“Yes, in the other structures. But…”
They were gone before he could even begin to explain about fargi. Tiredly he picked up his cut furs, looked at them. Armun touched soft fingers to the blood upon his skin, spoke quietly.
“When you did not come back I was heavy with fear. The Paramutan too. Niumak tracked you, found your spear, found the place where your prints joined those of the murgu. Then followed them here. Did they wound you?”
“No. Just these small cuts. Nothing more.”
As he pulled the dismembered furs together he tried to assemble his thoughts as well. By now the Yilanè would all be dead. So be it. Aragunukto had ordered his death simply because she did not like the way he spoke. Once again it was only death; peace was unthinkable. Perhaps it was better this way. He looked up as Kalaleq came back in, panting, his spear bloodied, blood drenching his hand and arm.
“What strange and horrible creatures! How they wriggled and screamed and died on our spears.”
“All dead?” Armun asked.
“All. We went into each of these big paukaruts and found them and speared them. Some ran, but they died as well.”
“Here is what must be done,” Kerrick said, forcing himself to think, to plan. “We must leave no trace of our presence here. If the murgu even suspect that we are on this side of the ocean they will seek us out and kill us.”
“Put the bodies into the ocean,” Kalaleq said practically. “Wipe up blood.”
“Will others come?” Armun asked.
“Yes, in their boats that swim, the dock is here. If they find them all missing it will be a mystery — but we will not be suspected. Take nothing, disturb nothing.”
“Want nothing!” Kalaleq cried out, shaking his spear. “Nothing that these things have. We must carefully wash their blood from our spears or we will have the worst bad fortune. You spoke of how terrible and strong and different these murgu were, and I marveled. But you did not tell me how I would tremble with anger and hatred at sight of them. This is a very strange thing and I do not like it. Into the ocean with them, then we return to pleasure of cold north.”
No, south… Kerrick thought, but did not speak the words aloud. This was not the proper moment. But he did turn to look at the chart one last time before he left. Reached out and touched it lightly just over the irregular dark green circle set into the light green sea. Sea-girt Ikhalmenets.
Armun saw his body writhe with the name and she took him by the arm. “We must leave. Come.”
Darkness had fallen before they were done. The sea received the bodies and the blood-stained fragments of his furs. The tide was on the ebb; the corpses would be carried out to sea. The fish would take care of the evidence.
Niumak had little difficulty in leading them back in the darkness. But the track was steep and they were all tired when they finally saw the light of the fire flickering between the leaves. There were shouted greetings when they finally stumbled out onto the sand.
“You are here! All is well?”
“Things have occurred, terrible things!”
“Death and blood, creatures unbelievable.”
Kerrick dropped onto the sand, then drank greedily of the cold water that Armun brought to him.
“You are safe,” she said, touching his face as though to reassure herself. “They took you but they are dead. You are alive.”
“I am safe, but what of the others?”
“We will return across the ocean to them. They are safe there by the lake. Do not fear for Arnwheet.”
“I do not mean them. What about all the other sammads, the Sasku — what of them?”
“I know nothing of them, care nothing. You are my sammad.”
He understood how she felt, wished that he could feel the same. They were secure here with the Paramutan — as long as they stayed far to the north and avoided this dangerous coast. In the spring they would be able to cross the ocean again, to bring the rest of their small sammad here. Then they would all be safe. They would do that. The other sammads were strong and could guard themselves, fight the Yilanè if they were attacked. Their existence was not his responsibility.
“I cannot do it,” he said, teeth clamped tight, fists hard, shaking with the strength of his emotions. “I cannot do it, cannot leave them all to die.”
“You can. You are one — the murgu are many. All of this is not your doing. The fighting will never end. We will stay away from it. We need the strength of your arm and spear, Arnwheet needs it. You should think of him first.”
He laughed at that, a laugh without humor. “You are right — I should think of nothing else. But I cannot stop my thoughts. I discovered something in the murgu camp, saw a chart very much like the murgu one that we have, saw on it the place, the murgu city, where the killers come from…”
“You are tired, you must sleep.”
He angrily brushed her hands away, stood and raised his fists to the sky.
“You just don’t understand. Vaintè leads them — and she will follow the sammads until they are finally destroyed. But I know where Ikhalmenets is. Now I know where she gets her weapons and her strength and her fargi.”
Armun fought to control her fear, did not understand the invisible pains that wracked him.
“You have this knowledge — but there is nothing you can do. You are one hunter against a world of murgu. There is nothing that you alone can do.”
Her words disarmed him and he dropped down to sit at her side again. Quieter now, more thoughtful. Anger alone would not drive away the Yilanè.
“You are right, of course, what can I do? Who would help me? All the sammads in the world would be of no help against that distant city on its island in the sea.”
The sammads could not help — but others could. He looked at the dark outline of the ikkergak, at the Paramutan talking excitedly around the fire while they tore at their raw meat with sharp white teeth. Remembered how Kalaleq had looked, how obsessed by hatred of the Yilanè, the murgu, the new, repulsive and unknown creatures.
Could that hatred be somehow harnessed? Was there something that could be done?
