“Mountains and forest,” Vaintè said. “Fresh water and good hunting. This could be a refuge. We must look at all of the shoreline.”
“How long will it take you to circle the island?” Fafnepto asked.
Gunugul signed lack of knowledge/dependent upon size. “Some days at least.”
“Then I will go ashore, there by that promontory,” Fafnepto said. “I have been too long in the ocean, too long from the forest. It is my greatest wish to see the animals of this new side of the earth. I will be at this place when you come back.”
“You will take food?” Gunugul asked.
“Only my hèsotsan. I will have fresh meat ready for your return.”
The hunter, her weapon held high, slipped into the water and swam easily ashore. The uruketo continued along the coast, Vaintè and the commander on the fin looking closely at the beaches and cliffs as they moved by. It was too much to expect that they would find their prey this easily, this quickly. Nevertheless the hunt had begun. Vaintè no longer felt only a passenger, was now a participant.
There were bays and natural harbors; they probed each one. When they rounded the island’s tip two days later the uruketo had to be forced out of the current that it had been following.
“It is the warm water,” Gunugul said, “flowing up from the south. The creature likes the warmth. Look there, you can see the edge of the stream, the different color. It is like a river in the ocean. That is how we find our way, by following the currents.”
Vaintè was watching the shore, half heard the commander’s comments.
“Are there other islands to the south of this one?” Gunugul asked. “There are none marked on my chart. Has that area been explored?”
“I have no knowledge of any more islands. Certainly I saw none the other times I came this way.”
“Perhaps we should search further to the south as well,” Gunugul said, looking out at the empty ocean. Vaintè joined her, gazing out at the blue water, the bank of white clouds on the horizon. Further south? There might very well be more islands there. For a moment she hesitated, then signed firmness of decision.
“There is nothing there. Enge, the one who leads them, knows the shores to the north and it is in that direction that they will have fled. But we must circle this island first. If they are not here we will then continue to the north. It is there that we will find those we seek.”
And those whom I seek. Her body was rigid, the thought came unbidden. She was here at Saagakel’s behest, to search for Enge and the scientist, Ambalasei, and the uruketo. She and the Eistaa were as one in this search. But Kerrick was out there too, and she would find him. As she hated the Daughters she hated him. Perhaps more strongly, because twice he had succeeded in defeating her. Not a third time. When she found him, that would be the end.
The small plant-eating marag hung by one of its back legs from the tree, mouth gaping in death. Kerrick finished flaying it, then cut off the dangling rear leg. It was fleshily round and made very good eating. He wrapped it in a large leaf which he sealed shut with thorns. When this was done he wiped his flint knife clean on the grass, then took up the bloody fragments of skin and carried them to the pit behind the trees. Flies rose up in buzzing protest when he threw the skin in among the bones and other rubbish. He fanned them away from his face, then went and washed his hands clean in the nearby stream.
When he returned he saw that the tent was still empty, Armun had not returned yet with the baby: he was annoyed at himself for his feeling of relief. If he wanted to see Nadaske that was no concern of others. But of course it was. Armun no longer protested aloud at his visits, but her silences spoke louder than words. Louder and longer silences when he took Arnwheet with him. He had not done this for a very long time, perhaps because of what he knew would follow. He would take him today. The boy was very good with his bow; perhaps they would find some game. He would take the hèsotsan only for protection from predators and let Arnwheet do all the hunting. This was the boy’s eighth summer: he would be getting a bigger bow soon.
As always there was the small thrust of fear when he took the hèsotsan from its nest of furs. Motionless and alive — or silent and dead? The tiny mouth opened when he prodded it, its teeth chewed slowly on the fragment of raw flesh. Seizing up the bundled meat he went looking for his son.
