The flock of crows wheeled up in wide circles, cawing loudly before settling back among the trees. There was little wind and the afternoon was close and hot. Under the trees it was cooler, for the leaves were so thick upon the birch and oak trees above that only a dapple of flickering sunlight filtered through to the forest floor below. A moving pattern of light that played over the three figures sprawled on the soft grass.
Even Herilak's massive strength was spent; his wounds had reopened and blood matted his hair and beard, spread wetly down his side. He lay back, eyes closed, drawing in breath after ragged breath.
Inlènu* lay opposite him, her position an unconscious mockery of his with her jaw gaping wide to cool herself after the unwelcome exertion in the heat.
Kerrick was not as exhausted as they were, so was well aware of what was happening, of where they were. In the foothills close above the shore. They had fled, running until Inlènu* could run no more, and when she had staggered to a halt Herilak had fallen as well. While they had been running Kerrick's panic had slowly ebbed away—but had been replaced by a heart-stopping fear.
What had he done?
The question was its own answer. He knew what he had done. He had destroyed himself. He had murdered the Eistaa. Now that the emotion was spent he could not understand what had possessed him to do such an insane thing. With that single thrust of the spear he had cut every bond that held him to the Yilanè, had set every Yilanè hand against him. The life he had known was ended, was as dead as Vaintè herself. Now he could never return to the comforts of Alpèasak, to the easy life he had known there. Ahead of him was only a blankness, an emptiness, with the only certainty that of death itself. Shivering with apprehension he turned and pushed a shrub aside and looked back down the slope. Nothing moved. There was no sign of any pursuit. Not yet—but they would certainly follow. The murderer of the Eistaa would not be allowed to escape unpunished.
He could not return. Not after what he had done. The past was dead. He was an exile now, a Yilanè among ustuzou. More alone than he had ever been before. The voice cut across his thoughts and it was long moments before he could understand the words.
"You did it well, Kerrick, a good clean thrust. Killed the one in command."
Kerrick's voice was numb with loss. "More than just the one in command. Leader, head of the city, sammadar of the city."
"Even better."
"Better? Her death will bring about my death!"
"Her? That ugly marag was female? It's hard to believe."
"They are all female. The males are kept locked away."
Herilak struggled up onto his elbows and looked coldly at Inlènu*. "That one too, a female?" he asked.
"All of them."
"Give me the spear. Then there will be one less."
"No!" Kerrick pulled the spear back before Herilak's groping fingers could find it. "Not Inlènu*. She's harmless, as much a prisoner as I am. You'll not kill her."
"Why not? Was it not her kind cut down my sammad, killed them all, every one? Give me the spear. I'll kill her and then you will be free. How far do you think you will be able to go bound to her like that?"
"You will not harm her, do you understand?" Kerrick was surprised at the warmth of his feeling towards Inlènu*. She had meant nothing to him before this. He had been aware of her only as a hindrance to his movements. But now her presence was somehow reassuring.
"If you won't kill her then use the edge of the spearhead. Cut yourself loose from the thing."
"This lead cannot be cut. See, the stone edge won't even scratch it." He sawed at the smooth, hard surface to no effect. "Some of your sammad escaped." Talk of this might make Herilak forget Inlènu* for the moment. "I was told this. I was also told that they were being followed."
"Do you know who they were? How many?"
"No. Just that some fled."
"Now I must think. Whoever they are, they will not go any further south. They will know better than that. They will return, back the way we came. Yes, that is what they will do. Backtrack, to the nearest water, the stream where we camped last night. We must go there as well." He looked up at Kerrick. "Have we been followed?"
"I have been watching. I don't think that any of them saw us escape. But they will come. They are good trackers. I will not be allowed to escape after what I have done."
"You worry without cause. They are not here yet. But we will not be safe until we are well away from the shore. They could still find us in these hills if, as you say, they know anything about tracking." He struggled to rise, and could only get to his feet with Kerrick's help. He rubbed the clotted blood from his eyes and looked about. "We go in that direction, along that valley. If we follow it north, then cross the ridge, we will come to the campsite by the stream. Now we leave."
They made slow progress the rest of the afternoon, since they were forced to proceed at Herilak's limping pace, going on steadily even though there was no sign of any pursuit. They were working their way up a grassy valley when Herilak stopped suddenly and raised his head to sniff the air.
"Deer," he said. "We need food. I don't think that we are being followed—but even if we are we must take the chance. You will bring a good-sized buck, Kerrick."
Kerrick looked at the spear, tested its weight in his hand. "I have not thrown a spear since I was a boy. I no longer have the skill."
"It will return."
"Not this day. You have the skill, Herilak. Do you have the strength?" He held out the spear and Herilak seized it.
"When I lack the strength to hunt I will be dead. Go to the stream there, under the trees, keep watch and wait until I return."
Herilak's back straightened as he tested the balance of the spear, then he trotted swiftly and silently away. Kerrick turned and led the way down to the stream where he drank his fill, then poured handfuls of water over his dusty body. Inlènu* knelt down and sucked water noisily between her pointed teeth, then squatted comfortably on the bank with her tail in the stream.
Kerrick envied her peace of mind, her stability at all times. It must be pleasant to be so stupid. She didn't question their presence here at all, had no concept of what might happen to her.
Kerrick knew what he had left behind—but the future was only a blank. He must come to terms with it: but it was too early to do that yet. How could he live away from the city? He knew nothing about this kind of rough existence. A boy's memories did not fit him for Tanu life. He wasn't even able to hurl a spear.
"A Yilanè comes," Inlènu* said and he sprang to his feet, terrified. Stallan and her hunters! This was his death. He drew back from the crackling in the underbrush—then swayed with relief when Herilak pushed his way through, a horned buck draped across his shoulders. He dropped it heavily and fell beside it.
Kerrick turned angrily to reproach Inlènu*—then realized that it was not her fault. To Inlènu* all those who talked were Yilanè. What she really meant to say, though she knew no way to express it, was that someone, some person, was approaching.
"I saw murgu," Herilak said, and Kerrick's fear returned. "They were in the next valley, going back towards the sea. I think that they have lost our trail. Now we will eat."
Herilak used the spear to open and gut the still-warm deer. Since they had no fire he cut out the liver first, divided it, and handed a piece to Kerrick.
"I am not hungry, not now," Kerrick said, looking down at the raw and bloody lump of flesh.
"You will be. Do not discard it."
Inlènu* was facing away from them, but her nearer eye moved and followed every motion Herilak made. He was aware of this and after he had eaten his fill he pointed a bloody finger at her.
"Does that thing eat meat?"
Kerrick smiled at the question and spoke swiftly, ordering Inlènu* to open her mouth. She did so, only her jaw moving. Herilak looked at the rows of glistening, pointed teeth and grunted.
"It eats meat. Should I feed it?"
"Yes, I would like that."
Herilak hacked off a forelimb and stripped most of the skin from it, then handed it to Kerrick.
"You feed it. I don't like its teeth."
"Inlènu* is harmless. Nothing but a stupid fargi."
Inlènu* closed her thumbs about the deer leg, then chewed slowly and powerfully on the tough meat, gazing blankly into the distance.
"What did you say it was?" Herilak asked.
"Fargi. It, well, I cannot say what the word means. Something like one who is learning to speak, but is not very good at it."
"Are you a fargi?"
"I am not!" Kerrick was insulted. "I am Yilanè. That is, although I am Tanu, I speak like a Yilanè so I am considered one. Was considered one."
"How did this happen? Do you remember?"
"Now I do. But I didn't, not for a long time."
His voice was halting, the words difficult to say, as he spoke aloud for the first time about what had happened to sammad Amahast. Relived the slaughter, the captivity, the fear of certain death and the unexpected reprieve. He stopped then because the words he spoke now did not seem capable of describing his years since that day.
Herilak was silent as well, understanding a little of what had happened to the boy Kerrick who had managed to live when all the others had died. A lone survivor who had somehow found a way to come to terms with the murgu. Who had learned their language and learned to live among them. He was a lot like them now, though he would not be aware of that. He moved about when he talked, then sat immobile when he was finished. They had done something to him; there was not a hair on his body. And he wore that pouch, made to look like his skin, as though they had taken away his maleness as well. Herilak's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden splash of water.
Kerrick heard it too and the color drained from his face. "They have found us. I am dead."
Herilak waved him to silence as he took up the spear, stood and faced downstream. There was more splashing, the sound of the bushes being pushed aside just around the bend. He raised the spear as the hunter appeared.
"It is Ortnar," he said, then called out.
Ortnar recoiled at the sound, then straightened and waved back. He was close to exhaustion, leaning on his spear as he came forward. Only when he was closer did he see Inlènu*. He seized up the spear to hurl it at her, was stopped only by Herilak's command.
"Stop. The marag is a prisoner. Are you alone?"
"Yes, now." He dropped heavily to the ground. He laid his bow and empty quiver aside, but kept his spear in his hand and looked angrily at Inlènu*. "Tellges was with me, we had been hunting when the murgu attacked, we were just returning to the sammad. We fought until our arrows were gone. They came at us with the death-sticks. There was nothing more we could do. All behind us were dead. I made him leave, but he hung back, did not run fast enough. They followed and he turned to fight. He fell. I came on alone. Now tell me—what are these creatures?"
"I am no creature, I am Tanu," Kerrick said angrily.
"Like no Tanu I have ever seen. No hair, no spear, tied to that marag…"
"Silence," Herilak ordered. "This is Kerrick, son of Amahast. His mother was my sister. He has been a prisoner of the murgu."
Ortnar rubbed his mouth with his fist. "I spoke in haste. This has been a day of death. I am Ortnar and I welcome you." His face twisted with an expression of grim humor. "Welcome to the sammad of Herilak, much reduced in numbers." He glanced up at the darkening sky. "There will be many new stars there tonight."
The sun was low now and the air was cool at this altitude. Inlènu* laid aside the well-gnawed bone and looked in Kerrick's direction.
"Humbly ask, low to high, where are the cloaks?"
"There are no cloaks, Inlènu*."
"I am cold."
Kerrick shivered as well, but not from the cold. "There is nothing I can do, Inlènu*, nothing at all."
Inlènu* died during the night. Kerrick woke at dawn, shivering with cold. There was a beading of dew on the grass and mist was rising from the stream. When he turned towards Inlènu* he saw that her mouth was gaping open, her eyes staring sightlessly.
The cold, he thought. She died in the night of the cold.
Then he saw the pool of blood under her head. A spearpoint had been thrust into her throat, silencing her and killing her. Who had done this cruel thing? Herilak was still asleep but Ortnar's eyes were open, staring coldly at him.
"You did this!" Kerrick cried out, jumping to his feet. "Murdered this harmless creature in her sleep."
"I killed a marag." His voice was insolent. "It is always a good thing to kill murgu."
Shaking with rage, Kerrick reached out and seized Herilak's spear. But he could not lift it; the big hunter held fast to the haft.
"The creature is dead," Herilak said. "That is the end of it. She would have died soon of the cold in any case."
Kerrick stopped tugging at the spear and sprang suddenly at Ortnar, seizing him by the throat with both hands, his thumbs digging deep into the hunter's windpipe. His own throat hurt where the collar cut in; he had dragged Inlènu*'s dead weight after him, but he paid it no heed. Ortnar writhed in his grasp and groped for his spear, but Kerrick jammed the man's arm against the ground with his knee, grinding down hard. Ortnar thrashed feebly, tearing at Kerrick's back with the nails of his free hand, but Kerrick felt nothing in his rage.
Ortnar would have been dead had not Herilak intervened. He seized Kerrick's wrists in his great hands and pulled them wide. Ortnar hoarsely gasped in breath after breath, then moaned and rubbed at the bruised flesh of his throat. Kerrick's blind anger faded and, as soon as he stopped struggling, Herilak released him.
"Tanu does not kill Tanu," he said.
Kerrick started to protest, then grew silent. It was done. Inlènu* was dead. Killing her murderer would accomplish nothing. And Herilak was right; the winter would have killed her in any case. Kerrick sat down by her still form and looked out into the sunrise. What did she matter to him anyway? Just a stupid fargi who was always in his way. With her death his last link with Alpèasak was severed. So be it. He was Tanu now. He could forget that he had ever been Yilanè.
Then he realized that he was holding the flexible lead that joined him to Inlènu*. He was not free yet. And this lead could not be cut, he knew that. With that came the realization that there was only one way that he could be freed. He looked up, horrified, into Herilak's face. The sammadar nodded with understanding.
"I will do what must be done. Turn away for you will not enjoy the sight."
Kerrick faced the stream, but he could clearly hear what was happening behind his back. Ortnar stumbled to the water to bathe his face and neck and Kerrick shouted insults at him, trying to drown out the sounds.
It was over quickly. Herilak wiped the neck-ring on the grass before handing it to Kerrick. Kerrick went swiftly to the stream and washed it over and over in the running water. When it was clean, he took it in both hands, stood and walked upstream away from the spot. He did not want to see what was lying back there.
When he heard the hunters approaching he turned quickly to face them; he had no desire to be killed from behind.
"This one has something to say," Herilak said pushing Ortnar forward. There was hatred in the small hunter's face and he touched his bruised throat when he spoke. His voice was hoarse.
"I was perhaps mistaken to kill the marag—but I am not sorry that I did it. The sammadar ordered me to say this. What is done is done. But you attempted to kill me, strange one, and that is something that is not easy to forget. But your bond to that marag was stronger than I knew—nor do I want to know more about it. So I say of my own free will that your back is safe from my spearpoint. How say you?"
The two hunters watched Kerrick in stern silence and he knew that he had to decide. Now. Inlènu* was dead and nothing could restore her life. And he could understand Ortnar's cold hatred after the destruction of his sammad. He, of all people, should be able to understand that.
"Your back is safe from my spear, Ortnar," he said.
"That is the end of the matter," Herilak said, and it was a command. "We shall talk of it no more. Ortnar, you will carry the deer's carcass. We will have a fire tonight and will eat well. Go with Kerrick, you know the path. Stop at midday. I will join you then. There is cover among those trees. If we are being followed by the murgu I will know it soon enough."
The two men walked in silence for some time. The track was easy to follow, the ground deeply scored by the poles of the travois, leading up the valley almost to its end, then over the ridge to the next valley. Ortnar was gasping for breath under the weight of his burden and called out when they came to the slow-moving stream on the valley's floor.
"Some water, strange-one, then we will go on."
He threw the deer down and buried his face in the stream, came up gasping.
"My name is Kerrick, son of Amahast," Kerrick said. "Do you find that too hard to remember?"
"Peace, Kerrick. My throat is still sore from our last encounter. I meant no insult, but you do look strange. You have just stubble instead of a beard or hair."
"It will grow in time." Kerrick rubbed at the bristles on his face.
"Yes, I imagine so. It just looks strange now. But that ring on your neck. Why do you wear it? Why not cut it off?"
"Here, you do it." Kerrick handed over the ring he was carrying and smiled as Ortnar sawed uselessly at the transparent lead with the edge of his spear point.
"It is smooth and soft—yet I cannot cut it."
"The Yilanè can do many things that we cannot. If I told you how it was made you would not believe me."
"You know their secrets? Of course, you must. Tell me of the death-sticks. We captured one but could do nothing with it. Finally it began to smell and we cut it open and it was a dead animal of some kind."
"It is a creature called a hèsotsan. They are a special kind of animals. They can move around like other animals when they are young. But when they grow old they become as you saw. They must be fed. Then darts are placed within them and when they are pressed in the correct manner the darts are fired out."
Ortnar's mouth hung open as he fought to understand. "But how can that be? Where are there animals like that?"
"Nowhere. That is the murgu secret. I have seen what they do, but I do not understand it myself. They can make animals do strange things. They know how to make them breed to do anything. It is hard to explain."
"Even harder to understand. It is time to go. Now it is your turn to carry the deer."
"Herilak ordered you to carry it."
"Yes—but you are going to help eat it."
Ortnar smiled as he said this and in spite of himself Kerrick smiled back. "All right, give it to me. But you'll get it back soon enough. Didn't Herilak say we would have a fire?" His mouth was suddenly wet with spittle at the memory. "Cooked meat—I had forgotten what it was like."
"Then the murgu eat all their meat raw?" Ortnar asked as they started up the track again.
"No. Well, yes and no. It is softened in some way. You get used to it."
"Why don't they roast it properly?"
"Because…" Kerrick stopped in his tracks at the thought. "Because they don't make fires. I never realized that before. I guess they don't need fires because where they live it is always warm. Sometimes at night when it is cool, or on wet days, we wrap—there is no word for it—warm things around us."
"Skins? Fur robes?"
"No. Living creatures that are warm."
"Sounds disgusting. The more I hear about your murgu the more I detest them. I don't know how you could bear living with creatures like that."
"I had little choice," Kerrick said grimly, then walked on in silence.
Herilak joined them soon after they had reached their stopping place for the night.
"The trail behind is empty. They have turned back."
"Cooked meat!" Ortnar said, smacking his lips together. "But I wish we had brought the fire with us."
These words touched a memory that Kerrick had long forgotten. "I used to do that," he said. "Keep the fire in the bow of the boat."
"That is a boy's work," Herilak said. "As a hunter you must make your own fire. Do you know how to do it?"
Kerrick hesitated. "I remember seeing it done. But I have forgotten. It was so long ago."
"Then watch. You are Tanu now and must know these things if you are to be a hunter."
It was a slow process. Herilak broke a branch from a long-dead and dried tree, then carefully cut and rounded a length of stick from it. While he did this, Ortnar searched deeper in the forest and returned with a handful of dry and moldy wood. He shredded and pounded this into a fine powder. When Herilak had finished the stick to his satisfaction he scraped another length of the wood flat, then drilled a shallow hole in it with his spearpoint.
When the preparations were done Herilak took Ortnar's bow and wrapped the bowstring about the carefully fashioned stick. He sat on the ground, held the length of wood steady with his feet, then placed the pointed tip of the stick into the hole in the wood and began to draw the bow back and forth to make it spin. Ortnar pushed some of the powdered wood into the hole while Herilak spun the stick as fast he could. A tiny thread of smoke twisted up, then died away. Herilak gasped with the effort and sat back.
The next time he spun the stick the wisp of smoke became a tiny spark of flame. They dropped more wood-dust upon it, blew carefully, cupped it between their hands as the flame grew, laughing with pleasure. They built the fire high, adding more and more wood, then let it die back to a bed of glowing coals. Soon the meat was roasting in the coals and Kerrick breathed in the cooking odors that he had completely forgotten.
They burnt their fingers on the hot meat, hacked off great pieces, ate and ate until their faces ran with grease and sweat. Rested, then ate some more. Kerrick could not remember having eaten anything so good in his entire life.
That night they slept with their feet to the banked fire, warm and content, their stomachs full.
Kerrick woke during the night when Herilak got up to put more wood on the fire. The stars were bright points of light in the black sky, the star-group of the Hunter just above the horizon in the east. For the first time since their escape Kerrick was at peace, feeling the security of the hunters on both sides of him. They had not been followed. They were safe from the Yilanè.
Safe from the Yilanè? Would that ever be possible? He knew as these hunters did not how ruthless their enemy was. How strong. The raptors would fly and find every Tanu in every valley and meadow; nowhere could they be safe. The armed fargi would attack again and again until all the Tanu were dead. There was no possible escape. Nor could he sink back again into the blank escape of sleep.
Kerrick lay there awake, possessed by the knowledge of certain destruction. He watched as the sky lightened in the east and the stars vanished one by one. The new day had begun. The first day of his new life.
Kerrick's feet were swollen and sore after the long walk the day before. Sitting on a large boulder, chewing a lump of tough yet delicious meat, he bathed them in the cool water of the stream. Although his soles were thickly callused and tough he was unaccustomed to walking on stony ground. Now his feet were scratched and cut and he was not looking forward to the strenuous day that lay ahead. Herilak saw what he was doing and pointed to the long gash that cut through the callus of Kerrick's right foot. "We must do something about that." He and Ortnar were wearing flexible but strong madraps, made from two pieces of cured leather that had been carefully sewn together with lengths of gut. They did not have the materials here to fashion anything for him this complex—but there were other raw materials close to hand. Herilak found stones that would chip correctly and hammered off small, sharp flakes. Under his direction Ortnar removed the deer's skin, then scraped the adhering flesh from it in the running water. Herilak cut squares and strips from this, put the larger pieces around Kerrick's feet and bound them into place with the thin lengths.
"Good enough for now," he said. "By the time the skin gets stiff and starts to stink we will be far away from here." Kerrick picked up the rest of the discarded deerskin and found that it would just fit around his waist, where it could be held in place with a prong of the deer's horn. He scraped it clean of flesh, as he had seen Ortnar do, then took off the soft skin pouch that he had worn for so many years. It lay limply in his hand, the adhering suckers inside it gleaming wetly. With sudden revulsion he hurled it into the stream. That life was behind him forever; he was Tanu now.
But when he turned he tripped over the ring that had been around Inlènu*'s neck for all those years, that was still attached to the ring about his own neck. He held it out before him, loathing its smooth transparency and its solid strength. In sudden anger he smashed it down on the rock that rose from the stream bed, seized up another rock and beat at it until the anger died. It was not even scratched.
Ortnar looked on with interest, stretched out his hand and rubbed it over the unmarked surface.
"Won't cut, won't scratch. Stronger than stone. I've never seen anything like it. Water won't soften it?"
"No, nothing."
"Even hot water, boiling water?"
"I've never tried. We had nothing like that in the city. You can't boil water without fire…"
As soon as Kerrick had spoken the words he stiffened, looking down at the ring and its flexible lead, then slowly raised his eyes to the smoking fire on the shore. Not water, even boiling water. But something that the Yilanè knew nothing about.
Fire.
It might just be possible. The substance wasn't stone or metal. It might melt, or char, soften perhaps. If this happened it might then be weak enough to cut. Ortnar saw the direction of Kerrick's gaze and struck his hands together with enthusiasm.
"Why not? Fire might do something to it. You said the murgu don't have fire."
"They don't."
"Let me try."
Ortnar picked up the discarded ring at the other end of the lead and stepped over to the smoking ashes of the fire, poked it down into them.
Nothing happened. Kerrick looked on gloomily when he took it out and brushed the ashes from the smooth surface. It was unmarked—but he burnt his fingers. Ortnar sucked at them, then spat out bits of charcoal. Still determined he stirred the fire with a stick until it flamed up. When the stick began to burn he touched it to the ring.
Screamed and dropped it as it burst into scorching flame, crackling and exploding.
Kerrick saw the flame gush out surrounded by a growing cloud of black smoke, the ring burning, the fire flashing up the lead towards his face.
Unthinking, he hurled himself backward, away from the scorching heat. Fell splashing into the stream.
When he spluttered and rose to his feet again he saw the red weal across his arm and midriff where the burning lead had touched his body. It ended on his chest. With wondering fingers he touched the stub of the lead that ended there as well.
