“Me — I am best.”
“I know you are, but that is not what I mean. I am talking about the way things happen with Paramutan and Tanu. But that is not the way of the murgu. There is one who orders all of the others, a single one. Her orders are always obeyed, never questioned.”
“That is stupid,” Kalaleq said, pushing over the oar as the wind gusted about and flapped the sail. Kerrick nodded agreement.
“You think so — I think so. But the murgu never think about this at all. The one on top rules and all of the others obey.”
“Stupid.”
“It is, but that is a very good thing for us. Because I can speak to the one who rules, order her to do what must be done…”
“No, you cannot,” Armun cried out. “You cannot go there. It is certain death.”
“Not if you both help me, do as I ask. None of the other murgu matter, just the leader, the one they call the eistaa. I know how she thinks and I know how to make her obey me. With this,” he held out the carved Sasku firebox, “and the bladder of ularuaq poison Kalaleq has stowed away.”
Armun looked from his face to the box, then back again. “I understand none of this. You make fun of me.” Without realizing it, she drew a fold of her clothing over her mouth as she spoke.
“No, never.” He put the box down and held her to him, pulled the skin aside, touched her lips, calmed her fears. “It will be all right, we will be safe.”
They came as close to the island as they dared in the fading daylight, then dropped the sail and waited. There were no clouds and the snow on the high mountain shone clearly in the moonlight. Kerrick went to raise the sail and Kalaleq called out to stop him.
“If we go close we will be seen!”
“They sleep, all of them. None are awake; I told you I know them.
“Guards posted?”
“That is impossible. None move after darkness, it is a thing about them.
Kalaleq steered reluctantly, still not sure. The island grew ever closer until they were moving slowly north along its rocky shore.
“Where is the place of the murgu?” Kalaleq whispered as though he could be heard from the shore.
“On this coast, to the north, keep on.”
The rocky coastline gave way to sandy beaches with groves of trees beyond them. Then the coast curved away into a harbor and the row of dark forms was clear against the lighter wood of the docks beyond.
“There,” Kerrick said. “The uruketo, their ikkergak-creatures, like the one we saw. This is the place, this is the city. I know what it will be like for they are all grown in the same manner. The birth-beaches beyond, the barrier surrounding it, the ambesed which will open to the east so the eistaa, sitting in her place of honor, will get the first warmth of the sun. This is Ikhalmenets.”
Armun did not like it when he spoke of these things because of the strange sounds he made and the jerking motions of his body. She turned away but he called to her.
“There, do you see the dry stream bed where it runs into the ocean? That is where we will land, where we will meet again. Steer for the shore, Kalaleq. This is the right place, it is close — but still outside the barriers that surround the city.”
The shore here was mud and sand, carried down from the hills during the rainy season. They grounded on a sandbank, gently rocked by the ripple of the tiny waves.
“We will stay here most of the night,” Kerrick said. “But we must leave while it is still dark. Armun, you will stay behind and wait until there is enough light before you try to climb.”
“I can go in the dark,” Armun said.
“No, it is too dangerous. There will be enough time. What you must do is climb up there until you are above the city. Make everything ready as I have told you.”
“Dry wood for a large fire, green leaves for smoke.”
“Yes, but do not put on the leaves until the sun is two hands above the ocean. The fire must be large and hot with white-hot coals. At the proper time all of the leaves must be put on, to burn and smoke. As soon as you have done that you must come back here. Quickly — but not so quickly that you fall. Kalaleq will be waiting. I will come along the shore and join you as soon as I can. Is everything understood?”
“I feel that this is all madness and I am filled with fear.”
“Don’t be. It is going to go just as I planned. If you do your part I will be safe. But you must do it at the right time, neither earlier nor later. Is that understood?”
“Yes, I understand.” He was distant from her then, his voice so cold, thinking like a murgu — and acting like one as well. He wanted only obedience. He would have it — if only to get this over and done with. The world was a lonely place.
She dozed fitfully in the rocking boat, waking to hear Kalaleq’s rasping snores, then dozing again. Kerrick could not sleep but lay, open-eyed, staring up at the slowly wheeling stars. The morning star would rise soon, and after that it would be dawn. By nightfall this work would be done. He might not be alive to see the end of the day, he knew that. He would be taking an immense risk and victory was not as certain as he had assured Armun. For a moment he wished that they were back on that frozen coast, safe in the paukaruts of the Paramutan, away from all danger. He brushed the thought aside, remembering, as though it had happened to another person, the darkness that had held his thoughts for so long. There were too many people inside his head. He was Yilanè and Tanu, sammadar and leader in battle. He had burnt Alpèasak, then tried to save it, lost it again to the Yilanè. Then he had fled from everything — and now he knew that he could flee from nothing. Everything was inside his head. What he was doing was the right thing, the only thing.
The sammads had to be saved — and in this entire world he was the only one who could do it. All of his efforts, everything he had ever done, had led him to this place, to this city at this time. What must be done would be done. The stars lifted above the horizon and he turned to waken the others.
Armun waded ashore in silence. She had so much to say that it was easier to say nothing. She stood knee-deep in the sea, clutching the fire-box to her, watching as the dark shape of the boat moved silently away. The moon had set and the starlight was not bright enough to reveal his face. Then they were gone, a black blur in the greater darkness. She turned and waded wearily ashore.
“Oh we are dead, dead,” Kalaleq muttered between his chattering teeth. “Consumed by these giant murgu.”
“There is nothing to fear. They do not move at night. Now put me ashore for it is almost dawn. You know what you are to do?”
“I know, I have been told.”
“I will tell you again, just to be sure. Are you sure the ularuaq poison will kill one of these creatures?”
“They are dead. They are no bigger than a ularuaq. My stab is sure death.”
“Then do it, swiftly, as soon as I am ashore. Kill them — but just two of them, no more. Be sure of that because it is most important. Two of them must die.”
“They die. Now go — go!”
The boat moved swiftly away even before Kerrick had reached dry sand. The morning star was bright on the horizon, the first gray of dawn below it. Now was the time. He took off his hide coverings, the wrappings from his feet, until all that remained was a soft leather breechclout. His spear was still in the boat, he was unarmed. He touched the metal knife that hung about his neck, but it had no edge, was just an ornament.
Shoulders back and head high, limbs curved slightly into the arrogance of superiority, completely alone, he strode forward into the Yilanè city of Ikhalmenets .
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE