“There will be murgu about, we may be seen.”
“A risk we will have to take. Help me prepare a way through the thorn barrier while the others find wood.”
They tore thick branches from the trees and pressed them down over the tangled and poisonous vines. In the open field beyond great duck-billed creatures looked at them with widened eyes, before they bounded away. Herilak trampled down the branches and crossed first, waving the others after him as they came back with the dry wood.
They gathered inside this barrier and waited until all had returned. Only then did they start forward warily with Kerrick leading the way. After all this time he had returned to Alpèasak. Overhead the thunder rumbled closer and he broke into a run as the first drops of the coming storm spattered on his shoulders.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The baby slung on Armun’s back was awake and crying unhappily, soaked and chilled by the driving rain. Kneeling on the ground she was wet through herself, cold, black with mud on her arms and legs where she had been digging up the bulbs with her sharp stick. Lightning flared briefly in the sky and the crack of thunder that came immediately after it hurt her ears. Ermanpadar was displeased with something. It was time to return to the tents. The baby wailed even louder as she picked up the basket of bulbs and rose to her feet.
Something moved through the rain above and she looked up to see the bird silently floating by on widespread wings. It put out its legs and landed heavily on the high branch, then sat looking down at her with cold eyes set above its cruel, hooked bill. Armun could see the black bulge on its leg and she turned and ran with terror through the trees. Thunder, lightning, and the bird that told the murgu where they were. Fear choked her as she fled to the safety of the tents.
Vaintè was looking at the model of Alpèasak when the fargi brought her the word that an uruketo was coming into the harbor. She dismissed the messenger with a sharp movement of her arms, but her concentration had been broken. Looking at the model of the city did not help. The defenses were strong and Stallan was strengthening them. There were no weak spots that she could see, no places where the ustuzou could do any harm, other than killing some of the meat animals. She was only irritating herself standing here.
She would go greet the uruketo and see what cargo it held. More fargi were on their way from Entoban* as well as hèsotsan of increased power. Many of the cities of that great continent were responding with aid. Her army would be strong, the ustuzou would die.
When she reached the open way she was aware for the first time of the banked-up clouds and the distant rumble of thunder. There was the sudden patter of large raindrops around her. It looked as though a storm was on the way. It was no concern of hers; she had far more important matters to think about.
Krunat followed the group of fargi down the dusty path, her assistant hurrying behind with a bundle of wooden stakes. Each one of the fargi carried a young fruit tree from the nursery, roots balled and ready for planting. This time Krunat was going along with the working party to make absolutely sure that the trees were planted where they belonged. Some of the Yilanè in this city were as stupid as fargi, forgetting instructions and botching the simplest jobs. She had found a number of fields and plantations that did not match the model at all and had had to make corrections. Not this time. She would put in the markers herself and make absolutely sure that the trees were planted where they belonged. She rolled one eye up towards the darkening sky. It looked as though it might rain. Good, fine for the new trees.
A turning in the track took them to the edge of a green field. A line of fargi were coming across the grass towards them. That was Krunat’s first thought—but there was something wrong about them. They were too tall, too thin. Fur on them.
She halted, frozen with shock. Ustuzou here, in the city? It was not possible. Her assistant passed her just as the sharp crack of hèsotsan sounded across the field.
Fargi curled, fell, her assistant dropped the stakes with a clatter as a dart caught her in the side. Krunat turned in panic, ran back into the safety of the trees. She knew the city well, there were guards near by, they must be warned.
“One of them is getting away, there!” Herilak called out, starting forward.
“No time!” Kerrick called out. “We don’t have much farther to go—and we must start the fire before the rain comes.”
He ran now, gasping for breath, with the tired hunters running behind him. That row of trees ahead, that would be the place. He heard hèsotsan being fired behind him but he dared not look, ran on.
He stumbled and dropped beneath the tall oak tree, threw down his weapons, and dragged the carved box from the bag at his waist. There was more firing and loud shouting as Herilak ran up.
“They know we are here. Killed some, so did they. They are back in the trees now and we’re holding them.”
“Get me the branches,” Kerrick called out, forcing himself to move slowly as he knelt and took the fire stones from the box. When he took out a pinch of dried wood as well a sudden gust of wind blew it from his hand; raindrops spattered on the leaves above. A length of branch was dropped beside him, then another.
Slowly, go slowly! It must be done right the first time because there would be no second chance. With trembling hands he placed the wooden box on the ground, spilled all of the dried wood dust inside it. Stone against stone now, struck sharply together, just as he had done it countless times before. The long sparks shot out, again and again.
A thin curl of blue smoke drifted up from the box.
He bent over, blew on it gently, added the flakes of dried leaves to the tiny glow, blew again. A thin red flame flared brightly. Bit by bit he added all of the leaves, then dug the bits of bark and twig from his bag. Only when all of these were burning brightly did he risk looking up.
There were bodies behind him in the field, Tanu and Yilanè both. Not as many as he had feared. Herilak had driven the attackers away and had placed hunters as guards. They were crouching behind trees, weapons ready, preventing the murgu from coming back. Herilak hurried towards Kerrick now, his face running with sweat, smiling widely at the sight of the blaze.
