“I killed a deer yesterday, a buck; it had seven points on its horns.”
“We will all eat well. Other than that, has there been… any trouble?”
“The murgu you mean? They stay far away from us; we never see them.” The boy’s eyes never rested as they moved through the forest, searching on all sides. Though he apparently did not look where he was walking he never made a sound; a twig hidden by the grass cracked when Kerrick stepped on it. “I’ll go ahead, tell them that you are coming,” Harl said.
“Do that.” To carry the good news — or to get away from his mastodon tread? Kerrick smiled as the boy swiftly moved out of sight.
They were all waiting for him when he came to the camp, Arnwheet running out shrieking with happiness, to be swung high into the air. Armun smiling, Ortnar leaning heavily on his crutch, looking grim as always. Kerrick told them at once what he had discovered.
“The sammads are no longer in Deifoben — but they are alive. And I have another death-stick and these maps. There is more — but water first, I’ve come a long way.”
He sluiced it over his head, gasping, drank great mouthfuls. Then sat and told them what he had seen, what had happened.
“But you cannot know where the sammads are,” Ortnar said when he had done.
“There is only one place to go — back to the valley. The Sasku know the trail very well. They have many death-sticks. The murgu will find them hard to kill.”
“Yet the murgu you spoke with said they would be followed, attacked,” Armun said, worriedly. “Should we not go to them, warn them.”
“They know well enough.” His words were grim as were his thoughts. What could he do? What could anyone do? Was there never to be an end to the killing? It was Vaintè who did this. Without her there might be an end to the fighting.
But she was far from his spear or arrow, could not be killed.
There was nothing that could be done, that was the answer. Nothing. The sammads would flee — and the Yilanè would follow. That was the repellent yet inescapable truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
That afternoon Kerrick crossed the invisible boundary between the two camps to return the hèsotsan to the males. They would need it for their hunting, having no proficiency with spear or bow. Arnwheet saw him leave, called out then ran after him. The boy had one of Erafnais’s charts tucked under his arm; he was fascinated by the colors and was the only one besides his father who seemed at all interested in the Yilanè artefacts. Kerrick took him by the free hand and they walked slowly together under the trees. Kerrick was cheered by the small hand in his, the boy’s presence and affection, but could not escape from the ever-present feeling of despair.
“One who has gone returns,” Kerrick called out when he saw Imehei. “Information to impart of great importance.”
Nadaske heard the sound of his voice and pushed his head out of their sleeping shelter to see what he was saying. “Pleasure to see-again,” he said, and there was a movement of undisguised relief as he spoke.
“Agreement,” Imehei said. “Death from vicious ustuzou threatened us each instant you were departed.”
Kerrick ignored the obvious exaggeration and returned the hèsotsan with a signed gratitude-for-use. In response to the querying movements from the two he told them what had happened in Alpèasak.
“Ustuzou fled, Yilanè once again.”
“Females and death, too close, too close,” Imehei wailed.
“Well you weren’t very happy when the city was ustuzou,” Kerrick reminded him. “You had better decide which you prefer.”
“Equally bad,” Nadaske said. “Death from stone tooth, death on the beaches.”
“Then stay away from the city.”
“Look, see,” Arnwheet said, coming between them and holding out the chart.
Imehei took it from him with appreciative movements at the rich colors. Kerrick started to speak — then stopped, shocked. Arnwheet had spoken in Yilanè. Crudely and simply — but Yilanè it was! Imehei and Nadaske admired the detailed lines and colors of the map while the boy looked on proudly. He watched and listened when they spoke and seemed to understand some part of what they said. Kerrick was overwhelmed by affection for the boy, bent and seized him, hurled him laughing into the air, sat him proudly on his shoulders. Why shouldn’t he understand? He was young, he learned like all children by listening to others — Kerrick as a boy had been far older and he had learned Yilanè. He was proud of his son’s accomplishment, more than proud. It was an important thing to have happen, a greater bond between them. Up until this moment he had been alone, the only living creature in the world who could speak with both Yilanè and Tanu. This was no longer true.
“Objects of great delight,” Imehei said, holding the chart up to the sun the better to admire the colors. “Great artistry, see how the lines penetrate from one side to the other.”
“They have a function and a purpose,” Kerrick said. “They are aids to navigation, directions for crossing the ocean.”
“Little purpose, no importance,” Imehei said.
“They were needed by the uruketo that brought you here,” Kerrick said with overtones of malice. “Without them, you could have ended up in the frozen sea.”
“Since I shall never venture aboard an uruketo again, smelling-boring, they are useless. Except for wall hangings, color to place of living; could be placed beside the sculpture of the nenitesk, polite request.”
“No,” Kerrick said. “I want to study them. They are from Ikhalmenets — do you know where that is?”
“Distant — fish-filled.”
“ Island of little importance.”
As always the males took no interest in anything other than their own comforts, their own survival. They could be no different, Kerrick thought. In the hanalè they had no responsibilities. But they had made the break, were self-sufficient now; he must give them credit for that.
He carried Arnwheet and the map back in a strangely thoughtful mood. The fact that the boy was beginning to speak Yilanè was of great importance. He felt that — but logically knew no reason why. When the others were asleep that night he lay awake in the darkness speaking softly to Armun.
“Arnwheet can speak with the murgu a bit — he will get better at it.”
“He should not go near them, disgusting. I will see that Darras plays with him more. When do we go back to the sammads?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” To her in the darkness he admitted his worries and fears, held tight to her, as she to him. “The valley is distant and the murgu will be watching all of the trails. How can we escape them? Ortnar cannot walk. And I do not think he would go with us if he had to ride like an infant in the travois. I think that he would walk into the forest alone if he had to go that way. What would that leave us? Children — and one half-grown boy who is probably the best hunter here, better than I am I know.”
“I have a strong arm and a good spear.”
“I know.” He held her, smelling the freshness of her hair. “Your strength is my strength. But you know as little of hunting as I do. We will need food. The hunting is good here, Harl gets what we need, and we have the fish in the lake. But it would be a long and hard trail if we left. I think we have been on enough trails like that. Far too many.”
“Then you want us to stay here?
“I don’t know what I want, not yet. When I try to think about it I feel a knot of pain and my thoughts twist away. But now we are safe here. We must take time to decide what to do. And the sammads, I think about them too, and wonder if there is anything we can do to help them. The murgu will be after them.”
“Their hunters are strong. They can take care of themselves. It is not yours to worry about,” she said.