“We need you, Ortnar. You are the one who knows the forest. You must guide us to the lake.”
“I can do that. I wonder if your pet murgu are still alive?”
“I wonder, too.” Kerrick was glad to talk of something else. “Those two are like — I don’t know what. Children who have never grown up.”
“They look grown up enough to me — and ugly.”
“Their bodies, yes. But you saw where they were kept. Locked away, fed, watched over, never allowed out. This must be the first time that they have been alone and on their own since they came out of the sea. The murgu take the males and lock them away even before they learn to talk. If those two are still alive after the winter it will be something to see.”
“It will be something better to see them dead,” Ortnar said bitterly. “All of the murgu dead.”
They traveled only at night as they moved steadily south, concealing themselves and the mastodon under the trees during the day. Hunting was good: raw fish and stinking meat only a bad memory. They were lucky in that none of the bigger murgu ranged the thick forest and the smaller ones, even the flesh eaters, fled before them. Ortnar was watching the trail carefully and found where they had to turn off toward the round lake. This path was narrow and overgrown and had not been used for a long time. It was impossible to follow it at night so they were forced to travel by day, hurrying across the infrequent open places, looking worriedly up at the sky.
Kerrick led the way, spear ready, for Ortnar had said that they were getting close to the lake. Going cautiously and as silently as he could he looked about carefully under the trees and into the shadows. Behind him he could hear the distant cracking of branches as the mastodon pushed through the forest. Ahead of him there was the snap of a breaking twig; he froze.
Something was moving in the shadows. A dark figure, a familiar form, too familiar…
A Yilanè — armed!
Should he try to reach his bow? No, the movement would be seen. She was coming closer, stepping into the sunlight.
Kerrick stood and cried out.
“Greetings, mighty hunter!”
The Yilanè spun about, staggered back, mouth gaping with fear, struggling to point the hèsotsan.
“Since when do males kill males, Nadaske?” Kerrick asked.
Nadaske stumbled back and sat down heavily on his tail, signing fright and death-approaching.
“Oh ustuzou who talks, you have brought me to the edge of death!”
“But not over the brink as I can see. You are alive and I am happy to see that. What of Imehei?”
“He is like me — strong and alert, and of course a mighty hunter…”
“And a fat one too?”
Nadaske made motions of rejection and anger. “If I look fat to you now it is just because of our prowess in the forest. When all the good meat was gone we grew lean before mastering the craft of the hunt and of the fishing. Now we excel — there is something horrible coming!”
He raised his hèsotsan, then turned to flee. Kerrick called out to stop him.
“Dispose-of-fear, entertain-joy. My comrades come with a great beast of burden. Do not flee — but do go to Imehei now and tell him what is happening so he does not shoot us for our meat.”
Nadaske signed agreement as he waddled quickly off down the track. There was more cracking as tree limbs broke and the mastodon pushed up beside him.
“We are very close,” he called out to Armun. “I have just talked to one of the murgu I told you about. Come ahead, all of you, and do not be afraid. They will not hurt you. They are — my friends.”
It sounded strange when he said it like that, in Marbak, but it was the closest word that he could think of for the concept of efenselè. Family, that would be a better word, but he did not think that Armun would take to that very kindly. Or even saying that the murgu were part of this sammad. He hurried ahead, anxious to see and speak with the two males again.
Ortnar rolled free of the travois and dragged himself to his feet, stumbled after it. They came to the lakefront in this way, pausing under the trees beside the immense stretch of sunlit water. Imehei and Nadaske were waiting in motionless silence under a canopy of green vines, hèsotsan clutched in their hands. The mastodon was pulled to a halt and Kerrick was aware of the Tanu behind him, stopping, standing as unmoving as the Yilanè males. In the silence a flock of brightly colored birds flew low over the water, calling loudly as they went.
“These are my efenselè,” he called out to the males, stepping out into the sunlight so he could be understood. “The large-gray-beast-unintelligent carries for us. There is no need for weapons.”
When he turned back he saw that the little girl had her face buried in Armun’s clothes: she and Arnwheet were the only Tanu not holding spears. “Ortnar,” he said, softly, “you marched with these males, they never harmed you. Armun, you don’t need that spear — you either, Harl. These murgu are no threat to you.”
Ortnar leaned his weight on his spear and the others lowered theirs. Kerrick turned away from them and crossed to the still rigid males.
“You have worked hard here,” he said, “have done much while I was away.”
“Are those small-ugly ustuzou young?” Imehei asked, weapon still at the ready.
“They are, and they are Yilanè even when small unlike your young. Do you stand all day like gaping fargi or do you bid me welcome, offer me cool water, fresh meat? A female would. Are males inferior to females?”
Imehei’s crest reddened and he put the hèsotsan aside. “It has been so peaceful here I have forgotten the sharpness of your female-male speech. There is food and drink. We make your ugly efenselè welcome.”
Nadaske with some reluctance put his weapon aside as well. Kerrick let out a deep breath.
“Pleasure-companionship,” Kerrick said. “Welcome-at-last.”
