“You go from here?” Nadaske said, signing instant death. “Farewell forever then. Sharp stone teeth will rend Nadaske as soon as you are out of sight.”
“I will be back, very soon. We go north to trade, that is all.”
“That is all? That is everything. Our efenburu grows smaller all of the time. Imehei is gone. I look about me now and I do not see young wet-soft. Now he will come no more, for you will be gone. There is only loneliness in this place.”
“You are alive here — and you do not go to the beaches.”
Nadaske did not grow angry at this, turned instead and looked out at the empty ocean, the unmarked sand along the shore, pointed to it. “Here are beaches of loneliness. Perhaps I should have gone to the beaches of death with the others from the hanalè.”
Kerrick could say nothing, add nothing. The despair of his friend was resolute. They sat in silence awhile before Kerrick stood to leave. Nadaske watched him with one eye but did not answer him when he spoke. In the end Kerrick could only walk away and leave the solitary and lonely figure on the beach, staring out at the empty sea.
But that was behind him now, forgotten in the pleasures of the trail. They had been walking for some days, to the count of more than half the count of a hunter, when Hanath found the signs of others along the trail they were following.
“See — here and here, they have bent the twigs as a sign for those who came after them. And that could be a track.”
“An animal track,” Kerrick said.
“That too, but Tanu have come this way as well.” Morgil was down on all fours and sniffing at the ground. “They have, they must have gone there by the water.”
The trail here skirted a vast bay, then crossed a river. Instead of staying with the rutted track they went along the river until Morgil smelled the air.
“Smoke!” he shouted. “There are Tanu here.”
It was dusk before they came to the other sammads, the same ones that had been left behind when Herilak and his sammad had gone south. They called out and the hunters came running, the sammadar Har-Havola in the lead.
“We searched, never found you,” he said.
“You did not go far enough south,” Kerrick said.
“We are far enough south here. There is no snow in the winter, the hunting and fishing are good.”
“And your death-sticks — they live?”
“Of course. One was stepped on and died. The others are as they always were.”
“Then we have much to tell you. Our death-sticks died, but we now have others.”
Har-Havola was distressed. “You must speak to us of this. Come, we will eat, there will be a feast. There are many good things to eat here and you will try them all.’
They stayed one day, then another with the sammads, until on the third day it was decided that they must leave. “The trail is long,” Kerrick said. “And we must go to the north and return as well.”
“When next we hunt we will go to the south,” Har-Havola said. “We will find your sammads on the island you have spoken of, tell them we have seen you. But we will keep our death-sticks from theirs as you have warned. May your journey be short, may you return in safety.”
They went on through the heat of summer. Yet the fall of the year was coming closer every day, and every day they were that much further north. It was cool before dawn now, the dew lay thick upon their sleeping skins. When the deep ruts of the track they were following led to the shore, the ocean lay before them, slate gray under a gray sky. They sniffed the salt spray blowing in from the breaking waves and Armun laughed out loud.
“It is cold and damp — but I like it.”
Hanath shouted with pleasure and hurled his spear in a high arc, far down the beach where it stuck upright in the sand. He dropped his pack and ran to get it, Morgil shouting and running after him. They came back, panting and happy.
“I’m glad we made this journey,” Kerrick said. “Even if the Paramutan aren’t there, it was still worth coming.”
“They will be there. Did not Kalaleq say they would return, that no ocean was too wide to stop him?
“Yes — and he also said if he had no boat he would swim the ocean. The Paramutan are great braggarts.”
“I hope that they come.”
They followed the beach towards the north, building their fire that night in the lee of the sand dunes. The rain that began to fall after dark was cool and the fog that rolled in from the sea was damper and even cooler. Autumn was not too far away.
In the morning Kerrick stirred the fire and put the last of the wood upon it. The salt-encrusted driftwood crackled and burnt fiercely with yellow and blue flames. Armun spread their skins before it to dry. The two hunters still lay wrapped in theirs, reluctant to emerge. Kerrick poked them with the butt of his spear and elicited only groans.
“Up!” he called out. “We need some more wood for the fire. Beasts of great laziness — emerge!”
“You had better get it yourself. Armun said.
He nodded agreement and pulled the wet madraps onto his feet, then trudged to the top of the dune. The rain had stopped and the fog was burning off, clear rays of sunlight touched color from the sea. There was fresh seaweed, shells and other debris at the high tide mark. Any wood there would be too wet. But there was an entire dead tree further along the beach. He would break some branches from that. Kerrick sniffed the sea air and looked out beyond the breakers and spray. Something dark rode up on a wave, then was gone. He dropped to the sand — was it an uruketo? What were Yilanè doing this far to the north? He shielded his eyes and tried to find it again among the whitecapped waves.
There it was — but not an uruketo at all.
“A sail!” he shouted. “A sail, out there — the Paramutan are out there!
Armun ran to join him, the two hunters finally aroused stumbling up behind her.
“It is a sail,” she said. “But they are going south. What are they doing out there?”
“The seaweed,” Kerrick shouted. “Hanath — run and get some, wood too, even if it is wet. Build up the fire so they can see the smoke!”
Kerrick stirred the fire until it burned fiercely as the two hunters staggered back with their burdens. He spread the seaweed out thinly on top, so that it crackled and smouldered but did not extinguish the fire; white clouds of smoke boiled skyward.
“They are still going south,” Armun cried. “They haven’t seen it.”
“Bring more!
The fire roared and the column of smoke thickened and climbed higher before Hanath shouted from the beach.
“They have stopped, they’re turning, they’ve seen it now.”
They watched from the top of the dune as the ikkergak wallowed in the water, sail flapping, then came about on the other tack with the big sail billowing full. It came racing towards the shore, rose up on the waves and was carried forward with a rush, onto the sand in a flurry of foam. Dark figures waved and shouted to them while one of them hung tight to the bow. Let go and dropped into the sea, splashed ashore. The two hunters hesitated but Kerrick and Armun ran across the sand towards the ship.
A wave washed over the Paramutan and he stood up, dripping and spluttering and calling out with joy.
“Here, not believed, hair of sunshine, friends of years.”
“Kalaleq!” Kerrick shouted as the Paramutan staggered, laughing, from the sea. He seized Kerrick’s arms and shook them, turned to Armun and shouted with joy, put his arms around her as well, until she had to push him away as his strong fingers seized her bottom.
“Where were you sailing to?” she asked him.
“South — but too hot, see I wear nothing but my fur.” When she looked down he let his tail drop to reveal his privates but she slapped his arm and he lifted it into place again. The Paramutan never changed.
“Why — south?” Kerrick asked, clumsily, trying to remember the complex language.