“I had a dream last night that I was with others and we were hunting mastodon,” Herilak said. Fraken nodded and smacked his lips over the warm tea as he listened. “How could that be? I have only hunted mastodon once, and I was very young then.”
“It was not you who hunted this time,” the old man said. “It was your tharm.” There was silence about the fire as they listened with respect. “When we die the tharm leaves the body, but it may also leave during the time when we are asleep. Your tharm left you and joined a hunt, that is what happened. This is why a hunter should not be awakened if he is deep in sleep for his tharm may be away, and if he is awakened he will die because the tharm leaves the body when we die. Forever, never to return. If the hunter who dies has been strong in the chase his tharm will join the others among the stars.”
His voice lowered and there was a harsh rasp now when he spoke.
“But beware of the hunter who is a trouble-maker and has led a bad life, for there are hunters like that. When this hunter dies his tharm remains close by, causing trouble for others. Not so a strong hunter. His tharm will be there in the stars for all to see. A strong hunter’s tharm will return in dreams to help others and warn them of dangers.”
Kerrick listened, but said nothing. Now he remembered hearing old Ogatyr tell stories like this when he had been a boy, remembering shivering with fear when he tried to sleep, afraid that the tharm of another was close by. Now — they were just stories. The Yilanè would have laughed at this talk of tharms and stars. For them death was simply the end of being and there was no mystery involved. They knew the stars to be so far distant that their existence could have no possible effect on any events here on earth. He remembered Zhekak telling him about the stars, about how hot they were, the moon cold, the planets very much like Earth. That was the reality; these were just stories. But when Kerrick looked around at their faces he saw only respect and belief and decided that this was neither the time nor the place for him to speak of these matters.
When Fraken left to go to another fire many followed after him, leaving just a few hunters sitting close to the heat and talking. None of them took notice when the girl carrying a large handful of feathers came over and joined them. Her name was Farlan, Kerrick remembered, the elder daughter of Kellimans. She was tall and strong, her hair thick and plaited down her back. Kerrick felt a sensation he could not identify when she brushed past him, her body touching his, and he stirred restlessly. She went around the fire and sat next to Ortnar.
“These are the feathers of the great bird you killed,” she said. Ortnar nodded agreement, scarcely looking at her.
“They could be sewn to your robe so others would know your skill with the bow.” She hesitated a moment. “I could sew them for you.”
Ortnar thought about this for a long time, then apparently agreed.
“I’ll show you the robe.” He led the way into the darkness and she followed.
The hunters apparently took no notice of this — but one of them looked up and happened to catch Kerrick’s eye; he smiled and winked. Only when the couple were out of sight did the hunters begin to whisper to each other; one of them laughed aloud.
Something was happening, something important Kerrick knew, but no one told him what it was. He remained silent as well for he was too ashamed of his own stupidity to ask.
Ortnar was not in their tent when Kerrick returned, and it was only in the morning that he noticed that all of the hunter’s possessions were gone as well.
“Where is Ortnar?” he asked.
“Sleeping in another tent,” was all that Herilak answered, and appeared reluctant to say any more.
Kerrick was beginning to realize that there were things about Tanu life, as with the Yilanè, that were done and not talked about. But he was Tanu, he should know. He would have to find out, but did not know how to go about this. It would require some thought.
However Ortnar’s mysterious behavior slipped from his mind in the bustle of breaking camp.
They were on their way south, into the unknown.
CHAPTER TEN
Ulfadan, who knew this territory well, led the trek steadily south through the forest. It was only when the trees began to thin out and he could see the open grassland ahead that he ordered a halt and trotted back to report to Kerrick.
“The open country is ahead. Now we have stopped as you ordered, margalus.”
“Good,” Kerrick said. “Herilak and I have considered what to do when we go out on the plain to face the murgu. If we travel as we always do; in a single column, we will be open to attack at any time from the sides, where there is no protection. In the forest one mastodon must follow another because of the narrow track between the trees. But if there are no trees we will be able to move differently. Here is what we have decided.”
The hunters crowded close to look as Kerrick bent and scratched a circle in the ground with a stick.
“This is how we will move,” he said. “The mastodons will travel side by side, in a group. Herilak will go before them with one group of hunters, since he is the sacripex and will lead in any battle against the murgu. But an attack might come from the sides — or even from behind — so we must be on guard at all times. You, Kellimans, will be with the hunters of your sammad to the left side, Ulfadan the same to the right. I will follow in the rear with other hunters. All of us will be armed with the death-sticks, as well as bows and spears. In this way, with hunters on all sides, we will be able to guard the sammads in the center…”
He was interrupted by a cry of alarm from one of the boys who were watching the forest around them. The hunters turned, weapons ready. A strange hunter had appeared from the trees and stood motionless, looking at them. He was from one of the sammads from beyond the mountains, they could tell that by the birchbark leggings he wore below his knees. It was Herilak who went forward to meet him. When he came close the hunter bent and placed his spear on the ground. Herilak did the same, and when he did so the hunter called out to him. Herilak shook his head, then turned and called back to the others.
“He speaks, but I understand little.”
“Newasfar will talk with him,” Ulfadan said. “He has hunted beyond the mountains and knows how they talk.”
Newasfar left his own spear behind and went to speak with the stranger while they all watched. There was a brief exchange which Newasfar translated.
“He is a sammadar called Har-Havola. He says that their mastodons died in the cold of winter and they had to eat them in order to stay alive themselves. Now all their food has gone and they will die when the snows come. He has heard that there is much food here and he asks for some.”
“No,” Herilak said in instant response. The other hunters nodded agreement. Har-Havola stepped back at this, for it was one word that he knew. He looked around at the expressionless faces, started to speak, then must have realized that it was useless. He bent and picked up his spear, was turning away — when Kerrick called out.
“Wait. Newasfar, tell him not to leave. Ask him how many hunters he has in his sammad?”
“We have no food to spare,” Herilak said. “He must leave.”
“I speak now as margalus. Listen to what I have to say.” Herilak acknowledged this and was silent. “We have more food than we can eat right now. Meat from the hunt as well as the murgu meat that we captured. When we go out into the grasslands there will be good hunting and we will have even more meat. But there will also be murgu that we must defend ourselves against. When they attack the more hunters we have to fight them the more secure we will be. I say let them join us for we can use their spears.”
Herilak thought about this, then nodded in agreement.