Nadaske turned to look at the water, at his unmoving and silent friend. He made the sign of life and death, equal and opposite. “He remains as you see him until the young emerge. Then he lives — or dies. We can only wait. It should be soon now. They move about a lot, look you can see.”
Kerrick looked at the stirring beneath the skin, then turned away from the unconscious figure in the lake. “How long before it happens?”
“I don’t know. Today, tomorrow, more days. When it happened to me I had no memory of it.” He saw Kerrick’s movements of interrogation. “Yes, I have been to the beaches. Once. They say in the hanalè that once you may live, twice you may die, thrice you are dead. This is Imehei’s first. We have good reason to hope.”
There was no real reason to make a fire that evening, other than to drive the biting insects away. The air was warm as always — and Kerrick had eaten raw fish before. And Nadaske detested the smell of smoke, sniffed and withdrew from the traces on Kerrick’s garments. They ate and talked until it was too dark even for twilight talk. Then slept close to each other under the shelter that the two males had grown and shaped in place. It was more like a Yilanè sleeping chamber than a Tanu tent and, for some inexplicable reason, Kerrick slept very, very soundly.
The raw fish did not look that appetizing in the morning. Kerrick took his hèsotsan and walked along the lake to a grove of fruit trees, ate some of that instead. When he returned Nadaske was feeding Imehei, then, when he stirred uncomfortably rolled him over in the water to a better position.
“Will it happen today?” Kerrick asked.
“Today, some day. But it will happen.”
This was the only answer he could get to his question and it was highly unsatisfactory. If he stayed here — how long would it be? He had promised to return quickly — but how quickly? He still felt that Nadaske and Imehei were part of his sammad, just as much as the Tanu, and he owed them equal loyalty. The others would be safe on the island. If he had a responsibility now it was here bv the lake.
Easy enough to say. But one day became two, then three. On the fourth day without change Kerrick knew that the time had come to return to the island. He had told Armun it would only be a few days: that time had long since run out. One day more, then he would have to leave, perhaps come back later. But that would mean another long trip, mean being away from the island for an even longer time.
“There is no change,” Nadaske said next morning in response to his unspoken question.
“I think we could use some fresh meat. I am sure that you, like me, have had enough fish.” Nadaske signed modifiers of magnification of statement many times. “I thought so. I saw deer far down the lake. I’ll bring one back.”
It wasn’t only the fresh meat that he wanted. He needed an opportunity to be away from the beach for a time. The sight of Imehei, neither alive nor dead, was one that he found very difficult to bear. This had to be the last day. If nothing happened he would start back in the morning.
After this decision he became engrossed in the hunt. He had not brought his bow, had never attained the skill with it for successful hunting, but used the hèsotsan instead. While this required more skill at stalking, since it was not as accurate as the bow, it also insured that no creature wounded by a badly aimed arrow would escape from him. By circling under cover of the forest he put himself downwind from the small herd. His first stalk failed when he was seen and the deer quickly bounded out of sight. He had better luck with the next herd and managed to bring down a small buck.
Nadaske could not bear fire, hated the smell of the smoke. If he cooked any of the meat for himself it would have to be done far from the shore. It would be better to build a fire here and eat some of the meat, bring back the rest for the males.
Finding dry wood, then coaxing a spark from the flint took some time, as did roasting a hind leg over the fire. The meat was tough but good and he ate it right down to the bone. It was late in the afternoon before he kicked dirt over the remains of the fire, threw the carcass over his shoulder and started back to the lake.
As he came along the shore he called out sounds of attention to speaking. He did it again when Nadaske did not respond. This was not like him. Was something wrong? He let the deer slide to the ground and sank down in the brush. Carefully and silently, the hèsotsan pointed before him, he moved among the trees to approach from the sheltered side. If Yilanè hunters had found the camp he wanted to be able to fire first. There was a large conifer that overhung the shore and he wriggled up behind it, carefully looked out.
