“Close — and deadly. It will be very difficult to get there with a hunting party. That should not even be thought about now. Not until we are sure where the death-sticks are. They must be found first.”
“You and I,” Herilak said decisively. “You because you know the ways of murgu. I, because I know the forest. The two of us will go.”
Kerrick glanced up and found he was looking into Armun’s horrified face. She knew the risks, they all did. There were murmurs of agreement and they turned to Kerrick for an answer. He did not look at Armun as he nodded.
“Herilak and I will go. We will take only one death-stick. Herilak will carry it. If this is a sickness they have, and I was told about this by one who knew about sickness, it spreads from one animal to another. That is why you must keep the rest of them apart, keep them warm and feed them well. If we do find any in the city I will carry them, keep them far away from the one that Herilak will have. We cannot risk new ones getting the old sickness.”
It was agreed that the remaining hèsotsan would be guarded and watched, and used only to kill any of the large marauders that came to the island. Up until this point the hunters had taken the weapons very much for granted: now they realized how vital to the existence of the sammads they were.
The visit to the city must be done quickly. They would carry only their weapons and smoked meat. Kerrick packed some of this into a bag for the morning: Armun looked on.
“I will go with you,” Armun said.
“This will be a quick scouting trip, no more. You must stay and care for the baby.”
“I said once that we would never be parted again.”
“We will not be. I went on the hunt with the Paramutan. This is the same. We will move fast, find the place we are looking for, come right back. Herilak knows the forests, we will not be seen. And I know the murgu. You must not be afraid.”
She was. They both were. He did not say it aloud but they shared the knowledge that the peace of the island had been broken. The future was once more doubtful and unclear.
It began to rain during the night, thundering onto the tent and creeping in under the flaps. In the gray, wet dawn the two hunters left the island and started south towards the city. They knew the track well and made good time. On the third day they turned off of the wide track that the sammads had used and moved instead among the trees on one of the animal trails. They had hunted here many times before and Herilak seemed to know every stand of forest and depth of stream. When they reached a dark and stagnant pond he stopped in the shelter of the trees.
“We are very close now. Beyond the water there was the swamp of the large murgu with three horns.”
“Nenitesk. Are you sure? I don’t think I ever entered the city from this direction before.”
“I am sure.”
“They were always in the most distant fields, the furthest out from the center of the city. If we can locate them I think I can find the place with the death-sticks from there.”
There was a loud crashing from the forest ahead of them, followed by a hoarse bellow. Weapons ready they approached the outermost barrier of the city. The trees here were thickly grown and interlaced with vines, some of them growing poisonous thorns. This barrier stopped or turned away most animals — but not the one that had just passed. Branches were broken and undergrowth crushed; deep footsteps in the marshy ground were still filling with water. Stamped there by massive feet armed with sharp claws.
Herilak grunted in recognition. “The big killer marag.”
“Epetruk. It must have smelled the nenitesk. We must follow it — this is the best way to get inside the city.”
A great roaring and screeching ahead marked the encounter of the epetruk with its prey. But it was an evenly matched battle. As the epetruk circled about, the nenitesk turned always to face it with the large bony shield that protected its head. The epetruk was wary of the three long horns; smears of blood on one of them showed why. There was another bellow from the swamp as a second nenitesk lurched towards the battle. The epetruk, enraged though it was, had enough intelligence to see the danger. It turned its head back and forth and roared. Twisted about, lashing its tail as it backed away. The hunters, feeling very small and exposed, ran for the protection of the large trees beyond. Behind them the crashing died to silence as the epetruk retreated. Kerrick looked for a way out of the field, for any familiar landmark.
“That way,” he said. “We’ll have to circle about since we must stay away from the inner fields as long as possible.”
Once he recognized where they were he realized that little or nothing had changed in the years since the city had grown. The trees were larger and there was different undergrowth, but everything was basically the same. His arms and legs moved as he thought of the familiar Yilanè expression — tomorrow’s tomorrow will be like yesterday’s yesterday. Grown to a plan and a model the city would stay that way as long as it existed. He should have remembered this. The areas that had died, or been destroyed by the fire, had been regrown exactly as the original. He had walked this same path as a boy. He tapped Herilak’s shoulder and pointed, spoke in a whisper.
“There are groves just ahead. The murgu go there to gather fruit for their deer, other animals. Unarmed ones do the work, but there will be guards with death-sticks this far from the city center.”
The field was still there, rotting fruit lying on the ground, but empty now of any Yilanè. Kerrick led the way through the scattered trees to the far side.
“It is not too distant from here now. See, that high bank there? It is just on the other side.”
Herilak bent to examine the ground. “Tracks, very fresh.”
“What kind of animal?”
“The murgu who live in the city now. Very recent, since the rain last night.”
He led the way, silent as a shadow through the trees, with Kerrick following carefully, looking at the ground, trying to walk as quietly. They came around the bank just as the others were coming towards them. There was no way back.
Two fargi with burdens, eyes wide with astonishment.
The Yilanè with them raised her hèsotsan. Herilak was faster, fired first. She doubled over and fell.
Kerrick cried out, but he was too late. Herilak’s weapon cracked again sharply, twice, and the fargi were dead as well.
“You didn’t have to kill them. They’re harmless.”
“Can they speak, those two?”
“They could have, I suppose. You’re right. They saw us. They are workers so they can understand and speak well enough to take instructions. They could tell what they saw.”
“Stay here — there may be more.”
Herilak slipped under the trees, ran silently past the bodies. Kerrick looked at them, eyes wide with death, mouths dropped open. Each of the fargi had been carrying immature hèsotsan he saw, and these had been spilled on the ground. Their legs twitched feebly and they crawled off slowly through the grass. Kerrick remembered that he used to collect them as well at this stage, when they could not escape easily. He went and gathered them up, six of them: their tiny legs scratched at his arms but they could not escape.
“There were just the three murgu,” Herilak said, then saw what Kerrick was carrying. “You have them! The death-sticks that we need. We must leave before more murgu come.”
“Not until we have done something about these bodies. The murgu would not use the death-sticks on each other. If these three are found they will that know someone from outside the city killed them.”
“Drag them into the swamp. Bury them.”
“They might be found.” Kerrick looked up at the mound beside them. “The death-sticks, the young are in there, very many of them. I remember we used to feed them meat from this wall.”