The young boys were always easy to find; you just listened for the shrill shouting. They were on the shore near the swamp now, crowing with victory. One of their snares had caught a good-sized bird. It could not escape because the snare on its ankle was secured to a heavy log, but could still hiss and snap at them, its wings beating furiously. Two of the boys were sitting on the overturned boat, nursing bloody fingers where the sharp serrated edge of the creature’s bill had cut them. Arnwheet called out happily when Kerrick came up.
“We caught it, Atta, all by ourselves, when it came to feed on the grass. Isn’t it fat?”
“Very. But are you sure that it didn’t catch you? It seems very much alive.”
“Kill it, sammadar,” one of the boys shouted and the others took up the cry. The bird looked at him with a wicked red eye and hissed again. He half raised the hèsotsan. But they were used only for killing invading murgu now. He handed the weapon to Arnwheet who took it proudly.
“Hold it as I showed you and do not touch the spot there.”
“I know, I know!”
He puffed his chest out and the other boys looked on jealously until Kerrick took out his knife and warily circled the bird. It turned to face him, bill gaping wide. One of the boys threw a stone which thumped into its side. It turned its head around and Kerrick seized its neck, cut its throat with a quick slash. It kicked and slumped into a huddle of gory feathers. The boys shrieked even more loudly and rushed forward. Kerrick retrieved the hèsotsan from his son.
“I am taking this meat to the island for Nadaske. You will come with me?”
Arnwheet squirmed and looked away. They were having such a good time here. Kerrick looked past him to the boys’ boat. He pointed to it. “You have been out in that?”
“Just into the swamp. The sammadars told us we could take it no further. Two boys did. They were beaten so hard they howled.”
“It is a very good thing that your father is a sammadar and does not have to worry about a beating. Run and get your bow and we will take the boat to the island. We will hunt.”
There was no disagreement now. Kerrick placed the hèsotsan carefully in the grass, then seized the edge of the small boat and turned it over. It had a definitely irregular interior and sat in the water at an odd angle. Still, it floated. There were two small paddles, little more than flattened lengths of wood, but they would do. There were hollowed out gourds as well, for bailing, and they undoubtedly would be needed. It might be wisest if they stayed close to shore. He pushed it into deeper water, retrieved the hèsotsan and climbed gingerly in. It rocked viciously and he shifted carefully about until it floated fairly level.
“Isn’t it a fine boat?” Arnwheet shouted as he ran up. He splashed into the water and almost overturned it as he climbed aboard. Kerrick made hasty corrections, then pointed to the gourds.
“I’m getting a wet bottom. Get rid of the water and let us try not to rock this thing too much.”
He had to be very careful how he dug the paddle in because the little boat was fearfully unstable. Arnwheet sat proudly in the bow and called out unneeded advice as they splashed along the shore. He had an arrow nocked to his bow, but any game was gone long before they appeared. Kerrick paddled around the island and across the narrow waterway to the smaller island on the ocean. Arnwheet almost overturned them again jumping ashore and it was with a feeling of great relief that Kerrick slipped into the waist deep water, holding the hèsotsan above his head. They pulled the boat up on the sand.
“Isn’t it a good boat?” Arnwheet said in Marbak. Kerrick answered in Yilanè.
“Excellently grown/strongest wood to ride the water.”
“
It wasn’t grown. We hollowed it out with fire.”
“I know. But there is no way to say that in Yilanè.”
“I don’t like to talk that way.”
The boy was rebellious and Kerrick did not want to force him. It was important that he keep his strength of will. When this boy grew up he would give orders, not take them. Lead not follow.
“Yilanè is good to talk. You can talk to Nadaske now because he cannot talk Marbak at all.”
“The boys laugh. They have seen me talk to you and say I shake like a frightened girl.”
“Never listen to those who cannot do what you can do. What you speak they can never learn. It is important that you do not forget.”
“Why?”
Why? Why indeed? How to answer this so simple question? Kerrick dropped to the sand, crossed his legs as he thought.
“Here, sit beside me. We will rest for a bit and I will tell you of many important things. Not important to you now, but of the greatest importance one day. Do you remember how cold you were when we were all in the snow with the Paramutan?”