It was gone. This connection that had dominated his life, this restraint that had been with him all those long years. It was gone. He stood up straight, not feeling the burns, aware only that a great burden had been removed. His last tie with the Yilanè severed.
As they rubbed deer fat onto their burns, Ortnar pointed to the length of lead still hanging from the ring on Kerrick's neck.
"We could burn that off too. You could lie in the water, just that much above the surface, I could get some burning wood…"
"I think we've done enough for one day," Kerrick said. "We'll wait until the burns heal before trying anything like this again."
Ortnar kicked the hot metal ring into the water. When it had cooled he examined it with great interest, rubbing it with a stone. "It shines like skymetal. They have great skills, the murgu, to fit it about your flesh like that." He reluctantly gave the ring to Kerrick when he reached out for it.
"It was molded in place by one of their animals," he said.
"You will keep it?"
There was hope in Ortnar's voice and Kerrick almost gave the ring back to him. But as he clutched it in his hands he felt the same repulsion that he had when he took off the breech covering for the last time.
"No. It is Yilanè, murgu." He threw it out into the stream where it splashed and sank. "I still wear one about my neck. That is enough to have."
They were ready now to leave, but Herilak stood, leaning on his spear, looking back the way they had come.
"If more had escaped they would be here by now," he said. "And we have been running like frightened women. Now we must stop and consider our trail ahead. Tell me about the murgu, Kerrick, what are they doing now?"
"I do not understand."
"Are they still following us? Are they waiting still on the beach where they attacked?"
"No, they will have gone by now. They were hunting for food and had brought very little preserved meat with them. The object of the expedition was to come this far north to destroy the sammad. Then return. Nothing would be accomplished by remaining here. With the Eistaa's death no one else would be in command. There would have been a lot of confusion and they would certainly have returned to the city by now."
"That is what the main body would have done. But would there be others left behind to search for us?"
"There might be. Stallan might be doing that—no. Of all of them she is the one who was closest to second in command. She would surely have ordered their return."
"Then you believe they are gone?"
"Almost certainly."
"That is good. We will return to the shore."
Kerrick felt a thrust of fear at the words. "They may be hiding, waiting for us."
"You just assured me—that they would not."
"We are hunters," Ortnar said. "We will know if they are there."
"We have no reason…"
"Every reason." Herilak was firm now, once more in command. "We have two spears, one bow without arrows, nothing more. When the snow falls we will die. All that we need is back there. We return."
They went fast, too fast for Kerrick. It was too much like returning to certain death. By dusk they were in the foothills above the shore and could see the ocean beyond.
"Ortnar, you will go carefully," Herilak ordered. "Without sound, unseen. Look carefully for any sign of the murgu."
Ortnar shook his spear in acknowledgment, turned and slipped away through the trees. Herilak settled down comfortably in the shade and promptly went to sleep. Kerrick was too upset to do anything other than worry, to look towards the shore and let his fear populate the forest with stalking Yilanè.
The sun was below the horizon when a bird called out from the valley below. Herilak was instantly awake; cupping his hands to his mouth he answered the call. There was a crackling in the brush and Ortnar came into view running easily up the slope.
"Gone," he said. "Gone the way they came."
"You can't be sure," Kerrick said. Ortnar looked at him scornfully.
"Of course I am sure. I found no fresh tracks. And the carrion birds were everywhere—and they are quick to take fright. And I searched as well." His drawn face spoke louder than words. He pointed to the arrows that now filled his quiver. "Everything we need is there."
"We go now," Herilak announced.
It was well after dark when they reached the site of the massacre, but the gibbous moon's cold light enabled them to find the way. The crows and buzzards were gone with the daylight and now the mantle of darkness concealed the worst horrors of the massacre. The smell of decay was already strong. Kerrick stood on the shore, looking out to sea, while the others searched for what was needed. He turned back reluctantly to face the slaughter only when Herilak called to him.
"Put these on," the sammadar said. "They belonged to a great hunter. May they bring you good fortune."
There were fur leggings with solid leather soles, a cape, belt, and other heavy garments. Too warm for the summer, but they would make the difference between life and death when the snows came. A long spear, stout bow, arrows. Kerrick made a bundle of the things he would not wear and put it with the other bundles and baskets they were taking. Herilak had taken some of the crosspoles from one of the large mastodon travois and made a smaller one that they could pull. Everything they needed was now lashed into place upon it.
"We go now," he said, his voice grim as death with the dead of the sammad on all sides of him. "We will never forget what the murgu have done here."
They walked until the moon set, taking turns between the shafts of the travois, until they were too tired to go any farther. Kerrick still feared that Yilanè hunters were searching for him, but so great was his fatigue that he fell asleep while he was worrying and did not stir until dawn.
Herilak unlashed a bag of ekkotaz from the travois and they dipped out handfuls of the delicious mixture, dried berries and nutmeat, pounded together. Kerrick had been a boy when he last tasted it and childhood memories flooded back as he licked it from his fingers. It was good to be Tanu. But even as he thought this he was scratching at his waist, over and over. When he pulled the fur back he saw the red bites. His skin crawled as he realized that the brave hunter who had last worn these furs had been infested with fleas. Suddenly being Tanu was not that pleasant. His back was sore from lying on the hard ground, his muscles ached from the unaccustomed exercise—and if that wasn't enough there was a sudden spasm of pain in his midriff. The burnt and tough meat was not sitting too well in his stomach; he hurried behind the nearest clump of bushes.
Racked with cramps he saw the flea crawl across his discarded garments. He cracked it between his fingernail, then wiped his fingers disgustedly on the grass. He was filthy and sore, flea-infested and ill. What was he doing here with these crude ustuzou? Why wasn't he in Alpèasak? He had been comfortable there, at peace, close to the Eistaa. Why couldn't he return? Vaintè was dead of a spear thrust—but who in the city knew that he had wielded the spear? He hadn't been seen. Why couldn't he go back?
He washed himself well, then went a few paces upstream to drink. On. the bank the two hunters were lashing the load back onto the travois. They could go on without him.
But did he want to go back to Alpèasak? For years he had been thinking of escape from the city—and now he was free. Wasn't that what he had always wanted? That was the Yilanè's world, not his. There was no place for him there.
But was there a place for him among the Tanu?
He stood knee-deep in the cool water, his fists clenched. Lost. Belonging neither to one world nor the other. Outcast and alone.
Herilak called out to him, his words cutting through Kerrick's dark thoughts. He waded ashore, then pulled his garments slowly on.
"We leave now," Herilak said.
"Where do you go?" Kerrick asked, still torn by conflicting feelings.
"West. To find other hunters. To return with them and kill murgu."
"They are too strong, too many."
"Then I will be dead and my tharm will join the tharms of the other hunters in my sammad. But first I will have avenged them. It is a good way to die."
"There are no good ways to die."
Herilak looked at him in silence, understanding something of the conflicting emotions that Kerrick was feeling. Those years of captivity must have done strange things to the boy who was now a man. But the years were there, they could not be taken away. There was no going back. The way ahead might be hard—but it was the only way.
Herilak reached up to his neck and slowly lifted the leather thong with the pendant skymetal knife over his head, then held it out.
"This was your father's. You are his son for you still wear the smaller boy's knife made at the same time. Hang this one about your neck beside it. Wear it now to remind you of his death and the death of your sammad. And who killed them. Feel hatred in your heart and the knowledge that you seek vengeance as well."
Kerrick hesitated, then reached out and took the knife, held it, then clenched his fist tightly about its hard shape.
There could be no going back to Alpèasak. Ever. He must teach himself to feel only hatred towards the murderers of his people. He hoped that would come.
But now all he felt was a terrible emptiness inside.
Es mo tarril drepastar, er em so man drija.
If my brother is wounded, I will bleed.
The hunting was very bad. Ulfadan had been out since before dawn and had little to show for it. A single rabbit hung from his belt. It was young and scrawny, with scarcely enough meat on its bones to feed a single person. How was his entire sammad to eat. He came to the edge of the forest and stopped under a large oak, looking out at the grassland beyond. He dared go no further.
Here there were murgu. From here to the end of the world, if the world had an end, there were only these despised and frightening creatures. Some made good eating, he had once tasted the meat from the leg of one of the smaller murgu with bills that grazed in vast herds. But death was always waiting for the hunter who sought them out. There were poisonous murgu in the grass, snakes of all sizes, many-colored and deadly. Worse still were the giant creatures whose roars were like thunder, whose tread shook the ground like an earthquake. As he always did when he thought of murgu, though he did not realize it, his fingers touched the tooth of one of these giants that hung on his chest. A single tooth almost as long as his forearm. He had been young and stupid when he retrieved it, risking death to show his bravery.
From the trees he had seen the marag die, seen the repulsive carrion eaters that quarreled and tore at the creature's body. Only after dark had he dared to leave the shelter of the trees, to pry this single tooth from the gaping jaws. Then the night-murgu had appeared and only chance had saved his life. The long white scar on his thigh was witness that he had not returned unharmed. No, there was no game to be sought beyond the protection of the trees.
But the sammad must eat. Yet the food they searched and hunted for was growing scarcer and scarcer. The world was changing and Ulfadan did not know why. The alladjex told them that ever since Ermanpadar had shaped Tanu from the mud of the river bed the world had been the same. In the winter they went to the mountains where the snow lay deep and the deer were easy to kill. When the snow melted in the spring they followed the fast streams down to the river, and sometimes to the sea, where fish leaped in the water and good things grew in the earth. Never too far south though, for only murgu and death waited there. But the mountains and the dark northern forests had always provided everything that they had needed.
This was no longer true. With the mountains now wrapped in endless winter, the herds of deer depleted, the snow in the forests lying late into the spring, their timeless sources of food were no more. They were eating now, there were fish enough in the river at this season. They had been joined at their river camp by sammad Kellimans; this happened every year. It was a time to meet and talk, for the young men to find women. There was little of this now for although there was enough fish to eat there was not enough to preserve for the winter. And without this supply of food very few of them would see the spring.
There was no way out of the trap. To the west and east other sammads waited, as hungry as his and Kellimans'. Murgu to the south, ice to the north—and they were trapped between them. No way out. Ulfadan's head was bursting with this problem that had no solution. In agony he wailed aloud like a trapped animal, then turned and made his way back to the sammad.
From the top of the grassy slope that led down to the river, nothing looked amiss. The dark cones of the leather tents stretched along the river bank in a ragged row. Figures moved about between the tents and smoke rose from the fires. Close by him one of the tethered mastodons raised its trunk and bellowed. Further along the shore some women could be seen scratching at the earth with their fire-hardened sticks, digging up edible roots. The roots were good food now. But what would happen when the ground froze again? He knew what would happen and he thrust the thought from him.
Naked children ran screaming, splashed in the water. Old women sat in the sun before their tents plaiting baskets from willow and reeds. As he walked by the tents Ulfadan's face was set and stern, unreadable. One of his smaller sons hurried up to him, bursting with an important message.
"Three hunters are here, from another sammad. One of them is very funny."
"Take this rabbit to your mother. Run."
The hunters were sitting around a fire, taking puffs in turn from a stone-bowled pipe. Kellimans was there, and Fraken the alladjex, old and withered, but respected greatly for his knowledge and healing powers. The newcomers rose in greeting when he appeared. One of them he knew well.
"I greet you, Herilak."
"I greet you, Ulfadan. This is Ortnar of my sammad. This is Kerrick, son of Amahast, son of my sister."
"You have food and drink?"
"We have eaten and drunk. Ulfadan's generosity is well-known."
Ulfadan joined the circle about the fire, took the pipe when it was passed to him and inhaled deeply of the pungent smoke. He wondered about the strange hunter without hair, who should have been dead with the rest of his sammad but was not. He would be told at the proper time.
Other hunters were also curious about the newcomers and came and sat in a circle about them, for this was the way of the sammad.
Herilak was no longer as formal as he once had been. He waited until the pipe had passed only once before he spoke.
"The winters are long, and we know that. The food is scarce and we know that. Now all in my sammad are dead except two."
There was a silence among the hunters after he had spoken these terrible words, wails of agony from the women who listened outside the circle. Many had relations who had married into Herilak's sammad. More than one looked up at the eastern sky where the first stars were beginning to appear. When Herilak spoke again no sound disturbed him.
"It is known that I went with my hunters so far south that there was no snow and it was hot in the winter, to the place where there are only murgu. It was my thought that murgu had killed Amahast and all in his sammad. My thought was correct for we found murgu that walk like men and kill with death-sticks. It was one of their death-sticks that I found among the bones of sammad Amahast. We killed the murgu we found there, then returned north. Now we knew that death lay to the south and we knew what kind of death it was. But we were hungry this last winter and many died. In the summer the hunting was bad, as you know. So I took the sammad south along the coast because of the hunger. I led the hunters farther south for the easy hunting there. We knew of the danger. We knew that the murgu might attack us too, but without food we would be dead anyway. We were on our guard and there was no attack. It was only after we turned back that they fell upon us. I am here. Ortnar is here. The rest are dead. With us is Kerrick who is the son of Amahast, captured by the murgu, now free at last. He knows much about the murgu ways."
There was a loud murmur of interest then and movement among those listening as those to the back tried to get a clear view of Kerrick. They pointed out his lack of hair and the shining ring about his neck, and the skymetal knives that hung there. He stared straight ahead and said nothing. When they were silent again Kellimans spoke.
"These are days of death for the Tanu. The winter kills us, the murgu kill us, other Tanu kill us."
"Is it not enough to be killed by the murgu? Must we fight one another?" Herilak asked.
"It is the long winter and the short summer that we must battle against," Ulfadan said. "We came to this place because the deer are gone from the mountains. But when we tried to hunt here the bowmen of many sammads from beyond the mountains drove us away. We have little food now and in the winter we will starve."
Herilak shook his head sadly. "That is not the way. The murgu are the enemy, not the Tanu. If we battle one another our end is certain."
Kellimans nodded agreement as Ulfadan spoke next. "I believe as you do, Herilak, but this is not of our doing. It is the other sammads you must speak with. If it were not for them we would hunt and not starve. They come from beyond the mountains and they are many and very hungry. They push us back and we cannot hunt. They would see us die."
Herilak dismissed his words with a chop of his hand. "No, that is wrong. They are not the cause of your woes. The hunting must be just as bad beyond the mountains or they would not have come here. The Tanu have two enemies. The winter that does not end—and the murgu. Together they are uniting to destroy us. We cannot battle against the winter. But we can kill murgu."
Others raised their voices then and joined the argument, but were silenced when Fraken began to speak. They respected the old man's knowledge and healing powers and hoped that he could show them some answer to their problems.
"The murgu are like the leaves and as numberless as leaves. You tell us that they have the death-sticks. How can we fight against creatures like this? And why should we? If we risk death fighting them—what do we win? It is food and not warfare that we must have."
There was a murmur of approval when he finished speaking. Only Herilak seemed to disagree.
"It is food you must have, revenge that I will have," he said grimly. "A way must be found to kill these murgu to the south. When they are dead there will be good hunting down the coast."
There was much discussion and crosstalk after this, but nothing could be decided. In the end Herilak signed to Ortnar and they rose and left. Kerrick watched them go—but hesitated to follow them. His lust for revenge did not match theirs. If they did not call to him maybe he would not have to join them. He could stay here by the fire and join the talk with the other hunters. Perhaps he might even stay here with this sammad and hunt and forget the murgu.
But this was not the answer. He knew what the others here did not. He knew that the Yilanè would not forget him nor the rest of the Tanu. Their hatred ran too deep. They would send out the raptors and find every sammad and would not rest until they had all been destroyed. Ulfadan and Kellimans and their people feared only the winter and their hunger and the other Tanu—when the certain killer was just over the horizon.
No one took notice when Kerrick picked up his spear and left. He found his two companions at a fire of their own and he joined them there. Herilak poked at the fire with a stick, looking deep into it as though searching for an answer among the flames.
"We are only three," he said. "We cannot fight the murgu alone—but we will if we have to." He turned to Kerrick. "You know about the murgu—which we do not. Tell us of them. Tell us how they wage war."
Kerrick rubbed his jaw in thought before he spoke. Slowly and hesitatingly. "It is not easy to talk of. You will have to know about their city first, and how they are ruled. You must understand the fargi and the Yilanè and just how they go about doing things."
"Then you will tell us," Herilak said.
Kerrick found it difficult at first to speak of things in Tanu that he had never thought of in that language. He had to find new words for scenes he was familiar with, new ways of describing concepts totally alien to these hunters. They questioned him over and over again about things they could not understand. In the end they had some idea of how the Yilanè society worked, although they had little idea why it did so.
Herilak stared in silence at his clenched fists where they rested on his thighs, seeking to grasp the meaning of what he heard. In the end he had to shake his head.
"I will never understand the murgu and I think that I will not try. It is enough to know what they do. The large bird flies high to watch us, then returns and tells them where a sammad is so they can attack it. Is that right?"
Kerrick started to protest—then changed his mind and nodded agreement. The details were not important as long as they had some understanding of what the Yilanè were doing. "When they know where a sammad has stopped they prepare an attack. Fargi with weapons go out on the boats. They come from the sea suddenly and kill everything as you know."
"But you spoke of more than that," Herilak said. "Do they not camp on the shore the night before they attack?"
"Yes, that is the way that they do it. They stop as close as they can, spend the night, then leave their food supplies behind them in order to attack at dawn on the following morning."
"Do they always do it this way?"
"Always? I don't know. I've only been with them twice. But, just a moment, that doesn't matter. The way they think, the way they do things, they would do it the same every time. As long as something is successful they will not change it."
"Then we must find a way of using that knowledge to destroy them in turn."
"How will you do that?" Ortnar asked.
"I do not know yet. We must think about it and plan until we find a way. We are hunters. We know how to stalk our prey. We will find a way to stalk and kill the murgu."
Kerrick had been silent, lost in thought, seeing the destruction of a sammad as no one else could. He had once been on the shore when the attack had come, could still feel the horror when the dark forms had appeared from the sea. But he had also been there with the attackers, traveled from Alpèasak. He had watched the preparations for the attack, had listened to the orders and knew exactly how it all had been done. Now he had to combine these two opposite points of view and find some way of turning things around.
"Turn it around," he said aloud. Then shouted it again when they looked up at him. "Turn it around! But in order to do that we will need Ulfadan and Kellimans and their sammads. We must explain to them, make them understand and help us. Here is what we will then do. We will march south with the sammads and hunt. The hunting will be good and there will be much food. But once we go south our presence is sure to be discovered by the murgu, for they will be told about us by the great bird. But we will keep close watch and when we see the great bird we will also know what is going to happen. When we see the bird we must send out hunters to watch the beaches. Then we will know when the attack is coming and we will be ready. Instead of running we will fight and kill them."
"That is dangerous," Herilak said. "If we take the sammads we will be risking the lives of the women and the children, all those who cannot fight. There must be a better plan or these sammads will not take the risk of coming with us. Think again. Wasn't there something you told me that was very important, something about the night? The murgu don't like to go about at night?"
"I don't think it is just like that. Their bodies are different from ours. They must sleep at night, always. It is the way they are."
Herilak jumped to his feet, roaring with sudden enthusiasm. "The way we are we sleep at night as well—but we do not have to, not all of the time. So this is the thing that we will do. We will talk to the hunters and convince them that they should go south along the shore and hunt because of the coming hunger. In this way the sammads will get food for the winter. But while we are hunting we will watch always for the great bird that speaks to the murgu. When the bird sees us we will then send hunters to hide where they can watch the beaches to the south. When the murgu stop for the night we will know where they are. We will then come forward during the darkness. The hunters only. We will go in silence and in silence come to the beaches."
He clenched his fists and slammed them together. "Then we will fall upon them in the night. We will spear them while they sleep, rout them, kill them just as they have killed us." Afire with enthusiasm he rose and walked rapidly back to the circle of hunters. "They must be told. They must be convinced."
It was not an easy thing to do. Ortnar and Kerrick joined him and explained the idea over and over again. About how the murgu attacked and how they could be defeated. They repeated themselves and explained exactly how they could hunt and get food for the winter. And kill murgu.
Ulfadan was greatly troubled by all this, as was the other sammadar. It was too new an idea—and too dangerous a one.
"You are asking me to risk all of our lives on this plan," Ulfadan said. "You ask us to stake our women and our children out like bait for a longtooth to take so that it can be speared. This is a great deal to ask."
"It is—and it is not," Herilak said. "Perhaps you have no choice. Without food few will last the winter. And you cannot hunt here. Come south, we know the hunting is good there."
"We know the murgu are there."
"Yes—but this time we will be on the lookout for them. If you like, we will not wait until we see the great bird, but will have hunters always hidden on the beaches ahead. They will warn of any attack. When the murgu reach the beach we will know the attack is near. The warning will be given. In that way the tents and all else can be loaded on the travois during the night, the boys will drive the mastodons inland away from the shore, taking the women and all the small children with them. They will be out of danger that way. It is a risk, but it is a risk that you will have to take. Either that or die in the snows this winter. Without food none of you will see the spring."
"You speak harshly, Herilak," Kellimans said angrily.
"I speak only the truth, sammadar. The decision is up to your people. We have said what we have to say. Now we will leave."
It was not decided that night, nor the next day nor the next. But then it began to rain, a heavy rain that was blown about gustily by the cold wind from the north. Autumn would be coming early again this year. The food supplies were low and they all knew it. The three strangers sat apart from the others and were aware that people who passed looked at them with worry, many of the hunters with hatred as well for forcing this choice upon them.
In the end they began to realize that they had no choice at all. There was much wailing among the women when the tents were taken down and loaded on the travois. There was none of the usual excitement when a trek began. They might have been walking to their deaths. Perhaps they were. Subdued and wet they marched east through the driving rain.
In the excitement of breaking camp Kerrick had been too busy to think about all the dangers that the future might hold. Unexpected memories had filled him with mixed emotions as the travois were lashed to the complacent mastodons. It was a wonderful sight when the great beasts leaned into their harnesses and pulled the creaking wooden frames slowly and steadily after them. They were piled high with tents and baggage, the children and babies sitting on top of everything. When the march began the hunters had fanned out ahead, scouring the barren country for any game they might find along the way. The sammad would not come together again until they met at the campsite in the evening, the hunters drawn by the fires and smell of cooking food.
For the first few days there was a great fear of what lay ahead, of the deadly murgu who would be stalking them. But the Tanu were fatalists, they had to be, for life changed constantly. They had always been at the mercy of the weather, the food that might not be there, the hunting that might fail. They were leaving behind starvation and certain death, had exchanged that for food and the possibility of continued existence. It was a fair enough bargain and their spirits rose as the days stayed warm and the hunting improved.
They even accepted Kerrick after the first few days, though the children still pointed at his iron collar and laughed at his bare head and face. But stubble was growing there, a finger's length on his skull already, though his beard was wispy and thin. He was still clumsy with the spear and an awful shot with the bow—but he was improving. He was beginning to feel that the world was a good place to be alive in.
