stung his skin and tugged at his clothes as he looked around in confusion. A swift examination found no sunburn, and no chafe marks on his wrists. His hunger and thirst had vanished as if by magic, and he looked up. Talsy hurried towards him, Chanter following more slowly. He rose to his feet before she reached him, returning her hug somewhat distractedly.
“I made it,” he muttered, still dazed by the transition.
“Of course you did!” she exclaimed. “Chanter said you would.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” Chanter studied the Prince.
Kieran gathered his wits and met the Mujar’s steady gaze. The silence hung between them like a veil, then Kieran nodded. “Perhaps I do. Is that what it’s all about? Forgiveness?”
Chanter smiled. “That was your lesson. Each is tested in a different way. Forgiveness, love, tolerance, compassion, or courage.”
“I didn’t know that!” Talsy protested. “Why was I chosen?”
“You forgave. No one knows what their weaknesses are before the gods test them. At times you got angry, but that’s allowed. Strangely, Kieran was chosen because of his indifference. He didn’t hate us, even though he never forgave his friend Dancer for abandoning him in the forest.”
“I have now,” Kieran said.
“Ah, you saw him?”
The Prince nodded. “I feel so much better.”
Chanter clapped Kieran on the shoulder, and the Prince smiled without any trace of his previous tension.
The Mujar said, “Forgiveness is the greatest gift of all, next to love. It washes away bitterness and anger, fills the soul with peace and tranquillity, and negates the reasons for strife. Merely by forgiving our inaction and accepting our strange ways, Truemen could have earned the help they so desperately longed for, but instead, they hated us. For Mujar, forgiveness is natural, although we do feel anger when we are made to suffer at the hands of others for no reason. It’s hard to explain. We forgive those who torture us, but rage at their cruelty. Almost, we’re angry with the god who created you so imperfect, so unforgiving.”
“It’s difficult to forgive someone who walks away and leaves you to die,” Kieran muttered.
“Tests are never easy. If they were, there would be little point in having them. Do you feel at peace with yourself now?”
“Yes.” The Prince unbuckled the Starsword and let it fall. “I don’t need this anymore. I won’t be fighting again.”
Chanter bent to scoop up the sword, turning it in his hands. “Having it doesn’t mean you have to kill with it. It’s a symbol of our friendship, a gift from me to you. Don’t be so quick to cast aside a thing of such value merely because it’s a weapon of war. A weapon isn’t dangerous unless it’s wielded, and no law commands you to use it for destruction. Remember, the Starsword also heals.”
Kieran paled with mortification. “You’re right, I was too hasty.” He held out his hand for the sword. “I’ll always treasure it; what I should have said was I won’t ever use it to do harm again.”
“I understand.” Chanter handed back the sword. “Your gesture was well meant, and well taken. Let this be a symbol of the past, a reminder of what has gone before. Let it never be raised in anger again.”
The Prince bowed his head. “It shall be so.”
Several hours passed before all the survivors of the Lake of Dreams emerged, and Talsy was horrified at their number. Less than a third of the Truemen had survived the gods’ testing, and they appeared timid and tearful, many comforting each other for the loss of friends and family. Queen Kamish survived, but neither Roth nor Ardel did, and only two of her men. Sheera emerged weeping, and clung to Shern afterwards. Few casualties had stricken the Aggapae, none of whom Talsy knew. King Ronos lost his son, Orland, but Merina survived, as did her son, Urlik. Kieran swept his mother into his arms and begged her forgiveness for his prior rejection, while she wept tears of joy and shame.
Drummer and Dancer came over to their father as he surveyed the people who sat, dull eyed, or wandered around aimlessly in the bitter wind. They stood patiently, joining him in his silent contemplation. Chanter turned from his perusal when Talsy spoke.
“They’re changed, aren’t they?”
He nodded. “For the moment they’re sad and confused, but with time they’ll grow to accept and value the lessons they’ve learnt. Tomorrow the Hashon Jahar will arrive.”
“How can you three destroy the Hashon Jahar? You refused to do it before, even when they threatened you. How can you do it now?”
“When they arrive here, it will be time. The souls they carry are unchosen, but their punishment is now over, and they long for release from their suffering. To have destroyed the Hashon Jahar before would have condemned the souls to be cast into the Lake of Fire, for they would not have paid their penance. Now it’s time for their redemption.”
“On the Plains of Redemption,” she murmured, astounded. “Is that why the gods named this place? Did they know what would happen here? When did they give it that name?”