“It is better to be warm.”
“It is — and that is why we are here. We can no longer live in the north because of the snow that never melts. But here in the south there are the murgu. Murgu we can kill and eat, murgu we must kill before they eat us.” Arnwheet scarcely noticed when Kerrick continued in Yilanè. “And then there are Yilanè like Nadaske. They are not efensele like him but would kill us all if they could. Because of this we have to know about them, must be on our guard against them. Once I was the only Tanu who could talk to them. Now there are two of us. One day you will be sammadar and you will do what I do now. We must know them. We need their hèsotsan if we are to live here. This is a very important thing that you must do one day. And only you can do it.”
Arnwheet wriggled uncomfortably and dug his toes into the sand. He could hear what his father was telling him, but could not understand the full import of the words. He was only a very small boy.
Kerrick climbed to his feet and brushed off his legs. “Now we see our friend Nadaske, bring him the meat and he will sing songs for us. And on the way strong hunter will keep his bow drawn and perhaps we can bring fresh-killed meat as well.”
Arnwheet gave one whoop of delight as he seized up his bow and nocked the arrow to it. Then he slitted his eyes and crouched low, as all good hunters did on the trail, and slipped silently up the tussocked hill. Kerrick followed after, wondering if the boy had understood anything that he had said. If not now, he would one day. The time would come when Kerrick would be dead and Arnwheet would be a hunter, a sammadar. The responsibility would then be his.
Nadaske was on the shore staring out to sea, turned and signed pleasure when Kerrick called out attention to speaking. Then signed pleasure multiplied when Kerrick gave him the meat. He sniffed the bundle and added another modifier of greater amplitude.
“Small-wet who is no longer small nor wet, efensele Kerrick, meat of great pleasure. It has been too long since we last talked.”
“We are here now,” Kerrick said, knowing it had been a long time, not wanting to discuss it. He turned and found a bush thick enough to have a dark shadow beneath it. The sand was still very warm and he brushed the surface layer away to uncover the cooler sand below, then placed the hèsotsan into the shallow pit. No one knew how the disease had spread from one of them to the other, or if it had indeed spread that way. They still took every precaution and never let another hunter touch their hèsotsan, never brought one of the weapons near another.
Arnwheet was telling Nadaske about their successful bird hunt and Nadaske showed great interest in the idea of a noose to trap creatures. Kerrick did not interrupt or try to help the boy when he got into difficulty trying to explain a noose’s construction and operation in Yilanè. It was Nadaske who asked the right questions, helped him speak the correct answers. Kerrick watched in silent pleasure. Nadaske was truly interested in the snare, wanted to know how it was made.
“If I can understand its construction I can easily make it. It is a fact known to everyone that all females are brutal things. A fact as well that all the skill and Yilanè art are confined to the males. You have seen artful/glowing the wire/stone nenitesk.”
“Can I see it now?”
“Another time. Now I will show you something more interesting/edible.”
They followed Nadaske to the landward side of the island where he had dug a pit just at tide level. He moved aside the flat rock that covered it to reveal the seaweed lined interior. Mixed in with the wet seaweed were fresh shellfish. He selected large and juicy ones for his guests, put another in his mouth and clamped down hard to break the shell.
“Nadaske’s teeth are strong/manifold,” Kerrick said, using his flint knife to prize open the shellfish. “Ustuzou teeth suited for other things. So stone tooth must be used.”
“Metal tooth too,” Arnwheet said, slipping the thong over his head and using his skymetal knife to attack the shell.
“No,” Kerrick said, “don’t use that.” Arnwheet looked up, startled at the forcefulness of his negative modifiers. Kerrick wondered himself at the strength of his feelings. He passed over his flint knife, took the metal one and rubbed it with his fingers. It was scratched and nicked, but had a good edge to it, and a sharp point, where Arnwheet had sharpened it on a stone. “This was mine, he said. “It hung always about my neck on a thong, then from this metal collar as this knife does now.”
