CHAPTER NINETEEN
A child could have read the signs of the sammads’ passage, so clearly were they marked in the soft turf. The deep ruts cut by the poles of the travois, the large footprints of the mastodons, their high-heaped dung. Herilak made no attempt to obliterate these tracks — but hunters waited in hiding, some of them a two-day march behind the sammads, to make sure they were not being followed. Days passed and there was no evidence that the dark Tanu or their longtooth companions were behind them. Despite this Herilak still made certain that there were guards ready and watching, day and night.
Since all of the valleys and ridges led down from the high mountains, flattening out and vanishing on the arid plain, they went down from the hills to the plain itself. Instead of working their way across the ridges, the march continued along the edge of the desert. Hunters went ahead, scouting the valleys for water. When they camped each evening the mastodons would be led up the valley to drink and browse.
The march continued. The hunting was sparse in the foothills and on the plain. The grasslands at the foot of the hills began to extend further and further into what had been only arid desert, cut now and again by dry watercourses. But there was no water upon the grassy plain, little or no animal life. They could only go on.
It was only after the moon had waxed and waned twice that they reached the river. The water must have drained from the high mountains for the current here was strong and the channel that it had cut was very deep. They stopped at the brink, seeing the water tumbling over the rocks below, sending up white spray.
“There is no way to cross the river here,” Kerrick said. Herilak nodded and looked away downstream.
“It might be wisest not to cross it — but to follow it instead. With all this water there must be an end to the desert. Where the desert ends we will find game. This we must do for even the murgu meat is coming to an end. We have to find a place where there is food to gather and animals to hunt.”
Then he spoke aloud the thought that was with them always. “We must find this before winter comes.”
They followed the river as it snaked across the plain and into a range of hills. There were many places where the bank had broken down, where they could water the mastodons. At some of these sites there were also the track of deer. And something else. It was Munan who spoke of it first. He joined Herilak and Kerrick at their fire and sat down, his back to the hills.
“I have hunted for many years,” he said. “Only once was I hunted myself. Let me tell you about that. It was in the high hills that you call mountains where I was tracking greatdeer. The trail was fresh and it was early morning. I walked silently, yet I felt something was wrong. Then I knew what it was. I was being followed as well, watched. I could feel eyes on me. When I knew this to be true I jumped about suddenly — and there it was on the ledge above me. A longtooth. Not close enough to spring, not yet. It must have been tracking me — just as I tracked the greatdeer. It looked into my eyes, then it was gone.”
Herilak nodded in agreement. “Animals know when they are being watched. Once I watched some longtooth and they turned because they felt my eyes. A hunter can sometimes know when there are eyes upon him.”
“We are being watched now,” Munan said quietly, poking at the fire. “Do not turn your heads, but get wood and when you so do look at the hill behind my back. There is something there, watching us, I am sure of that.”
“Get wood, Kerrick,” Herilak said. “Your eyes are good.”
Kerrick rose slowly and walked a few paces, returning with some sticks that he pushed into the fire.
“I cannot be sure,” he said. “There is a ridge of rock near the top of the hill, dark shadow below the rock. The animal might be there.”
“There will be extra guards out tonight,” Herilak said. “This is new country. There could be anything in these hills. Even murgu.”
There was no alarm during the night. Before dawn Herilak woke Kerrick and they were joined by Munan. They had agreed on the stratagem the night before. Going different ways, silent as the shadows around them, they approached the rocky ledge from the sides and below. When the sun rose they were in the positions they had chosen.
When Herilak called like a bird they closed in. They met before the ledge, weapons ready, but there was nothing there. But something had been there. Kerrick pointed. “The grass has been flattened, broken in this place. Something was watching us.”
“Spread out. Look for tracks,” Herilak said.
It was Munan who found the mark. “Over here, in the sand. A footprint.”
They bent close and looked. In silence, because there was no possible way of mistaking the creature that had made it.