Something terrible had happened. Nadaske sat on the sand, slumped forward, arms hanging limply. He had pulled Imehei up on the shore where he lay on his back with his mouth open, motionless. Dead. There was much blood and small bodies littering the sand.
When Kerrick stumbled forward making sounds of inquiry Nadaske turned empty eyes to him. It took a great effort but he finally spoke.
“They emerged. He died. It is over. My friend is dead. He is dead.”
When Kerrick went closer he saw that the bodies were of tiny Yilanè. Nadaske saw where he was looking and sprang to his feet. His jaw clacked shut, hard, again and again until saliva ran down his neck. There was pain in every movement, every expression.
“They lived, Imehei died. They killed him. I watched them being born in the water even when he was dead. The females, they are there on the shore, every one. I killed them. They, the females, they killed him. Now others of their kind are dead here.” He gestured towards the lake and snapped his thumbs together loudly. “Not the males. They are out there. If they live they will live free of these others. That is a chance they will have — that Imehei never had.”
There was nothing that Kerrick could say that would lessen Nadaske’s pain, that could change the terrible events of this day. He went back and found the deer where he had left it, brought it back.
In the city Imehei’s body would have been put to rest in one of the burial pits, where the roots of specialized plants would dissolve it, flesh and bones as well, restoring the nutrients to the city that had nurtured him. Here all that they could do was dig a grave in the soft sand beneath the conifer that stood behind camp, lay his body within it. Kerrick dragged up stones to cover the loose earth, to keep the animals from digging it up.
There was nothing here now for Nadaske. When Kerrick rolled his sleeping covers in the morning Nadaske came over to him and held out a small, leaf-wrapped bundle.
“Will you carry this for me? Exercise of care in transport/ prevention injury.”
He opened the wrapping to disclose the wire sculpture of a horned nenitesk. Kerrick signed agreement/gratitude for trust, rewrapped it and put it carefully inside the skins.
“I will carry it safely, return it when we reach our destination.”
“Then let us leave.”
The sun was just over the trees when they started down the trail. Neither of them looked back at the empty beach.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“The fishing is good here,” the sammadar Kellimans said, stirring the fire with a stick.
“And the fishing is good in the ocean everywhere — because there are fish everywhere.” Herilak spoke sharply, trying to control his anger. “And will you still be able to fish here in the winter when it is so cold that the death-sticks die? You will have to leave then. So you could leave now.”
“When the cold comes, then we will leave,” Har-Havola said. “In this I agree with Kellimans. And fishing is good in the river also, not only in the sea.”
“If you like fish that much — you should live in the ocean with them!” Herilak snapped. “We are hunters, that is what we are, not fish eaters…”
“But the hunting is good here as well.”
“I think we can hunt better to the south,” Hanath called out. “Kerrick has done something important for us.”
“Like keeping us alive,” Morgil said. “We go with Herilak if he seeks to find him.”
“Go! Who needs you
,” Kellimans said with indignation. “You stole the porro from the manduktos, caused us all trouble. There are those of us who will take pleasure in seeing your backs. Leave with Herilak. But I am one who is going to stay. There is no reason to leave now.”
“There is.” Herilak jumped to his feet and pointed south into the darkness. “Will anyone here deny that Kerrick, somewhere out there, saved our lives, all of our lives?” He pulled hard at the knife he wore about his neck and the thong snapped: he hurled it down at their feet. “The murgu returned this to us. The skymetal knife that Kerrick always wore. It is a message to us. It tells us that he made them stop the war. He made them send this to us to show that we had won. The attack ended and they went away. He made them do all that. Will anyone here say that I am not speaking the truth?” He glared across the fire at the sammadars who nodded agreement. He looked up at the hunters and women behind them who were listening in silence. “All of us know that this is true. I say we must go south to see if Kerrick is there, if he is still alive, if we can help him.”