“We are tired and must sleep,” he said and held Armun tightly to him. Yet tired as he was he did not sleep at once, heard her breathing softly and regularly beside him as he looked up unseeingly at the stars, his thoughts rushing around in circles.
In the morning he sat in silence looking at the Yilanè chart while the Paramutan loaded the ikkergak for departure. When they were ready to leave he called Kalaleq over.
“You know this chart?” he said.
“It must be thrown into the sea like the rest of the murgu.” His anger had faded during the night, his eyes no longer reddened with rage, but the disquiet was still there. Kerrick shook his head.
“It is too valuable. It tells us things we have to know. Let me show you. Here is where our paukaruts are — here is where we are now. But look, south along this coast, see across this narrow bit of ocean to the large land…”
“Murgu land, you told me so, I do not like to think of it.”
“But here, look here, just off the coast are these islands. That is where the murgu are who kill my brothers. I would like to kill those murgu. This ikkergak could reach the island easily enough.”
Kalaleq stepped back and raised his hands before him. “This ikkergak can sail in only one direction. North. This ikkergak goes quickly away from murgu — not toward them. Do not speak of this to me again for it is not a thing to even think about.” Then he laughed and shuffled in a circle. “Come, we go to the paukaruts. Think of all the rotten meat to eat, the blubber to lick. What good fun! Do not think of these murgu. Never think of them or see them again.”
If he could. If he only could.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Ardlerpoq, tingavoq, misugpoq, muluvoq — nakoyoark!
Hunt, screw, eat, die — what fun!
Paramutan saying
It was a fine celebration. No — it was far better than that
. Far, far better than that Kalaleq realized when he took a moment to think about it. It had been the greatest celebration the Paramutan had ever seen, that is what it had been. A victory banquet hailing the death of a new and terrible enemy. What tales they had told of the battle! What stabs of spears and ghastly alien death cries had been reenacted. Oh, there had been such screams of terrified delight from the women. Then they had feasted. How they had eaten and eaten, groaned with pain as their skin stretched tight over their stomachs, slept, ate again, slept some more. It had been hot in the paukarut, all of them jammed in together, so skins and furs had been thrown aside. When Kalaleq had woken the next time he found himself jammed tight against Angajorqaq’s warm, pungent body. He had sniffed deeply of the soft brown fur on her breasts, then licked them. Distantly aware of his attention she had moaned in her sleep and excited him greatly. When this had happened he became tremendously worked up and had pulled her out onto the furs and took her there in front of the others who were awake. Their loud cheering and shouts of encouragement had woken the other sleepers, until they had all grown excited and the females screamed with mock fear as they fled, but not too far.
It had been glorious, what fun! He groaned aloud with happy memory, groaned again as he realized how sore his head was. Of course, the fight! That had been glorious too.
Who had he fought with? He had no memory. But he knew that it had been glorious. How had it started? Yes, he remembered that much. It had been the male Erqigdlit, that is who it had been. He was so foolish. All that Kalaleq had done was open his female’s furs. That was for fun. Then the other had hit him and he had been excited and hit Nanuaq who had hit him back. Good fun.
Kalaleq yawned and stretched — then laughed at the pain in his sore muscles. Angajorqaq was still asleep, snuffling to herself, Kukujuk just a mound under his skins. Kalaleq stepped over them and made his way from the paukarut, yawning and stretching again in the morning sun. Nanuaq who was also standing outside his paukarut walked over when he saw the other emerge and held up his large fist.
“I hit you hard with this!”
“Then I hit you hard.”
“That was a real celebration.”
“It was.” Nanuaq laughed into the back of his hand as he spoke. Kalaleq’s forehead wrinkled when he saw this, for laughing into the back of the hand means that there is a secret. More fun.
“Tell me, you must tell me,” he called out loudly, “you must.”
“I’ll tell you. The Erqigdlit is gone. He must have gone while you still slept. And he has gone away in your boat!”
They both laughed uncontrollably at this until they fell helplessly to the snow where they rolled about, sides aching with laughter.
“I like these Erqigdlit,” Kalaleq finally gasped. “They do things that we would never think of.”
“Wake the others. Share the fun. Take the ikkergak. We will have to race to catch him before it grows dark.”
The shouting outside woke Armun. She saw the tent flap thrown back and the Paramutan hurrying and calling out to one another. After the fighting and the excesses of the night before Kerrick had spread his furs between her and the others to prevent any more unwelcome attention. They were thrown back now; he must be outside with the others. She pulled her clothing over to her and dressed under the furs. The Paramutan found the sight of her smooth and hairless skin too interesting and exciting and she did not want any more trouble. When she went outside she saw that one of the ikkergaks was being pushed into the sea. Angajorqaq hurried up, her brown-furred face split into a broad grin.
“Your Kerrick, so funny. While we slept he sailed away in a boat to make us chase him.”
Fear seized Armun. This was not funny, not to her, nor could it have been to Kerrick either. He had not laughed with the others during the night, had scarcely been aware of them, but had been cold and grim, his thoughts elsewhere, and had only stirred to life when one of the Paramutan had pulled at her clothing. Then he had struck with fierce anger, would have killed if she had not pulled him away. This was not a joke. If he had taken the boat it was for one reason alone. He would go south. He would try to find the island; he talked of nothing else.