That is until they came to the ocean.
The first sight of the blue water filled Kerrick with a sense of dread so powerful that he stopped in his tracks. There was no one else in sight for he was well away from the low valley that the mastodon-drawn travois were following, nor were there any other hunters nearby at the time. With the fear came the desire to turn and run. Only death lay ahead. How could this handful of hunters imagine that they could stand up to the horde of armed fargi? He wanted only to flee, hide, seek refuge in the mountains. To go forward was certain suicide.
Warring with this overpowering emotion was the realization that he could not possibly leave at this time. This was too cowardly an action to contemplate. After all, he had helped originate the plan so he had little or no choice; he must follow it through. Yet the fear remained and it was with only the utmost reluctance that he could force himself to take a single shuffling step forward. Then another and another, until he was walking again, miserable and fearful—but still moving.
They halted close to the shore that evening. Even before the travois were unloaded the boys were already fishing in the brackish lagoon, baiting their bone hooks with earthworms. The waters were thick with hardalt, the small carapaced squid eager to take the bait. There was much shouting and laughter as they brought back their tentacled catch. They were quickly pried from their shells, gutted and sliced, were soon sizzling over the fires. Although tough and strong-flavored they were a welcome change of diet.
Kerrick spat out a gristly unchewable bit and wiped his fingers on the grass, stood and stretched. Did he have room for any more? He looked towards the fire—then caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. A seabird floating overhead.
No. He looked up at the great span of the creature's wings, the white of its breast red now in the setting sun, and stood frozen. It was here already. He could not see the black lump with its never-sleeping eye looking down at them from the raptor's leg—but he knew that it was there. Lower and lower it came, down towards the encampment. With an effort Kerrick broke the paralysis and hurried to Herilak sitting by the fire.
"It is here," he said. "Flying above us. They will now know about us…"
There was panic in Kerrick's voice which Herilak wisely ignored. His own words were quietly spoken and grim.
"This is very good. Everything is working just as we planned."
Kerrick had none of his assurance. He tried not to watch the bird as it circled above them, knowing that the pictures it would bring back would be carefully examined. The Tanu must show no obvious interest in it, no knowledge that they were aware of its function. Only when it had finished a last lazy circle and started away did he turn and gaze after it. There could be no doubt now that an attack would come.
After dark, when the hunters gathered to smoke and talk, Kerrick told them what he had seen and what it had meant. Now that they were committed there were no complaints. They questioned him closely, then discussed arrangements for the advance party of hunters to leave before dawn.
In the morning the sammads marched south. Herilak was in the lead and took them on a slow curve away from the coast. Kerrick recognized the terrain and knew that they were passing the place where sammad Herilak had been destroyed. There was no need to give the Tanu such a grim reminder of what dangers could come from the sea. They reached the beaches again that evening. Later, when the hunters met and talked, the decision was made to make Herilak their sacripex, their leader in battle. He nodded acceptance and issued his first orders.
"It is Kerrick and Ortnar who go ahead now. They have seen the murgu, they know what we are looking for. They will make their way along the coast and spend the night keeping watch on the shore. Two other hunters will go with them to watch as well and to return with the warning when that is needed. They will do this every night from now on. Others will also stay awake each night to watch the sea near our tents in case something goes wrong. We must be sure that it does not."
They proceeded along the coast for four days more in this manner, until the fifth day when Kerrick hurried back to the campsite at dawn. The hunters heard his running footsteps and seized up their weapons.
"There is no alarm, the murgu are not here. But I have looked at the coast ahead and there is something we can do." He waited until the two sammadars and Herilak were present, then explained. "The hunting is good now and there is much fish in the sea here. You must agree not to break camp today but to stay in this place and fish, while the hunters bring in meat for smoking. South of here there are cliffs, then a long stretch of beach with a thick birch wood that extends down almost to the shore. The distance is right. If the murgu come, when they come, they will not be able to find a landing place where the cliffs are, so they are sure to come ashore on the beach below the forest."
Herilak nodded agreement. "When we attack we can approach them unseen under the cover of the trees. Good. It will be done that way. Are we all of the same mind?"
There was some discussion, but no disagreement. Kerrick returned to the spot where Ortnar and the other two hunters were lying under cover and watching the sea.
The long wait began.. They filled their time during the next days in constructing a birchbark shelter deep in the woods. The nights were cooler now and there was some rain. But two of them were always on the ridge above the ocean during the day, hidden but watching. By late afternoon all four of them would be there, for that was the time of most danger. It was at this time, after many days of watching, from full moon to full moon, that Herilak came to join them on the ridge.
"What have you seen?" he asked, standing under the trees beside them.
"Nothing. Just what you see out there. The empty sea. The same as always," Kerrick said.
"The hunters in the sammads have decided that there is enough meat now. They are grateful that we showed them these hunting grounds. They are ready to leave."
"That is a good decision," one of the watching hunters said. "None of us want this murgu attack." Kerrick agreed strongly with these feelings and felt a leap of hope, yet kept silent.
"You speak for yourself," Herilak said bitterly. "Yes, the trek has been successful. There is food enough now for the winter so I can understand why they are so eager to return. With their stomachs full they can forget their hunger and remember instead what happened to the two other sammads on this shore. This is to be the last night. They are eager to leave tomorrow at dawn. We stay here and march one day behind them in case the murgu attack after all."
"We will move fast," the second hunter called out. "They will not catch us now."
Herilak turned away from them scornfully. Ortnar was as bitter as he. "We did not do this just to fill your stomachs. We came to kill murgu."
"We cannot do it alone," Herilak said.
Kerrick turned and looked out to sea so they could not see the relief on his features. They might argue, but in the end the sammads would go. There was nothing to keep them here and every reason to leave. There would be no battle. Small white clouds drifted in the clear sky above, casting dark shadows on the clear water. Large shadows. Moving shadows.
He stood still, gazing at the shadows, and did not speak until he was absolutely sure. His voice was tight and he could not stop it from trembling.
"They are out there. The murgu are coming."
It was just as he said. The black boats were clearly visible now as they moved out from under the shadow of the clouds. They were going rapidly north.
"Are they not stopping?" Herilak cried out. "Are they going on to attack the sammads?"
"We must warn them—there is little time!" Kerrick said. One of the hunters turned to run with the warning, but Herilak stopped him.
"Wait. Wait until we are sure."
"They are turning towards shore now!" Ortnar said. "Coming towards the beach below us."
The hunters lay in silent concealment, filled with horror as the boats came close, bobbing in the gentle surf. There were loud orders and the armed fargi splashed out of the boats and made their way onto the beach. There was no doubt that a landing was being made when they began to pass supplies ashore.
"Now go," Herilak whispered to the two hunters. "Both of you. Go different ways so that one of you will be sure to bring the warning. As soon as it is dark and they cannot be seen the travois must be loaded as planned, then the sammads will move quickly, go inland. Trek until dawn and then take cover in the forest. As soon as the travois are loaded all the hunters are to leave the camp and join us here. Run."
The scene on the beach below was a familiar one to Kerrick, but shockingly new to the two hunters. They watched as the supplies were taken from the boats and the fargi, wrapped in cloaks, bedded down for the night. The leaders were grouped farther down the beach but Kerrick did not dare to move closer to see who they were. There was every chance that Stallan might be in command, and at this thought he shared some of the emotions of revenge that possessed the other two. Stallan who had beaten him and hated him, who had as good as killed Alipol with her unwanted and brutal attention. What a pleasure it would be to run his spear through that creature's hide!
There was no moon, but the stars clearly lit the white sand of the beach below, picked out the dark forms resting there. More stars climbed slowly from the sea until, at last, there was a slight rustling from the forest behind them.
The first of the hunters crept close. By dawn the attackers would be in position.
Herilak had been thinking only of this attack for days now, had planned it over and over so often that he could see clearly in his thoughts exactly how it would happen. Kerrick and Ortnar had been instructed so they knew what must be done just as well as he did. Herilak left them there at the edge of the grove, watching the beach, and ordered the first arrivals back through the forest to an open glade. Here they rested until all of the other hunters had appeared. He was the battle leader; they waited expectantly for his orders.
"Ulfadan, Kellimans," he said quietly. "Go among your hunters and ask their names. When you are sure that they are all gathered here come and tell me."
They did not talk or move about while they waited, for they were hunters. They squatted in silence, weapons ready, waiting for orders from Herilak, the sacripex, ready for battle. Only when he had been assured that they had all arrived did Herilak tell them what they were to do.
"We must strike as one," he said. "We must kill without being killed for their darts are instant death. In order to do this we will spread out in a single line, with each sammad taking half of the beach. Then we must crawl forward silently until we are in the grass above the beach. The wind is from the water so they will not smell us when we draw near. But they can hear, and hear well, so there must be nothing for them to hear. You must each take your position, and your sammadar will be sure that you are in the correct place. When you are there you will wait and you will not move. You will look at the beach. You will wait until you see me, Ulfadan and Kellimans as well, appear before you on the beach. That will be your signal to come forward. Slowly and silently. With your spears you will then kill murgu, remaining silent as long as it is possible."
Then Herilak reached out with the butt of his spear and touched the nearest hunter with it just below his chin, while all of the others strained forward to see what he was doing.
"Try to stab the murgu in the throat if you can, for that is where they are most vulnerable. Their ribs are many and unlike the animals we hunt their ribs cover the entire front of their bodies and do not stop just below the chest. A strong blow will penetrate, but a badly aimed thrust will be deflected by the bones within. Therefore—the throat."
Herilak waited while they thought about this, then continued.
"We cannot hope to kill them all in silence. As soon as the alarm is raised we will shout as loudly as we can to cause confusion. And keep on killing. If they run use your bows. Arrows will stop them. Do not hesitate, do not tire, but keep on killing. We will only be finished with them when they all are dead."
There were no questions. What they had to do was very clear. If any of the hunters felt fear they did not show it. They lived by killing and were very experienced at it.
Silent as shadows they moved through the trees, left the darkness of the forest, and crawled in equal silence across the grass above the beach. Kerrick was still on watch. He looked away from the sleeping fargi and started as he saw the moving shapes. There was not a sound from them, not the slightest. Herilak appeared among them and slipped forward. Kerrick touched him on the shoulder, then leaned close to breathe the words into his ear.
"Their leaders must be among the first killed. I want to do that myself."
Herilak nodded agreement and moved away. Slowly then, a step at a time, Kerrick moved back from the edge of the bank and along it to the position he had marked earlier.
A night bird called from the trees and he froze, waited a moment then moved on. The only sound now was the lap of small waves on the sand. Other than that the night was still as death.
And death was on its way.
There was no impatience. Once they were in position not a hunter moved, nor was there the slightest sound to reveal their presence. Their eyes were on the lighter gray of the sandy beach, waiting patiently for the expected movement.
Tension twisted a tight knot in the pit of Kerrick's stomach. He was sure now that too much time had gone by. Something had gone wrong. Herilak and the sammadars should be on the beach. If they delayed any longer it would be light and they would be the ones who would be trapped…
He knew his fears were groundless, but that knowledge did not take them away. His fists were clenched so tight that they hurt. Where were they? What was happening? Clouds were thickening in the sky and obscuring the stars. Would he be able to see the figures when they did appear?
Then they were there, so silently and suddenly that they might have been shadows. Moving shadows that were soon joined by other shadows, until the dark line of half-seen forms stretched the length of the beach.
They stayed ahead of Kerrick because they could move quickly in absolute silence. He had to feel his way forward, lacking their skill at silent stalking of prey. He was well behind them when the line reached the first of the sleeping fargi. There were some muffled grunts, nothing more.
Now Kerrick could feel the soft sand beneath his feet, he could go faster. He ran forward, raising his own spear. He had almost reached the mound of supplies that were his marker, behind which the Yilanè lay, when a terrible screech of pain cut the silence of the night.
It was followed instantly by more screams and shouts; then the beach was alive with moving forms. Kerrick shouted as well, leaping around the stacked supplies and stabbing down at the Yilanè who was just standing.
She shrieked hoarsely as the point imbedded in her flesh, pulled away. He thrust again into her throat.
It was yelling, running, falling, dark butchery in the night. The fargi were awake instantly, but were panicked and frightened and in absolute confusion. If they remembered their weapons they could not find them in the blackness. They ran and sought safety in the ocean of their youth. Yet there was no safety even there for they were speared when they ran by, while sharp arrows flew after those who reached the surf. It was slaughter without mercy. The Tanu were efficient butchers.
Yet the fargi were so numerous that some did manage to escape, to reach the sea and splash in panic through the dead bodies there, to dive and swim to the boats. The hunters waded after them into the breaking waves, their bows striking death until their supply of arrows was exhausted.
The killing stopped only when there was nothing left alive to kill. The hunters walked among the heaped bodies, kicking at them, spears stabbing down at any sound or movement. One by one they stopped, exhausted, silent—until a hunter shouted a cry of victory. They all joined in then, an ululating call that was more animal than Tanu, a cry that carried across the water to the surviving fargi in the boats who moaned and cowered with fear.
The first light of dawn revealed the gruesome details of the night of slaughter. Kerrick looked about in horror, shuddering away from the dead that were heaped on all sides, tumbled one on top of the other. This sight did not seem to bother the hunters in the slightest. They called out happily, bragging of their exploits while they waded among the corpses in the surf to cut their arrows free. As the light grew Kerrick saw that his hands and arms were thick with blood; he went along the beach away from the fargi bodies and washed them clean in the sea. When he emerged Herilak was waiting for him, shouting with jubilation.
"It has been done! We have hit back at the murgu, struck them down, avenged the sammads that they destroyed. It has been a good night's work."
Out to sea the boats were fleeing south—most of them empty, or with just one or two fargi aboard. The slaughter had been most efficient.
Kerrick felt drained of hate and fear, exhausted. He sat down heavily on the heap of bladders of preserved meat.
Herilak shook his spear after the fleeing boats, shouted after them.
"Go back! Tell the others what happened here this night. Tell the rest of the murgu that this will happen to all of them if they dare venture north again."
Kerrick did not share his unreasoning hatred, for he had lived too long among the Yilanè. In the growing light he saw the face of the nearest corpse—and recognized her. A hunter he had seen many times with Stallan. He felt himself shaking and had to avert his eyes from the horrifying sight of her ripped-open throat. A feeling of immense grief possessed him—though he was not sure what he was grieving for.
When Herilak had turned about at last Kerrick shook himself and called out.
"Did we have losses of our own?"
"One. Isn't that a true victory? Just one, stung by a poisoned dart. The surprise was complete. We have done what we came here to do."
"We are not finished here yet," Kerrick said, trying to be practical, to forget his emotions. He tapped the bladder that he was sitting upon. "These contain meat. As long as the outer skin is not broken the meat will not rot. I have eaten it. The taste is vile but it will sustain life."
Herilak was leaning on his spear now, thinking. "Then we have won life as well as victory. With this even more Tanu will survive the coming winter. I must send runners to the sammads, bring them here for this treasure." He looked about the corpse-strewn beach. "What else here can we use?"
Kerrick bent and picked up a discarded hèsotsan and wiped the sand from its dark body. When he pointed it towards the empty sea and squeezed in the correct manner there was a sharp crack and the dart vanished in the surf. Wrapped in thought he prodded it and the tiny mouth gaped open; he smoothed it shut again then held the weapon up to Herilak.
"Gather up the death-sticks. And the darts, I'll show you what they look like. We cannot breed these things—but if they are fed they will live for years. The poison on their darts will kill murgu as easily as Tanu. If we had had them tonight not one murgu would have left this beach alive."
Herilak struck him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "This victory will be only the first of many. I will send for the sammads at once."
When he was alone Kerrick took up one of the drinking bladders and drank deep, then looked around at the excited hunters. It was a victory, the first one for the Tanu. But he had a dark sensation that any future victories might not be this easy. He looked at the nearest fargi corpse, then stood and forced himself to begin a search of beach.
It took a long time to be certain; he even worked his way through the surf looking at all the bodies there, made himself turn them face upwards one by one. When he had finished he dropped wearily onto the sand.
Some of the Yilanè he had recognized, mostly hunters, but there was even one he knew who had been a boat trainer. But he had searched in vain for one familiar face. It had not been there. He looked down the coast to the south, where the fleeing boats had long since vanished.
Stallan had been on one of them, he was positive of that. She had certainly led this expedition, and just as surely escaped with her own life in the darkness.
They would meet again one day, Kerrick was very sure of that. This defeat would not stop the Yilanè. If anything it would make them more resolute. This was not the finish of the battle, but only the beginning. Where it would finally end Kerrick had no idea.
But he did know that what was to come would be a clash such as this world had never seen.
A savage battle between two races who were united in only one thing; their absolute hatred of one for the other.
nu*nkè a>akburzhou kaseibur>ak umuhesn tsuntensi nu*nkèkash
The ring of bodies was good enough before we had the wall of thorns: the future will not change its suitability.
As a rain squall passed over the boats, gusts of wind set them to bobbing in the short waves. The heavy drops drummed on their wet skins and hissed into the ocean around them. The dark shore was hidden from sight now and the sea was empty behind. There was no sign of any pursuit. Stallan looked in all directions, then ordered her boat to halt and signaled to the others to do the same.
They came together in the gray light of dawn, without a command being spoken, seeking comfort in each other's presence. Even the unmanned boats pressed close, staying with the occupied boats and confused because they were not being instructed. Stallan looked at the surviving fargi with growing rage.
So few! A panic-stricken handful, all that remained of the great striking force that she had led north. What had gone wrong?
Her rage grew: she knew what had gone wrong, but when she thought about this her anger was so great that she had to put all thought of it from her mind for the moment. It would have to wait until she had these survivors safely back in Alpèasak; this was her first responsibility.
"Are any of you injured?" she called out, turning as she spoke so all of them could understand her. "Raise your arms if you are."
Stallan saw that almost half of them were wounded. "We have no bandages, they are gone with the rest of the supplies. If the wounds are open, wash them with seawater. There is nothing else. Now look around you, do you see the unoccupied boats? They will get separated soon and we cannot afford to lose a single one. I want at least one fargi in every boat. Make the transfers now while we are all together."
Some of the fargi were still too confused and panic-stricken to think for themselves. Stallan ordered her own boat through the pack, pushing and calling to them loudly until they obeyed.
"This boat is not empty," a fargi called out. "There is a dead fargi in it."
"Into the ocean with it, and any others you find."
"This boat is wounded, it has ustuzou arrows piercing it."
"Leave them in place—you will do more harm than good by pulling them out."
There were not enough fargi in the depleted force to enable Stallan to assign one to each boat. She was forced to leave some of the wounded boats to fend for themselves. As soon as all of the transfers had been completed she ordered the depleted flotilla south.
They sailed without stopping for the entire day. Stallan did not want to go near the shore until she was forced to by darkness. There could be other ustuzou there, watching from concealment, waiting to attack. They went on steadily with the shocked fargi collapsed in numb apathy, until the sun was below the horizon. Only then did Stallan order them towards the land, to the place where a stream ran into the sea. The fargi stirred with thirst when they saw the fresh water, but Stallan kept them in their boats while she scouted inland. Only then did she permit them to come ashore, a few at a time, to drink their fill. She held her hèsotsan ready and stood guard over them, the arch of her body stiff with her contempt for the stupid creatures. Hers was the only weapon they had. The rest of them had simply panicked and fled, their weapons completely forgotten.
"Lowest to highest," one of the fargi said after she had drunk her fill. "Where is there food?"
"Not here, you of little talk, less brains. Perhaps tomorrow. Get back into your boat. We do not sleep on shore tonight."
There were no cloaks to keep up their body temperature during the night so that all the fargi were sluggish and incapable of movement until the sun had warmed them in the morning. Their retreat continued.
On the third day, when there still had been no sign of pursuit, Stallan took the chance of going ashore to hunt. They needed food if they were to return alive. She picked the spot carefully, where a river delta had formed countless swamps and small islands. It was in the swamps that she managed to stalk some multicolored animals that were grazing among the reeds. They looked like urukub, only much smaller, with the same long necks and small heads. She managed to kill two of them before the herd fled. They were too large for her to move so she went back for the fargi and had the bodies dragged to the beach. They ate well, if primitively, tearing at the flesh with their teeth since they lacked cutting instruments of any kind.
Two of the injured fargi died during the voyage. Their only other losses were the pilotless and wounded boats which drifted off one by one during the nights that followed. Only Stallan's strength of will and firm command kept the survivors together until they finally reached familiar waters. It was midday when they passed some fishing boats, then rounded the headland that opened out into the harbor of Alpèasak. Their approach must have been seen and their depleted numbers noted, for there was no committee of welcome at the harbor when they arrived. It was deserted save for a single figure, Etdeerg who was now fulfilling the functions of Eistaa. She stepped forward when Stallan climbed from the boat, but said nothing. It was Stallan who spoke first in a most formal manner.
"When we stopped one day on a beach we were attacked during the night by the ustuzou. They move well in the dark. There was nothing we could do to defend ourselves. You see here the only survivors."
Etdeerg looked coldly at the fargi who were urging the boats towards their pens. "This is a disaster," she said. "Did this happen before or after you made your own attack on the ustuzou?"
"Before. We gained nothing. Lost everything. I did not expect an attack, I posted no sentries. I am at fault. I die now if you order me to."
Stallan did not breathe as she waited, unmoving. Death was just a single, short command away. She looked stolidly out to sea, but one eye rolled back to watch Etdeerg.
"You will live," Etdeerg finally said. "Although you are at fault there is still need of your services in Alpèasak. Your death is not yet."
Stallan signaled acceptance and gratitude and her relief was clear.
"How could this possibly have happened?" Etdeerg asked. "Such a disaster is beyond my understanding."
"Not beyond mine," Stallan said, hatred and anger in every motion of her body. "It is very clear to me how it was done."
A movement caught her eye; she stopped speaking and turned to face the city as the palanquin was carried from beneath the trees. Four large fargi moved smoothly beneath its weight, while the fat figure of Akotolp waddled after them. The fargi placed the palanquin carefully on the ground and stepped back. Akotolp hurried up behind it, mouth wide open, then bent over the figure that rested there.
"You are to move only slightly, speak little, for there is still danger," Akotolp said.
Vaintè signed agreement, then turned to face Stallan. She had lost a great deal of weight, so much so that her bones could be clearly seen beneath her skin. The spear wound had healed, was now only a puckered scar, but her internal injuries had been great. When she had been brought to Akotolp she had been torpid for many days with all of her body activities slowed to a small fraction of their normal function. Akotolp had repaired the injuries, stopped the infection, transfused blood, done everything possible to keep the Eistaa alive. It had been a very close thing and only Akotolp's immense scientific kills, combined with Vaintè's own strength and will, had enabled her to survive. Etdeerg had taken her place in command and had served as Eistaa during the long illness, but Vaintè would soon resume her full functions. It was as Eistaa that she spoke now.
"Tell me what happened," she ordered.
