“That is the highest pass, there,” Munan announced one afternoon, pointing ahead. “Where those clouds are, where it is snowing. I remember now how the clouds sweep up from the west so that it snows there more often than not.”
“We cannot wait for the snow to stop,” Herilak said. “There is little wood and fodder left. We must press on.”
It took a long day of continuous struggle to reach the summit of the pass. The snow was deep and the mastodons broke through the crust and foundered in the heavy drifts. It was an exhausting struggle for them all, pushing ahead step after slow step. At nightfall the sammads were still on the slope and were forced to spend a sleepless night there, with the beasts squealing in discomfort through the darkness. Unable to light fires they could only wrap themselves in furs and shiver until dawn. At the first light they went on, knowing only that frozen death awaited them if they did not.
Once past the crest the going was even more difficult, working their way down the steep and icy slope. But they could not stop. The feed was gone and the mastodons would not survive another night in the snow. They went on, feeling their way through the banks of cloud that rolled up the slope to them. They reached the broken scree of rocks and boulders in the afternoon and found that it was even harder to walk on than the snow had been. It was almost dusk when they broke through the clouds and felt the setting sun warm on their faces. The valleys opened out below them and, far distant yet, there was a trace of green vegetation.
Darkness fell but they stopped only long enough to build a fire and light torches. In their flickering light the exhausted sarnmads stumbled onward. It wasn’t until they were aware that the ground was softer underfoot that they realized the ordeal was over. They stopped then, on a slope beside a rushing stream of snowmelt where the ground was tufted with clumps of grass. They dropped, exhausted, while the mastodons squealed and tore out great clumps of grass with their trunks. Even the preserved murgu meat tasted good that night.
The worst was past; going down the valleys proved to be far easier than climbing them had been. Very soon they were back among the trees where the mastodons gorged themselves on the green leaves. The hunters were happy. They had seen the fresh droppings of mountain goat that day and in the morning swore that there would be fresh meat. But the goats were too wary and climbed to safety, vanishing well before the hunters were within arrowshot. It was the following day, in a meadow set between the trees, that they stalked a herd of small deer, killing two before the others fled. There were not only deer to eat here, for the pine trees were a kind they had never seen before, with sweet nuts inside the pinecones. The mountains were behind them, the future bright.
It was on the next day that the stream they were following ended in a rocky pool. There were the tracks of many animals in the mud beside it. The pool itself had no outlet. The water must run underground from this place; they had seen this happen before.
“This is where we will stop,” Herilak said. “There is water here, grazing for the beasts, good hunting if we have read the signs right. Here is what we will do. The sammads will stay in this place and the hunters will bring in fresh meat. There are berries, roots to be dug. We will not go hungry at once. I will go on with Munan who has been here before to see what lies ahead. Kerrick will come with us.”
“We must carry water in skins,” Munan said. “There is little water after this, none in the desert.”
“That is what we will do,” Herilak said.
The change began at once, as soon as the three hunters were lower in the hills. There were few trees now, the grass was dry, and there were more and more of the spiny, dangerous-looking plants. As the foothills grew flatter the grass became sparse and they walked on gravel and drifts of sand. All of the plants now were spiny and dry-looking, each spaced far from the others. The air was dry and motionless. A lizard wriggled out of sight when they approached. Nothing else moved.
“It has been a long hard day,” Herilak said. “We will stop here, one place is like any other. Is this the desert you talked of?”
Munan nodded. “It is all very much like this. Some places with more sand, sometimes broken rock. Other than these spine-plants nothing grows. There is no water.”
“We will go on in the morning. It must have an end.”
The desert was hot and dry and despite what Herilak had said it appeared to be endless. They walked for four days, from sunrise to sunset, resting in the middle of the day when the sun was high and it was too hot to go on. At the end of the fourth day the mountains were only a gray line on the horizon behind them. Ahead the desert was unchanged. At sunset Herilak stood on a small rise, shading his eyes as he looked west.
“The same,” he said. “No hills or mountains, nothing green. Just more desert.”
Kerrick held up the water skin. “This is the last.”
“I know. We return in the morning. We have come as far as we can. Even now we will have no water for the last day’s walking. We will drink well that night, when we reach the hills again.”
“What will we do then?” Kerrick asked, piling up dry twigs for their fire.
“That must be thought about. If the hunting has been good perhaps we can stay in those hills. We will see.”
When it was dark there was a hooting of an owl, close by. Kerrick shook himself, suddenly wide awake, feeling a sudden chill. It was just an owl, nothing more. They lived here in the desert, eating the lizards. Just an owl.
The Yilanè could not know they were here, could not have followed them through the snows of the mountain passes. They were safe.
Yet that night he dreamed of Alpèasak, was once again among the scurrying fargi. There was Inlènu* at the other end of the lead. He moaned in his sleep but did not wake, did not know that he lay with his fingers clamped on the iron ring about his neck.
When Kerrick woke at dawn the dream was still with him, pressing down on him like a great weight. It was just a dream, he kept telling himself, but the feeling of disaster stayed with him as they walked.
They made good time on their return journey. With their food and water gone they had less to carry and could move faster across the dry desert, then on to the grassy slopes of the foothills. It was late in the afternoon when they came over the last ridge, their mouths dry, looking forward with pleasure to the water that lay ahead. The track they were following led through thick undergrowth that crackled as they pushed by. Herilak was leading the way, climbing steadily. He saw that he was outdistancing the others and stopped to let them catch up.
As he did the arrow strummed past him and thudded into the ground.
He hurled himself to one side, calling out a warning as he did. Lying behind the bole of a tree he took an arrow of his own from his quiver and nocked it to the bowstring. A voice called from the slope above.
“Herilak, is that you? Did you cry out?”
“Who is that?”
“Sorli. Be on your guard. There is danger in the forest.”
Herilak looked carefully about but saw nothing. What danger was there here? He did not want to call out again. Kerrick appeared among the trees, moving warily. Herilak waved him forward, signaled to keep on up the trail. When Munan had passed as well he followed them, silent and alert.
Sorli was waiting for them, concealed from sight behind the large boulders. Other hunters from his sammad were close by, hidden from below, peering back down the hill. Sorli waved them past, then fell in behind them. Once over the ridge he took the arrow from his bow.