“Don’t go back there. Don’t. I know how you feel about this, but for them I feel nothing. Stay here.”
“We will talk another time.”
“We talk now. You will return to them?”
“Just to see what has happened. I’ll be careful, just a few days away. You’ll be safe here.”
Armun turned her back and rolled away from him, ceased to listen. It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.
She had been right; his mind was made up. There was continued silence next morning as he made up a light pack of smoked meat, added some of the roots that had been parched in the ashes. Ortnar thought it was all a great mistake.
“The lake is nothing. We are gone, no reason to return. There may be more murgu there now. It is a trap.”
“You know my reasons, Ortnar. I am going. I will only be a few days. Guard the sammad while I am away.”
“I am only half a hunter…”
“Your spear arm is as good as it ever was, your spearhead just as sharp. Harl is more of a hunter than I am, Armun uses the death-stick as well as I do. You will survive very well in my absence. Will you do this for me?”
Kerrick took the grunted response as a yes and he tied the strong skins about his feet for the trail ahead. Armun spoke to him only when he asked her a direct question, otherwise she was silent. She had been like this ever since he had decided to return to the lake. He did not wish to leave when she was angry at him — but he had no choice. Once again she surprised him by calling out as he left.
“Go carefully, return safely.”
“You know why I must do this?”
“No. I only know that you must. I would go with you but I could not take the baby. Be quick.”
“I will. You must not worry.”
Harl went with him across the river on the raft that they had made, thick poles tied together with vines. He would return with it and hide it among the trees. Harl had nothing to say, just lifted his hand in farewell. Kerrick strode off between the trees, the hèsotsan held ready.
When he reached the wider trail, still scored deep by the passing of the sammads, he turned south, then stopped and looked about. His woodcraft was no match for any of the Tanu who had grown up in the forest. He could not even see the broken branch that Ortnar had marked the path with. He put the hèsotsan aside and took out his flint knife. With it he peeled away a patch of bark on the nearest tree. After that he looked carefully at the land and the forest and tried to remember just what this place looked like so he could find the path when he returned. Seizing up the hèsotsan he turned and started down the trail.
When the sammad had come north from the lake they had taken many days, able to go no faster than Ortnar could hobble. Now that he was alone he made much better time. On the third day he left the rutted track for the familiar path that led to Round Lake . He had hunted these woods often, knew them well. He circled when he came close to the encampment, approached the lake close to the spot where they had had their tents. Slower and slower, lying flat and crawling the last part under the cover of the bushes. Their campsite was empty and already overgrown, the black traces of their cooking fire the only indication that anyone had ever been here. When he stood behind a large tree he could see across the water to the other camp.
Something moved near the shore and he raised the hèsotsan. A Yilanè was there, back turned. He waited until the figure straightened up and turned towards him.
It was Nadaske, without a doubt. He started to call out, then thought again. Was he here alone? Or were there others in hiding? It appeared to be safe enough. He saw Nadaske go to the shore and bend over a dark figure in the water. It could only be Imehei — still alive! He felt a sudden great pleasure, stepped forward and called out attention to communication.
Nadaske spun about, ran to the shelter, came out a moment later with his hèsotsan raised and ready to fire. Kerrick stepped out where he could be seen.
“Greatings great hunter, killer of all that dares move in the forest.”
Nadaske stood as though carved of stone, the hèsotsan still ready, and did not move until Kerrick had come close. Only then did he lower the weapon and speak.
“Pleasure multiplied. Presence unexpected/unbelieved. Lack of talking has made me yiliebe. You did come back.”
“Of course.” Kerrick pointed a thumb of query at Imehei.
“He is as he was. The eggs have broken.”
“I don’t understand. The eggs are gone?”
“In my ignorance I forgot your ustuzou failure of knowledge in these matters. After the eggs are laid in the pouch some time passes. Then the eggs crack and the elininyil emerge and grow within the same pouch, taking nourishment from certain glands. When they are large enough they will come out of the pouch and swim into the lake and then we will know about Imehei.”
“Doubt of complete meaning.”
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.