“Tanu,” Herilak said, standing and looking to the north. “Could the dark Tanu have followed us here?”
“That would not have been easy,” Kerrick said. “And if they had done it they would have to have circled around us into the hills, to get ahead of us. This print is from different Tanu. I am sure of that.”
“Tanu behind, Tanu ahead.” Herilak scowled at the thought. “Must we fight then in order to hunt?”
“This Tanu did not fight — but only watched,” Kerrick said. “Tanu does not always kill Tanu. Only with the cold winters did that begin. Where we are here, this far to the south, the winters are not as bad.”
“What do we do?” Munan asked.
“Watch for them as well, try to talk to them,” Kerrick said. “They may be afraid of us.”
“I’m afraid of them,” Munan said. “Afraid of a spear in the back.”
“Then we are each afraid of the other,” Kerrick said. “As long as we march together, with many spears and bows, these new Tanu may be too afraid to come close. If I go ahead on my own, taking just my spear, perhaps I will meet them.”
“It is dangerous,” Herilak said.
“All life is dangerous. There are Tanu out there, you see the print before you. If we do not try to make peaceful contact we have only one other choice. Do we want that?”
“No,” Herilak said. “There is enough death without our killing each other. We will stay at this camp today. Give me your arrows and bow. Do not go too far into the hills. If nothing has happened by midday , return then. Is that understood?”
Kerrick nodded, passing over his weapons in silence. Then he watched and waited until the two hunters had returned the way they had come, down the hill towards the tents, before he turned his back on them and started slowly up the slope.
There was rock and hard soil here so that whoever had made the footprint made no others — nor did he leave any trail that could be followed. Kerrick climbed to the next ridge and looked back at the tents that were far below him now. This would be a good place for him to wait. It was open and no one could slip up on him without being seen. And if he had to flee his way was clear. He sat down, facing the valley, cradling his spear, watchful and aware.
The hills were silent, bare and empty of anything that moved, other than the ants in the sand before him. They were struggling with a dead beetle many times their size, trying to carry it to their nest. Kerrick watched the ants — and from the corners of his eyes watched around him as well.
Something itched the back of his neck and he brushed at it, but there was nothing there. He still felt something, not really an itch, but a sensation of some kind. Then he recognized it, remembered Munan’s description of what he had felt. He was being watched.
Slowly he stood and turned about, looking up at the grassy slope of the hill and the stand of trees beyond. No one was visible. There were some bushes on the hillside, but they were thin and offered no cover. If he were being watched it had to be from behind the trees. He looked at them and waited, but nothing moved. If the hidden watcher was afraid then he would have to take some initiative himself. Only when he started to put his spear down did he realize that his hand was tight-gripped about the shaft. His only protection. He did not want to discard it. Yet he must if the unseen watcher — or wat
chers — were to believe that he came in peace. With an effort of will, and a decisiveness that he did not feel, he hurled it aside. There was still no movement under the trees.
Kerrick shuffled one foot forward, then the other. His throat was dry and the sound of his heart beat loudly in his ears as he walked slowly towards the trees. He stopped when he was a long spear throw from their cover, unable to force himself any closer. Enough. It was time for those in hiding to make a move. He raised his hands slowly, palms outward, and called out.
“I have no weapons. I come in peace.”
Still no response. But was there a movement in the shadows beneath the trees? He could not be sure. He stepped back a pace and called out again.
A stirring in the darkness. An outline. Someone was standing there. Kerrick took another step backwards and the figure moved towards him, coming into the sunlight.
Kerrick’s first reaction was fear. He swayed backwards but managed to control himself before he turned and ran.
The hunter had black hair and a dark skin, was beardless. But his hands were empty like Kerrick’s. Nor was he wearing skins like the hunter in the foothills. There was something white bound about his head, white leather also about his loins. Not gray-white, but white as snow.
“We will talk,” Kerrick called out, taking a slow step forward.