The Mujar smiled and shook his head. “No, they didn’t plan this until they decided to test your people, and sent Mujar amongst them. The plain got its name long before, from the wingless silver bird that fell from the sky, and landed over there somewhere.” He gestured vaguely. “Its name was Redemption.”
“Really?” She gazed in the direction he had indicated. “Can we go and see it?”
“Not now. There’s not much to see, anyway, it’s been lying there for so long. When this is all over, I’ll show you.”
Talsy hid her disappointment and left the Mujar to find her friends and offer them comfort. The Aggapae’s horses found their riders at sunset, and the plains rang with joyful shouts and neighs of welcome. A cold and cheerless night stretched ahead, and the chosen huddled around guttering fires or crammed into the tents the horses had brought. Food and water were in short supply, but no one complained. As Talsy walked amongst them, she was struck by the gentle sadness in their eyes and the serenity on their faces. The chosen, it seemed, had discovered a whole new way of life, so much so that she wondered if they had not outstripped her in spiritual learning. She was invited into a tent with Sheera, Kamish, Danya, Merina, Urlik and three other women, packed together for warmth. All the tents were filled with women and children, while the men braved the cold and huddled around the fires.
In the tent, Sheera stared ahead with sad eyes, and Talsy sat beside her, putting a comforting arm around the old woman. The seer turned to smile at her, and Talsy was amazed at the tranquillity in her eyes.
“I don’t understand my test,” Sheera confided, “but I feel so much better now.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She nodded. “I think I was in a Pit, for it was dark and cold, but I could see the Mujar in the oil, hundreds of them. One held out his hand, and I tried to pull him from the oil, but he was very heavy, so much so that I feared I would be pulled in with him, so I let go. Immediately, I knew I had made a mistake. I had failed, so I reached out again and grabbed him. I pulled and pulled, even though I made no progress, and there were so many others, it seemed an impossible task. I wanted to run away, for I couldn’t help them, no matter how hard I tried.”
She sighed, and a tear crept down her weathered cheek. “But I didn’t want to give up, so I kept trying and trying. It seemed like days I spent there, and my arm was ready to drop off, when he came free and stood beside me. He was the one I loved, my Kuran, and he hugged me... I looked around at all the others, and reached out for another. He stopped me and said that one was enough, and I had found the courage I had lacked all those years ago, and that he’d forgiven me, even then.”
Talsy was mystified. “What did he mean?”
Sheera dabbed her eyes. “When he was taken to the Pits, they staked him out in the village for two days and nights. All I had to do was free him, but I was afraid. I thought the risk too great. I didn’t have the courage. I was too frightened for my own life.”
“I see. And you feel better now?”
Sheera nodded. “I found the courage I lacked, and I realised that saving him was more important than saving myself. I’ve been filled with guilt and sorrow, until now. And he forgave me, too. I never knew that. I always thought he would hate me for failing him.”
Talsy gave her a sympathetic hug. “I’m glad.”
“The next thing I knew, I was in this deserted village, wandering through the empty streets,” Sheera went on. “There was no one there, but Kuran walked beside me, and I held a golden chain that bound him to me. I was happy that he was with me, but he looked so sad. I asked him what he’d do if I let him go, and he said that he’d fly away. I didn’t want him to leave me. I would be alone without him, but I couldn’t bear to see him so miserable, so I took off the chain.”
“What happened?”
Sheera smiled. “He flew away, but I was glad he was free. And before he did, he told me his true name. He was called Drummer.”
Talsy nodded, glancing around at the other women, who all listened raptly to Sheera’s account. They looked away, none willing to share their experiences, probably from shame. Talsy knew what all the tests had been about, however. She did not need to hear their stories. Just as Chanter had told her, the people were tested for love, compassion, forgiveness and mercy in addition to the courage it took to put it into action. Recalling her experiences with Chanter on their long journey, she realised that she had passed all the same tests, in reality.
At dawn’s first light, Talsy crawled from the cramped tent onto frosty grass and froze with a gasp of surprise and dismay. A host of Hashon Jahar stood motionless not twenty paces from the tent. They waited in long lines, four deep, their skins rimed with frost. Only the wind’s faint keening broke the uncanny silence. The chosen who had woken before her regarded their former enemies doubtfully, and Talsy found that she too no longer feared the Black Riders. They surrounded the camp in a sea of stone, their numberless forms stretching away across the plateau and beyond, down onto the vast golden fields below. Ebon lances rested in their stirrups, each perfectly vertical and still. Only the flowing manes and tails of their steeds blowing in the wind gave them movement. Their blank stone faces stared ahead with empty eyes, and the lifeless steeds stood with lowered heads, as if finally exhausted.