Stallan did, leaving out nothing, speaking as carefully and unemotionally as she could about every detail of the expedition, the landing and the massacre, ending with their flight back to Alpèasak. When she was done she finished with the same words that she had spoken to Etdeerg.
"I am at fault. I die now if you order me to."
Vaintè waved the suggestion aside with a sharp motion that had Akotolp leaning forward and hissing with alarm.
"Fault or not, we need you, Stallan. You live. We need you for revenge if nothing else. You will be my arm. You will kill the one who did this. There can be only one."
"The Eistaa is correct. There was no second group of ustuzou to be seen in the pictures from the raptor. Everything about the ustuzou group looked as it should. But it was not. Someone knew of the raptor and ordered the night movements of the ustuzou. Someone knew we would land on the beach the night before we attacked. Someone knew."
"Kerrick."
There was death in the name, so much so that Akotolp protested.
"You risk your own life, Eistaa, speaking in that manner. You are not well enough yet for such emotions."
Vaintè leaned back on the soft coverings and signaled agreement, resting before she went on.
"I must give this much thought. When we attack the ustuzou in the future we must do it in a new and different manner. Our knowledge has been diminished because now we can believe the raptor's pictures just half of the time. The daylight half. The ustuzou can move concealed by the darkness of night." She turned to Akotolp. "You know of these things. Can pictures be made during the night?"
Akotolp stroked her fat wattles as she thought. "Such a thing may be possible. If it is, there are certain birds that fly at night. Something may be done."
"You will start at once. Another question—is there a way to look at the pictures from the raptor in greater detail?"
"The meaning of your question escapes me, Eistaa."
"Then listen again. If the ustuzou Kerrick arranged the attack, then he must have been with the band. Therefore he will be in one of the pictures. Can we discover that fact?"
"The question is clear. Details in the pictures may be expanded, enlarged so that a small detail will be many times bigger."
"You have heard, Etdeerg. See that it is done."
Etdeerg signed acceptance of the command and hurried away. Vaintè turned her attention back to Stallan.
"We will attack in a different manner in the future. Night defenses must be prepared as well. It will take much thought. This must never happen again."
"We will need many more fargi," Stallan said.
"That is one problem that already has a solution. While you were away we received the glorious news that all of the preparations have been completed. Inegban* comes to Alpèasak before the end of summer. The two cities will be one again, strong and complete.
"We will have all the resources we need to sweep the ustuzou from the face of the earth."
Both Akotolp and Stallan signed happy acceptance of this fact, as did Vaintè herself. If this had happened any time before she had been wounded she would have had to find more formal ways of speaking of it, around it. Then her desire to rule Alpèasak had been her drive in life, her only and strongest ambition. Her hatred of Malsas< had been extreme because the Eistaa of Inegban* would be Eistaa of Alpèasak in her place when the two cities became one.
Now she welcomed Malsas<'s arrival. The spearthrust that had driven her into darkness, illness, and pain had changed everything. As first dim consciousness had returned after her injury, she had remembered what had happened. What that ustuzou had done to her. The ustuzou whose life she had saved, the one that she had raised up to stand close beside her and to do her bidding. The ustuzou that had repaid all of this by attempting to kill her. This brutal act would not go unpunished. Thinking of Kerrick only made her more resolute in her desire to rid the earth of the blight of his kind of creature. All Yilanè would feel the same when they discovered what had been done to the fargi who had been sent north. When Inegban* came to Alpèasak the Yilanè would realize that existence here was far different from the life that they had known before this, at peace in a city of peace. When their own lives and future were threatened as well by the ustuzou there would be an upswelling of support.
All of the might, the science, and the energy of the Yilanè would then be united behind a single idea. Destroy the ustuzou. Wipe all trace of them from the face of the earth. Mount a crusade that would sweep them away like the blight, the obscene disease that they were.
A crusade that could have but a single leader.
Vaintè saw her destiny at last.
The air was so still beneath the tall trees that the cold fog hung there, unmoving. This chill silence was broken only by the dripping of water from the leaves, the distant calling of a bird. A rabbit hopped cautiously from under a bush and began nibbling at the thick grass in the clearing. It stopped suddenly and sat up, ears turning to listen, then disappeared in a single frightened bound.
The heavy, slow footsteps were like the sound of distant thunder, coming closer. The creaking of leather bindings could now be heard and the loud rustling of wooden poles being dragged across the forest floor. Moving silently ahead of the column of mastodons, two hunters appeared at the edge of the clearing, eyes searching, spears ready. Although they were wearing fur robes and leggings, their arms were bare and beaded with moisture. Other hunters came from under the trees and advanced across the clearing. Then the first mastodon appeared, a great hump-backed bull. His trunk reached up and broke a branch from a tree; he stuffed the leaves into his mouth as he walked, chewing them contentedly.
One by one the other mastodons emerged from the forest, the poles of the travois they pulled cutting deep grooves into the soft loam. The women and larger children walked between them while another party of hunters brought up the rear. The Tanu were on the march that never ended.
It was late afternoon before they reached the campsite at the bend in the river. In the dark twilight the first snow was already swirling down through the trees. Ulfadan looked north and sniffed the cold wind.
"Early," he said. "Even earlier than last year. The snow will be as thick here in the valley as it will be in the mountains. We must talk of this tonight."
Kellimans nodded reluctant agreement. After the slaughter of the murgu the decision to return to this last campsite had been taken without any discussion or real thought. Once they had loaded the murgu weapons and supplies they had all been in a hurry to get away from the shore, suddenly frightened of the possibility of murgu revenge. It had been the most natural and easiest thing to do to retrace their steps. This also put off the need for any more decision making until they were safely away from the coast. Their old pattern of life had been broken; they could no longer winter in the mountains. Then what should they do? The question was spoken often—but never answered. Now they would have to face up to it and come to some agreement. Once the tents were set up and they had food in their stomachs they gathered around the fire and the talking began.
Unlike the settled, city dwelling, crop-harvesting Yilanè, the Tanu were hunters. They lived a nomadic life with no fixed base, constantly on the move, going to the place where the hunting was best, or the fish were running, or where seasonal fruit or tubers could be found. They claimed no single stretch of land for the entire earth itself was their home. Nor did they form large social groups like the Yilanè. Their sammads were small bands of individuals who were joined together for mutual aid. This enabled the older women to show the young girls where the best places were to dig for food. Boys could learn the skills of the hunt, while all the hunters could join together to bring down more game than each could individually.
Their sammadar was not a leader who issued orders, but rather the hunter who made the most sensible plans, the one who found the most game, the one who made sure that the sammad thrived. He wore no badge of office and was not marked out from the other hunters in any way. His rule was by mutual agreement. Nor could he issue unpopular orders; a hunter, and his family, could vote with their feet, vanishing into the trackless forest to join with another sammad if they were not pleased with the sammadar.
Now there were decisions to be made. The fire blazed high as more wood was loaded onto it, while the circle of hunters grew larger. They laughed and called to each other as they tried to get the best places near the fire, where they could be warm but out of the smoke. Their stomachs were full, there was food for the winter, and that was enough for the moment. Still, there were important decisions that must be made. There was much argument about what must be done which died away when Ulfadan stood and turned to face them.
"I have heard many say that they want to winter here in this place that we know. The hunting is bad here, but we have food enough to last until spring. But that is not what we should be thinking about. If we stay here will the mastodons be able to survive? Is there enough grass, are there enough leaves on the trees? This is the important question that should be asked. If we live through the winter but they die, then we will die too when the time comes to move on—and we cannot. That is what we must think about."
This began the discussion in earnest for the fate of the mastodons had been in the back of all their minds. Those who wanted to be heard stood and spoke to all of the hunters and there was very little crosstalk now. Herilak and Kerrick listened but did not say anything themselves. Herilak was sacripex as long as there were battles to be fought. Now, with the battle won, he sat among the others. As for Kerrick, he was pleased enough to be admitted to their circle and not have to sit on the outside with the women and children. It was enough to be here and to listen.
There was much rambling talk about their problems, some complaining, even more bragging. When the talk bogged down Ulfadan called for Fraken for guidance and others took up the cry. The old man was much respected for his memory and knowledge of healing; he was the alladjex who knew the secrets of life and death. Perhaps he could show them a way. Fraken came close to the fire, dragging after him the boy-without-a-name. When the boy was grown, and Fraken died, he would take the old one's name. Now he had no name for he was still learning. He crouched in front of Fraken and rooted in a leather bag to produce a dark ball which he placed carefully on the ground by the fire. Fraken teased it open with two sticks until tiny mouse bones were disclosed. Fraken treasured these bundles that the owls regurgitated, for in their contents he could read the future.
"The winter will be cold," he called out. "I see a journey." There was more like this and his audience was very impressed. Kerrick thought little of it. Anyone could have said the same—without the mouse bones. There were no answers here. Nor did any of the others have anything better to say. As he listened he realized that there could be no solution to their problems. Not unless they did something very new and changed all their old ways of doing things. Eventually, when he saw this clearly, and no one else seemed to be talking about it, he arose reluctantly to speak.
"I have listened to everything that has been said here, and have heard the same things said over and over. The winter-that-does-not-end has come to the mountains. The deer have left the mountains since the snow stays on the ground most of the year and there is no pasturage for them. If there is anyone who does not believe this and wishes to go north I would like to hear what that hunter has to say."
There was no answer other than that of a peevish hunter named Ilgeth who was well known for his bad temper. "Sit down," he called out. "We all know that, little-hair. Let hunters speak."
Kerrick was all too aware of his thin beard as well as the hair on his head that did rtot yet cover his ears, so he felt shame and started to sit down. But Herilak rose to his feet and stood beside him, touching his arm so he would remain standing.
"This hunter has the name of Kerrick, not little-hair. Although Ilgeth should know much about little-hair, since each year he has more skin than hair reaching up above his own eyes."
There was a great amount of laughter and thigh-slapping at this so that Ilgeth could only scowl and be silent. When Herilak had been sammadar he had used humor often to convince others. But he had other things to say as well and he waited for silence before he spoke again.
"Kerrick's hair is of importance only to remind us that it was removed by the murgu when they held him prisoner. We must not forget that he can speak with them and understands them. Our stomachs are full because he showed us how the murgu could be killed. We hunted where we knew they could strike. He showed us how we could attack them first and we killed many. When Kerrick talks we will listen."
There were grunts of agreement at that, so much so that Kerrick had the courage to go on.
"Then we are all of the same mind then that we cannot go north. To the east the land is as barren as here until the shore is reached where the murgu can strike. There is no place to winter there. Nor is there to the west where the land may be good but where the way is barred by Tanu who will not let us pass. Now I ask the question; why do we not go south?"
There were murmurs of astonishment at that, and at least some laughter that died away when Herilak scowled fiercely. He was much respected, for his skill as a battle leader as well as for the strength of his arm, so laughter faded before his displeasure. It was Ulfadan who rose then and spoke of the south.
"I have gone to the edge of the forest to the south, and when I was young even out into the grass that goes on forever. This I found there," he touched the long tooth strung about his neck. "I was young and foolish enough to risk my life for it. There are no deer there but only murgu that fight and kill. Murgu as tall as trees. There is only death for us to the south. We dare not go that way."
There were cries of agreement and Kerrick waited until there was silence before he spoke again.
"Let me tell you of murgu, because for many years I lived so far to the south that the snow never came and it was warm always. In that warm land there are murgu that eat grass and graze in the forests and in the swamps. Though they are not like the deer or other animals that we hunt, they can be eaten and their flesh is good. I know, because that is what I ate all those years."
There was only silence now. Even the women stopped talking to each other, the children ceased their play, as they all listened to Kerrick's strange and frightening story.
"What Ulfadan has told you is true. There are great murgu who eat the smaller ones. I have seen them and have seen even stranger things as well. But that is not important. What is important is this. How do the murgu-who-walk-like-Tanu live there? How do they exist among the killing murgu? They eat the meat of animals just as we do. Why are they not killed by the murgu as high as trees?"
There were many reasons he could have mentioned, but none of these were relevant now. Only one thing was and he was determined to speak of that and that alone.
"They are not killed because the murgu-who-walk-like-Tanu kill anything that threatens them or their meat animals. They kill them with this."
He bent and picked up the hèsotsan that lay on the ground beside him, held it up high. There was not a sound now and every eye was upon it.
"No matter how large the beast, this will kill it. A murgu that would need all your spears and all your arrows to kill will fall dead when a single dart from this pricks its hide."
"I have seen this," Herilak broke in, bitterness in his voice. "I have seen the murgu come from the sea with these death-sticks, seen all in my sammad fall before them. Have seen the largest mastodon fall before them when the death-stick cracked. Kerrick speaks the truth."
"And now we have many of them," Kerrick said. "Many of them, darts as well. I know how to care for these death-stick creatures and I can show you the manner in which it is done. I know how to make them send out the darts of death, and will show that to you as well. If you go south there will be good hunting, good forage for the mastodons. And with these—" he held the weapon high above his head so all could see "—only certain death for the murgu."
After this there was excited talk and much argument, but no decision. Kerrick had eaten little during the day and when he saw Herilak leave he went after him. They went to the fire where the women were roasting meat on green boughs, brewing bark tea as well. Merrith, the woman of Ulfadan, saw them sit down and brought them food to eat. She had few teeth left, but she was wide and very strong and the younger women did as she ordered.
"I hope the death-sticks will obey us as they do you, or we will all leave our bones in the south." Her voice was husky, almost like a hunter's. She spoke her mind freely.
"Do you think, then, that we will go south?" Herilak asked, talking with difficulty around the mouthful of meat.
"They will argue all night, but that is what they will decide in the end. They talk too much. We will go south because there is no other way to go." She looked at Kerrick with frank curiosity. "What are these murgu like who held you captive? Are their tents big? Do they use mastodons—or giant murgu to pull their travois?"
Kerrick smiled at the thought, then tried to explain. "They don't live in tents, but grow special trees like tents that they sleep in."
Merrith laughed loudly. "You are telling me wicked stories. How can you load a tree behind a mastodon when you move to another campsite?" The rest of the women around the fire were looking their way, listening as well, and there was much giggling at this thought.
"It is the truth—because they stay in the same place all of the time so they do not have to move their sleeping trees."
"Now I know that you are telling me stories. If they stayed in one place they would hunt and kill all of the animals there. They would pick all the fruit and then they would die of starvation. Such a funny story!"
"This is true," Herilak said. "That is the way that they live. I have been there and I have seen them, but I did not understand them. They do not need to hunt because they keep all of their animals in one place so they cannot escape, then kill them whenever they want to. Is that not the way it is?" he asked Kerrick.
Merrith had shrugged her shoulders at such useless stories and gone back to her fire, but the other women remained, eyes wide as they listened to this wild talk. True or not, the stories were worth hearing.
"That is only part of it," Kerrick said. "A lot of things happen, and different murgu do different things. Some clear the land and build the fences so the animals can be kept safe, yet kept apart. Then there are the guards who take care of the males during the breeding season so the young are born safe. Some raise food for the animals, others kill them when the time comes. Others fish. It is all very complex."
"The males take care of the babies?" one of the women asked in a quiet and nasal voice. The older woman beside her struck her.
"Be quiet, Armun," she said.
"It is a good question," Kerrick said, trying to see who had spoken, but she had her face turned away with her hair held over it. "The murgu lay eggs and the males hatch the eggs. Then when the young ones come out of the eggs they go into the ocean to live. They do not take care of babies the way we do."
"They are filthy and should all be killed!" Merrith called out, for she had been listening all the time. "It is not right that women should hear these kind of stories."
Their audience scattered at her command and the two men finished their food in silence. Herilak licked the last fragments of meat from his fingers, then touched Kerrick lightly on the arm.
"You must tell me more of these things because I want to know all about these creatures. I am not like the woman—I believe every word that you say. Like you I was their prisoner. Only a short time—but that was long enough. If you lead, I will follow you, Kerrick. A strong arm and a quick bow are what a hunter needs. But the Tanu need knowledge as well. We are Tanu because we can work stone and wood and know the ways of all the beasts that we hunt. But now we hunt murgu and you are the only one with the knowledge that we must have. It is you alone who can show us the way."
Kerrick had not thought of it this way before, but now he had to nod reluctant agreement. Knowledge could be a strength—and a weapon. He had the knowledge and Herilak respected it. This was high praise from a hunter as wise and strong as Herilak. Kerrick felt the beginning of pride. For the first time he began to believe that he was not the complete outsider here.
Merrith had been correct; after talking far into the night the hunters had decided, with great reluctance, that they must go south to find grazing for the mastodons. With this decision made they had to face the next problem. How were they to go about doing this?
It was just after dawn when Herilak emerged from their tent. He was building up the fire when Ulfadan and Kellimans approached him. The two sammadars greeted him formally, then sat down beside him at the fire. Herilak poured them wooden mugfuls of bark tea and waited for them to speak their minds. Behind his back Ortnar looked out of the tent, then quickly pulled his head back inside.
"You would think after last night they would have enough of talking, but they are still at it," he told Kerrick. "I don't see any problem. Kill murgu, that is all we have to do."
Kerrick sat up in the sleeping bag and shivered as the cold air hit him. He quickly pulled his leather shirt over his head, then ran his fingers through his short hair, yawned and scratched. Through the open flap of the tent he could see that the three hunters were still talking. He felt as Ortnar did; they had had enough of this the night before.
But this final meeting could not be avoided. Herilak rose from the fire and went to the tent and called to him.
"There is need of you, Kerrick. You will join us."
Kerrick went and sat beside them at the fire and sipped the hot, bitter brew while Herilak told them what had been decided.
"The sammads will go south because they have no other choice. However they do not know what to do when we reach the murgu. But one thing is certain, the murgu must be killed, therefore there must be a battle leader. They have asked me to be sacripex."
Kerrick nodded agreement. "That is as it should be. You led us in victory when we killed the murgu on the beaches."
"An attack is a single thing and I know well how to lead in that. But we are now planning more than an attack. We are planning to leave the forest and go south into the grasslands where there are only murgu. Murgu of all kinds. Then we must kill these murgu with the death-sticks. Now I will tell you the truth. I know little of murgu and I know nothing of death-sticks. But you do, Kerrick. Therefore I have said that you must be the sacripex."
Kerrick could not think of an answer. This was too unexpected. He turned it over and over in his head, then reluctantly spoke.
"It is a great trust, but I do not feel I know enough to be sacripex. Yes, I know much about the murgu, but little about hunting and killing. Herilak is the proven leader here."
They were silent then, waiting for him to continue. The sammads were looking to him for leadership and he could not refuse. Ortnar had heard what had been said and had emerged from the tent and joined the waiting hunters. They wanted him to lead, but he did not have the skill. What could be done? What would the Yilanè do in this situation? Once he had asked himself this question an answer began to appear.
"Let me tell you how the murgu order these things," he said. "In their cities there is a sammadar who is first in everything. Under this sammadar there is a sammadar of the hunters, another for the food animals, and others for the different work of the city. Why do we not arrange things in the same way? Herilak will be the sacripex as you have asked. I will serve under him, advise him on the ways of the murgu. But he will be the one who decides what must be done."
"We must think about this," Ulfadan said. "It is a new thing."
"These are new times," Kellimans said. "We will do as Kerrick has told us."
"We will do it," Herilak said, "but it is I who will serve. Kerrick will tell us about the murgu and what must be done to hunt them and to kill them. He will be the margalus, the murgu-counsellor."
Ulfadan nodded agreement and stood. "That is the way it must be."
"I agree," Kellimans said. "The hunters of the sammad will be told and if all are in agreement we will go south when the margalus says."
When they had gone, Herilak turned to face Kerrick. "What must we do first, margalus?" he said.
Kerrick pulled at the strands of his thin beard while the two hunters waited. The answer to this was easy, and he hoped that all the other problems would be as simple to solve.
"To kill murgu you must learn about the death-sticks. We will do that now."
Herilak and Ortnar were armed with spears and bows as always, but Kerrick put his aside and took up a hèsotsan and a supply of darts instead. He led them upstream away from the tents, to a clear space beside the river. The trunk of a dead tree lay trapped here among the boulders, where it had been left behind by the high waters of spring.
"We will shoot at that," Kerrick said. "If anyone else comes near we will be able to see them. There is death in these darts and I want no one killed."
The hunters put their spears and bows aside and reluctantly came close when Kerrick held out the hèsotsan.
"There is no danger yet, for I have not put darts into the creature. Let me first show you how to feed it and care for it. Then the darts will be inserted and we will use the tree for a target."
The hunters were well used to working with tools and artifacts and soon stopped thinking of the weapon as a living creature. When Kerrick fired the first dart they jumped at the sharp crack of the explosion, then rushed to the tree to see the dart stuck there.
"Will it shoot as far as a bow?" Herilak asked. Kerrick thought about it, then shook his head no.
"I do not think so—but it does not matter. There will be no need to kill at a distance if the murgu attack us. When a creature is hit by a dart the poison affects it almost at once. First it falls down, then stiffens, then dies. Now you must learn to use the death-sticks."
As he began to hand the weapon to Herilak he saw a movement in the sky behind him. A bird, a large one.
"Get your bows, quickly," he said. "The raptor is here, the one that speaks to the murgu. It must not return. It must be killed."
The hunters did not question his orders but seized up their bows and nocked the arrows, waiting until the bird swooped low. As it drifted over them on wide-stretched wings their bowstrings twanged at the same instant. The well-aimed arrows flashed upwards, both thudding into the raptor's body.
It gave a single screech and tumbled from the air, splashing into the river.
"Don't let it get carried away," Kerrick called out.
He stopped to place the hèsotsan carefully on the ground, and before he could straighten up the other two had dived into the water. Ortnar was a strong swimmer and he reached the dead bird first, seizing it by the wing and spinning it about in the water. But it was too large for him to handle alone and he had to wait for Herilak to help him drag it ashore. They emerged from the river, their fur garments wet and streaming, pulling the immense bird after them, then letting it drop onto the sand.
"Look there," Kerrick said, "on its leg, that black creature."
The bird was dead, but this animal was not. Its claws were locked about the raptor's leg. The thing was featureless except for a bulge on its side. Herilak squatted to look closer at the beast—then jumped back as the eye opened and looked up at him, then slowly closed again. He reached for his spear, but Kerrick stopped him.
"There will be plenty of time for that. First we must show this to the hunters, show them the eye that watches us and the bird that carries it. These are the beasts that tell the murgu where we are. Once the hunters have seen it they will recognize it again. Whenever one appears it must be killed. If the murgu do not know where we are they cannot attack us."
"You are right, margalus," Herilak said respectfully. "You are the one who knows about these creatures."
Herilak had used the title easily and with sincerity. He had spoken it so naturally that Kerrick felt a sudden burst of pride. Perhaps he could not hunt as well as they, while his arrows usually missed their mark, but he knew about murgu and they did not. If he could not be respected for his hunting prowess, it was enough that he led in something. They seized up the bird and carried it back to the camp.