He fervently hoped that it would stay that way.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
For the moment the sammadar was happy to see the two halves of sammad Kerrick staying well apart from each other. They were too distant, too alien, separated by more than language. He had freed the mastodon from the travois and hobbled it under the trees where it grazed the young leaves happily. The creature was going to be a problem — since it was so large it was sure to be seen from the air. The answer was obvious; kill it and smoke the meat. They would have to do that, but not right now. There had been so much killing.
Armun had lit a small and smokeless fire under a spreading, wide-branched tree; the children played close by. Ortnar was sleeping, while Harl had gone off to hunt — carefully slipping into the forest far away from the other half of the encampment. There was peace for the moment, time to think. Time for him to talk to the males. Keeping to the shadows he walked over to their encampment close to the lake shore. He admired the thick, leafy covering overhead.
“You did this?” he asked. “Grew this cover so you could not be seen from the air?”
“Brute force is a female trait, intelligence male,” Nadaske said smugly, leaning back on his tail.
“Endless labor cutting fresh boughs,” Imehei added. “They dried and changed colors most quickly. So we cut poles and trained the ivy along them.”
“Work of intelligence, admiration-unbounded.”
Kerrick reinforced it with strong modifiers. The two males had worked in this unknown environment, facing difficulties they had never imagined in the security of the hanalè, They had secure cover now, and certainly had been eating well. “The hunting is good?”
“We are expert,” Imehei said. “In the art of fishing also.” He waddled over to a pit in the ground filled with wet leaves, rooted through the leaves until he found what he wanted, returned with two large freshwater Crustacea. “We catch these. Desire-to-eat?”
“Later. Hunger-dispersed-presently.”
“Better than meat,” Imehei said, putting one in his mouth and passing the second over to Nadaske. He chewed happily, his sharp, conical teeth
making quick work of the creature, bits of shell pushing out between his lips as he ground away. Nadaske finished his quickly as well, spitting the bits of shell into the bushes. “Without these the food would not be as good. We do not know the secret of meat preparation — do you?”
Kerrick signed negative. “I have seen them do it in the city. The fresh-killed meat is put into tubs with a liquid, that is what changes it. I have no idea of what the liquid is.”
“Joyful-jellied-flesh,” Imehei said; Nadaske added qualifiers of agreement. “But perhaps that is all we miss of the city. Freedom of spirit and body makes all work worthwhile.”
“Have you seen other Yilanè — do you know anything of the city?” Kerrick asked.
“Nothing!” Imehei said with some vehemence. “That is the way we wish it. Free, strong — and forgetful of the birth-beaches.” His words were muffled as he used clamped thumbs to remove a large fragment of shell from his teeth. “We take pride in what we have done — but we have also talked of it often. Death and hatred to ustuzou for killing the city. Gratitude to Kerrick-ustuzou for saving of lives, freeing of bodies.”
“Reinforcement many times over,” Nadaske said. Both Yilanè were silent then, their bodies still formed into the shapes of gratitude. After the winter among the Paramutan the males looked squat and ugly, with their clawed feet and great teeth, eyes that very often looked in two directions at once. That was as a Tanu would see them. He saw them as steadfast friends, intelligent and grateful.
“Efenselè,” Kerrick said, unthinking, with overtones of gratitude and acceptance. Their agreement was automatic in return. When he returned to the Tanu encampment he walked slowly, bearing with him a strong feeling of accomplishment.
The feeling did not last. Once they were settled in he found that his thoughts returned always to the city and his concern over its fate. He had to see for himself what was happening there. He controlled his impatience, knowing that he dare not leave the two different groups alone until they had lost their fear of each other. Darras would not come near the two males, burst into tears when she saw them, for she knew that others of their kind had slaughtered her sammad. Harl was like Ortnar, wary and troubled when near the males. Only Arnwheet had no fear of the Yilanè, nor they of him, calling him small-harmless and fresh-from-sea. They knew that his connection with Kerrick was something close and of great importance, but could not understand how a parent could be related to a child. Yilanè were born from the fertile eggs carried by the males and entered the sea soon after they were hatched. The only relationships they knew were those of their efenburu, those they had grown up with in the ocean. Even the males’ memories of this were dim since they had been separated from the females as soon as possible. Arnwheet went with Kerrick whenever he spoke to the males, sat wide-eyed in appreciation of their twitching forms and grating voices. It was all great fun.
Days passed without the two groups growing any closer, and Kerrick despaired of any real progress. When the others were asleep he tried to talk to Armun about it.
“How can I like the murgu?” she said, and he felt her body grow rigid beneath his hand. “After the things they have done, all they have killed.”
“These males did not do that — they were in the city, imprisoned…”
“Good. Put them back in prison. Or kill them. I will do that if you do not want to. Why must you talk to them, be with them? Make those awful noises and shake your body? You don’t have to.”
“I do. They are my friends.”
He despaired of any explanation; he had said it all too many times before. He stroked her hair in the darkness, then touched her lovely forked lip with his tongue and made her giggle. That was better, this was better. But good as it was, he wished that the rest of his life could be as satisfying, that the two halves to his nature could be one.
“I must go to Deifoben,” he told Armun the next day. “I must find out what has happened.”