Sheera crawled out of the tent behind her, gasped and grabbed Talsy’s arm. Her shock turned to wonder as she gazed at the Hashon Jahar, taking, as they all were, this rare opportunity to study the Riders up close. Curiosity drove Talsy to walk closer to one and study its peaceful stone visage’s noble features. Whose souls did it carry, she wondered, and how had they died? What atrocities had those empty eyes witnessed? Timidly she touched its armour-clad leg, sensing the sorrow it carried within its cold flesh. An icy drain tingled her fingertips, as though it sucked the life from her. She snatched her hand away and retreated, then paused to stroke the steed’s nose, as soft as a living horse, as cold as stone. It did not breathe, nor did a pulse beat in its neck, and no spark of life glowed in its empty eyes.
Shivering, she joined Kieran, who stood with the rest of the chosen, gazing at the Riders. She waited beside him, realising with a start that the horses had gone. No one broke the eerie silence of the Hashon Jahar, who awaited their destruction. How strange it was to stand so close to the creatures that had wiped out every other member of Truemankind, and not to fear them, she mused.
Talsy glanced up as a shadow passed overhead, and three eagles glided down to land on the grass. In a rush of Ashmar, they transformed together. Talsy longed to run to Chanter’s side, but something told her to stay where she was. He glanced back at her, shooting her a brief smile. At the Mujars’ arrival, a flicker of animation passed through the Riders. Many of the blank stone faces momentarily changed, revealing a glimpse of a soul’s tormented visage. In moments the ripple of reaction vanished, and the riders returned to their static state.
For what seemed like an eternity, the Mujar faced the Hashon Jahar. Only the wind’s soft keening disturbed the dream-like hush. Then Chanter looked at Drummer and made an enigmatic gesture, shattering the tableau’s stillness. Drummer plucked a great drum, made from carved wood and stretched hide, from the air. He set it on the ground before him, its top reaching his waist. Chanter and Dancer moved away from him, taking up positions with Dancer in the middle.
The wind died away, ending the faint, mournful keening of its song, and Drummer struck the drum. The boom rolled away into the silence, and he struck it again, beginning a slow, monotonous beat. Just as slowly, Dancer raised his hands to make the graceful Mujar gestures that had always puzzled Truemen. Their meaning was no clearer now, but their gravity and importance was obvious. His hands soared, fluttered, weaved and braided the air in a way that fascinated the eye. Drummer’s tempo quickened, and Dancer’s feet joined the stately grace of his hands, floating over the ground in a complicated pattern of steps.
The tempo increased again, and Dancer leapt and twirled with grace no ballet dancer could hope to emulate. All eyes were riveted to him, save Talsy’s, who tore her fascinated gaze from Dancer to watch Chanter. The oldest Mujar watched the dancer too, his eyes following the flowing movements of his elder son. Dancer performed the Dance of Destruction with tireless ease, his skin gleaming golden in the soft, reflected light of the rising sun, which had not yet risen above the mountains. Drummer’s beat increased yet again, and Dancer seemed to float above the ground, cleaving the air with whipping spins and lashing gestures that never faltered or lost their flow.
As the first ray of light probed through the snow-clad peaks and illuminated the plateau, Chanter turned to face the Hashon Jahar. His hands hung at his sides and his face was expressionless, but he filled his lungs and chanted words that had no meaning for the Trueman watchers. Each was clearly enunciated in a flat monotone that rose and fell only slightly on a disharmonic scale. He spoke god words. Talsy recognised the harsh language she had heard at the reading of the laws. He repeated the verses over and over again, sometimes with different inflections or words, and she wished she understood it. She found the rhythmic chanting hypnotic. The drumming numbed her brain and Dancer’s lithe grace was utterly captivating.
The verses ended, and his chant became what seemed like a story, a flat monologue without cadence or rhyme. Dancer’s feet flew over the ground in a floating whirlwind, and Drummer’s meter slowed. The Hashon Jahar stood unmoved and silent, but the chosen swayed to the beat, their eyes glazed.
Chanter’s story ended, and he switched back to the verses, then chanted single words in a slowing tempo. Drummer’s beats followed him, and the dancer’s steps slowed with it. A gasp went through the people as the sky filled with glowing multi-coloured arches that ringed the plateau with brilliant hues. Chanter and Drummer fell silent at the same instant, the last word and drumbeat fading into a deathly hush. Dancer froze in a crouched position and raised his head.