“If he is alive he will not need help,” Kellimans said and there was a murmur of agreement. “Herilak, he is of your sammad and if you want to seek him out you must do that. But we will do as we wish.”
“And we wish to stay here,” Har-Havola added.
“You all have spines like jellyfish, minds of wet mud.”
Herilak seized up the skymetal knife as Merrith walked over to the fire. She faced them with her hands on her hips, the fire reflected in her eyes. “You are all little boys that talk big — then piss yourselves with fright. Why not say what you really think? You are afraid to go near the murgu. So you will forget about Kerrick and eat your fish. May your tharms drown in the ocean and never see the stars!”
There were even angrier shouts at this.
“You should not speak like that. Not about the tharms,” Herilak said.
“I said it and I will not take back my words. Since you hunters believe that we stupid women do not have tharms — I see no reason to worry about yours. Do you leave in the morning?”
“Yes.”
“Does your sammad march with you?”
“They do. We have talked about it and they will go south.”
“Even your mastodons are wiser than these sammadars. I will travel with you.”
Herilak nodded in gratitude. “You will leave with us.” He smiled. “I can always use another strong hunter at my side.”
“Hunter and woman both, sammadar. Don’t ever forget that.”
Everything that could be said around the fire had been said. Merrith left them and went past the dark mounds of the tents, to the meadow where the mastodons were tethered. Her old cow, Dooha, lifted her trunk and smelled the air, rumbled a greeting to her and reached out her trunk to touch her with the delicate tip. Merrith patted its hairy surface.
“I know you don’t like to walk after dark, but it’s not far. Now — stand still.”
Merrith had her mind made up long before the meeting around the fire had begun. She had struck her tent, tied it and all of her bundles to the carrying poles which she now secured to the mastodon. Dooha rumbled complaints but permitted herself to be led away. As soon as Merrith knew that Herilak was leaving she had made preparations. The rest of the sammads could stay here by the river and get fat and oily eating fish. She would go south with Herilak’s sammad. It would be good to move on — and she was fond of Malagen. There was no one else here who she cared about — or who cared about her. When she dropped the travois behind the tents and tied Dooha to a tree she went to Herilak’s fire. Malagen looked up at her, smiling with pleasure. “You will come with us!”
“I will. This place stinks too much of fish.”
Malagen leaned over and whispered. “It is not only you — but Fraken, the alladjex is coming too. That will be very good.”
Merrith sniffed loudly. “Old Fraken is a burden. He eats his fill of others’ food.” Malagen was shocked.
“But he is the alladjex. We need him.”
“Not that old windbag. I have forgotten more healing poultices than he ever knew how to make. Don’t confuse him with your Sasku manduktos. They are at least possessed of some wisdom and leadership. This one is too old and foolish. He will be dead soon and boy-without-a-name will take his place.”
“It is not true that Fraken can see the future with the owl packets?”
“Some say so. I have little faith in the skins and bones of regurgitated mice. I can tell the future without their help.”
“You can?”
“I’ll show you. He did not say it yet — but Nivoth will be leaving this sammad before morning.”
“May Kadair always guide you!” Malagen’s eyes were wide in the firelight. “You were not here, could not have seen, but Nivoth just dragged his tent away.”
Merrith laughed out loud and slapped her thigh. “I knew it. But it took little intelligence to predict that. If we go to search for Kerrick and find him, why then we may find Armun who went to join him. Once she knocked Nivoth to the ground with her fist, broke his nose, that is why it is twisted so. He has no desire to meet her again. It is very good to see his back.”
“You know everything about the sammads. You must tell me.”
“Not everything, but enough.”
“You will put your tent here?”
“Not tonight. It is rolled and on the poles, ready to leave in the morning.”
“Then you sleep in my tent.”
“No, it is the tent of your hunter, Newasfar. There can only be one woman in a tent. I will lie by the fire. It won’t be the first time.”
