It had been glorious, what fun! He groaned aloud with happy memory, groaned again as he realized how sore his head was. Of course, the fight! That had been glorious too.
Who had he fought with? He had no memory. But he knew that it had been glorious. How had it started? Yes, he remembered that much. It had been the male Erqigdlit, that is who it had been. He was so foolish. All that Kalaleq had done was open his female’s furs. That was for fun. Then the other had hit him and he had been excited and hit Nanuaq who had hit him back. Good fun.
Kalaleq yawned and stretched — then laughed at the pain in his sore muscles. Angajorqaq was still asleep, snuffling to herself, Kukujuk just a mound under his skins. Kalaleq stepped over them and made his way from the paukarut, yawning and stretching again in the morning sun. Nanuaq who was also standing outside his paukarut walked over when he saw the other emerge and held up his large fist.
“I hit you hard with this!”
“Then I hit you hard.”
“That was a real celebration.”
“It was.” Nanuaq laughed into the back of his hand as he spoke. Kalaleq’s forehead wrinkled when he saw this, for laughing into the back of the hand means that there is a secret. More fun.
“Tell me, you must tell me,” he called out loudly, “you must.”
“I’ll tell you. The Erqigdlit is gone. He must have gone while you still slept. And he has gone away in your boat!”
They both laughed uncontrollably at this until they fell helplessly to the snow where they rolled about, sides aching with laughter.
“I like these Erqigdlit,” Kalaleq finally gasped. “They do things that we would never think of.”
“Wake the others. Share the fun. Take the ikkergak. We will have to race to catch him before it grows dark.”
The shouting outside woke Armun. She saw the tent flap thrown back and the Paramutan hurrying and calling out to one another. After the fighting and the excesses of the night before Kerrick had spread his furs between her and the others to prevent any more unwelcome attention. They were thrown back now; he must be outside with the others. She pulled her clothing over to her and dressed under the furs. The Paramutan found the sight of her smooth and hairless skin too interesting and exciting and she did not want any more trouble. When she went outside she saw that one of the ikkergaks was being pushed into the sea. Angajorqaq hurried up, her brown-furred face split into a broad grin.
“Your Kerrick, so funny. While we slept he sailed away in a boat to make us chase him.”
Fear seized Armun. This was not funny, not to her, nor could it have been to Kerrick either. He had not laughed with the others during the night, had scarcely been aware of them, but had been cold and grim, his thoughts elsewhere, and had only stirred to life when one of the Paramutan had pulled at her clothing. Then he had struck with fierce anger, would have killed if she had not pulled him away. This was not a joke. If he had taken the boat it was for one reason alone. He would go south. He would try to find the island; he talked of nothing else.
“I am coming with you,” she cried out as the ikkergak slipped into the sea. “Wait for me — you must wait for me.”
The Paramutan chortled with pleasure as they helped her aboard, trying to touch her body through the thick furs. When she slapped their hands away they laughed even harder. She could not be angry at them because they were so different from the Tanu, laughing at everything and sharing their women.
Armun stayed out of the way while the sail was run up. Nanuaq was at the tiller tacking the ikkergak across the wind. Kalaleq looked up at the set of the sail with a quizzical eye, then loosed a line and tightened it into a new position.
“How will you find him?” Armun asked, looking out at the gray expanse of empty, white-flecked sea.
“He can’t go west into the ocean, go north only ice, so we go south and find him quick because we sail better.” He made the line fast, then tried to reach up under her furs while he talked. She pulled away and went into the bow, away from all of them.
It was cold here, with spray blowing into her face, but she stayed most of the day. The coast moved slowly by and the sea ahead remained empty. Why had he done it? Did he really think that he could sail alone to that distant murgu island? And even if he could — what could he do alone? It was a mad thing to do.
And he was mad to even think of it. She had to face up to the thought now for she had been evading it for too long. Kerrick had always been different from other hunters, she knew that. But for too long now she had been letting that difference cloud her thoughts. The time had come to face the truth. There was something very wrong with him, with the way he acted now. At times he reminded her of the old man, she had never known his name, in the sammad when she was very young. He talked only to himself and did not hear others — although he did listen to voices speaking to him that no one else could hear. They gave him food because of this and were attentive when he spoke, but in the end he walked off into the forest one day and never came back. Kerrick did not hear the spirit voices — but he had gone out into the sea just as the old man had gone into the woods. Was he the same? Could he be helped?
Fear held her in the bow of the ikkergak all day, looking out at the empty sea. Kalaleq brought her food but she pushed it away. There was no sight of the boat, nothing at all. Perhaps they were wrong and he had gone west, out into the trackless ocean, lost to her forever. No, she would not think that, could not. He had gone south looking for his murgu island, that was what he had done. Yet the fear stayed with her, growing even greater as the sky darkened with the coming light.
“There,” Niumak called out. He had clambered halfway up the mast and clung by one hand, pointing out to sea. A tiny dark speck rode up on a wave, then disappeared again in the trough. Kalaleq pushed the tiller over.
“How smart the Tanu!” he cried. “He stands out to sea while we search along the shore.”
They called out loudly to Kerrick as the ikkergak swooped down on the little boat, laughing and shouting compliments. He must have heard them — yet he never turned to look. Just faced ahead and sailed on. When they raced alongside he still took no notice. Only when the ikkergak moved in front of him, cutting him off, did he look up. He pushed over on the steering oar and sat, slumped, as the sail dropped and he lost way. His hands lay on his thighs and his chin rested on his chest and he never moved or seemed aware of their shouts. Someone threw a line to him but he took no notice as it slipped into the sea. They maneuvered closer and seized his sail. When the hulls bumped together Armun saw her chance, clambered over the side and half-fell into the boat.
“Kerrick,” she called out softly. “It is Armun. I am here.”
He stirred and lifted his eyes to hers and she saw the tears that stained his face. “They are going to die,” he said, “all of them will die. I could prevent that, I could. Now they are going to die and it is all my fault.”