Kalaleq was graphic in his demonstration when he understood the question. He pulled on invisible lines, rode over imaginary waves as he talked. They could almost follow without Armun’s translation.
“They are getting the ikkergaks into the water and preparing them for a long voyage. They want to cross over as soon as the ice begins to break and hunt the ularuaq — and return before winter sets in again.”
“Then it is time for us to leave as well,” Kerrick said. “We take their food and give nothing in return.” But as he said this he looked out of the corner of his eyes at Ortnar who smiled grimly.
“Yes, time to go south,” he said. “But it is a walk I do not look forward to.”
“You won’t have to walk,” Armun said impulsively, reaching out to touch his arm. “I know the Paramutan. They will help us. They brought me and the boys here without hesitating at all. They like us, they think we are so different. They will want us to stay but when we insist they will take us south in the spring. I know they will.”
“But won’t they need all the ikkergaks for the hunting trip?” Kerrick asked.
“I have no idea. I will just have to ask and find out.”
“We must leave as soon as we can,” Ortnar said. “We must go back to the sammads.”
Kerrick’s face hardened at these words and his mouth set grimly for the thought of their return brought memories flooding back. Bringing with them fears long forgotten, pushed aside.
And his first thought was of Vaintè, she of eternal hatred. She was out there, planning the destruction of Tanu and Sasku, of all the ustuzou in the world. He had turned his back on the city and the Yilanè that threatened it because he had to find Armun. Well he had done that. They were together again, all safe. Or would they ever be safe? Not while Vaintè was alive, not while she lived on hatred. They would have to return to the city. Back to Yilanè and hèsotsan, the world of ustuzou and murgu, of a battle that had no ending. Or no ending that did not allow the destruction of the sammads.
Armun looked at him and his thoughts were clear to her, for while he thought the murgu words his body writhed their echo, his face worked and grew grim.
They would be going back.
But to what?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ambesetepsa ugunenapsossi, nefatep lemefenatep. epsatsast efentopeneh. deesetefen eedeninef.
Ugunenapsa taught that since we know death we know the limits of life, and that is the strength of the Daughters of Life who live when others die.
When the uruketo left the harbor of Yebèisk , Ambalasi ordered that it swim west, directly into the open sea. This was the quickest way for them to get out of sight of land — and would give no clue to the watchers on shore as to their possible future course. Elem clambered up to the top of the fin and found the scientist already there, staring out at the dark forms of the enteesenat swimming beside them. Elem made a courteous sound of speaking-attention desired.
“I have never commanded an uruketo, but have only served aboard. There are problems…”
“Solve them,” Ambalasi said firmly with modifiers end-of-participation, query-next. “Who is on steering duty?”
“Omal, a Yilanè of calm intelligence who learned quickly.”
“I said you could command. Now we will examine the charts.”
As they left the bottom of the fin they passed Omal who stood with her hands close to the nodules of the nerve endings that guided the uruketo, peering out through the transparent disc at the sea. On the ledge before her perched a gray and pink bird which was looking in the same direction. Ambalasi stopped and ran her thumbs along the creature’s feathers; it cooed in response.
“A new compass,” Elem explained, “far more useful than the old ones.”
“Of course — my design. Accurate, reliable — and provides companionship on long voyages. Once it has been aligned in the right direction it will point that way until it dies.”
“I have never understood…”
“I have. Magnetized particles in the forebrain. Where are the charts?”
“In here.”
Although the alcove was barely illuminated, when the first chart was unrolled it glowed brightly under the dim purple patch on the wall of flesh above it.
“This is designed to the largest scale,” Elem said. “As well as being the latest. Here is Entoban* and across the wide ocean is Gendasi.”
“And these swirls of color?”
“These, of the cooler colors, are the winds of the sky that sweep like great rivers through the atmosphere. They rise here in the tropics where the sun heats the air, then move north and south affected by the rotation of this planet. These are of utmost importance to me in my studies, but for practical navigation these warm oranges and reds that mark the ocean currents, these are what guide us.”
“Explanation-in-detail.”
“Pleasure-in-expatiation. We are here now, in the ocean west of Yebèisk. At your instructions we continue to swim west until dark in case others follow. We will then be about here, in this red stream, a south-flowing current. We will drift with it during the night; then at dawn, after a position check, we will begin the voyage to our destination. Accuracy-of-swimming, desire-for-knowledge of our destination?”
“Uncertainty-now. Show me what you would do if our destination were Gendasi.”
“Eagerness-in-enumerating. For Gendasi we must follow this current as it sweeps south and west to midocean. This is a most interesting area, quite abundant with life. When we reach it we will choose the correct current for our destination. This is the one we seek, which sweeps here past Alakas-aksehent to the green land beyond.”
Ambalasi studied the chart closely, staring at Yebèisk, then allowing her left eye to move across the ocean to Gendasi.
“A question. We swim in a great arc southwest to midocean, then another arc northwest to our destination. Think how much faster it would be if we simply cut straight across the ocean like this.” She ran the edge of her thumb across the chart in a swift motion. Elem stepped back and gasped, her crest flaring red.
“Impossible!” Modifiers of despair and fear. “What you suggest is… unnatural. For short periods, yes, as we do now, or crossing from one island to another, then it is in order. But nothing moves in a straight line. The sea creatures follow the currents of the sea, the birds the invisible currents of the air. Such a course that you suggest, why — it goes against nature. The uruketo would have to be forced away from the currents, though at night it would drift with them, then in the morning recalculation… plainly impossible!”
“A simple query of scientific interest, Elem, compose yourself. Since you are a worker-with-knowledge, for the greater good of your labors, I will tell you of the two different states of matter. Or do you already know Atepenepsa’s law?”
“Humble-ignorance, desire-for-input.”
“Stated in its most basic form, invisible matter moves in straight lines, visible matter does not. Remove the glaze from your eyes and close your mouth — you are a picture of fargi stupidity! Do you know of invisible matter?”
“No…”
“Lump of ignorance! Gravity is invisible — if I drop this chartweight it goes straight down. That-which-carries light is itself invisible and it moves the light in a straight line from object to eye. Inertia is invisible, yet it keeps a moving object… enough. I see that this is all beyond you. Do not feel shame for your imbecility. There are very few Yilanè like myself who have no intellectual limitations. Now, to our course. What lies here?”