The raptor itself was a wonder, for no one had ever seen a bird that big before. They stretched its wings wide, then paced out their length. The hunters admired the placing of the arrows; both had hit home in the creature's chest. The children crowded close and tried to touch it, but were pushed away. One of the women bent over and prodded the black creature on the bird's leg—then screamed when the eye blinked at her. Then everyone had to see this happen and pressed around. Herilak bent and cut the arrows free, then returned Ortnar's to him as they walked away.
"Now let us learn to shoot the death-stick as well as we can the bow," he said.
By evening both hunters felt as secure with the weapon as did Kerrick. Ortnar fed the creature a scrap of dried meat from his pouch, then rubbed its mouth shut.
"This will never kill a deer on the hunt," he said. "It is hard to aim and the darts fall short."
"We can kill deer easily enough with spear or bow," Herilak said. "We need these for the murgu when we go south."
"Before we start the journey I want all of the hunters to know how to use these," Kerrick said. "Only then do we leave."
After they had washed in the river the smell of cooking drew them back to the tents. It was a clear night and the stars were crisp and sharp above the flickering lights of the fires. Merrith served them meat, and Fraken the alladjex was there as well. The old man went to a different fire every night where people spoke to him of the things that only he knew. He looked suspiciously now at Kerrick who appeared to have knowledge that he did not. Herilak saw the look and drew the old man's attention away.
"I had a dream last night that I was with others and we were hunting mastodon," Herilak said. Fraken nodded and smacked his lips over the warm tea as he listened. "How could that be? I have only hunted mastodon once, and I was very young then."
"It was not you who hunted this time," the old man said. "It was your tharm." There was silence about the fire as they listened with respect. "When we die the tharm leaves the body, but it may also leave during the time when we are asleep. Your tharm left you and joined a hunt, that is what happened. This is why a hunter should not be awakened if he is deep in sleep for his tharm may be away, and if he is awakened he will die because the tharm leaves the body when we die. Forever, never to return. If the hunter who dies has been strong in the chase his tharm will join the others among the stars."
His voice lowered and there was a harsh rasp now when he spoke.
"But beware of the hunter who is a trouble-maker and has led a bad life, for there are hunters like that. When this hunter dies his tharm remains close by, causing trouble for others. Not so a strong hunter. His tharm will be there in the stars for all to see. A strong hunter's tharm will return in dreams to help others and warn them of dangers."
Kerrick listened, but said nothing. Now he remembered hearing old Ogatyr tell stories like this when he had been a boy, remembering shivering with fear when he tried to sleep, afraid that the tharm of another was close by. Now—they were just stories. The Yilanè would have laughed at this talk of tharms and stars. For them death was simply the end of being and there was no mystery involved. They knew the stars to be so far distant that their existence could have no possible effect on any events here on earth. He remembered Zhekak telling him about the stars, about how hot they were, the moon cold, the planets very much like Earth. That was the reality; these were just stories. But when Kerrick looked around at their faces he saw only respect and belief and decided that this was neither the time nor the place for him to speak of these matters.
When Fraken left to go to another fire many followed after him, leaving just a few hunters sitting close to the heat and talking. None of them took notice when the girl carrying a large handful of feathers came over and joined them. Her name was Farlan, Kerrick remembered, the elder daughter of Kellimans. She was tall and strong, her hair thick and plaited down her back. Kerrick felt a sensation he could not identify when she brushed past him, her body touching his, and he stirred restlessly. She went around the fire and sat next to Ortnar.
"These are the feathers of the great bird you killed," she said. Ortnar nodded agreement, scarcely looking at her.
"They could be sewn to your robe so others would know your skill with the bow." She hesitated a moment. "I could sew them for you."
Ortnar thought about this for a long time, then apparently agreed.
"I'll show you the robe." He led the way into the darkness and she followed.
The hunters apparently took no notice of this—but one of them looked up and happened to catch Kerrick's eye; he smiled and winked. Only when the couple were out of sight did the hunters begin to whisper to each other; one of them laughed aloud.
Something was happening, something important Kerrick knew, but no one told him what it was. He remained silent as well for he was too ashamed of his own stupidity to ask.
Ortnar was not in their tent when Kerrick returned, and it was only in the morning that he noticed that all of the hunter's possessions were gone as well.
"Where is Ortnar?" he asked.
"Sleeping in another tent," was all that Herilak answered, and appeared reluctant to say any more.
Kerrick was beginning to realize that there were things about Tanu life, as with the Yilanè, that were done and not talked about. But he was Tanu, he should know. He would have to find out, but did not know how to go about this. It would require some thought.
However Ortnar's mysterious behavior slipped from his mind in the bustle of breaking camp.
They were on their way south, into the unknown.
Ulfadan, who knew this territory well, led the trek steadily south through the forest. It was only when the trees began to thin out and he could see the open grassland ahead that he ordered a halt and trotted back to report to Kerrick.
"The open country is ahead. Now we have stopped as you ordered, margalus."
"Good," Kerrick said. "Herilak and I have considered what to do when we go out on the plain to face the murgu. If we travel as we always do; in a single column, we will be open to attack at any time from the sides, where there is no protection. In the forest one mastodon must follow another because of the narrow track between the trees. But if there are no trees we will be able to move differently. Here is what we have decided."
The hunters crowded close to look as Kerrick bent and scratched a circle in the ground with a stick.
"This is how we will move," he said. "The mastodons will travel side by side, in a group. Herilak will go before them with one group of hunters, since he is the sacripex and will lead in any battle against the murgu. But an attack might come from the sides—or even from behind—so we must be on guard at all times. You, Kellimans, will be with the hunters of your sammad to the left side, Ulfadan the same to the right. I will follow in the rear with other hunters. All of us will be armed with the death-sticks, as well as bows and spears. In this way, with hunters on all sides, we will be able to guard the sammads in the center…"
He was interrupted by a cry of alarm from one of the boys who were watching the forest around them. The hunters turned, weapons ready. A strange hunter had appeared from the trees and stood motionless, looking at them. He was from one of the sammads from beyond the mountains, they could tell that by the birchbark leggings he wore below his knees. It was Herilak who went forward to meet him. When he came close the hunter bent and placed his spear on the ground. Herilak did the same, and when he did so the hunter called out to him. Herilak shook his head, then turned and called back to the others.
"He speaks, but I understand little."
"Newasfar will talk with him," Ulfadan said. "He has hunted beyond the mountains and knows how they talk."
Newasfar left his own spear behind and went to speak with the stranger while they all watched. There was a brief exchange which Newasfar translated.
"He is a sammadar called Har-Havola. He says that their mastodons died in the cold of winter and they had to eat them in order to stay alive themselves. Now all their food has gone and they will die when the snows come. He has heard that there is much food here and he asks for some."
"No," Herilak said in instant response. The other hunters nodded agreement. Har-Havola stepped back at this, for it was one word that he knew. He looked around at the expressionless faces, started to speak, then must have realized that it was useless. He bent and picked up his spear, was turning away—when Kerrick called out.
"Wait. Newasfar, tell him not to leave. Ask him how many hunters he has in his sammad?"
"We have no food to spare," Herilak said. "He must leave."
"I speak now as margalus. Listen to what I have to say." Herilak acknowledged this and was silent. "We have more food than we can eat right now. Meat from the hunt as well as the murgu meat that we captured. When we go out into the grasslands there will be good hunting and we will have even more meat. But there will also be murgu that we must defend ourselves against. When they attack the more hunters we have to fight them the more secure we will be. I say let them join us for we can use their spears."
Herilak thought about this, then nodded in agreement.
"The margalus speaks the truth. We will need many hunters now because some must stand guard during the night. I say as well—let them come with us. Speak with him, Newasfar, tell him what we do and what the danger is. Tell him that if his hunters fight at our side, then all in his sammad will eat."
Har-Havola straightened up when he heard this and struck his chest. They did not need Newasfar to translate his words. The Tanu from beyond the mountains were great hunters and fighters. They would come.
Then he turned towards the trees and called out a command. The file of frightened women emerged from the trees, clutching their children to them. The hunters came behind them. They were all emaciated and did not hesitate to take the food that was offered to them. When everyone had eaten, the column started forward again and moved slowly out onto the plain.
While the mastodons were being gathered together in a group Herilak spoke to the sammadars.
"Now that we have more hunters we have more security. Kerrick can join me in the fore since he is margalus. Har-Havola will march to the rear with his hunters, since there will be less danger there and they do not have death-sticks. As soon as the hunters are in position we will start."
The grassy plain stretched before them to the horizon, a series of undulating low hills. There were clumps of trees scattered about, but most of the plain was grass. A herd of animals, too far distant to identify, was running swiftly away from them and soon vanished from sight. Nothing else moved: the plain had a deceptively peaceful air. Ulfadan knew better; his fingers touched the great tooth suspended about his neck as he looked carefully about. All of the hunters clutched their weapons tightly now, well aware that they did not belong here. Even the mastodons seemed to feel the tension, trumpeting and tossing their great heads.
At first the distant beasts were only dark specks coming up from a shallow valley. But they moved quickly and soon the rumble of their feet could be heard as more and more appeared, coming towards the Tanu. The mastodons were halted at a signal from Herilak, the hunters moving quickly forward to stand in line between this unknown threat and the sammads. Now the beasts in the herd could be clearly seen, unknown creatures with long necks and legs. The leaders swerved when they saw the Tanu and galloped across their front, throwing up a billowing cloud of dust. It was from this dust that the murgu struck.
There was more than one of them, large and indistinct creatures that pursued the fleeing herd. They bounded suddenly into sight. The nearest of them saw the shapes of the mastodon, screeched loudly, turned and attacked.
Kerrick had his weapon raised and fired at the charging figure, again and again. It rose into the air, screaming, then fell and crashed into the grass before them as the poison took effect. Close enough so that the beast's bulging eye was just before Kerrick and seemed to be glaring into his. It kicked out its clawed feet in a spasm of agony, the mouth fell open and it roared fitfully. The rotten smell of its breath reached the hunters as it died.
The mastodons were screaming now with fear, rearing up and threatening to crush the travois and those nearby. Some of the hunters ran to quiet them while the rest still faced outward, weapons ready.
But the danger had passed. The herd was vanishing in the distance still pursued by the giant carnivores. Kerrick stepped forward warily towards the one they had killed. It lay unmoving now, a mound of dead flesh the size of a mastodon. A giant beast designed for slaughter, its rear legs long and muscled, its jaws filled with rows of pointed teeth.
"Can the flesh of this creature be eaten?" one of the hunters asked, turning to Kerrick.
"I don't know. I've never seen anything like this before. But it is a meat eater and the murgu only eat the flesh of the animals that eat grass and leaves."
"Let us move on," Herilak ordered. "We do the same. Leave this beast."
The Tanu only ate the meat from carnivores when they were starving; the taste was strong and repellent and not to their liking. Now they had enough food and no desire at all to cut into this hideous creature. They went on quickly, the mastodons rolling their eyes and bellowing with fear as they passed the dead animal. Tanu and mastodon, they all wanted to be away from this place as quickly as they could.
The plain teemed with life. Dark creatures that were obviously not birds soared above them. Great forms wallowed in a shallow lake which they prudently made a large circle to avoid. Smaller murgu, half-seen, moved away from them in the high grass. Though they stayed alert, their weapons ready, they were not attacked again. The day passed in this manner without further encounters. The shadows were getting long when they stopped to water their beasts at a stream. Herilak pointed to a low hill nearby that was topped by a thick growth of trees.
"We will stop there for the night. The trees will give us protection and this water is close by."
Kerrick looked up at the grove; it worried him. "We don't know what might be concealed there," he said. "Wouldn't we be better here on the plain where we could see anything approaching?"
"We know now that this plain is alive with murgu during the day—but we don't know what moves in the darkness in this place. The trees will be our shelter."
"Then we must be sure that we are the only ones sheltering there. Let some of the best hunters search there now before it is too dark to see."
They went cautiously, but the trees hid nothing of any great danger. Small murgu, tails held high, ran before them. There was a great flapping and screeching when they disturbed some birds feeding on fruit in the trees above. Other than this the grove was empty. It would be a good place to stop.
The mastodons quieted once they were freed of their burdens and were soon tearing at the green leaves. The boys brought the fire, carried in clay-lined baskets, and the tents were quickly set up. Guards were posted around the camp as darkness fell; they would be changed during the night.
"We have done all that we can do," Herilak said. "We have survived our first day."
"May we live through the night as well," Kerrick said. looking about worriedly. "I hope that we did not make a mistake in coming here."
"You bother yourself too much with things that cannot be changed. The decision was made. There was no other path to take."
Herilak was right, Kerrick thought, I worry too much. But he has been a sammadar and sacripex before, and knows about leading others. All of this is still new to me.
He fell asleep quickly after they had eaten, and did not stir until Herilak touched his shoulder. The night was very dark, but the stars of the Hunter had gone from the western sky and the Mastodon would soon follow: dawn was close by.
"Nothing came near us during the night," Herilak said, "though there are plenty of creatures out there. Perhaps they do not like our smell."
The dark shapes of other hunters moved under the trees as the sentries were replaced. Kerrick stood at the top of the slope and looked down at the darker outline of the stream.
"We have seen animals watering there," Herilak said, "but there was no way of telling what they were."
"As long as they leave us alone it does not matter."
They waited in silence until the sky lightened in the east with approaching dawn.
"A day and a night and we are all still alive," Herilak said. "It is said that a trek that begins well ends well. May that be true now."
The slow march continued south that day, then the next and the next again. The hunters still took the precaution of flanking the sammads during the daylight hours and posting guards at night, but they walked with less apprehension, slept without worry. The plain was rich with animal life, but most of the creatures were murgu herbivores who stayed well clear of the sammads and their mastodons. There were predators, and many of the largest of these carnivores did attempt to attack them. The hunters killed the ones that came close and the others saw this and stayed clear. But the hunters knew that without the weapons that they had captured they would have been long since dead. With their defense the sammads could penetrate deeper and deeper into the plain.
The course they took stayed well clear of the swamps along the river and the large creatures that could be seen wallowing there. They avoided the thick forest as well, whenever they could, because when they passed through it they were forced to go in single file which made the column much harder to guard.
Despite the ever-present dangers the hunters still looked forward each morning to what the new day might bring, while each night they talked late around the fires about what they had seen that day. For them the world about them was an essential part of their lives. Normally they knew every animal in the forest, every bird in the trees; they knew their habits and how they were to be hunted.
But now they had discovered a whole new world. They had passed through a border area when the trek had begun, where they had seen some deer and other familiar beasts, as well as murgu of different kinds. Quite suddenly this had all changed and the animals they had watched and hunted all their lives were no more. Only some of the birds looked familiar, while the fish in the river were apparently no different. The rest were murgu, murgu in such variety that they could no longer be called by that single name. They were underfoot and in the grass, small lizards and snakes, while grazing the sea of grass itself were beasts of all sizes and colors. The hunters were specially watchful when they passed one of these herds because many times they were followed by packs of voracious carnivores.
Once, squatting and tearing at the rotting corpse of a large and nameless animal, they had seen carrion birds as large as the raptor that had once watched them. They were ungainly things with dark red plumage and very long tails. When the hunters passed close by they hopped about on their long legs and opened their beaks to hiss in anger. They were efficient carrion eaters for instead of bills they had jaws lined with sharp teeth.
The land was rich, the game so plentiful that it would have fallen in great numbers before their arrows had they had the time to hunt, while the weather itself became hard to believe. When they had set out on the trek the leaves were beginning to fall from the trees and they had felt the first cold grip of winter in the frosts at night. But now the seasons had been reversed and they seemed to be going back into the warm time. Even the nights were not cold, while during the day they took off their leather garments and walked with their skins exposed just as they did during the summer.
Then one day they came to the place where the large river that they had been following was joined by an even mightier one. Though it was only just past midday Herilak halted the march and asked Kerrick and the sammadars to join him.
"This will be a good place for a camp. There is that steep trail down to the river below that can be used for watering the beasts. It will also be at our backs at night and will be easy to guard. Good grazing here for the mastodons, fuel in the woods there for our fires."
"It is still early," Ulfadan said. "Why do we stop now?"
"That is the reason I called you here. When we began this march we decided only that we should go south. Now we have done that. So the time has come to decide where we will make our winter camp. We must now think about this."
"We passed a large herd of the duck-billed murgu today," Kellimans said. "I would very much like to taste one."
"My spear hand twitches," Ulfadan said, squinting into the distance across the river. "We have not hunted for many days."
"Then I say let us stop here." Herilak looked around and the hunters nodded agreement.
"I am thinking of the murgu-who-walk-like-men," Kerrick said. "They must never be forgotten."
Ulfadan snorted. "We have seen none of their great birds. They cannot know that we are here."
"We can never be sure what they know or do not know. They stalked and killed sammad Amahast and they did not have the birds then. Wherever we are, whatever we do, we must never forget them."
"What is your thought then, margalus?" Herilak asked.
"You are the hunters. We will stay here if that is to your liking. But there must be a guard at this spot, night and day, to watch the river in case of an attack. See how wide the river has become here? It must reach the ocean somewhere south of us. The ocean and the river can be a path for the murgu if they know that this is our camping place."
"The margalus is correct," Herilak said. "We will take this precaution as long as we are here."
Ulfadan was looking down the bare slope, frowning at it. "Always before we have camped among the trees. It is too open here."
Kerrick remembered the city of Alpèasak which was also on a river, but well guarded.
"There is a thing that the murgu do. They grow strong trees and thorn bushes to protect their camp. We cannot grow trees, but we could cut thorn bushes and pile them in a line for protection. It will keep the small beasts out—and we can kill anything large enough to break through."
"We have never done it before," Kellimans protested.
"We have never come this far south before," Herilak said. "We will do as the margalus tells us."
Although they had meant to stay just a night or two at this place, many days passed and still they did not move on. There were fish in the river and the hunting was very good here, better than they had ever known before. The duck-bills were so numerous that many times the far side of their herds could not be seen. They were very fast—but were also very stupid. If a group of hunters appeared suddenly they fled away. If this was done correctly the other hunters would be waiting in hiding ahead of them with spears and bows ready. Not only were the creatures fast and stupid—they also made very tasty eating.
The hunting was rich, the mastodons grazed well, it was a good place to winter—if indeed this warm weather could be called winter. But there was no escaping the seasons; the days were short and the star groups changed steadily in the night sky. The thorn wall was thickened and, without any positive decision being made, it came about that they stayed on in this place by the union of the two rivers.
The women were as pleased as the hunters, glad to be finished with the long trek. Walking, unloading, cooking, reloading, walking, it had been nothing but work without time enough for anything else. That was all changed for the better now with the tents firmly in place and everything spread out. There were roots to dig for, as well as a brownish-yellow tuber that they had never seen before. This proved to be deliciously sweet after it had been baked in the ashes.
There was much to do, much to talk about. At first sammad Har-Havola had kept apart from the others for they spoke a different tongue and knew that they were strangers. But the women of all the sammads met when they were out foraging and fournd that it was possible for them to talk together after a while, for the other language was like Marbak in many ways. At first the children fought, until the newcomers came to learn Marbak after which their differences were forgotten. Even the single women were pleased for now there were more young hunters to be sought after. There had never been a winter encampment this big. Three entire sammads gathered at one place made life busy and interesting.
Even Armun found a measure of peace, losing herself in the great numbers of women. She had only been three winters with sammad Ulfadan, and they had all been tragic ones for her. There had been great winter hunger in the sammad they had left, so much so that her mother, Shesil, had been too weak to live through the first winter in the new sammad. This meant that when her father had gone out hunting there was no one to protect her. The boys laughed at her, and she had to be careful not to speak in their presence for the young girls were just as bad. When Brond, her father, had not returned from the hunt during the second winter there was no escape from the others. Since she was strong and a good worker, Merrith, the sammadar's woman, let her eat at her fire, but made no attempt to protect her from the constant taunts. Merrith even joined in herself when she was angry, shouting "squirrel-face" along with all the others.
Armun had been that way since birth, that was what her mother had said. Shesil had always blamed herself, for she had once killed and eaten a squirrel in a time of great hunger, when everyone knew that women were forbidden to hunt. Because of this her daughter had been born with the front teeth of a squirrel, wide apart, and with the cleft upper lip of a squirrel as well. Not only had the lip been split, but there was an opening in the bone in the roof of the mouth behind it. Because of this opening she had not nursed well when she had been a baby, had coughed and cried a lot. Then, when she had begun to talk, what she said had a very funny sound. No wonder the other children had laughed at her.
They were still laughing, though not when she could reach them. She was a young woman now, long-legged and strong. And she still had the temper that had been her only defense as a child. Even the biggest boys did not make fun of her, except at a distance, for she had a ready fist and knew how to strike. Black eyes and bloody noses were her mark and even the stupidest soon learned to leave this squirrel-faced demon alone.
She grew up, friendless and apart. When she walked about the encampment she usually held the loose top of her soft leather garment over the bottom half of her face. Her hair was long and many times she held this the same way as well.
As long as she did not talk, the other women suffered her presence. Armun listened to them, saw the young hunters through their eyes, heard their excited gossip. Farlan had been the oldest of their group, and when Ortnar had joined the sammad she had been quick to go to him, even though she had only known him for a short while. The usual way was to get to know boys from the other sammads when they met each year. That was the usual way. But everything was changing now, and Farlan had been the first to take advantage of that change. Although the other young women said nasty things about her boldness, she was the one who had a tent and a hunter of her own—and they did not.
Armun was not jealous of the others, just angry. She knew the plains and the forest better than any of them; her mother had taught her well. She returned from foraging with her basket full when the other young women wailed at the barrenness of the land. She worked hard, cooked well, did all the things that should make her desirable to any young hunter. Yet she stayed far away from them knowing that they would only make fun of her just as everyone else did; her anger surged at the thought. When they saw her face they laughed, when she spoke they laughed. She remained silent and apart.
At least she tried to. But since she ate at Merrith's fire she must do as the older woman ordered. She brought wood and cut meat, scorched her hands turning it over on the coals. Merrith saw to it that there was good food waiting each evening when the hunters returned hungry and tired. But Armun did not want them laughing at her so she always found other things to do when they were gathered around the fire.
Although there was no snow, the rains came in the deepest part of winter. They were uncomfortable but not cold, and this discomfort was infinitely better than frozen forest and deep snow. Hunting patterns changed now, for the great herds of duck-bills had gone somewhere else upon the vast plain. Yet there were still murgu to hunt in the upland forest to the east, so hunting parties pushed farther and farther up into the hills. This was not without its dangers.
It was well after dark when the hunting party returned.
The days were very short now so this was not unusual; some hunters even stayed out overnight when pursuing game. But something was wrong this time for the returning hunters called out loudly when they came into sight of the camp, their ululating cries drawing everyone's attention. Some of the hunters ran out to aid them when they called for help as well. When they came closer to the fires it could be seen that two of the hunters were being carried on litters made of poles and brushwood. Herilak led the way, grim-faced and tired.
