“You have so little to do than to come to steal Arnwheet’s toy?” Kerrick said.
“Hanath… told me of it,” Morgil panted. “It makes an awful noise. And was it made by the Paramutan you told us about?”
“It was. They are very clever and carve bone and wood. They make another thing like this, only bigger that they use to suck water out of their boats.”
“And they live on the ice and hunt fish in the cold and there is snow?” Hanath said with great interest. “You must tell us more about them.”
“You have heard the stories, you know as much now as I do. But what do you care about the Paramutan? Does not your brewing of porro keep you even too busy to hunt?”
“Many others hunt. They trade all the meat we need for porro.”
“And we have drunk enough porro for a while,” Morgil said. “It is good when it is good, but terrible when it is bad. I think the manduktos do the right thing, drink it only when something special happens. You told us the Paramutan come south to trade. Do they come this far?”
“No, they hate the heat, they would die here. At the end of the summer, those that want to trade go to the shore to the north where the great river meets the ocean. That is the only place where they go.”
“What is it they want to trade?”
“They bring cured hides, furs sometimes, rich eating fat. What they want in return are flint knives, spearheads, even arrowheads. They make their own kind of bone fishhooks, certain kind of spearheads, but they need our knives.”
“I have the feeling that I need some furs,” Hanath said, wiping sweat from his forehead with forefinger.
“I too,” agreed Morgil. “We think that the time for trading has come.”
Kerrick looked at them both with astonishment. “I think that the last thing you will need here are furs.” The whistle wailed shrilly as Arnwheet blew it for his attentive audience. Kerrick thought about what they had said and smiled. “I don’t think that it is furs that you want, but maybe a long trek, some hunting, cold weather and frost.”
Morgil clasped his hands together and rolled his eyes skyward. “The sammadar sees our secret thoughts. He should be alladjex, not Fraken who is young and stupid.’
“I don’t have to be an alladjex to see that you two have not been on the trail for a long time — and want the smell of the northern forest in your nostrils again.”
“Yes!” they said it as one and Hanath obviously spoke for them both. “Tell us where this place is where the Paramutan wait. We will make lots of knives…”
“Others will make them, we will trade them for porro,” Morgil said. “But will these Paramutan come again to trade? You told us that they have crossed the ocean and now hunt and fish on a distant shore.”
“They will come, they told me so. Crossing the ocean is nothing for them. There are those things they need that they can only get by trading with the Tanu. They will come.”
“And we will be there to meet them. Can you tell us of where we can find the furry-faced ones?”
“You must ask Armun. She knows the place because that is where she first met the Paramutan.”
She came out of the tent when he called her, sat next to Arnwheet and brushed his tangled hair from his face. He whistled happily at his growing audience.
“It is very easy to find,” she said when they had explained what they wanted. “You must know the trail that comes from the mountains to the sea.”
Kerrick felt a sudden excitement as she talked, could almost smell the chill mist blowing in from the ocean, the cold pelting of driving snow. He had forgotten what it was like to be cold. Not that he wanted to freeze to death again, but to eat a mouthful of snow, to walk in the dark pine woods — that was something worth doing. Under eager questioning Armun talked more about the Paramutan and the way they lived on the ice, the many things they made, the rotten fish they liked to eat. The two hunters listened closely to her words, gasping in fascination at their strange ways. When she had finished Hanath slapped Morgil so enthusiastically on the shoulder that he knocked him over on his side.
“We will do it,” he cried. “We will go, now is the time to leave. We will go north and trade with the furry ones.”
“Perhaps I will go with you,” Kerrick said. “To show you the way.”
Armun’s eyes widened with shock. Before she could speak her anger he seized her hands in his. “We will both go, why not, take a mastodon to carry the things we wish to trade.”
“That will be too slow,” she said. “And we will not go, nor do I even wish to talk of it. The children are here…”
“And the children are safe here. Ysel eats soft-chewed food now, Arnwheet has his friends, while the sammads and many hunters are on all sides.”
“I want to go too!” Arnwheet called out and Armun shushed him.
“This is a thing that hunters wish to do. You are not quite the grown hunter yet. Some day, but not now.”
She took the boy back to the tent with her, leaving the three hunters with their heads bent close, making plans. She was concerned, but not worried. But what should she do if Kerrick said that he wished to go with them? She must decide before he returned. He wanted very much to go, that was clear. Perhaps life on this island was too easy. Certainly it was too hot. She laughed out loud. She would very much like to do this thing as well. By the time Kerrick had returned her mind was made up.
“I think those two have had a good idea,” he said. His fingers twisted at the skymetal knife as he talked. “Of course there is no real need for furs here, not in the summer at least. But the Paramutan have many other things.”
“Like what, whistles?”
“Not only whistles,” he said angrily, then saw that she was smiling.
“You want to make this trek, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Well so do I. It is too quiet here now, too hot. Malagen, the Sasku woman, she likes to look after Ysel, she will do it willingly if I go with you. Arnwheet has his friends and will not even know that we have gone. I think that it will be a very good thing to go north for a while. We will find cold rain, perhaps snow, and when we return the worst heat will be over.”
A shadow passed across the clearing before the tent, drifted back. Kerrick stepped out and looked into the burning blue bowl of the sky, shielded his eyes with his hand. It was a large bird, an eagle perhaps, soaring in slow circles, a black silhouette against the sky. It was too high to make out any details. It moved away and he went back into the shade. Was it a Yilanè bird sent to look for them? Not that it mattered: Lanefenuu would never forget those dead uruketo. The fighting was over.
Day followed burning day as the uruketo swam slowly west along the coast. When the waves broke on the sandy shore they moved steadily, with at least three Yilanè on the fin at all times watching the coast slip by. Only when there were large inlets and bays did their progress slow as they made a careful search of the indented coastline. It became even slower when they came to one large bay with islands, it appeared to be a river mouth, that had to be carefully searched. Fafnepto was on the fin, blinking in the sunlight as she looked at the cool darkness under the trees close by. When they turned by a rocky headland she pointed it out to Vaintè.
“Oddness of rock shape, memorable/unforgettable. I will go ashore there and hunt fresh meat.”
“Appreciated by all. When we have finished the search we will return and meet you here. Good hunting.”