“One bigger, one smaller, very much the same.” Nadaske said. “Explanation of existence/relationship.”
“Cut from skymetal, Herilak told me. He was there when it fell, a burning rock from the sky that was not stone at all, but metal. Skymetal. He was with the hunters when they searched for it. The one who found it was a sammadar named Amahast. As you can see the skymetal is hard, but it can be sawn by notched sheets of stone. That is how these knives were made, a large and a small one. Amahast wore the large one and the smaller was worn by his son. Amahast was my father. Now my son wears mine, as I did.”
“What is father what is son?” Nadaske asked, rubbing his thumb over the shining surface of the knife.
“That will be hard to explain to you.”
“You think that I am a fargi of low intelligence without intellect to understand/appreciate?”
Kerrick signed apologies for misunderstandings. “No, it is just that it has to do with the way ustuzou are born. There are no eggs, no efenburu in the sea. A child is born from its mother therefore knows its father as well.”
Nadaske signed confusion and disbelief. “Kerrick spoke correctly. There are some things that are beyond understanding about ustuzou.”
“You should think of Arnwheet and I as being of the smallest efenburu. Closer than close.”
“Understanding partial, acceptance complete. Eat more shellfish.”
By late afternoon Arnwheet became bored with the talk and looked around restlessly. Kerrick saw this and realized that it was important that he not be troubled seeing Nadaske. It must always be interesting, something to look forward to.
“It is time to leave,” Kerrick said. “Perhaps the birds are returning to the swamp and you can shoot one.”
“Shortness of visit/shortness of life,” Nadaske said in a gloomy attempt to keep them longer.
“Soon again — with fresh meat, Kerrick said, turning away. He took up the hèsotsan, brushed a few grains of sand from it.
Stopped suddenly, very still.
“You see something I do not see,” Nadaske said, reading alarm into the curve of his body.
“I see nothing. Just some sand on this stupid hèsotsan.” He brushed at it with his fingers, then brushed it again.
The small gray patch would not come off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kerrick did not want to speak of what he had seen, as though in keeping silent the spot would vanish, might have never existed. Arnwheet approved of his silence as he stalked ahead. He shot his arr
ow at a basking lizard, came very close as it scuttled away into the grass. Then he sat in the bow of the boat all the way back, trailing his fingers in the water. Kerrick started to warn him with sudden memory of doing the same thing when he was a boy, the horror of the marag surging up from the sea. But that had happened a long time ago: there was nothing to fear from these shallow inland waters. They beached the boat, turned it over and Arnwheet ran ahead to the tent. Kerrick looked again at the hèsotsan. The spot was still there.
There was silence around their fire. Armun knew where they had gone and her disapproval was obvious in her every movement. This one time Kerrick did not attempt to talk to her, to make her forget their visit to the island: he was just as silent as she. Arnwheet, tired from the day, was asleep even before the first stars appeared. Kerrick kicked sand over the smoldering fire then went to the stream to wash his hands and arms. He rubbed them thoroughly, then did it all a second time. Though if he had brought the disease to the hèsotsan it was far too late for this. He shook them dry and went down the path to Herilak’s tent.
When he came into the clearing he saw that Merrith had moved her tent until it was just beside that of the sammadar. Darras sat now in the open flap of the tent holding a doll woven of straw. She was still a silent little girl, but she did smile at him even though she did not speak. The flap of Herilak’s tent was closed and he heard laughter from inside. He was going to call out when he realized that it was woman’s laughter. He had not known about this before. It was a good thing. He sat down on the fur beside Darras.
“I never saw that doll before.”
“My grandmother made it. I watched her do it. Isn’t she nice? Her name is Melde. That was my mother’s name too.”
“It is a very nice doll.”
He added some dry branches to the fire and stirred it until the wood crackled and the flames grew higher. The flaps of the other tent were opened and Merrith came over and sat next to him.
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