"We were after the sharp-toed runners. A claw-marag was hidden under the trees. It attacked and did all this before we could kill it." The first litter was dropped heavily to the ground. "It is Ulfadan. He is dead."
Merrith screamed aloud when she heard this and ran forward. When she threw back the furs that lay across Ulfadan's face she wailed terribly and tore at her hair.
Herilak looked around until he saw Fraken, then called him over. "We have need of your healing skills. The marag fell on Kerrick and the bone in his leg is broken."
"I will need strong sticks, lengths of leather. You will help me."
"I will get the wood." Herilak looked up and saw Armun standing nearby. "Get some soft leather," he ordered. "Quickly."
Kerrick bit his lips but could not keep back the groan when they took him from the litter and placed him on the ground by the fire; the broken ends of bone sawed inside his leg. Fierce pain speared through it again when Fraken poked at the flesh.
"You will hold his shoulders tight, Herilak, when I pull the leg," Fraken ordered, then bent and seized Kerrick's foot. The old man had done this before, pulling and twisting so the broken ends of bone met. The pain of this pushed Kerrick into dark unconsciousness.
"Now the sticks to keep the bone in place," Fraken said, tying them securely with lengths of soft leather. The work was quickly done. "Put him into the tent, cover him with furs for he must be kept warm. You, girl, help us."
Kerrick blinked back to consciousness with sharp awareness of the throbbing pain in his leg. It hurt still, but far less than it had done. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and in the flickering light of the fire outside saw the lengths of wood bound to his leg. The skin had not broken; this would heal well. Someone moved behind him in the darkness. "Who is there?" he called out.
"Armun," she said, reluctantly.
He dropped back with a sigh. "Get me some water, Armun. A lot of it."
She hurried out, a dark figure quickly gone. Armun? He did not know the name. Had he met her before? It didn't matter. The leg had settled down to a steady throb of pain like a bad tooth. His throat was so dry that it made him cough. Water was what he needed, a long deep drink of cool water.
Kerrick slept fitfully until dawn, when the throbbing of the leg woke him yet another time. When he turned his head he saw the bowl of water close by. He pushed his hand out from under the furs, seized it and drank deep, drank again and drained it. The girl came from behind him and picked it up. He could not tell who she was, her hair fell over her face. What was her name? She had told him.
"Armun?"
"Yes. Do you want more water?"
"Water. And something to eat."
He had not eaten last night, had no desire to. But he was hungry now. The girl hurried out, her back turned. He hadn't been able to see her face, he couldn't place her at all. But she had a nice voice. The way she talked through her nose like that was familiar. How the leg hurt when he tried to get comfortable! Familiar? Why? This nagged a bit until he realized it was one of the sounds you used in Yilanè. Armun. He said it aloud, with the same nasal quality, then repeated it to himself. He had not spoken Yilanè in such a long time that when he did so now memories of Alpèasak pushed in, unbidden.
When she returned with the water she also brought some smoked meat on a basketwork tray, bending to place them both beside him. With her hands full she could not cover her face and he looked closely at her when she bent down. His eyes caught hers and she turned away as quickly as she could, her fists clenched waiting for the laughter that never came. Armun could not understand this. She looked on in puzzled silence as he chewed hungrily at the meat. If she could have known what he was thinking she would not have believed it.
No, Kerrick thought, I haven't seen her before. I wonder why? I would certainly have remembered her. I wonder if she knows what her voice sounds like? I had better not tell her, she would only get angry being compared to a marag. But her voice does have Yilanè sounds to it. Not only that, her mouth is in some ways Yilanè. Perhaps the way the upper lip is separated. A familiar face. Inlènu*'s face had looked a bit like that, but wider of course, and fatter.
Armun sat behind Kerrick and wondered. The pain must be tearing at him or he would have laughed by now, or asked questions about her face. The boys had always been curious, never letting her alone. Once five of them had seized her among the trees when she had been by herself. She had fought and kicked but they had held her down. Poked at her lip and nose and laughed until they had her in tears. There was no pain, just a great shame. She was so different from the other girls. They hadn't even pulled up her clothes to look at her the way they did with the other young girls when they caught them alone. Just poked at her face. She had been just like a funny animal to them. Her thoughts were so far away and so bitter that it was a moment before she realized that Kerrick had rolled onto his side and was looking back at her. She quickly pulled her hair across her face.
"That is why I did not recognize you," he said with satisfaction. "You pull your hair like that all the time, I've seen you do it."
She tensed, waiting for the laughter. Instead he grunted as he struggled to a sitting position, then wrapped the furs around him again because the morning was damp and foggy. "Are you Ulfadan's daughter? I've seen you at his fire."
"No. My father and mother are dead. Merrith lets me help her."
"The marag landed on Ulfadan, knocked him to the ground. We speared it but it was too late. His neck was broken. It was a big one. One swipe with the tail broke my leg. We should have had more death-sticks with us. It was the only thing that stopped the ugly thing."
He couldn't blame himself. In fact it was his order that every hunting party have a hunter with a death-stick to prevent something like this happening. But one wasn't enough among the trees. From now on hunting parties would have at least two hèsotsan with them.
But all thoughts of hunting and murgu were banished in an instant when Armun came close. Her hair brushed his face as she bent to pick up the empty water bowl; he could smell the sweet woman smell of her. He had never been this close to a girl before and the excitement of it stirred him. Unbid, the memory appeared, Vaintè above him, close to him. It was unwanted, disgusting, and he pushed all thoughts of that away.
But the memory lingered, tantalizing, for the feelings he had felt then had been very much like those he was experiencing now; the same excitement. When Armun bent again to pick up the tray he put his hand on her bare arm. It was warm, not cool. Soft.
Armun stopped, trembling, feeling his hand on her flesh, not knowing what to do. Without thinking she turned to look at him, his face close to hers. He did not laugh or turn away. Then the voices outside, coming closer, penetrated the silence.
"How is Kerrick?" It was Herilak who spoke.
"I go there now," Fraken answered.
The strange moment ended. Kerrick dropped his hand and Armun hurried away with the tray. Fraken pushed his way into the tent, his old eyes blinking in the darkness, Herilak close behind him. Fraken pulled at the leather straps that held Kerrick's leg tight to the wooden frame and nodded happily.
"All as it should be. The leg will heal straight. If these straps hurt you must pad them with dry grass. I go now to sing about Ulfadan."
Kerrick would have liked to have been there when the old man sang. The more hunters who chanted the happier Ulfadan's tharm would be. When the singing was finished Ulfadan's empty body would be wrapped in soft leather and tied high in a tree to dry in the wind. The body did not matter any more, once the tharm of the hunter had gone. Still, it would not have been proper to leave it where the carrion eaters could find it.
"I would be with you," Kerrick said.
"It is understood," Herilak said. "But it would not do to hurt the leg any more."
When they had gone Armun came from the rear of the tent, but still stood hesitatingly to one side. When he turned towards her she reached quickly for her hair—then let her hand drop because there was still no laughter in his face when he looked at her. It had happened and she did not question it. But she was still unaccustomed to being stared at.
"I heard you when you talked about being captured by the murgu." She spoke quickly, trying to hide her confusion. "Weren't you frightened, alone like that?"
"Frightened? In the beginning, I suppose I was. But I wasn't alone, they had also captured this girl, I forget her name. But they killed her." The memory was still just as clear, the emotion just as strong. The murgu with the girl's blood on it turning towards him. Vaintè. "Yes, I was afraid, very afraid. I should have kept quiet, but I talked to the murgu. I would have been killed as well if I hadn't talked to the one who held me. I did, I was that afraid. But I should not have talked."
"Why should you have kept quiet if talking saved your life?"
Why indeed? He was no hunter then, brave in the face of death. He had just been a child, the sole survivor of his sammad. There had been no shame in speaking out, he realized now. It had saved his life, brought him here, brought him here to Armun who understood.
"No reason, no reason at all," he said, smiling up at her. "I think that was when I stopped being afraid. Once they could talk to me they wanted me alive. At times they even needed me."
"I think that you were as brave as a hunter, even though you were just a boy."
These words disarmed him, he didn't know why. For some reason he felt close to tears and had to turn away from her. Tears, now, he a hunter? Without reason? Good reason perhaps, they were the unshed tears of that little boy alone among the murgu. Well, that was well past, he was no longer little, no longer a boy. He looked back at Armun and without intending to reached out and took her hand. She did not pull away.
Kerrick was confused by what he felt now, for he did not know what it meant, could relate the powerful and unknown emotions within him only to what had happened those times alone with Vaintè, when she had seized him. He did not want to think about Vaintè now, or anything else Yilanè. Unknowingly his hand closed, hard, hurting her, but she did not pull away. A warmth swept over him as though from an unseen sun. Something important was happening to him, but he did not know what it was.
Not so Armun. She knew. She had listened often enough when the young women had talked, listened also to the older women who had children, when they told about their experiences, what went on in the night, in the tents when they were alone with a hunter. She knew what was happening now and welcomed it, opened herself to the sensations that overwhelmed her. More so because she had always had little hope, even less expectation. If only it were night now and they were alone! The women had been explicit, graphic about what was done. But it was day, not night. Yet it was so quiet. And she was too close to him now. When she pulled gently Kerrick opened his hand and she moved away. Rose and turned away from the look in his eyes.
Armun stepped outside the tent and looked about her. There was no one in sight; even the children were silent, gone. What did it mean?
The singing, of course, and when she realized this she began to tremble. Ulfadan had been a sammadar. They would all be at his singing, all the sammads, everyone. She and Kerrick were alone now.
With careful, deliberate movements she turned and went back into the tent. With sure hands laced shut the tent flap.
Just as surely opened the laces of her own clothing and knelt, pulling aside the furs, entering the warm darkness beneath them.
Her figure loomed, half-seen above him. He could not move much because of his leg. But he did not want to, and soon forgot about the leg completely. Her flesh was soft, unexpectedly warm, her hair brushing over his face in silent caress. When he put his arms about her the warmth of her body matched his as well. Memories of a cool body began slipping away. She was closer, closer still. She had no hard ribs, just warm flesh, round and firm, pushing with unexpected pleasure against his chest. His arms tightened, pressing her to him, her lips to his ear speaking sounds without words.
Outside the morning sun was burning through the mist, lifting it, taking the chill from the air.
Inside the tent, beneath the warmth of the furs, the heat of their bodies melted his memories of a cooler, harsher body. Pushed aside memories of a different life, a different existence, putting in their place a tender reality of infinitely greater worth.
entaposop otoshkerke hespeleiaa
All life forms are mutable since DNA is endless in time.
Alpèasak churned with life, seethed and writhed from first light until dark. Where a few fargi had once moved along the broad avenues of the city between the trees there now paraded Yilanè on foot, Yilanè of rank born on palanquins, fargi alone and in crowds laden with burdens, even well-guarded groups of males, round-eyed and silent as they looked about at the incessant movement. The harbor had been greatly enlarged, yet was still not large enough to accommodate all of the arrivals, so that the dark forms of uruketo coming in from the ocean had to stay in the river, nuzzling against the bank, awaiting their turns. Once they were docked struggling masses of fargi unloaded their cargo, were pushed aside by the Yilanè passengers anxious to set foot on land after the long voyage.
Vaintè looked down at all the bustle with excitement, with pride in every taut line of her body. Her city, her labors, her ambition now fulfilled. Inegban* had come to Alpèasak at last. The union of the two cities brought an excitement with it that was impossible to resist. The youth and rawness of Alpèasak was now tempered with the age and wisdom of Inegban*. This union had produced an amalgam that seemed to be far superior to either of them alone. It was the world born anew, the egg of time just hatched, with all things possible, all promise bright.
There was a single shadow on this sunlit present and future, but Vaintè put that from her now since it was something that would be considered and acted upon later. At this present moment she wanted only to bask in the sun of her pleasure, warm herself on the beaches of success. Her thumbs gripped hard on the firm branch of the balustrade while so great was her excitement that all unknowing she shifted her weight from one foot to another in a solitary march of victory.
The voice spoke as from a great distance and Vaintè turned away reluctantly to see that Malsas< had joined her on the high platform. Yet so great was Vaintè's pleasure that there was room for the other to enter and join in as well.
"See, Eistaa," Vaintè spoke with pride in every movement. "It has been done. Winter will not come to Inegban*, instead Inegban* has come to endless summer here, one as warm and beneficent as any in the heart of Entoban*. Forever now will our city grow and prosper."
"It is as you say, Vaintè. When we were apart our two hearts did not beat as one, our two cities were different and separate. Now we are one. I feel as you do, that our strength is limitless, that we can do anything. And we shall. Will you not think a second time about sitting beside me, working with me? Surely Stallan can lead the fargi and wipe the curse of the ustuzou from the northern land."
"Perhaps she can, perhaps. But I know that I can and I will." Vaintè drew her thumb down between her eyes in a swift gesture. "I am as two. Now that health has returned the hatred that filled me so fully has grown smaller—but still remains firm. A hard ball of hatred that I can feel within me. Stallan might be able to crush the ustuzou. But it is I who must do it in order to destroy this rock of hatred inside my body. When they are all dead, when the creature I raised up and nurtured is dead, only then will this rock dissolve and vanish. Then I shall be whole and ready to sit at your side and do as I am bid. But this other must I do first."
Malsas< signed reluctant agreement. "I need you with me, but not when you are driven like this. Crush the ustuzou and crush the rock within. There is still the fullness of time ahead for Alpèasak."
Vaintè signed her thanks and appreciation. "We gather our strength now and will be ready to attack them as soon as the weather warms in the north. The cold that drove us from Inegban* drives them south as well. But here the winter chill is our ally. The ustuzou must hunt now where we can reach them easily; they are watched. When the proper time comes they will die. We will sweep over them, then move north to strike the others. We will do this over and over, strike them again and again, until they are all dead."
"You will not use the boats? You spoke of attacking across the land instead?"
"They will expect us on the water. They do not know that we now have the uruktop and some trakast as well. It was Vanalpè who knew of these creatures, who traveled to Entoban*, to the far city of Mesekei, distant from the ocean, where creatures like these are used. She told them of our need, of the ustuzou who threaten, and was given the strongest breeding stock. The uruktop grow to maturity in less than a year. The young are now of a size, strong and ready. The tarakast are larger, take longer to mature, so only a few immature specimens were brought back, but even these will be of great aid. When we attack now we will do so by land. The ustuzou who escaped me now leads them, and it is with the group in the south. I have seen the creature in the pictures. He dies first. The rest will give us no problems when he has gone."
Vaintè looked into the future, planning her revenge, seeing only cruel death for this one she hated. As her thoughts darkened so did the sky above as a thick cloud drifted before the sun and shadow closed in over them. When the shadow touched their skins, so did an even darker shadow touch their thoughts, something even more troublesome than the ustuzou. It was always this way, for bright as any day begins it always ends in the darkness of the night. There was a darkness in this city of light that always entered their thoughts when they saw what they were seeing now.
A line of Yifene, bound together at the waist, were moving slowly by below. The first in line looked around, then glanced upward, her quiet gaze drawn for some reason to the two figures looking down from above. The distance was not great so she was able to recognize them, recognized Vaintè.
Her hand moved in quick and warm recognition, one efenselè to another, then she was past.
"From my own efenburu," Vaintè said bitterly. "That is a weight that I can never put down."
"The fault is not yours," Malsas< said. "There are Daughters of Death in my efenburu as well. This is a disease that eats us all."
"This is a disease that may have a cure. I dare not speak more of it now; we could be overheard. But I will say that I see a possibility of hope."
"You are first to me in all things," Malsas< said, sincerity strong in every motion. "Do this, cure this disease, and none will be higher."
Enge had not meant to acknowledge her efenselè, the gesture had been done unconsciously, yet even as she had done it she had realized her mistake. Vaintè would not have been pleased by it at any time. But now, with the Eistaa present, it might be considered an insult. Enge had not intended it so. It had been a mistake but not a deliberate one.
The line had halted before the barred gate, waiting for it to open, waiting for release. Release into prison, but for all of them it was a freedom. Here they were one, here they were free to believe the truth—and more important—speak the truth.
When she was with the other Daughters of Life, Enge no longer felt bound by her pledge not to speak to other Yilanè of her beliefs—for they all shared the same beliefs here. When Inegban* had come to Alpèasak the city's unwelcome burden of believers had come as well. There were so many of them that this compound had been grown, walled and guarded so that their intellectual poison did not spread. What they spoke of between themselves, behind these walls, was of no importance to the rulers outside. Just as long as these treasonous thoughts stayed behind the sharp thorns of the wall.
Efenate hurried up to Enge, her slight form quivering with news. "It is Peleinè," she said. "She is talking to us, answering our questions."
"I will join you," Enge said, the stiffness of her body scarcely concealing her troubled thoughts. Ugunenapsa's teaching had always been clear to her, a beam of sunshine in the dark jungle of worry. But her teachings were not always seen that way by others, were open to interpretations and discussion. That was only right, for Ugunenapsa had taught about the freedom of the power of the mind to understand everything, not just the power of life and death. Although Enge agreed with this freedom, she was still disturbed by some of the interpretations of Ugunenapsa's words, and of all the interpretations Peleinè's disturbed her most of all.
Peleinè stood on the raised root of the large tree so that all those gathered around could understand what she was saying. Enge stopped at the edge of the crowd, settling back like the others onto her tail to listen. Peleinè was speaking in the new manner of discussion that had become so popular, using questions and answers to tell them what she wanted them to know.
"Ugunenapsa, the fargi still wet from the sea asked, Ugunenapsa, what makes me different from the squid in the sea? Then Ugunenapsa answered, the difference is, my daughter, that you can know of death, while the squid in the sea know only life.
"But knowing of death, how can I then know of life? The answer that Ugunenapsa then spoke was so simple and so clear that had it been spoken at the egg of time it would still ring clear tomorrow and tomorrow's tomorrow. The answer was that which sustains us, for knowing of death we know the limits of life, therefore we live when others would die. That is the strength of our belief, that is the belief that is our strength.
"Then the fargi, wet from the sea in her simplicity, asked what of the squid I eat, do I not bring it death? And she was answered, no, the squid brings you life with its flesh and since it knows not of death it cannot die."
There was a murmur of appreciation at this from the listeners, and Enge herself was moved by the clarity and beauty of the thought and for the moment forgot all reservations she may have had about the speaker. Eager in her desire for knowledge, one of the Yilanè cried out from the listening crowd.
"Wise Peleinè, what if the squid were so large that it threatened your life, and its taste was so horrible that it could not be eaten? What would you do then? Would you stand and be eaten, or would you kill even though you knew that you could not eat?"
Peleinè acknowledged the difficulty of the problem. "Here is where we must study Ugunenapsa's thoughts closely. She spoke of the thing within us that cannot be seen, that enables us to speak and separates us from the unthinking beasts. To preserve this unseen thing is worthwhile, therefore killing the squid to preserve the unseen thing is worth doing. We are the Daughters of Life and must preserve life."
"What if the squid could talk, what then?" someone called out, and since this was the question closest to all of them they were silent and attentive. When Peleinè spoke they all listened.
"For Ugunenapsa there was no answer for she knew of no talking squid." Peleinè made her answer more explicit. "Nor were there talking ustuzou. Therefore we must seek in Ugunenapsa's words for her true intent. Does speaking alone signify the knowledge of life and death? Or can an ustuzou speak, yet know not of death? If that is true, then to save our lives we might kill that ustuzou that speaks, for we know that we know of the difference, yet we know not if the ustuzou is aware. This is a decision that we must make."
"But we cannot decide," Enge called out, much disturbed. "We cannot decide unless we know, for if we do not know for certain then we violate all that Ugunenapsa taught."
Peleinè turned in her direction and signed agreement yet worry. "Enge speaks the truth, but speaks the problem as well. We must consider the reservation that there is only the possibility that the ustuzou may know of life and death. This must be balanced against the fact that we surely do know of life and death. On one hand a doubt, on the other a certainty. Since life is the thing that we value the highest I say we must hold to the certainty and reject the doubt. There can be no other way."
There were more questions, but Enge did not hear them, did not want to hear them. She could not escape her deep-felt belief that Peleinè was wrong, yet could not see her way clearly to expressing this certainty. She must ponder on it. She sought a quiet place away from the others and turned all of her attention inwards.
So wrapped was she in her thoughts that she did not notice the guards who went through the crowds seeking out a work party. Did not hear the little cries of distress when their teacher, Peleinè, was one of those selected, as though she were no different from the others. The working parties were chosen, leashed together, led away.
Those with Peleinè were not bound as were the others because they were taken away in smaller groups for different work. None of them noticed that in the end Peleinè was left alone. The guards were sent away as well by a Yilanè of authority who led Peleinè by a long route around the city to a door which opened for her. Peleinè went in unhappily, for this had happened before and she was still not sure within herself if what she was doing was correct. But until she decided she could make no protest, could not refuse to be here. Reluctantly she entered and closed the door behind her. There was only one other Yilanè present in the room.
"Now we will talk," Vaintè said.
Peleinè stood with her head bowed, staring unseeingly at her hands as she nervously laced and unlaced her thumbs. "I feel that what I am doing is wrong," she said finally. "I should not be here. I should not talk to you."
"You have no cause to feel that way. I merely want to hear what you have to say. Is it not a duty of a Daughter of Life to speak to others about her beliefs, to bring enlightenment to them?"
"It is. Are you then enlightened, Vaintè? Do you now call me a Daughter of Life instead of a Daughter of Death because you believe as I do?"
"Not yet. You must talk to me more, present more convincing arguments before I join your ranks."
Peleinè straightened up, suspicion in every movement of her body. "Then if you do not believe as we do—what need have you of me? Do you see me as a sower of dissension in the ranks of the Daughters? At times I see myself that way too, and wonder just where my process of careful analysis of our teachings is taking me."
"It is taking you to the truth. It is convincing you that the ustuzou who kill us deserve killing in return. There is justice in that. We defend our beaches, we kill those creatures that threaten our existence. I do not ask you to change your beliefs. I ask you only to aid us in this just war. If you do this the benefits will be great for all of us. Our city will be saved. The Eistaa will remove your bonds and you will all be citizens once again. Your beliefs will be recognized as legitimate because they will not threaten the existence of Alpèasak. You will be the true leader then of the Daughters of Life and will follow the footsteps and teachings of Ugunenapsa."
Peleinè signed confusion and worry. "Yet I have doubts. If the ustuzou can speak they may be aware of the existence of death, therefore the meaning of life. If this is so I cannot aid in their extinction."
Vaintè came forward then, so close that their hands almost touched, and spoke with great feeling. "They are beasts. One of them was taught to speak, just as a boat is taught to obey commands. Just one of them. The others grunt like animals in the jungle. And this one who was taught to speak like a Yilanè now kills Yilanè. They are a blight that destroys us. They must be wiped out, every last one of them. And you will help. You will lead the Daughters of Death from the darkness of death and they will be the true Daughters of Life. This you will do. This you must do."
