Many hunters had worked to feed the fires that shaped the boat and each of them wanted to be first to use it. Before the quarrels broke out Kerrick decided that the four who would go must be chosen by chance, using a game the boys played. Straws were cut, all the same length, one for each hunter, and stood up in one of the newly baked pots. Four of them had their lower ends dipped in the dyesack of a hardalt and were stained purple. In turn each hunter drew one of the straws. There was much shouting, complaints from the losers and insults from the winners. In the end they all went to the boat, to load the nets and spread reeds over the four hunters so they would not be seen. They paddled out in midafternoon, disturbing the flocks already there. The hunters made no attempt to net any of these as they rose, but moved the boat into the shelter of the reeds. They would be ready when the newcomers arrived before dark.
Herilak drew Kerrick aside and spoke in a low voice. “Come with me and see something.” He led the way to his tent and brought out his hèsotsan. “You asked about the death-sticks. Was this what you meant?”
Kerrick turned it over in his hands, felt a jab of worry when he saw the creature’s foot. It was gray and dangling limply. “How long has it been like this?”
“Some days, I don’t know. What does it mean?”
“Maybe nothing. These creatures get old, they must die some time. It might be that.”
It wasn’t. The grayness on Herilak’s weapon spread, slowly at first, but it did not stop. One day the creature would not fire the darts and began to stink. They buried it in the forest away from the tents.
“I know of two more like this,” Herilak said.
“An illness of some sort,” Kerrick said. “Perhaps it spreads from one to the other. We must keep them apart.”
“What if more of them die. What then?”
“Then they die. We do not need them for hunting.”
“No, but we need them to kill murgu.” Herilak looked grimly across the water to the land beyond. “Another of the large murgu crossed over last night. The mastodons heard the thing, or smelled it. Hanath heard their noise and he killed it before it got among them. It is twice as big as a mastodon — with teeth as long as your arm. You cannot kill a marag like that with an arrow or a spear.”
“One death-stick is dead. We have others.”
“And others have the grayness already. If they all die…”
Kerrick could think of no easy words to say, was as worried as Herilak by this possibility. “We could trek north in the spring, go where the murgu cannot go, to the snow and the mountains.”
“We could do that — but for how long? The winter that never ends still holds the valleys. Those Tanu who still hunt there will not welcome us. Tanu have killed Tanu before — and it will happen again if we go north. We can live well here, the hunting is good. But only if we have the death-sticks.”
This fact was so obvious that they did not want to talk about it. Only when two more of the death-sticks sickened did Herilak send for the sammadars. They gathered about the fire, speaking quietly. There were few smiles, no laughter. They grew silent when Herilak rose and faced them.
“You all know of the trouble with the death-sticks. One is dead, two more have the grayness upon them.”
“Three,” Har-Havola called out. “It is upon mine today as well. If they all sicken, all die — what then?”
“All of them are not even sick yet,” Kerrick said. “Do not kill them that quickly.”
“But it could happen, what if it does happen? How will we then kill the murgu?”
There was much cross discussion with nothing of importance said. It was Merrith, standing with the others beyond the circle of sammadars, who grew impatient and called out.
“You cackle like birds on a nest — and do not even lay eggs. Where do the death-sticks come from? From the murgu, we know that. Can we get more if ours die?”
They all looked to Kerrick for an answer to that. “Not easily. If they even suspect we need more death-sticks they will be very pleased. They will not give us any, that is certain.”
“Capture them then,” a hunter called out.
“That would mean war again, because there would be a dead marag for every one we took. You all know that I stopped their attack on the valley with a threat. I don’t think I could do that a second time. Whatever we do we must not kill any of the murgu — or let them know that we need more death-sticks.”
There were more questions. They were curious as to how the death-sticks were made.
“Not made, grown. They look like ordinary lizards when they are young, though they have longer bodies than most lizards, are perhaps a little like snakes. They are raised in a place with a swampy pond, walled about so they cannot escape. As they grow older they move about less and less until one day they are as we see them.”
“Could we breed them ourselves?” Merrith asked.
“I don’t think so. When we were in the city I watched them often, tried to understand them, but it is still a secret from me. I don’t even know whether they hatch from eggs or not. When they are young they move about. Then they stiffen and become as we know them as they grow older. They cannot possibly breed then. There may be a third state they pass through that I have never seen, although I looked carefully. It is a murgu secret.”
“This place in the city where the death-sticks are kept,” Herilak said. “You know where it is?”
“I know where it was. Whether it is still there I have no way of telling. When we were in the city much of it was burnt, other parts died. Now that the murgu have returned it will have grown, changed.”
“Still, if we can find the young death-sticks, bring them back here, that will be what we need. We could do that.”
“Not easily…”
But Kerrick’s protests were lost in the rush of other voices. A hunting party could do it, find the place. Get more death-sticks, get enough to last them a long time. Kerrick shouted until he was heard.
“This may be a good plan, fine. But what if they are guarded, what if the murgu are there? What then?”
“We kill them!” a hunter cried and there were shouts of agreement.
“Hunters of great stupidity!” Herilak roared. “Do that and the war starts again. You have heard Kerrick. Do that and next time it will be our end. There must be another way.”
Kerrick looked away from them, stared into the fire, yet knew from the silence that they were looking at him, waiting for him to find an answer. He was the one who knew all about murgu, he would find a way. He sighed, stood and turned to face them.
“If the worst happens, if all our death-sticks die, we will need new ones. They have death-sticks in the valley of the Sasku.”
“That is a long distance to go,” Herilak said. “And I do not think they will willingly part with many. They fear the return of the murgu. Ours die now, perhaps theirs are already dead. The city is closer.”