The wooden box itself was burning when Kerrick pushed it into the stacked wood, then piled thicker branches on top. Heat flared out and drops of rain sizzled as they fell into the fire. He dared not look up at the approaching storm as he built the fire higher and higher. Only when the lengths of wood were burning brightly, the heat of them forcing him to keep his arm before his face, did he cry out as loudly as he could.
“Now! Everyone—to the fire! The city burns!”
His shout brought excited cheers, running feet. Branches were pulled out, carried away, crackling sparks falling in their wake. Kerrick seized up a branch himself and ran into the thicket, pushing it before him among the dry leaves. They smoldered and smoked—then burst into bright flame. He moved on, lighting other bushes, until the heat drove him back and the smoking branch burnt his hand. He threw it through the flames into the trees beyond.
All along the edge of the grove shouting hunters were setting more and more trees alight. Flames were already shooting up through the branches of the oak before him, jumping to the next tree. A single branch remained in the fire that he had lit and Kerrick grabbed it up and ran with it, past the others. Past Sanone at the far end who was in among the trees, firing them. Kerrick went on a good distance before he jabbed the torch into the undergrowth. The wind whipped the sparks away and in an instant the brush was alight.
Flame and smoke were shooting high into the air now, roiling darkly against the already darkened sky. The trees crackled and blazed, thunder rumbled. The storm had still not broken.
The fargi were having difficulty in rounding up the beasts for the daily slaughter. Something was disturbing them, they kept rushing from one side of the pen to the other, even knocking down one of the fargi, their eyes rolling so that they shone whitely. The Yilanè in charge was shouting loud orders to no avail. She was suddenly
aware of a crackling noise and a strange, pungent smell. She turned about to see the sheets of sunlight climbing skywards, black stormclouds behind them. The smell came again, and a wave of warm and delightful air. What was happening, what could this mean? She could only stand and stare as the flames came close, licking at the nearby trees. Wonderfully warm. The animals were screaming behind her as she walked over and held her hand to the warmth and light. Then she screamed as well.
Ikemend opened the hanalè door a crack and looked out. Akotolp made a peremptory gesture of command, ordering her to open it wide.
“First you send for me—then you block my way,” the fat scientist said, her jowls waggling at the affront. “Admit me at once.”
“I abase myself,” Ikemend said, ushering Akotolp in, then sealing the entrance behind her. “The males have been quarreling again, it is the weather perhaps. There is an injury. . .”
“Bring the creature here at once.”
The firmness in her voice and the abrupt movements of her body sent Ikemend scurrying away. She returned almost at once pulling a truculent Esetta* after her.
“This is the one,” she said, pushing the male forward. “Starts fights, causes trouble, got what he deserves.”
Akotolp ignored this as she seized Esetta*’s arm and turned it over to examine it. Her thumbs gave an extra squeeze when she did this and Esetta*, his back turned to the guardian, half-closed one eye in a sultry gesture. Akotolp always enjoyed these visits to the hanalè.
“Scratches, nothing more, antiseptic will take care of this. Males will be males. . .” She broke off suddenly and raised her bead, her nostril flaps opening wide as she sniffed the air.
“That smell—I know that smell,” she said, agitation and worry in the movements of her limbs. She hurried to the outer door and opened it despite Ikemend’s protests. The smell was stronger now, the air filled with it.
“Smoke,” Akotolp called out, worry and concern strongly present. “Smoke comes from one chemical reaction only—fire.”
Esetta* drew back trembling at the strength of Akotolp’s feelings, while Ikemend could only signal stupidity and lack of understanding. The smoke thickened suddenly and a distant crackling could be heard. There was now urgency and the necessity for speed in Akotolp’s command.
“There is a reaction called fire and we could be in danger. Assemble the males at once, quickly, they must be taken from here.”
“I have no orders!” Ikemend wailed.
“I am ordering it. A matter of urgent health-need, threat of death. Bring them all, follow me, to the shore, to the ocean.”
Ikemend did not hesitate, but hurried away at once. Akotolp paced back and forth, worried and concerned, unaware that she still held Esetta*’s trembling arm and dragged the frightened male after her. A gust of wind sent smoke roiling through the open door that started them both coughing.
“We cannot wait,” Akotolp said. “Follow!” she called out loudly, hoping the sound could be understood, then hauled the wailing Esetta* after her.
When Ikemend came back into the corridor, the reluctant males trailing after her, she experienced great satisfaction when she saw that it was empty. She hurried to close and seal the outer door, ordering the males back to their quarters, relieved that there was no longer a conflict of orders. What place could be safer than the hanalè?
A warmth began to penetrate the walls which was most soothing and satisfying. She only felt a pang of fear when the first flames burnt through the entrance.
It was late by then to do anything to save her charges. She died with their pained cries in her ears.
Alpèasak burned. The wind-whipped fire sprang from tree to tree, the leaves of one igniting the leaves of the other. The shrubbery below blazed up, the walls, the floor matting, everything caught fire, everything burned.