When she said this she touched Peleinè's thumbs gently with the gesture that one efenselè uses only with another. Peleinè welcomed this embrace of one so high and realized that her rank could be that of an equal if she did what must be done.
"You are right, Vaintè, so right. It shall be done as you say. The Daughters of Life have lived apart from their city for too long. We must return, we must be a part of life once again. But we must not be turned from the true way."
"You shall not be. You will believe as you believe and none shall stop you. The path ahead is clear and you shall lead the way into the triumphant future."
It was Harl's first bow and he was immensely proud of it. He had gone with his uncle, Nadris, to the forest to search for the right kind of tree that they would need, the thin-barked one with the tough and springy wood. Nadris had selected the thin sapling, but Harl had chopped it down himself, sawing at the resilient, green trunk until it had been cut through. Then, under Nadris's careful direction, he had scraped off the bark to uncover the white heart of the wood within. But then he had had to wait, and waiting had been the worst part. Nadris had hung the length of wood high inside his tent to dry and had left it there, day after day, until it was ready. When the shaping began Harl had sat and watched while Nadris methodically scraped it with a stone blade. The ends of the bow were carefully tapered, then nocked to take the bowstring that had been woven from the long, strong hairs of the niastodon's tail. Even with the bowstring in place Nadris had not been satisfied, but had tested the pull, then removed the string and shaped the wood again. But in the end even this was finished. This was to be Harl's bow, so it was his right to shoot the first arrow from it. He had done so, bending the bow as far as he could, then releasing the arrow. It flew straight and true, sinking into the tree trunk with a satisfactory thud.
This had been the longest and happiest day in Harl's life. He had a bow now, would learn to shoot it well, would be allowed on the hunt soon. This was the first and most important step that put him on the path from childhood, the path that would one day lead him into the world of hunters.
Although his arm was sore, his fingertips blistered, he would not stop. It was his bow, his day. He wanted to be alone with it and had slipped away from the other boys and gone to the small copse close to the camp. All day he had crept between the trees, stalked bushes, sunk his arrows into innocent tussocks—that were really deer that only he could see.
When it grew dark he reluctantly put up the bow and turned back towards the tents. He was hungry and looked forward to the meat that would be waiting. One day he would hunt and kill his own meat. Nock arrow, draw, zumm, hit, dead. One day.
There was a rustle in the tree above him and he stopped, silent and unmoving. There was something there, a dark form outlined against the gray of the sky. It moved and its claws rustled again. A large bird.
It was too tempting a target to resist. He might lose the arrow in the darkness, but he had made it himself and could make more. But if he hit the bird it would be his first kill. The first day of the bow, the first kill that same day. The other boys would look at him very differently when he walked between the tents with his trophy.
Slowly and silently he put an arrow to the string, bent the bow, sighted along the arrow at the dark shape above. Then let fly.
There was a squawk of pain—then the bird was tumbling down from the branch. It landed in the bough above Harl's head, hung there, unmoving, caught by the thin branches. He stood on tiptoe and could just reach it with the end of his bow, prodding and pushing until it fell to the ground at his feet. His arrow stuck out from the bird's body and the creature's round, sightless eyes looked up at him. Harl stepped back, gasping with fright.
An owl. He had killed an owl.
Why hadn't he stopped to think? He moaned aloud at the terror within him. He should have known, no other bird would be about in the dark. A forbidden bird and he had killed it. Just the night before old Fraken had unrolled the ball of fur disgorged by an owl, had poked his fingers through the tiny bones inside, had seen the future and the success of the hunting from the manner in which the bones were tangled. And while Fraken had done this he had talked about the owls, the only birds that flew by night, the birds that waited to guide the tharms of dead hunters through the darkness towards the sky.
An owl must never be killed.
And Harl had killed one.
Maybe if he buried it, no one would know. He began to dig wildly at the ground with his hands, then stopped. It was no good. The owl knew, and the other owls would know. They would remember. And one day his own tharm would have no owl for a guide because animals never forgot. Never. There were tears in his eyes when he bent over the dead bird, pulled his arrow free. He bent and looked more closely at it in the gathering darkness.
Armun was sitting by the fire when the boy came running up. He stood waiting for her to notice him, but she was in no hurry to do that and poked a bit at the fire first. She was Kerrick's woman now and she felt the warm contentment suffuse her once again. Kerrick's woman. The boys did not dare to laugh at her or point any more and she did not have to cover her face.
"What is it?" she asked, trying to be stern but smiling in spite of herself, too filled with happiness to pretend otherwise.
"This is the tent of the margalus," Harl said, and his voice trembled when he spoke. "Will he talk to me?"
Kerrick had heard their voices. He climbed slowly to his feet, although his broken leg had set well it was still sore when he rested his weight on it, and emerged from the tent. Harl turned to face him. The boy's face was drawn and pale and there were smears upon his cheeks as though tears had been rubbed away.
"You are the margalus and know all about murgu, that is what I have been told."
"What do you want?"
"Come with me, please, it is important. There is something I must show you."
There were strange beasts of all kinds here, Kerrick knew. The boy must have found something that he didn't recognize. He started to turn him away, then thought better of it. It might be something dangerous; he had better look at it. Kerrick nodded then followed the boy away from the fire. As soon as they were far enough distant so that Armun could not overhear him the boy stopped.
"I have killed an owl," he said, his voice trembling. Kerrick wondered at this, then remembered the stories that Fraken told about the owls and knew why the boy was so frightened. He must find some way to reassure him without violating Fraken's teachings and beliefs.
"It is not good to kill an owl," he said. "But you should not let it bother you too much…"
"That is not it. There is something else."
Harl bent and dragged the owl out from under a bush by the end of one long wing, then held it up so that the light of the nearest fires fell upon it.
"This is why I came to you," Harl said, pointing to the black lump on the owl's leg.
Kerrick bent close to look. The light from the fire reflected back a quick spark as the creature's eye opened and closed again.
Kerrick straightened up slowly, then reached out and took the bird from the boy's hands. "You did the right thing," he said. "It is wrong to shoot owls, but this is not an owl that we know. This is a marag owl. You were right to kill it, right to come to me. Now run quickly, find the hunter Herilak, tell him to come to my tent at once. Tell him what we have seen on the owl's leg."
Har-Havola came as well when he heard what the boy had found, and Sorli who now was sammadar in Ulfadan's place. They looked at the dead bird and the live marag with its black claws clamped about the owl's leg. Sorli shuddered when the large eye opened and stared at him, then slowly closed again.
"What is the meaning of this?" Herilak asked.
"It means that the murgu know that we are here," Kerrick said. "They no longer send the raptors to spy us out for too many did not return. The owl can fly at night, can see in the dark." He poked the black creature with his fingertip and its cool skin twitched, then was still. "This marag can see in the darkness too. It has seen us and told the murgu. It may have seen us many times."
"Which could mean that the murgu might be on their way now to attack us," Herilak said, his voice cold as death.
Kerrick shook his head, his face grim. "Not may be—but must be. It is warm enough for them this far south even at this time of year. They have sought for us, and this creature has told them where we camp. They will seek vengeance, there is no doubt of that."
"What do we do?" Har-Havola asked, glancing up at the star-filled sky. "Can we go north? It is not yet spring."
"We may have to go, spring or no spring," Kerrick said. "We will have to decide about that. In the meantime we must know if we are to be attacked. Hunters will go south along the riverbank, hunters who are the strongest runners. They must go one, even two days' march south of this camp and watch the river. If they see the murgu boats they must warn us at once."
"Sigurnath and Peremandu," Har-Havola said. "They are the fastest of foot in my sammad. They have run after deer in the mountains and they run as fast as the deer."
"They leave at dawn," Herilak said.
"There are some of my hunters who have not returned," Sorli said. "They have traveled far and sleep away. We cannot leave this place until they come back."
Kerrick looked into the fire as though searching for an answer there. "I feel we should not wait any longer than that. We must go north as soon as your hunters return."
"It is frozen still, there is no hunting," Har-Havola protested.
"We have food," Kerrick said. "We have our own meat and the meat in bladders that we took from the murgu. We can eat that and we can live. If we stay here they will fall upon us. I feel that, I know that." He pointed to the dead owl and the living creature tight-clamped to its leg. "They watch. They know where we are. They come to kill us. I know them, know how they feel. If we stay we are dead."
They slept little that night and Kerrick was there at the first light of dawn when Sigurnath and Peremandu set out.
Both of them were tall and strong, wearing birchbark leggings as protection against the underbrush.
"Leave your spears so they will not weigh you down," Kerrick said. "Take dried meat and ekkotaz, but only enough for three days. You will not need the spears because you will not hunt. You are there to watch. You will have your bows, and you will take a hèsotsan as well for protection. As you go south always stay within sight of the river, even if it takes you longer that way. Go until it is dark and remain by the river at night. Return on the third day if we have not sent for you, for we will stay here no longer than that. Watch the river all of the time—but leave it at once if you see the murgu. If you see them you must get back here as quickly as you can."
The two hunters ran. An easy and steady, ground-eating pace. The sky was overcast, the day cool, which made the running that much easier. They ran along the bank of the wide river, and splashed through the shallows when they were forced to, or climbed the high banks, never letting the water out of their sight. The river remained empty. When the sun was high they stopped, soaked in sweat, and drank deep from a clear stream that fell in a waterfall over a stone bank, then splashed into the river below. They cooled their faces in the spray, then chewed some of the smoked meat. They did not stop long.
In midafternoon they came to a place where the river cut a great loop into the plain. They were on a rise above it and could see where the course of the river curved out, then back.
"It is shorter to cross the bend here," Sigurnath said. Peremandu looked at it, then rubbed the perspiration from his face with the back of his hand.
"Shorter—but we will not be able to see the water. They could pass by and we would not know. We must stay by the river."
As they looked south they became aware of a cloud on the horizon that billowed upwards. It grew while they watched, puzzled, for they had never seen a cloud like that before.
"What is it?" Sigurnath asked.
"Dust," Peremandu said, for he was known for his keen sight. "A cloud of dust. Maybe the duck-bills, a large herd."
"As long as we have hunted them I have never seen a thing like this. It is too big, too wide—and it grows."
They watched as the cloud of dust came closer, until the animals could be seen running before it. A very large herd indeed. There were some of them out ahead of the pack and Peremandu shaded his eyes with his hand, trying to make them out.
"They are murgu!" he cried in sudden horror. "Death-stick murgu. Run!"
They ran, back along the river bank, clearly visible in the knee-high grass. There were harsh cries behind them, the thunder of heavy feet and sudden sharp snapping sounds.
Sigurnath reared up, fell, and Peremandu had only a quick glimpse of the dart that sprouted suddenly from the back of his neck.
There was no escape on the plain. Sigurnath veered left, dirt crumbled from under his feet. He fell from the high bank, turned as he dropped, then hit the water far below.
The two great beasts slowed and stopped at the edge of the bank and their two Yilanè riders climbed down from their high saddles to look down at the muddy river. There was nothing visible. They stood, motionless, for a long time. Then the first one turned and led the way back to the tarakast.
"Report to Vaintè," she said. "Tell her we have come upon two ustuzou. They are both dead. The rest of them will not know of our presence. We will fall upon them just as she has planned."
The distant shouts brought Kerrick suddenly awake, staring into the darkness of the tent. Armun was disturbed as well, murmuring something in her sleep as she moved the warm flesh of her body against his. The shouting was louder now: Kerrick pulled away from her, groped for his clothing among the furs.
When he threw back the tentflap he saw the group of hunters running towards him. They were carrying torches and two of them were dragging a dark shape. It was another hunter, limp and unmoving. Herilak ran on ahead of the others.
"They're coming," he called out, and Kerrick felt the hair stir on the back of his neck.
"It is Peremandu," Herilak said. "He ran all day, most of this night as well."
Peremandu was conscious, but completely exhausted. They carried him to Kerrick, his toes trailing in the dust, then sat him gently on the ground. In the flickering light of the torches his skin was pale: sooty patches ringed his eyes.
"Coming…" he said hoarsely. "Behind me… Sigurnath, dead."
"Are there guards at the river?" Kerrick asked, and Peremandu shook his head weakly when he heard the words.
"Not on the water. Land."
"Run," Herilak ordered the hunters who had carried Peremandu. "Wake everyone. Get the sammadars here."
Armun slipped out of the tent and bent over Peremandu, holding a cup of water to his mouth. He drained it greedily, gasping with the effort. His words came a bit more easily now.
"We watched the river—but they came by land. First a dust cloud bigger than anything we had ever seen. There were murgu, they could not be counted, running fast, heavy feet, death-stick murgu on their backs. The murgu also rode another kind, bigger, faster, scouting ahead. When we ran they saw us. Killed Sigurnath. I went into the river, holding my breath, as long as I could. Swimming deep, with the current. When I came up they were gone. I stayed in the water a long time."
The sammadars hurried up while he was talking, while more and more hunters gathered silently to listen. The torchlight flickered across their grim faces.
"When I came out of the water they were gone. I could see the dust of their passing in the distance. They went very fast. I followed their track, wide as a river through the trampled grass, marked with much dung of the murgu. Followed until the sun was low and I could see that they had halted by the river. Then I stopped too and went no closer. The margalus has said that they do not like the night and do not go about then. Remembering this I waited until the sun had set. As soon as it was dark I circled far to the east so I would not pass near them. I did not see them again. I ran and did not stop, and I ran and I am here. Sigurnath is dead."
He dropped back onto the ground, exhausted again by the effort of speaking. What he had said struck terror into the listeners' hearts for they knew that death was striding close.
"They will attack," Kerrick said. "Soon after dawn. They know exactly where we are. They plan these things carefully. They will have stopped for the night just far enough away not to be observed, yet close enough to strike in the morning."
"We must defend ourselves," Herilak said.
"No! We must not stay here." Kerrick spoke the words quickly, almost without thought; they were driven from him by a strong emotion.
"If we leave they will attack us while we move," Herilak said. "We will be defenseless, slaughtered as we run. It will be better to remain here where we can make a stand."
"Hear me out," Kerrick said. "If we remain here that will be exactly what they want us to do. It is their plan to attack us in this place. You can be sure that the attack has been worked out in all details and is meant to destroy us. Now we must stop and think of the best way to survive. The beasts they ride, I have never seen or heard of them before. That means nothing. They have the resources of an entire world out there. There are strange creatures beyond counting, murgu we cannot even imagine. But now we know about them, now we are forewarned." He looked around. "We chose this place to camp because there was water and we could defend ourselves against attack from the river. Do they come by water as well? Did you see any boats?"
"None," Peremandu said. "The river was empty. They are so many that they need no aid. Their numbers were like the birds when they gather to fly south in the autumn. Like leaves, they could not be counted."
"Our thorn barrier will be trampled down," Kerrick said. "So will we. We must leave at once. Go north. We cannot remain here."
The murmuring died away. No one wanted to speak, for all of this was too unusual, too new. They looked to their leaders. The sammadars looked at Herilak. The decision was his. His face was as grim as theirs, grimmer—for the responsibility now was his alone. He looked around at them, then straightened his back and slammed his spear butt onto the ground.
"We march. The margalus is right. If we stay here it is certain death. If we have to make a stand it will be at the spot of our own choosing. The night is only half gone. We must make the most of the darkness remaining. Strike the tents…"
"No," Kerrick broke in. "That would be a mistake—for many reasons. It will take time, and time is one thing we do not have. If we pack the tents the travois will be heavy laden and that will slow us down. We take our weapons, food and clothing—nothing more."
The women were listening as well and one of them wailed at this loss.
"We can make new tents," Kerrick said. "We cannot make new lives. Load the travois with only the things I have said, the babies and small children can ride as well. Leave the tents standing. The murgu will not know that they are empty. They will attack, use up their darts, that will take time. We need all the time that we can get. This is what I tell you to do."
"Do as the margalus orders," Herilak said, pointing his spear. "Go."
The mastodons trumpeted their complaints at being disturbed, but cruel blows in the delicate corners of their mouths moved them out. The fires before the tents were stirred to life and the travois were quickly lashed into position. Kerrick left Armun to load what was needed and hurried out of the encampment, to the head of the forming column where Herilak was waiting.
Herilak pointed north.
"The land rises there, you will remember. The hills are wooded and rough, with the stone of the mountains pushing through the ground in some places. We must get there before they catch up with us. It is there that we will find a position that can be defended."
The moon rose before they were ready and dawn was that much closer. They went out in single file, the mastodons squealing as they were goaded into a shambling run, the hunters trotting alongside. They had hunted this land for a long time now and knew every crease and fold. The sammads took the easiest and fastest track north.
When dawn spread the first gray light over the landscape the column was stretched out, no longer running, but still moving. The mastodons were too weary now to complain and slogged steadily on, putting one great foot ahead of the other. The hunters walked as well, looking behind them although there was nothing there to be seen. Yet. The march continued.
A long, wearying time passed before Herilak called a halt.
"Drink and rest," he ordered, looking back the way that they had come, waiting for the straggling column to close up. He waved Peremandu to him. "You know how far away from our encampment the murgu were. Will they have reached it by now?"
Peremandu looked to the south and his eyes narrowed with thought. He nodded reluctantly. "It took me a longer time, but they are much faster. They will be there by now."
"And will soon be after us," Herilak said grimly. He turned and looked to the east, then pointed to the foothills. "There. We must find a place to make our stand there. Move out."
The land soon began to rise and the tired mastodons slowed and had to be urged on. The path they were following took them up a valley, with a stream winding down the bottom of it. One of the hunters who had been scouting ahead came trotting back to Herilak.
"The valley gets steeper and will soon be hard to climb out of."
They turned up the slope then, and when they had breasted it Herilak pointed to the even steeper, rock-strewn hill above. It rose steadily to forested heights beyond.
"That is what we want. If we lie in wait up there they cannot attack us from behind. They must come up this slope. They will be in the open while we will be hidden among the trees. We will make our stand there."
Kerrick heard this with a feeling of relief as he came stumbling up. His leg throbbed with pain after the tiring walk and each step was agony. But there was no time to think about himself now. "That is a good plan," he said. "The beasts are tired and cannot go much further. They should be taken deeper into the woods, to eat and to rest. The women as well. We must all get some rest because we will go on after dark again. If the numbers of the murgu are as great as Peremandu has told us, then we cannot possibly kill them all. It will be enough to stop them. What do you say to this, Herilak?"
"I say that this thought is hard as stone. But I think that it is also true. We will wait for the attack at the forest edge. The mastodons will go deeper among the trees. Har-Havola, I want strong runners from your sammad to find a way through the forest and beyond while it is still light. We will fight. After dark we will go on."
The stragglers were still working their way up the slope when a hunter shouted a warning and pointed to the west, at the growing cloud rising up beyond the first of the foothills. The sight of it hurried the last of them on their way.
A fresh breeze was blowing, rustling the bare branches above their heads. Kerrick sat next to Herilak on the soft grass, the afternoon sun warm on their faces, carefully feeding darts into his hèsotsan. The cloud was closer still. Herilak rose and waved the hunters to cover.
"Conceal yourselves," he ordered. "Do not squeeze the death-sticks until I order it—no matter how close they come. Then kill them. Slaughter them until they pile high and cannot get by their own dead. Do not retreat until you are ordered to. Then do it, but just a few at a time. Get behind the trees. Let the others pass by you. I want hunters hiding and killing, never stopping. Let them die among the trees just as they will die on the hillside. Remember, we are all that stands between the murgu and the sammads. Do not let them pass."
The murgu were close, the dust cloud now roiling up from the last valley that the sammads had climbed. Kerrick stretched full length behind the trunk of the large tree, the hèsotsan resting on a fallen branch. The grass on the slope swayed as the breeze moved across it. A flock of birds rose up from the grass and winged overhead. The rumble, like distant thunder, grew louder.
A row of dark forms came suddenly into view on top of the ridge, moving slowly but steadily. Kerrick lay motionless, pressed to the ground, aware of the rapid thudding of his heart.
The riding beasts were large, looking a bit like epetruk, striding forward on their thick hind legs, heavy tails swishing through the grass behind. Each of them had a Yilanè rider straddling its forequarters. Now they paused, looking up at the slope and the trees beyond. Waiting there as the rumbling grew louder.
Kerrick gasped as the crest of the ridge darkened with the running figures, low beasts with too many legs. They stopped as well, milled about, armed fargi on their backs. Four legs to a side, eight in all. Tiny heads on thick necks. Raised and bred to carry, to bring the fargi here, more and more of them all of the time. They surged and crowded each other—then started ahead.
The wind blew from them, carrying the cries of the Yilanè, the loud hammer of feet, shrill animal screams, the sour, bestial smell of the creatures.
Closer and closer, looming high, coming forward along the track straight towards the handful of hunters hidden beneath the trees. Every detail of their spotted hides was now clear, the fargi clutching their weapons and blinking out through the dust, the Yilanè on their larger mounts forging ahead.
Herilak's warbling cry was small against the loud thunder of the attackers.
The first death-sticks cracked out.
Kerrick fired at the nearest Yilanè, missed, but hit her mount instead. The creature reared up—then fell heavily. The rider dropped to the ground, unhurt, aiming her hèsotsan. Kerrick's next dart caught her in the neck and she crumpled into the grass.
It was a slaughter. The first row of attackers fell before the concentrated fire from the trees. Many of the lumbering, eight-legged beasts were hit, dropped as well, spilling the fargi from their backs to the ground. Those few that kept coming forward were killed well before they reached the line of trees. The survivors fell back, became entangled with the riders who were still coming forward. The darts flew into the jumbled mass and the bodies piled higher. The attack stumbled to a halt, encumbered by the dead, the air filled with the pained cries of wounded fargi crushed beneath the fallen beasts.
Orders were being called out now by mounted Yilanè grouped to the rear of the attackers. Under their direction the fargi struggled to seek cover, to fire back. Kerrick lowered his own weapon to listen, understanding some of what was being said. One of the riders rode free of the attackers, calling for attention, issuing orders. Kerrick raised his hèsotsan but saw that she was carefully staying out of range. Her voice was clearly heard now, making order out of chaos. It was clear to Kerrick as well.
He froze. Eyes wide, hands clenched and muscles locked. That voice. He knew that voice.
But Vaintè was dead, he had killed her himself. Stabbed deep. Killed her. She was dead.
Yet it was undeniably her voice; loud and commanding.
Kerrick leaped to his feet, trying to see her clearly, but she was facing away from him. Then, as she was turning back in his direction, he was hit hard in the back, tumbled to the ground, dragged back into cover. Darts rustled in the leaves around him. Herilak released him, sought cover himself.
"It was her," Kerrick said, his voice tight with the effort. "The one I killed, the sammadar of all the murgu. But I killed her, you saw me."
"I saw you stab a marag. They can be very hard to kill."
