“Here is where I began to understand. The murgu sail only in the south, for you have told me they cannot live in the snow. We live for snow and ice, live only in the north. But things go from south to north, north to south. Here, right here, is a river of warm water in the sea, coming from the south, and we have fished in it. It is rich with food and it runs far north, and I think many fish swim in it for their food. But where does it come from? Can you tell me?” He smiled and smoothed the fur on his cheeks as he waited for an answer.
“From the south?” It did not seem too hard an answer, but it excited Kalaleq.
“Yes, yes, I think so. And you agree with me. So, look, at the murgu chart. If this is land and this is water — then this orange color could be the warm water flowing from south to north. Could it not?”
“It could,” Kerrick agreed, though it could be anything to his untutored eye. With this encouragement Kalaleq rushed on.
“So it ends here at the edge of the chart because the murgu never go north — so this must be north. But before it ends, there is this place on their chart — which I believe is this place on mine! And if that is right — then here on theirs is here on mine — where we are standing right now!”
Kerrick could make no sense of the Paramutan bonework — but there was some logic to the Yilanè chart. The orange swirl could be warm water, that made sense — though, what the blue swirls crossing it were he couldn’t tell. Was all of the green mass ocean? The darker green land? Possibly. He moved his finger down the dark green on the left, traced it downward until it changed to the light green of the sea. In some ways it did look a bit like the model he had seen in Deifoben. And these flakes of golden metal sealed under the surface, out here in the ocean, what could they mean?
Alakas-aksehent. His arms and leg moved slightly as the name came to mind. Alakas-aksehent.
A succession of golden, tumbled stones. They had been pointed out to him when they had gone past them on the uruketo. On the way back to Alpèasak. His finger traced a course through the light green as he thought this, came to the darker green of land. To the two little yellow outlines there. Alpèasak.
The beautiful beaches.
“Kalaleq — you are right. I can understand these charts, they make sense. You are a Paramutan of great wisdom and lead all the world in your knowledge.”
“That is true!” Kalaleq cried out. “I have always known it! If you understand — tell me more of the strange markings.”
“Here, this is the place where the city was burnt. We joined you, here, that is what you said. And we crossed the ocean to this spot, almost off the top of the chart. Yes, here — do you see where the narrow bit of ocean widens out? That is Genaglè. Where this land to the north reaches Isegnet. Then all of this is Entoban* to the south.”
“It is a very large land.” Kalaleq was impressed.
“It is — and all of it murgu.”
Kalaleq bent over in awe and admiration, following the contours of the continent to the south with his finger. Tracing back up the coast to the north to tap their location, then going north still to what could be a large island off the coast.
“This is not right,” he said. “There is ice and snow here that does not melt, I know of no island.”
Kerrick thought of the cold winters, colder every year, the snows further south each winter — and understood.
“This map is old, very old — or it is copied from an old map. This is the land that now lies beneath the ice. The murgu must have gone there at one time. See, there is one of their markers there, that red mark, on the land.”
Kalaleq looked close, agreed. Then traced back down the shore to their site.
“Our paukaruts are here. And south along the shore, not far, do you see this little red mark? It looks like the one up here to the north. This I do not understand.”
Kerrick looked at it with a growing sense of despair. It was not distant, on the coast, well north of Genaglè where it met the sea. Both red marks were shaped the same.
“There are murgu there, that is what it means. Murgu here, not too distant from us. We have fled from them but they are here ahead of us!”
Kerrick sank back with the weakness of despair. Was there no escaping the Yilanè? Had they come all of this way across the cold northern sea just to find them waiting? It seemed impossible. They could never live this far to the north, away from the heat. Yet the red mark was there, the two marks. The one to the north now beneath the unmelting ice. But the one to the south of them… He looked up to meet Kalaleq’s eyes, fixed on him.
“Do we think the same thought?” Kalaleq asked. Kerrick nodded.
“We do. If murgu are that close we are not safe here. We must go there, find out what the red mark means. Go there as soon as possible. Before the winter storms start. There is not much time.”
Kalaleq gathered up the charts, grinning happily. “I want to see these murgu you talk about. Have a good trip, good time.”
Kerrick did not share the Paramutan’s pleasure. Had he come this far just to begin the battle again? A Yilanè saying came to mind at the thought; and his body moved as he remembered. No matter how far you travel, no matter how long it takes, you will never find father again. Enge had taught him that and he had not understood its meaning then even after she had explained. When you are in the egg you are safe — but once you leave father’s protection and go into the sea you will never have that protection again. The voyage of life always ended in death. Must his voyages always have death waiting at the end?
Armun shared his despair when he told her his fears.
“Are you sure there are murgu here, so close? For this we left Arnwheet and crossed that ocean, for this?”
“I am sure of nothing — that is why I must go to this spot on the chart and see what is there.”
“That is why we must go. Together.”
“Of course. Together. Always.”
Kalaleq could have filled his ikkergak many times over with volunteers. Now that the ularuaq hunt was over the hard work of butchering and preserving the great creature was not as exciting. A voyage was. Kalaleq chose his crew, supplies were loaded aboard, and within a day they were at sea again.
Kerrick stood at the bow, looking at the coastline — then at the chart. What were they sailing into?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
mareedege mareedegeb deemarissi.
Eat or be eaten.
Vaintè sat astride the neck of the tarakast, strength and authority in every line of her body, the living reins that grew from the creature’s lips firm in her hands. Her mount was restless, tired of waiting; it turned its long neck to glare at her, hissed and snapped with its sharp beak. With a hard pull on the rein she asserted her command. It would stand on this spot all day if that was her will. Below the bluff, on the bank of the wide river, the last uruktop was wading ashore to join the others. Its eight legs moved slowly, for it had been a long and tiring swim; the single rider straddling its foreshoulders urging it on. When it had rested it would be able to carry its burden of fargi; they had already crossed by boat. Everything was going as planned. The broad river plain stirred with life as the fargi who had landed yesterday disassembled their nighttime laager. The thorn vines, now deactivated by the daylight, were rolled up, the illumination-creatures and large hèsotsan bundled together. They would be ready to march soon. The campaign was well under way.
Vaintè turned and looked out over the undulating plain to the hills beyond, traveled in her mind’s eye farther still to the valley where the ustuzou were hiding. She would go to them there, over every obstacle; she would find them. Her body writhed with the strength of her hatred, her lips peeled back to show her teeth; the tarakast stirred beneath the pressure of her legs and she silenced it with a savage pull on its lips. The ustuzou would die, all die. With a sharp kick she started her mount forward, down the slope toward the laager of the advance party.