For the Yilanè it was an inconceivable disaster, a physical fact that they could not understand. There is no natural fire in a tropical rain forest so they had no knowledge at all of fire. Some of their scientists did, but only as an interesting laboratory phenomenon. But not like this, nothing like this. For here was smoke and flame, burning on all sides. Attractive at first, an enjoyable source of heat, then an inescapable pain. So they died. Burnt, consumed, blackened. The fire swept on.
Confused, fearful, the Yilanè and fargi converged on the ambesed, seeking guidance. They filled it to bursting yet still more came, pressing forward until the great open area was jammed solid. They sought advice from Malsas<, pressed close to her, were pushed against her until she ordered them back. Those closest tried to obey, but to no avail against the panic-stricken hordes behind.
There was even greater panic when the flames reached the ambesed. The crowded Yilanè could not escape; they crushed back in fear. Malsas<, like many others, was trampled and dead long before the flames swept over her.
In the sky above the storm still rumbled distant thunder; the clouds built up in darkened mountains. There was salvation there, though the Yilanè were not aware of it. Never having seen fire they had no knowledge that water could stop it.
Alpèasak died, the Yilanè died. From the fields to the ocean the flames raced, burning everything before them. The clouds of smoke rose up to the black clouds in the sky and the roar and crackle of the flames drowned the cries of the dying.
The hunters sprawled on the ground, blackened by the fire, exhausted. The armed Yilanè they had been battling had either been killed or driven back into the flames. The fighting was over—the war was over, but they were too tired to understand this yet. Only Kerrick and Herilak stood, swaying with fatigue but still standing.
“Will there be survivors?” Herilak asked, leaning heavily on his spear.
“I don’t know, possibly.”
“They must be killed as well.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Kerrick was suddenly sickened by the destruction of Alpèasak. In his need for revenge he had not only killed the Yilanè—but this wonderful city as well. He remembered the pleasure he had taken in exploring it, in discovering its secrets. Talking with the males in the hanalè, watching the myriad animals that filled its pastures. No more, gone. If there had been a way to kill the Yilanè and save the city he would have taken it. There had been no way. The Yilanè were dead and so was Alpèasak.
“Where will they be?” Herilak asked and Kerrick could only gape, too tired to make out his meaning. “The survivors. You said there might be some.”
“Yes. But not in the city—that is gone. Some in the fields with the animals perhaps. On the shore, the beaches, they might have survived there. When the flames die down we can go see.”
“That will take too long. I have seen forest fires before. The big trees will smolder and burn for days. Can we get to the beaches along the shore?”
“Yes, there are sandbanks most of the way, all of them exposed at low tide.”
Herilak looked at the sprawled hunters, then grunted and sat down himself. “A short rest first, then we go on.” Above him lightning flashed and thunder rumbled distantly. “Ermanpadar likes the murgu as much as we do. He holds back the rain.”
When they finally went on they skirted the blackened, smoking trees, then made their way beyond them through the unburnt fields and pastures. Though the smoke had disturbed them at first, the animals in the fields here now grazed quietly. Deer bounded away at their approach and gigantic horned and plated creatures watched them pass with little curiosity. When they came to a stream of fresh water they found it covered with floating ash; the hunters had to push it aside to drink. The stream led down to the sea.
The tide was out and they could walk along firm, cool sand, the ocean to one side, the blackened, smoking ruins of Alpèasak on the other. They went with weapons ready, but there was none to oppose them. When they rounded a headland they stopped. There was a river ahead and something large and black just barely visible through the drifting smoke, coming in from the sea.
“An uruketo!” Kerrick ca
lled out. “It is going towards the harbor. There may still be some of them alive there, near the river.” He broke into a run and the others hurried after him.
Stallan looked at the bodies of the Yilanè, sprawled on the river bank or floating in the water. She pushed one that lay nearby with her foot; the fargi rolled over, eyes closed and mouth gaping, barely breathing.
“Look at them,” Stallan said, disgust and repugnance in every movement. “I brought them here, forced them to safety in the water—and still they die. They close their stupid eyes, roll back their heads, and die.”
“Their city is dead,” Vaintè said wearily. “So they are dead. They have been cast out. There are your deathless ones if you wish to see who lives.” Her movements were rich with disgust when she indicated the group of Yilanè standing knee-deep in the river.
“The Daughters of Death,” Stallan said, her disgust just as clear. “That is all that remains of Alpèasak? Just those?”
“You forget us, Stallan.”
“I remember that you and I are here—but I do not understand why we are not dead with the rest.”
“We live because we hate too much. Hate the ustuzou who did this. Now we know why they came here. They brought their fire and they have burned our city. . .”
“There, look, a uruketo! Coming towards the beach.”
Vaintè looked at the dark form slipping through the waves. “I ordered them away when the fire came close, told them to return when it was gone.”
Enge saw the uruketo as well and left the other survivors and waded ashore. Vaintè saw her coming and chose to ignore her attitude of inquiry. When Enge saw this she stood before Vaintè and spoke.
“What of us, Vaintè. The uruketo comes close yet you choose not to speak to us.”
“That is my choice. Alpèasak is dead and I wish you all dead as well. You will remain here.”
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