Still alive. There was no doubt. Still alive. Kerrick shook his head and lifted the hèsotsan. There was no time to think about that now. Unless he could kill her again. Still alive. He forced his thoughts back to the battle.
So far few darts had been fired by the attackers, so sudden and overwhelming had been the disaster. But now they found shelter behind the bodies of their dead and began to fire back; the leaves rustled and stirred at the impact of the numberless darts.
"Don't expose yourself!" Herilak called out. "Stay down. Wait until they attack."
The Yilanè who had survived the first charge now kept their large tarakast safely behind the mass of uruktop and fargi. There were loud cries as they ordered the attack to be pressed home. Reluctantly, the fargi rose and ran forward, died. The attack was broken even before it began.
"We stopped them," Herilak said with rich satisfaction, looking out at the corpse-strewn slope. "We can hold them."
"Not for too long," Kerrick said, pointing down the hill. "When they attack from the sea they use a formation called the outstretched-arms. They go out to both sides, then come in behind. I think they are doing that now."
"We can stop that."
"For a little while. But I know their strategy. They will attack on a wider and wider front until they turn our flanks. We must be ready."
Kerrick was correct. The fargi climbed down from the eight-legged uruktop and spread across the face of the hill, coming forward slowly. They died—but more were ordered up behind them. The slaughter was great, but the Yilanè commanders did not care. More and still more fargi advanced, sheltering behind the dead, some even reaching the edge of the forest before they fell.
It was midafternoon when the first fargi found protection among the trees. Others joined them and the Tanu defenders had to draw back.
A different, yet equally deadly, battle now began. Few of the fargi had any experience in woodcraft. When they left their cover death usually sought them out. Yet still they advanced. There was no front to the battle any more, hunters and hunted mixed together in the gloom beneath the trees.
Kerrick fell back with the others, the pain in his leg almost gone now, trying to keep the bulk of the trees between himself and the fargi. Yet when he straightened up there was a sharp crack and a dart hit the bark of the tree close to his face. He spun about, his spear ready in his left hand, sinking it into the fargi who had come up behind him, wrenching it free then hurrying deeper into the forest.
The retreat began again. Whispered commands started the mastodons along the escape route, the hunters gathered behind them and guarding their backs. There were other, harsher commands being called through the forest now and Kerrick stopped, cupping his hand to his ear. He listened carefully, then turned and ran back through the trees to find Herilak.
"They are withdrawing," Kerrick said. "Without seeing them I can't be sure of everything that they are saying, but there are bits of it I could make out."
"Are they retreating, beaten?"
"No." Kerrick looked up at the darkening sky above the trees. "It will be night soon. They are regrouping in the open. They will attack again in the morning."
"And we will be long gone. Let us now fall back and join the sammads."
"There is one thing that must be done first. We must search the forest, find as many of the death-sticks as we can. Then we can leave."
"You are right. Death-sticks and more darts. We have fired too many."
Night had fallen by the time they had searched out the weapons and returned with them to the sammads. Kerrick was the last. He stood looking back down the slope until Herilak called after him. He waved the big hunter to him, pointing.
"Let the others return with the weapons. I want both of us to get closer to the murgu camp. They don't like the dark. Perhaps there is something that we can do there."
"An attack during the night?"
"That is what we will have to find out."
They walked slowly, weapons ready, but the enemy were gone from the hillside. Yet they had not gone far: their encampment was clearly visible on the grassy slopes beyond. A vast collection of dark bodies drawn together, silent and motionless.
The two hunters took every precaution. Stooping low in the grass when they drew close, then crawling forward silently, weapons ready. When they were a long arrowshot away from the Yilanè camp Herilak stopped Kerrick with a light touch on the shoulder.
"This is too easy," he whispered into his ear. "Don't they have guards of some kind?"
"I don't know. They all sleep at night. We must find out."
They had crawled forward just a few paces more when Kerrick's fingers touched something, a stick, a length of vine perhaps, hidden by the grass.
It moved sluggishly between his fingers.
"Get back!" he called to Herilak as the glow sprang up from the darkness ahead. A dim light that quickly grew brighter and brighter until they could see clearly. And be seen. There was the crack of weapons and darts rustled quick death into the grass around them. They crawled as fast as they could, stood and ran into the welcoming darkness as soon as they were out of range. Stumbling and falling, gasping for breath, they did not stop until they reached the ridge above.
Behind them the lights faded, died away, and darkness returned. The Yilanè had learned after the massacre on the beaches. They would not be attacked at night again.
When Kerrick and Herilak reached the sammads the darts and hèsotsan that had been retrieved from the battle had been loaded onto the travois; the retreat began once again. Herilak spoke to the sammadars as they walked.
Four hunters had not returned from the battle in the forest.
They went slowly, far too slowly to escape the attack that would surely come in the morning. They were all weary after two nights of traveling with little sleep. The mastodons screamed in protest when they were goaded on. Yet still the sammads stumbled forward, for they had very little choice. If they stayed, they died.
The ground was rough, rocky, and uphill most of the way. Their progress became slower and slower and well before dawn it ground to a halt. Sorli brought the message to Herilak.
"It is the beasts. They will not go on, even when we push spears into them."
"Then we stop here," Herilak said with great weariness. "Rest and sleep. We will go on again at sunrise to the next position."
A chill wind came up at dawn and they shivered as they rose wearily from their sleeping furs. They were dispirited and still exhausted. Only knowledge of the sure advance of the enemy drove them forward once again. Armun walked at Kerrick's side in silence. There was very little that could be said now. It was enough to put one foot in front of the other, to prod on the protesting mastodons.
A hunter stood beside the trail, leaning on his spear, waiting for Kerrick to come up to him.
"It is the sacripex," he said. "It is his wish that you join him where he leads."
With great effort, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg, Kerrick broke into a shuffling run that took him up the column, past the travois and marching sammads. The small children were walking now, the babies being carried by the mothers and older children. Even partially relieved of their loads the mastodons still stumbled with fatigue. They would not keep going much longer.
Herilak pointed at the hills ahead when Kerrick came shuffling up to join him.
"They have found a wooded ridge up there," he said. "Very much like the one we stopped them in yesterday."
"Not… good enough," Kerrick gasped, fighting to catch his breath. "There are too many of the enemy. They will get around us again, push us back."
"They may have learned their lesson. Even murgu aren't stupid. They will hold back. They know they will be killed if they attack."
Kerrick shook his head in an unhappy no. "Tanu might do that. They might see others die, be afraid for themselves. But not the murgu. I know them, know them too well. The Yilanè who are riding the large beasts, they will stay to the rear all right. They will be safe. But they will order the fargi to attack just as they did before."
"What if they refuse?"
"They can't. It is impossible for them. If they understand a command they must obey it. That is the way it is. They will attack."
"Murgu," Herilak said, and his lips curled back from his teeth with distaste as he said it. "Then what are we to do?"
"What else can we do but keep going?" Kerrick asked helplessly, his mouth gasping open, his skin ashen with fatigue. "If we stop here in the open we will be slaughtered. We must go on. Find some hill that we can defend, perhaps."
"A hill can be surrounded. Then we will surely die."
The track they were following rose sharply. They needed all their breath now to scramble up it. When they reached the ridge above they were forced to stop. Kerrick was bent double, racked with cramps. Behind them the slow procession toiled up the slope. Kerrick straightened up, gasping, and looked ahead, up the rise, they must climb to the hills beyond. Then stopped motionless, mouth gaping, eyes wide.
"Herilak," he shouted. "Look there, up ahead, up on those higher hills. Do you see that?"
Herilak shielded his eyes and looked, then shrugged and turned away. "Snow. Winter still holds fast up there."
"Don't you understand? These murgu can't stand cold. Those creatures that they are riding on won't walk in the snow. They can't follow us up there!"
Herilak raised his eyes again—but this time there was the light of hope in them. "The snow is not that far away. We can reach it today—if we keep moving." He called out to the hunters who were leading the way, waved them back, issued new instructions. Then sat down with a satisfied grunt.
"The sammads go on. But some of us must wait behind and slow down those murgu who follow after us."
There was hope now, and a new chance for existence heartened the sammads. Even the mastodons sensed the excitement, raised their trunks, and bellowed. The hunters watched the column turn, start up the rise to the high hills, then they moved out after them.
Now they would hunt the murgu the way they hunted any deadly animal. The sammads were well out of sight when Herilak stopped the hunters at the top of the valley. Littered about among the scree here were large boulders.
"We will stop them at this place. Let them get in among us. Then shoot, kill. Wipe out the ones that lead. Drive them back. Seize their weapons and darts. What will they do after that happens, margalus?"
"The same as they did yesterday," Kerrick said. "They will keep contact with us along this front, while at the same time they will send fargi out to swing around the the ridge, to take us from the sides and rear."
"That is what we wish them to do. Before the trap is closed we will pull back—"
"And set more traps for them! Do it again and again," Sorli cried out.
"That is correct," Herilak said, and there was no humor in his cold smile.
They sought places to hide behind the boulders, along both sides of the valley. Many of them, including Kerrick, slept as soon as they lay down. But Herilak, the sacripex, lay unsleeping and alert, watching the track from behind two carefully placed slabs of rock that he had struggled into place.
When the first outriders appeared he passed the word back to wake the sleepers. Soon the valley rumbled with the heavy tread of the uruktop. Yilanè on tarakast rode out ahead of the main group, leading the way. They moved up the hill and past the unseen Tanu, and had reached the crest before the slower uruktop had moved well into the trap.
On the command the firing began.
The slaughter was terrible, far worse than that of the day before. The hunters fired and fired and screamed with joy as they did. The Yilanè above them were brought down, the corpses of their towering mounts falling and slithering into the deadly chaos below. The uruktop died. The fargi riding them died. Those that tried to escape were shot down. The front ranks of the attackers were destroyed and the enemy fell back to regroup. The hunters pursued them, sheltering among the fallen, using the weapons of the dead against the living.
Only when the warning was called out by the sentinel on the ridge did they retreat, running up the valley well out of range of the enemy weapons. They followed the ruts made by the travois, going higher, ever higher, into the hills.
Twice more they ambushed the murgu. Twice more trapped them, killed them, disarmed them. And fled. The sun was dropping towards the horizon then as they stumbled up the trail.
"We cannot go on much longer like this," Kerrick said, swaying with exhaustion and pain.
"We must. We have no other choice," Herilak told him grimly, putting one foot steadily in front of the other. Even his great strength was feeling the strain. He could go on, but he knew that soon some of the others might not be able to. The wind was cold against his face. He slipped, steadied himself, and looked down.
Herilak's victorious shout cut through the fatigue that gripped and numbed Kerrick. He looked up, blinking, then his gaze followed the pointing finger towards the ground.
The track was muddy, churned, and there was a massive mound of mastodon dung heaped upon the deep footprints. He could not understand what Herilak was shouting about. But there were white flecks in the mud and more white on the ground around.
Snow.
It stretched up the hillside before them. Cut with the muddy track the sammads had made. Snow. Kerrick ran, stumbled, to a snowbank beside the track, dug out handfuls of cold white snow and threw them into the air while the others laughed and shouted.
On the top of the ridge they paused, knee deep in the drifts. Looking down at the first of the Yilanè outriders. They reined back their mounts when they reached the sloping field of white.
Behind them the horde of attackers stopped as well. They milled about as the mounted Yilanè joined, conferred, separated again.
They moved then. Not forward, but back down the slope. Slowly and steadily until they had vanished from sight.
The ice that had covered the river had broken, had piled up in jams, until these in turn had been carried away in great floes that had been washed down to the sea. Though spring had arrived there was still ice rimed along the shore in shielded places, snow drifted into the hollows of the banks. But in the meadow, where the river made a wide loop, a small herd of deer were already grazing the thin blades of new yellow-green grass. They looked up, ears twitching, sniffing the air. Something disturbed them for they made off among the trees in long, graceful bounds.
Herilak stood in the shadow of the tall evergreen, smelling the pungency of its needles, looking out at the campsite that they had left in the autumn. The grip of winter was broken; spring was earlier this year than it had been for a long time. Perhaps the ice-winters were over. Perhaps. There was the creak of leather bindings behind him in the forest, the quick trumpet of a mastodon. The beasts knew the landscape, they could tell where they were; journey's end.
The hunters came silently from the trees, Kerrick among them. They could stop moving now, make camp here at this familiar place, build brushwood shelters. Stay in one place for awhile. With winter just ended, they could put off thinking about the next winter for some time yet. Kerrick looked up at the white bird passing high overhead. Just another bird.
Perhaps. Dark memories pushed in and clouded the sunny day. The Yilanè were out there, would always be out there, a threatening presence like a storm forever ready to break. Whatever the Tanu did now, whatever they wanted to do, their actions were colored by that deadly presence to the south. The loud, triumphant trumpeting of a mastodon cut through his thoughts. Enough. The time for concern would come later. Now was the time to set up camp, build the fires high, and roast fresh meat. Time to stop moving.
They met that night around the fire, Kerrick, Herilak, old Fraken, the sammadars. Their stomachs were full and they were content. Sorli stirred the fire so that sparks rose up, flared, and vanished in the darkness. A full moon was rising from beyond the trees and the night was still. Sorli pulled out a glowing branch, blew on it until it burned brightly, then pushed it into the stone bowl of the pipe. He inhaled deeply, blew out a gray cloud of smoke, then passed the pipe on to Har-Havola who also breathed deep, at peace. They were a sammad of sammads now and no one laughed any more at the way he and the others from beyond the mountains spoke. Not after the last winter together, not after battling the murgu. Three of his young hunters already had women from the other sammads. That was the way to peace.
"Fraken," Herilak called out. "Tell us about the battle. Tell us about the dead murgu."
Fraken shook his head and pretended fatigue, but when they all pleaded with him, and he saw others gathering around the fire, he let himself be persuaded. He hummed a bit to himself nasally, swayed in time to the humming, then began chanting the history of the winter.
Although they had all been there, had been involved in the events he was reciting—it was better when he told about what had occurred. His story improved with each telling. The escape was more tiring, the women stronger, the hunters braver. The fighting unbelievable.
"… again and again came up the hill, again and again the hunters stood and faced them, killed them and killed them again and again. Until each hunter had bodies about him so high that they could not be seen over. Each hunter killed as many murgu as there are blades of grass on a mountainside. Each hunter speared through and through murgu, as many as five at one time on his spear. Strong were the hunters that day, high were the mountains of the dead."
They listened and nodded and swelled with pride in what they had done. The pipe passed from hand to hand, Fraken chanted the story of their victories, his voice rising and falling with passion as everyone, even the women and small children, grouped around, listening intently. Even when he had done they were silent, remembering. It was something to remember, something very important.
The fire had died down; Kerrick reached out and threw more wood on it, then sat back dizzily. The smoke from the pipe was strong and he was not used to it. Fraken wrapped his furs about him and went wearily to his tent. The sammads drifted away as well until Kerrick saw that only a few hunters remained. Herilak staring into the fire, Har-Havola at his side, nodding and half asleep. Herilak looked up at Kerrick.
"They are happy now," he said. "At peace. It is good that they feel that way for awhile. It has been a long and bitter winter. Let them forget this winter before they think of the next one. Forget the death-stick murgu too."
He was silent then for a long time before he looked up at Kerrick and spoke. "We killed many. Perhaps now they will forget about us too. Leave us alone."
Kerrick wanted to answer differently but knew that he could not. He shook his head unhappily and Herilak sighed.
"They will come again," Kerrick said. "I know these murgu. They hate us just as much as we hate them. If you could, would you destroy them all?"
"Instantly. Filled with great pleasure."
"They feel the same as you do."
"Then what must we do? The summer will be a short one. The hunting may be good, we don't know. But then the next winter will be upon us and what will we do then? If we go east to the coast to hunt, the murgu will find us there. South again, well, we know what happened in the south. And the north remains frozen."
"The mountains," Har-Havola said, the voices pulling him awake. "We must go beyond the mountains."
"But your sammad is from beyond the mountains," Herilak said. "You came here because there was no hunting."
Har-Havola shook his head. "That is your name for my sammad, from beyond the mountains. But what you speak of as mountains are merely hills. Beyond them are the true mountains. Reaching to the sky with unmelting snow upon their summits. Those are mountains."
"I have heard of them," Herilak said. "I have heard that they cannot be passed, that it is death to try."
"It can be. If you do not know the high passes, then winter will come and trap you and you will die. But Munan, a hunter of my sammad, has been past the mountains."
"The murgu do not know of these mountains," Kerrick said, sudden hope in his voice. "They never spoke of them. What lies beyond them?"
"A desert, that is what Munan has told us. Very little grass, very little rain. He says he walked two days into the desert then had to return because he had no water."
"We could go there," Kerrick said, thinking out loud. Herilak sniffed.
"Cross the ice mountains to die in the empty desert. The murgu are better than that. At least we can kill murgu."
"Murgu kill us," Kerrick said angrily. "We kill some and more come because they are as numberless as the drops of water in the ocean. In the end we will all be dead. But deserts do not go on forever. We can take water, search for a way across. It is something worth thinking about."
"Yes," Herilak agreed. "It is indeed something that we should know more about. Har-Havola, call your hunter, the one named Munan. Let him speak to us about the mountains."
Munan was a tall hunter with long scars scratched onto his cheeks in the manner of his sammad and the other sammads from beyond the mountains. He puffed on the pipe when it was passed to him and listened to their questions.
"There were three of us," he said. "All very young. It was a thing you do when you are young to prove that you will be a good hunter. You must do something very strong." He touched the scars on his cheekbones. "Only when you have been very brave or very strong can you get these to show that you are a hunter."
Har-Havola nodded agreement, his own scars white in the firelight.
"Three went, two returned. We left at the beginning of summer and climbed the high passes. There was an old hunter in my sammad who knew about the passes, knew the ones to take, and he told us and we found the way. He told us what sign to watch for, which passes to climb. It was not easy and the snow was deep in the highest passes, but in the end we were through. We walked always towards the sunset. Once beyond the mountains there are hills and here the hunting was good. But beyond the hills the desert begins. We went out into it but there was no water. We drank what we had carried in water bags and when this was gone we turned back."
"But there was hunting?" Herilak asked. Munan nodded.
"Yes, there is rain on the mountains, then snow in the winter. The hills close to the mountains stay green. Once beyond them the desert begins."
"Could you find the high passes again?" Kerrick asked. Munan nodded. "Then we could send a small party out. They could find the path, find the hills beyond. Once they had done this they could return to guide the sammads there, if all is as you say."
"The summers are too short now," Herilak said, "and the murgu too close. If one goes—we all go. That is what I think should be done."
They talked about it that night, the next and the next again. No one really wanted to climb the ice mountains in summer; winter would come quickly enough without going to it voluntarily. But they all knew that something had to be done. There was a little hunting here so they had some fresh meat. There were also roots to be dug, plants and seeds to be found, but these would not last the winter. Their tents were gone and many other things that they had prized. The one thing they still had was the meat they had taken from the murgu, unchanged in the bladders. No one liked the taste of it very much and as long as there was something else to eat it had not been touched. But—it could sustain life. Most of it remained.
Herilak watched and waited patiently while they hunted and ate all that they desired. The women were curing the few deerskins they had and there would be tents again when they had collected enough. The mastodons grazed well and their wrinkled hides soon filled out again. Herilak saw this and waited. Waited until they had fed well and the children were strong. He looked at the sky each night and watched the dark moon wax bright, then wane again. When it was dark once again he filled the stone pipe with pungent bark and called the hunters together around the fire.
When they had all smoked he rose to his feet before them and told them the thoughts that had been in his head all of the time since they had returned here to the bend in the river.
"Winter will come as it always does. We must not stay here to meet it. We must go where there is good hunting and no murgu. I say that we cross the high mountains to the green hills beyond. If we go now it will still be summer and we will be able to get through the high passes. Munan has told us that is the only time we can cross. If we go now we will travel light as we did when we escaped the murgu. If we go now we will not have to worry for food for we can eat the murgu meat. If we go now we can be in the green hills beyond the mountains before winter. I say that now is the time when we must pack the travois and start towards the west."
No one wanted to leave; no one could find reason to stay. Between the ice and the murgu they had no choice. They talked about it far into the night, but search as they might they could find no other course open to them. It must be the mountains.
In the morning the travois were assembled and old traces repaired with new leather. Small boys searched the woods for the compact balls of fur and bones that the owls regurgitated and Fraken poked them open and read the omens.
"Not today, but tomorrow," he said. "That will be the time we must leave, at first light. Then when the sun is over the hills and shines here it will see nothing. We must be gone."
That night, after they had eaten, Kerrick sat by the fire tying bits of grass to long thorns from a berry bush. The supply of darts for the hèsotsan were running low, and there were none of the special trees here on which the darts grew. They were not needed. Any bit of material of the same size would be expelled by the hèsotsan. The darts that they made worked just as well, even better if they were carefully done. Kerrick bit the knot off with his teeth. Armun passed by him and threw the food scraps into the fire, then began to tie their few possessions into bundles. She was silent all the time that she did this and Kerrick suddenly realized she had reverted to her old habit of holding her hair over her face.
When she came close he took her by the wrist and pulled her down beside him, but she still turned away from him. Only when he took her chin in his hands and turned her face to him did he see the tears that filled her eyes.
"Have you hurt yourself? What is wrong?" he asked, puzzled.
She shook her head and tried to keep silent but he was worried and made her speak. In the end she turned her head away, held her hair before her face, and told him.
"There is a baby coming. In the spring."
In his excitement Kerrick forgot all about her tears and her worries, pulled her down to him and laughed out loud. He knew about babies now, had seen them born, had seen the pride the parents felt. He could think of no reason why Armun should cry instead of being joyful. She did not want to tell him and kept turning away in her old manner. At first he was worried, then grew angry at her silence and shook her until she cried harder. After this he felt ashamed of what he had done, wiped her tears and held her. When she had quieted she knew that she had to tell him. She pulled back and pointed to her face.
"The baby will be a girl and will look like me," she said, touching the cleft in her mouth.
"That will be very good, for you are beautiful."
She smiled a little at that. "Only to you," she said. "When I was little they poked at me and laughed and I could never be happy like the other children."
"No one laughs at you now."
"No. Not with you here. But the children will laugh at our daughter."
"No, they won't. Our daughter could be a son and he could look like me. Did your mother or father have a lip and mouth like yours?"
"No."
"Then why should our baby? You will then be the only one like that and I am lucky to have one with a face like yours. You should not cry."
"I should not." She dried her eyes. "And I should not bother you with my fears. You must be strong when we leave tomorrow when we go to the mountains. Will there really be good hunting on the other side?"
"Of course. Munan has told us so and he has been there."
"Will there be… murgu there? Death-stick murgu?"
"No. We are leaving them behind. We go where they have never been."
He did not add the dark thought that he shared with no one. Vaintè was alive. She would never rest, never stop searching, not until he and all the Tanu were dead.
They could flee, but surely as night followed day she would follow them.