He laid his own death-stick on the ground but Herilak stood firm, seeing only the ones he must kill. Seeing one of them aiming at Arnwheet. If this had been his son he would not have hesitated, although it would have meant the child’s death, would have killed them all.
Arnwheet was Kerrick’s son. Because of Herilak the boy had almost died once already. He could not be permitted to die now even if it meant Herilak’s own death. Slowly, never taking his eyes off of them, he bent and placed the bow on the ground. The ugly marag behind Arnwheet grunted and quivered, its jaw opening to show the sharp, pointed teeth.
“You are correct in obedience,” Vaintè said, her arms arched in triumph, her jaw agape to sign eating-of-victory.
“Let the small one go. I will stay in his place,” Kerrick said.
“You value your efensele ahead of your own life?”
“It could be a matter of great importance to this ustuzou,” Akotolp said. “I have studied these animals. There is live birth without eggs, great attachment among small efenburu…” She grew silent at Vaintè’s sharp command, her victorious speaking.
“It will end here, Kerrick. You have fought me too long, killed too many. This is my victory. I have my own city now. It will grow and prosper. You and these other two ustuzou now die. But die in the knowledge that your deaths are only the first. For I shall return with fargi and creatures of death grown by ever-loyal Akotolp. I will return and pursue your kind across all of Gendasi*. To seek out every stinking lair of your kind and kill every one of you. Think of that as you die. Think of it, slowly and carefully. I give you time so you will die with that knowledge uppermost in your thoughts.”
Vaintè signed triumph in everything as she lifted her weapon. There was silence, the stillness of horror all about her. Enge could not move or act, gripped hard by the conflict of beliefs and affection. Arnwheet was terrified, Nadaske as unmoving as a statue. Only Akotolp signed understanding, perfection of action.
Nadaske shifted and Vaintè let one wary eye look at him, then back to Kerrick when she saw that the helpless male was turning away from her, unable to watch.
Nadaske faced the frightened boy, placed thumbs of sympathy and understanding on his shoulders.
Vaintè raised the hèsotsan, aimed at Herilak. “You shall be last, Kerrick. Watch your efensele die first.”
Nadaske lowered his hands, seized the metal knife where it hung on Arnwheet’s neck, tore it free and turned swiftly about.
Thrust it hard into the side of Vaintè’s neck.
Time stopped. Vaintè’s eyes were wide with pain, she gasped, shuddered, her hands clamped so tight on the hèsotsan that it squirmed in her grip. Nadaske still held the knife tight between strong thumbs. Blood spurted out as he twisted it.
Vaintè crumpled, fell, turning and firing the weapon as she went down. The sharp crack was muffled as Nadaske dropped on top of her.
Akotolp, never a Yilanè of action, simply stared in horror at the two bodies. Even before she thought to raise her own hèsotsan she had it torn from her hands by Enge.
“The killing is over!” Enge cried out, holding the weapon high over her head, throwing it strongly out into the water.
“The killing is over,” Kerrick echoed in Marbak, placing his hand gently on Herilak’s arm as he grabbed up his bow. “That one is my friend. She does not kill.”
“Perhaps she doesn’t — but what of the fat marag?”
“That one dies,” Kerrick said, the cold of winter in his voice. First in Marbak, then speaking in Yilanè. “You die, don’t you Akotolp? You should have died when Alpèasak died, but I see that you have escaped. Now you are a follower of Vaintè. But she is dead. Your city dead, your eistaa dead. Why are you alive? There is no need to kill you, for now you kill yourself. Follow her into death.”
With a great surge of fear Akotolp knew that the ustuzou spoke correctly. It was the end, the end…
Her eyes were glazed as she fell, sprawling hugely on the sand. Still moving: soon dead.
Weeping fiercely Arnwheet ran to his father, grasped him about the legs. Kerrick picked the boy up and held him tightly.
“It is all over,” he said with gentle weariness. “Our friend Nadaske is dead, but he could not have died in a better way. When you are older you will understand. He will never have to go to the beaches. He will always be remembered — for he killed this one who would have killed us all.” He looked at Enge. “Are there others?”
“No — just Daughters of Life. No others like these.”
He looked down at Vaintè, dead at last. The creature of death, dead beneath the one who had killed her. Bitter bile rose in his throat and he felt a terrible sorrow.
“I do not want to hear of death again, think of it, see it.” He turned to Herilak and gently pulled Arnwheet’s hands free, gave him to the big hunter. “Take the boy to his mother. Dall will have raised the alarm. Stop the hunters, send them back, there is nothing for them here. Tell Armun what has happened, tell her I will be there soon.”
Herilak took the boy, nodded agreement. “It shall be as you say, sammadar. I saw those two kill each other, saw that one just lie down and die. What has happened?”
“When I return I will tell you. For now it is enough to know that this one that lies there in her own blood, this was the one who led the murgu against us. With her death the war against us is ended. The battle is over.”
“Then — we have won?”
“I cannot answer that. Can the battle we have fought ever be won or lost? Enough. It is over.”
He watched as Herilak walked slowly away with his son. Then turned back to Enge who had been standing rigid in silence ever since she had disarmed Akotolp.
“I have just told my people that the battle between us is over. Is that true, teacher?”
Enge signed agreement and triumph. “Ended indeed, my student. Walk with me to the beach for I want to forget the violence here. My companions on the uruketo must know at once that their fear is ended as well. There is much I must tell you. When you were small I spoke to you of the Daughters of Life, but I do not think that you understood very much then. But you will understand now that there are many of us. We do not kill, we have a city of our own, and it is a city of peace.
“Perhaps all cities will be cities like that now. We want nothing from the Yilanè except to live in peace — as you do.”
They came out on the top of the dune above the sea; an uruketo lay quietly in the ocean nearby, small waves running across its back. Enge signed attention and swim-this-way in the simplest of fargi language. She did it again, then again, until a Yilanè signed comprehension and climbed down from the fin and slid into the sea. Only then did she turn to Kerrick and express hope and doubt conjoined.
“I think that the Yilanè cities will leave your kind in peace, since every eistaa now knows what fearful death your fellow creatures bring. But will your kind leave the cities in peace?”
“Of course. I will tell them what has happened, they will stay away from Alpèasak.”
“Forever? You will die one day, Kerrick. And what will they do when you are gone and they see Alpèasak so rich and so close? And so helpless against your kind.”
“That day will never come.”
“May you be correct in what you say. Though I see peace now, in your lifetime and my lifetime, I think of tomorrow’s tomorrow. I see your kind, many of them, coming to my city of peace and taking it from the Daughters of Life who will be there.”
“It will not happen.”
Kerrick watched as the Yilanè from the uruketo came ashore, stood rigid with pleasure as Enge signed end of conflict/end of killing. He realized that she had not answered him.
But, yes, he had to admit that there was the possibility. The Yilanè would never change, could not change. But Tanu learned new things and changed all of the time. If a conflict between the two ever came about — could there be doubt about the final outcome?