At this movement the other figure turned, almost ran back into the cover of the trees. Kerrick stopped when he saw this. The other recovered and, even at this distance, Kerrick could see that the man was shivering with fear. As soon as he realized this Kerrick sat slowly down on the grass, his hands still raised peacefully.
“I will not harm you,” he called out. “Come, sit, we will talk.”
After that Kerrick did not move. When his arms grew tired he lowered them and rested them palms upwards on his thighs. He hummed to himself, looked up at the sky, then around at the empty slopes, making no sudden motions that might startle the stranger.
The other hunter took a single hesitating step forward, then another. Kerrick smiled and nodded and did not move his hands. One single, shaking step at a time the other moved forward until he was less than ten paces away. Then he dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged like Kerrick, looking at him with wide and terrified eyes. Now Kerrick could see that this was no youngster. His skin was wrinkled and the black of his hair was shot through with gray. Kerrick smiled, made no other motions. The man’s jaw moved and Kerrick could see his throat working, but only a harsh sound came out. He swallowed and was finally able to speak. The words came in a rush.
Kerrick could understand nothing. He smiled and nodded to give the other some assurance as the low and sibilant words continued. Then the other stopped speaking suddenly, bent forward and lowered his head.
Kerrick was baffled. He waited until the hunter had looked up again before he spoke.
“I cannot understand you. Do you know what I am saying? Do you want to know my name?” He touched his chest. “Kerrick. Kerrick.” There was no response. The other just sat and watched, jaw hanging open, his eyes round and white against his dark skin. Only when Kerrick had stopped did he nod his head again. He spoke some more, then stood and walked back towards the trees. Another hunter stepped out of the shadows and handed him something. There were others moving behind him, Kerrick saw, and he gathered his legs under him, ready to stand and run. When none of them came forward he relaxed a little. But he kept watching the trees as the first one returned. The others stayed where they were.
This time the hunter came closer before he sat. Kerrick saw that he was carrying a dark bowl of some kind filled with water. He raised it in both hands and drank, then leaned far forward and put it on the ground between them.
Hunters who drink together are sharing something, Kerrick thought. It is a peaceful act. He hoped. He watched the other closely as he reached out and picked up the bowl, raised it and drank from it, returned it to the grass.
The other reached down for the bowl, picked it up and poured the remaining water onto the ground beside him. Then he tapped the bowl and said one word.
“Waliskis.”
Then handed the bowl back to Kerrick. Kerrick was puzzled by the actions, but he nodded and smiled in an attempt at reassurance. He held the bowl close and saw that it was made of some dark brown substance that he could not identify; he looked at it more closely. Rough and brown, but decorated with a black pattern near the top edge. He turned it in his hands — and discovered that there was a larger design in black on the other side.
It had been well done, a clear, black silhouette. It was not a random blotch or a simple, repeated pattern. It was the figure of an animal. The tusks were obvious, the trunk as well.
It was a mastodon.
“Waliskis,” the other said. “Waliskis.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Kerrick turned the bowl over and over in his hands, then touched the representation of the mastodon. The other nodded and smiled, repeating “waliskis” over and over. But what did it mean? Did these Tanu also have mastodons? There was no way to tell, not if they couldn’t speak to each other. The other now pulled gently at the bowl until Kerrick released his grip, then turned and went back to the trees with it.
When he returned the bowl was filled with cooked vegetation of some kind, lumpy and white. The hunter scooped out some of the food with his fingers and ate it, then put the howl on the ground. Kerrick did the same; it tasted quite good. As soon as he did this the stranger turned and hurried back under the trees again. Kerrick waited, but he did not return.
Their meeting seemed to have ended. No one appeared when Kerrick called out, and when he went slowly across the field to look in the grove of trees he found it empty. The encounter was puzzling — but encouraging. The dark hunter had shown no weapons, but had brought water and food. Kerrick picked up the bowl, retrieved his spear, and returned to the tents. The hunters on guard called out when he appeared and Herilak ran up the hill to greet him. He tasted the food, approved of it — but had as little idea of its significance as Kerrick had.