A pearly light rose from the Hashon Jahar, like mist rising from a lake. The light formed glowing spheres that drifted above the black statues, hundreds, thousands, then beyond number. The lights floated upwards, all moving in one direction. Those beyond the Mujar passed overhead, those behind the chosen moved away, heading for the Lake of Dreams. The chosen gaped at the drifting globes, as plentiful as stars in a clear night sky. Many people wept, touched by the joy that filled the air. Talsy turned to follow the souls’ progress as they entered the Lake of Dreams. They vanished into the dimension of soft misty light and pearly flowers, a peaceful realm untouched by the rigours of life.
When the last had vanished into the Land of the Dead, she turned back to the three Mujar who stood together, gazing at the sea of black statues. Chanter raised his hands and brought them together, then jerked them apart as if tearing some invisible substance. A thunderclap rolled across the valley, and the rainbows vanished as swiftly as they had appeared. As they did, the Hashon Jahar crumbled so swiftly Talsy was not sure if she had actually witnessed it, or whether she had blinked at that instant.
One moment the Riders and their steeds stood before her, the next they simply collapsed into a mass of rubble. A pall of black dust rose over them, hanging in the fresh morning air like a shadow. The faint rumble of their destruction faded, leaving behind another hush. Almost as quickly as the Black Riders had fallen, they melted away. The rubble soaked into the soil like sand into an hourglass’s waist. All around them, the mighty ocean of ebon rock dwindled, revealing the green grass of the plateau beneath. Within moments, no trace of the dead army remained, swallowed up by the earth that had birthed them, sucked down into the hot dark depths from which they had emerged.
A stunned silence followed, then the wind keened again, and the people seemed to awaken from a trance, glancing around. They sank down on the grass, too overwhelmed by what they had witnessed to voice their amazement. Their reeling minds clearly struggled to absorb the miracle that had taken place with such swift decisiveness. Talsy gazed around, taking in the historic scene. This dawn birthed a new day and a new era on this magical world. The banners of Prince, Staff and Mujar wound their long silken blue skeins, seeming to float in the cloudless sky. The perfection of the white-tipped peaks and velvet green slopes offset the gathered Truemen who had survived the rigours of testing.
The enormity of the occasion took her breath away, and she too sank down on the cool grass. She, Chanter and Kieran had changed the fate of Truemen and this world forever. An age seemed to pass before anyone moved, and then they found new miracles to astound their bewildered minds. Springs of fresh clear water bubbled from the grassy earth, and a flight of winged, multi-coloured creatures of this world glided down from the sky. They spread fragile wings to catch the sun and filled the air with musical cries.
After staring at them in stunned delight, Talsy jumped up and went to one of the beasts. She ran her hands over its silken skin, marvelling at its calm acceptance of her. It turned and dipped a wing to offer the fleshy fronds that grew on its back like feathers. She plucked one and ate it, its delicious scent stirring her appetite. Others, their thirst slaked, followed her example and plucked fronds from the beasts, which seemed to delight in their hunger. More and more creatures of this world arrived, some on wings, others on stilt-like legs, eager to share their nourishment. Their hoots and honks mingled with the people’s delighted laughter, and the atmosphere became reminiscent of a picnic.
“You like it?” A voice beside her made her jump, and she turned to find Chanter at her side. “This is the future,” he said, “the gods’ gift to their adopted children. Never will there be hunger again, no reason to hunt and kill, to shed innocent blood to fill the bellies of the more powerful. The creatures of this world will henceforth live amongst you, and their bounty will be yours. There are other kinds, who shed silken skins that you can use for clothing, and you can still take wool from your sheep and milk from your cows, but killing is forbidden on this world.”
She nodded. “It will be a paradise.”
“It’s always been a paradise. You just couldn’t see it.”
“What was your chant about? What did it mean?”
His smiled. “Always questions, my little clan. Is your curiosity never satisfied?”
“The wonders never cease.”
Chanter chuckled, then sobered. “The chant was the enumeration of their sins, their punishment, the foretelling of their future and the releasing of their souls. They’re at peace now, and will be reborn as chosen.”
“What will happen now?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. The chosen are free to return to their cities or build new ones, live their lives as they choose. But now they must obey the laws of this world. You may plough the land and reap what you sow, but not enslave horses to do it. You may eat the fruit of trees and shrubs, but not cut a living tree without the permission of the Kuran who guards it. You know the laws, they all do now.”
She gazed around at the happy scene, trying to remember when last she had seen so many people so joyful. “Your gods are wise.”
“All gods are wise, but some do things differently to others.”