The fire was cold ashes by morning, but the night had been warm. Merrith lay, still wrapped in her robes, as the morning star faded over the ocean in the first red touch of dawn. She rose and had tied the poles of the travois into place long before the others emerged.
“If you sleep until noon you won’t get far today, Herilak,” she said as he emerged and sniffed the air. He scowled.
“Your tongue first thing in the morning is no pleasure.”
“My tongue only speaks the truth, great sammadar. Is it true, old Fraken joins us? His love for Kerrick was never that great.”
“His love of warmth is. He fears the winter here.”
“That I can understand. How far do we march?”
“Today, until we camp by a small river we have stopped at before. If you mean how far do we march to seek Kerrick, we march as far as is needed.”
“To the murgu city?”
“If we must. I know he is out there somewhere.”
“I have not gone there for many days,” Kerrick said, keeping his voice calm so his anger would not show.
“That is of no importance,” Armun said. “You are a hunter. A hunter goes where he wants. You can go there every day. But Arnwheet stays here with me.”
From where he sat in the shade of the large oak tree Kerrick could see across the clearing to the water. This island was a very good place to be. Both of the tents were hidden under the trees. The hunting was good, fresh water close by. There were duck, fish for the taking, berries carpeted the island. Armun and Darras had brought back baskets of roots and mushrooms. And they were all well, the baby growing. Even Ortnar, though he grumbled, was as good as could be expected. Only Nadaske’s presence caused Armun’s unhappiness; she would not let it rest. He was unseen — yet always seen by her. He was like a scab that she picked at constantly and made to bleed again and again.
“It does the boy no harm,” Kerrick explained patiently — and not for the first time. “And he wants to go.” He looked over to Arnwheet who was sitting with Harl, had fled there when his parents seized up the argument one more time. Armun followed his gaze, tried to be reasonable.
“Think of how I feel, not how he feels. He will grow up something different, half-murgu, half-Tanu. Like…”
“Like me?” There was bitterness in his voice. “Half of something, all of nothing.”
“Tha
t is not what I meant — or perhaps I did. You have said you are not a good murgu or a good hunter. Let him be a good hunter, that is all I ask.”
“He will grow to be a great hunter because he is not being raised by the murgu — as I was. You must not fear that. But to be able to talk with them, to know about their ways, is something of great importance. We share our world with them and I am the only one who knows anything at all about them. When he grows up, able to speak with them, then there will be two of us.”
Kerrick felt that argument was useless. This was not the first time that he had tried to explain to her, to make her understand his feelings, so this trouble would not be between them always. But she would not understand, perhaps could not. He seized his hèsotsan and stood up.
“I am going to see Nadaske. I will be back before dark.” She looked up at him, her face as set as his. “Arnwheet will be coming with me. There is nothing more to talk about.” He turned and walked quickly away, not wanting to hear anything more that she might say now.
“Can Harl come,” Arnwheet said happily, shaking his spear with excitement.
“What do you say, Harl?”
“Will you fish or hunt?”
“Perhaps. But first we go to talk with Nadaske.”
“You do not talk, you shake and gurgle,” the boy said with pent-up anger. “I will hunt by myself.”
Kerrick watched him stamp away. He was less of a boy, more of a hunter every day. And he listened too much to Ortnar who filled him with his own bitterness. He should have others to talk to, not Ortnar alone. This was a good camp, there was little danger and all the food they needed. Yet there was unhappiness too. It was his fault — but there was nothing he could do about it. “Let’s go see Nadaske. It has been a long time since we talked with him.”
The sky was beginning to cloud over and there was the smell of rain in the air. The leaves would be falling soon in the north, the first snows were on their way. Here the nights might be cooler, little else changed. The path led down to the swamp. It was deep in places so Kerrick carried Arnwheet on his shoulders through the green water. They swam the inlet to the island on the other side. Arnwheet called out attention to speaking shrilly and Nadaske emerged from his shelter to greet them. There was pleasure of talking in his movements.
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