The sammads gathered to listen when he returned, and he had to tell the story over and over again. Everyone wanted to taste the new food and the bowl was quickly empty. The bowl itself was an object of great interest. Herilak turned it over and over and tapped it with his knuckles.
“It is hard as stone — but too light to be stone. And this mastodon is just as hard. I understand none of this.”
Even Fraken would not venture an opinion. This was all new to him as well. In the end Kerrick had to decide for himself.
“I’m going to go back tomorrow, in the morning, just like today. I’ll bring them some meat in the bowl. Perhaps they meant to share food with us.”
“Perhaps they meant for you to feed the mastodons with it?” Sorli said.
“We have no way of knowing anything,” said Kerrick. “I’ll bring them some of our meat. But not in their bowl. Let me bring them one of the woven trays with the designs.”
Before it became dark Armun took the best tray, one that she had woven herself, and washed it clean in the river. “It is dangerous to go back,” she said. “Someone else can go.”
“No, these hunters know me now. And I feel that the danger is over, the worst part was when I first went up there. These new Tanu hunt these grounds and we must be at peace with them if we are to stay. And we have nowhere else to go. Now we will eat, but save the best pieces of meat to put on the tray for me to take with me.”
There was no one in the, meadow below the grove when Kerrick arrived there the following morning. But when he threw his spear aside and went across the grass with the tray a familiar figure appeared under the trees. Kerrick sat down and put the tray down before him. This time the other came forward without fear and sat in the grass as well. Kerrick ate a piece of meat, then pushed the tray over and watched while the hunter took a piece and ate it with signs of pleasure. Then he turned and called out loudly. Five more hunters, all black-haired and beardl
ess, dressed in the same manner, appeared from the grove and walked towards them.
Now it was Kerrick’s turn to be fearful. He sprang to his feet and backed away. Two of the newcomers were carrying spears. They stopped when he moved and looked at him with open curiosity. Kerrick pointed at them and made motions of throwing a spear. The first hunter sensed his meaning and called back what must have been a command for they placed the spears on the grass before they started forward again.
Kerrick waited, arms folded and trying not to show concern. It all looked peaceful enough — but they could be concealing blades under their white leather. They wouldn’t even need blades, the six of them could overwhelm him and kill him easily enough if they wanted to. He would have to take that chance. Either that or turn and run.
When they came closer Kerrick saw that two of them were carrying short clubs. He pointed to these and made clubbing motions. They stopped and talked among themselves, and it took them awhile to understand his meaning. Apparently the lengths of wood were not clubs at all. One of them went back to the spears and Kerrick stood ready to run again. But he was just demonstrating the use of the wooden tools. He held one in his hand and fitted the butt of his spear into a notch in the other end. Then, with the spear resting on his arm and held in place by his fingers, he leaned far back and sent the spear high into the air. It hurtled up, then fell back to the ground, plunging deep into the earth. Kerrick could not tell how the device worked, but it certainly made the spear go much further. Kerrick did not move again when the hunter dropped the wood beside the spear and came to join the others.
They grouped around him, talking excitedly in high voices, as interested in Kerrick as he was in them. They reached out tentative fingers to touch the two skymetal knives that hung from the ring about his neck, touched the ring itself with murmurs of wonder. Kerrick looked closely at their leather coverings — and realized that they weren’t leather at all. When he ran his fingers over the piece that one of them had bound about his head, the hunter took it off and handed it to Kerrick. It was soft as fur, and when he looked closely he saw that it was woven like a basket, though the substance it was made from was as fine as hair. He started to hand it back but the hunter pushed it away and pointed to Kerrick’s head. When he pulled it down over his hair all of them smiled and made appreciative noises.
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