When Kerrick translated this Herilak’s eyes were wide with awe. These people could read the future. He listened intently as Sanone went on, waiting for Kerrick to tell him the meaning of what was being said.
“The waliskis people will leave us for their work is done. The manifestation of Kadair on earth is here. The calf Arnwheet is here and will remain with us. This is what shall be.”
Herilak accepted this without question. He believed now that Sanone could see the future, and what he spoke would come to pass. Some of the dizziness was going from Kerrick’s head and he hoped that Sorli would feel the same way about the loss of the calf. Yet it was a good bargain for they had been fed for the entire winter by the Sasku.
Sanone pointed to a young mandukto and called him forward.
“This is Meskawino who is strong and will show you the way across the desert. I will tell him the secret of the pools of water in the empty wilderness and he will remember. I will tell him the signs to look for and he will remember. No one alive has crossed the desert but the way is remembered.”
The sammads would leave, Kerrick knew. But would he be going with them? Their decision was an easy one — his was not. What was his future going to be? He thought of asking Sanone, but was almost afraid to hear the answer. His cup was refilled with the porro and he seized it up and drank it greedily.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
This was the valley of the Sasku. A wide and rich valley that stretched between the protecting rock walls, high and impassable. In the beginning there had only been solid rock here, but that had been cut through by Kadair on the first day after the world was born. Or so it was taught. Nenne believed this for the evidence was right before his eyes. Who but Kadair could have had the power to slice solid rock as though it were soft mud? Kadair who had torn the earth and rock apart, then scratched the bed of the river into the valley bottom, then filled it with fresh water. All this was obvious. Nenne sat in the shadow of the ledge and thought about these things, for he always listened closely and remembered when Sanone talked of such matters. Thoughts like these filled his mind as he watched and guarded their valley. Only Kadair could cut through the rock in an instant, but it was true that even the strongest rock wore away in time. The walls of the valley had fallen away in this place, leaving a slope of rock and scree that could be climbed. The Sasku went this way when they left the valley to hunt. That is why Nenne sat and watched the slope now, for where they could go out others could come in. The Kargu hunted in the hills beyond.
Nenne caught a quick movement up among the rocks, but it was gone in an instant. An animal perhaps, or a bird. Perhaps not. The Sasku did not trouble the Kargu as long as they kept their distance. They were even permitted to come in peace to trade their meat for cloth or pots. But they had to be watched. They preferred to steal, in any case. And they stank. They lived in the open like animals, and were certainly closer to animals than they were to the Sasku, even though they could speak. But they did not speak well and their furs smelled, they smelled. The flash of movement came again and Nenne leaped to his feet, his spear in his hand.
There was something there, something big, moving between the large boulders. Nenne fitted the spear to his spear-thrower, stretched it out along his arm.
The Kargu scrambled into view. He must be tired for he paused often to rest. Nenne watched, unmoving, until he was sure that this one was alone. The place where he stood guard had been chosen because it commanded the trail below. Anyone entering the valley here must pass by him. As soon as he was sure that there were no others following the Kargu, Nenne dropped silently from the ledge.
There was the sound of sliding rocks, then the slow thud of running feet. The hunter passed between the tall pillars of stone that stood like sentries at the top of the cutting. As soon as he had passed Nenne jumped out and slammed the butt of his spear hard into the interloper’s back. The Kargu screamed hoarsely and fell. Nenne stepped on his wrist then kicked the other’s spear away, pushed the point of his own spear into the filthy furs that covered the Kargu’s stomach.
“Your kind are not permitted in the valley.”
A twist of the spearpoint made the message clear. The Kargu glared up at him, dark eyes framed by his matted beard and hair.
“I go through… to hills after,” he said thickly.
“You go back. Or you stay here forever.”
“Faster going through. To other sammads.”
“You came here to steal, nothing else. Your kind do not pass through our valley, you must know that. Why are you trying to do that now?”
Reluctantly and clumsily the Kargu told him why.
The porro was finished and Kerrick was glad of it. It had done strange things to his head. Whether they were good or bad things, he wasn’t sure. He stood and stretched, then went outside the picture-filled cavern where Herilak joined him. They watched as Sanone led the manduktos in solemn procession to the newborn mastodon calf where it rested on a bed of straw. They chanted in unison and Sanone rubbed red pigment onto the creature’s tiny trunk. Its mother did not appear to be concerned by the attention; she chewed calmly on a green branch. Kerrick was about to speak when moving figures at the riverbank drew his attention. One of them, with dark hair and dressed in furs, had to be a Kargu, and he wondered at his presence here. He knew that the hunters came sometimes to trade, but this one was empty-handed; the Sasku walking behind him carried two spears. He jabbed the Kargu with one of them and pointed towards Sanone, ordering the hunter in that direction.
“What is it?” Herilak asked. “What is happening?”
“I don’t know. Let me listen.”
“This one came into the valley,” Nenne said. “I brought him to you, Sanone, for you to hear what he has to say.” He prodded with the spear again. “Speak. What you told me.”
The Kargu looked around, scowling, rubbing the sweat from his face with a filthy hand, smearing the dirt there even more.
“I was in the hills, hunting alone,” he said reluctantly. “All night by a waterhole. Deer never came. Went back to the tents this morning. All dead.”
A cold premonition seized Kerrick as Sanone spoke. “Dead? Your sammad? What happened to them?”
“Dead. Arderidh the sammadar, no head.” He made a swiping motion across his throat with his finger. “No spear, no arrow. All dead. Just these.”
He dug inside his furs and took out a folded scrap of leather and opened it slowly. Kerrick knew as he unwrapped it, knew what he would see there.
Small, pointed, feathered.
Darts from a hèsotsan.
“They have followed! They are here!”
Herilak bellowed the words aloud, a roar of mighty pain. His fist lashed out and smote the Kargu’s arm so hard that the hunter screeched in pain. The darts fell to the ground and Herilak ground them underfoot.
The Sasku looked on in amazement, unable to understand, and Sanone looked to Kerrick for some explanation. But Kerrick felt the same mixture of black anger and fear as Herilak did. He drew in a shuddering breath and forced out the words.
“It is them. From the south. The murgu. The murgu who walk like Tanu. They are coming again.”
“Are these the murgu you told me of? The ones you have fled from?”
“The same. Murgu of a kind you have never seen nor thought possible. They walk and talk and build cities and kill Tanu. They killed my sammad, they killed Herilak’s sammad. Every hunter, every woman, every child. Every mastodon. Dead.”
At these last words Sanone nodded with solemn understanding. He had given this matter much thought ever since Kerrick had first told him about the murgu. He had not spoken of it until now; he had not been sure. The surety came now for it had been taught, and he knew the teachings, and he knew that there was only one creature that would dare to kill a mastodon.