“I will go with you.”
“No, your place is here. I will be away just for a few days, just time enough to walk there and back.”
“It is dangerous. You could wait…”
“Nothing will change. I won t be long, I promise that. I will go there — carefully — and come back as soon as I can. You will be all right here; there is plenty of meat.” He caught her gaze moving across the camp. “And those two won’t hurt you, that I promise. The males are not like that. They are more afraid of you than you are of them.”
He went to tell the two Yilanè that he was leaving — and it had the expected reaction. “Instant death — end of life!” Imehei wailed. “Without your presence ustuzou will kill, they always kill.”
“They will die with us, this I promise,” Nadaske signed with grim confidence. “We are not strong-feminile, but although only mere males we have learned to defend ourselves.”
“Enough!” Kerrick ordered with exasperation, using the form of female-above to male-below forms, the only imperative he could think of in this strange situation. “There will be no killing. I have ordered it.”
“How can you order it — mere male — to a female ustuzou?” Imehei said, with slight overtones of revenge. Kerrick’s anger faded and he began to laugh. The males would never understand that Armun, being female, was not in command of everything, that he was not just her spokesman.
“Respectful-imploring,” he signed. “Simply stay away from them — and I promise they will stay away from you. Will you at least do that for me?”
They both reluctantly weight-shifted in agreement. “Good. Now I go to tell the ustuzou the same thing. But in leaving I ask you a favor. Let me take one of your hèsotsan. The other two we took with us died in the cold.”
“Death-from-darts!”
“Starvation — lack of meat!”
“You forget who gave you the weapons, trained you to use them, gave you your freedom, saved your worthless lives. Disgusting display of typical male lack of gratitude.”
There was more wailing and complaints of female brutality on his part, but in the end they reluctantly handed over one of their weapons.
“It looks well fed?” he asked, stroking the creature’s lips to see its teeth.
“Care has been lavished, they eat before we do,” Nadaske said with slight exaggeration.
“Gratitude. It will be returned when I return. A few days, no more.”
He left at dawn the next day, taking a small supply of smoked meat. This, and the hèsotsan, were his only burdens so he traveled fast and easily. The track was clear; he made good time. Only when he came to the outermost fields of the city did he slow and proceed with utmost caution. These had been the limits of Alpèasak, the creatures penned here long dead, the barriers long gone. Ahead he could see the fresh green of one of the outer thorn barriers.
Greener than he had remembered it — and when he came closer he could see why. It was covered now with great, flat wet leaves. And long thorns with the corpses of birds and small animals rotting on them.
Yilanè.
But had the barrier been grown here to keep the enemy in — or out? Who was occupying the city now? Was it still Deifoben — or had Alpèasak been reborn? There was no point in going inland; the new barrier would surely encircle the city. He might take days to work his way slowly all the way around it — and he would still be no wiser. The sea, it had to be the sea. He forgot all attempt at keeping cover and began to run. Only when he was panting, dripping with sweat, did he slow and stop in the shade of a tree. This would not do. It was just suicide to go on like this. He must proceed slowly and carefully, watching all about him. And it was almost dark. He would find water and rest for the night. At first light he would go on to the shore.
He chewed some of the meat and thought he would not be able to sleep. But it had been a long and trying day and the next thing he knew the sky was gray and a chill fog had left him beaded with dew. It was not far from this place to the shore. But the fog was thicker now, obscuring everything. Close by he
could hear waves running up on an invisible beach. Carefully, he pushed through the last undergrowth until he reached the familiar dunes. He would stay here until the fog lifted.
It would be another warm day and the sun quickly burned through. As the fog thinned he could see a dark form in the water, moving offshore. Concealed by the undergrowth he watched as it emerged from the haze. Black hide, tall fin. An uruketo.
It swam slowly south toward the harbor. It could mean anything; it could be a patrol, watching for activity on the shore. Or it could be based there.
Any faint hopes that he might still have had vanished when the two small boats appeared, the rising sun glinting off the shells of their bows. Fargi in each, going out to fish for the day.
Deifoben had become Alpèasak once again. There had been a battle, an invasion, destruction. It had all happened while he had been away.
But where were the Tanu and the Sasku who had been living there when he left? What had happened to them? The barrier of deadly thorns stretched off into the distance. He could see nothing on the other side of it, but the activity at sea was positive proof that this city was Yilanè once again. The evidence overwhelmed him, drove him to the ground with the black fist of despair. Were they all dead? His cheek lay on the sand; a spider ran quickly by. He reached out to crush it, then stayed his hand and watched it hurry out of sight. Were they dead, all of them, dead?
He would never discover what had happened just lying there. He knew that, but his feeling of loss was so great that he felt disarmed and helpless. Only when distant shouts penetrated his daylight darkness did he stir and raise his head. More fishing boats were going by and a Yilanè was standing in one, calling out to the others. It was too distant to make out her meaning.
But were they just fishing boats? Or were they part of another raiding party going north? He had to know; there might be Tanu out there. He dropped behind the dunes and hurried north as well. He ran until he was tired, then crawled up the dunes again to look at the ocean, to check the progress of the boats.
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