“I am coming with you,” she cried out as the ikkergak slipped into the sea. “Wait for me — you must wait for me.”
The Paramutan chortled with pleasure as they helped her aboard, trying to touch her body through the thick furs. When she slapped their hands away they laughed even harder. She could not be angry at them because they were so different from the Tanu, laughing at everything and sharing their women.
Armun stayed out of the way while the sail was run up. Nanuaq was at the tiller tacking the ikkergak across the wind. Kalaleq looked up at the set of the sail with a quizzical eye, then loosed a line and tightened it into a new position.
“How will you find him?” Armun asked, looking out at the gray expanse of empty, white-flecked sea.
“He can’t go west into the ocean, go north only ice, so we go south and find him quick because we sail better.” He made the line fast, then tried to reach up under her furs while he talked. She pulled away and went into the bow, away from all of them.
It was cold here, with spray blowing into her face, but she stayed most of the day. The coast moved slowly by and the sea ahead remained empty. Why had he done it? Did he really think that he could sail alone to that distant murgu island? And even if he could — what could he do alone? It was a mad thing to do.
And he was mad to even think of it. She had to face up to the thought now for she had been evading it for too long. Kerrick had always been different from other hunters, she knew that. But for too long now she had been letting that difference cloud her thoughts. The time had come to face the truth. There was something very wrong with him, with the way he acted now. At times he reminded her of the old man, she had never known his name, in the sammad when she was very young. He talked only to himself and did not hear others — although he did listen to voices speaking to him that no one else could hear. They gave him food because of this and were attentive when he spoke, but in the end he walked off into the forest one day and never came back. Kerrick did not hear the spirit voices — but he had gone out into the sea just as the old man had gone into the woods. Was he the same? Could he be helped?
Fear held her in the bow of the ikkergak all day, looking out at the empty sea. Kalaleq brought her food but she pushed it away. There was no sight of the boat, nothing at all. Perhaps they were wrong and he had gone west, out into the trackless ocean, lost to her forever. No, she would not think that, could not. He had gone south looking for his murgu island, that was what he had done. Yet the fear stayed with her, growing even greater as the sky darkened with the coming light.
“There,” Niumak called out. He had clambered halfway up the mast and clung by one hand, pointing out to sea. A tiny dark speck rode up on a wave, then disappeared again in the trough. Kalaleq pushed the tiller over.
“How smart the Tanu!” he cried. “He stands out to sea while we search along the shore.”
They called out loudly to Kerrick as the ikkergak swooped down on the little boat, laughing and shouting compliments. He must have heard them — yet he never turned to look. Just faced ahead and sailed on. When they raced alongside he still took no notice. Only when the ikkergak moved in front of him, cutting him off, did he look up. He pushed over on the steering oar and sat, slumped, as the sail dropped and he lost way. His hands lay on his thighs and his chin rested on his chest and he never moved or seemed aware of their shouts. Someone threw a line to him but he took no notice as it slipped into the sea. They maneuvered closer and seized his sail. When the hulls bumped together Armun saw her chance, clambered over the side and half-fell into the boat.
“Kerrick,” she called out softly. “It is Armun. I am here.”
He stirred and lifted his eyes to hers and she saw the tears that stained his face. “They are going to die,” he said, “all of them will die. I could prevent that, I co
uld. Now they are going to die and it is all my fault.”
“No!” she cried, seizing him and holding him tight to her. “You cannot blame yourself. You did not make this world the way it is. You did not bring the murgu. You are not to blame.”
He was going out of his mind, she was sure of this now. This was not the Kerrick who had fought the murgu without fear, who had followed her into the frozen north. Something terrible was happening to him and she did not know what she could do. He had been like this in the camp by the lake. Though not this bad, and he had seemed to be much better after they had left. But the sickness in his head had returned — and stronger now than ever before.
Kerrick held tight to her all night, exhausted and deeply asleep, as they sailed back to the north.
In the morning he appeared calmer, ate and drank some water. But he did not answer when he was spoken to and the Paramutan sulked because they thought he was spoiling their fun. They soon forget this though and cried out happily when the paukaruts came into sight soon after dawn. Armun could not forget. She looked at his grim and silent face and felt hope slipping away from her. Only when they were alone at last did he answer her.
“Yes, I was going to the island. There is nothing else that I can do. They depend upon me.”
“But what can you do alone — even if you find it?”
“I don’t know!” he cried aloud with pain. “I only know that I must try.”
Armun had no answer to that, no words to help him. She could only hold him as tightly as she could and let her body speak what her lips could not.
The snows began that same day. First a light fall, then harder and harder until a long drift stretched out behind every paukarut and they knew that the blizzards of winter had begun.
There was plenty to eat and the Paramutan were well used to dozing through the long nights of winter. In the short days between storms they went hunting and fishing, but never strayed far. Kerrick would not join them, stayed inside and stayed within himself as well. Armun feared for the future because, try hard as she could, she could not shake him from the darkness of his thoughts.
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