“Then I have a request. The mastodon who was born here, that is named Arnwheet and through which Kadair speaks to us. Is it clear that this mastodon will stay when you leave?”
“This was never in doubt.”
“Then we are grateful. Now, the other matter. There is one here who is not Tanu but Sasku. Malagen the woman of the brave warrior called Simamacho . . .”
“Who is now dead,” Newasfar called out angrily. Sanone nodded solemn agreement.
“Who now is dead, killed in the battle against the murgu. But his woman Malagen lives and she is Sasku.”
“She is my woman now and that is all there is to it,” Newasfar said, striding forward, fists clenched. “She goes with me.”
“I thought that among the Tanu each decided for oneself. Yet you speak for Malagen?” Sanone looked up at the tall hunter out of slitted eyes, did not move. Newasfar trembled with anger. Herilak took him by the arm, spoke quietly.
“A hunter has respect for age. Sit with the others.” He waited until Newasfar had turned grumbling away before he pointed at the Sasku woman. “Do you wish to speak, Malagen?”
She gave him one horrified glance, then hid her face in her arms. Herilak did not want this to go any further and cause trouble. The woman would not say anything for that was the Sasku way. But he knew that she wanted to leave with Newasfar. He also knew that Sanone was watching him, waiting for an answer to his question. There could be only one.
“I see no problem here. For is it not just as Sanone said, that the Sasku and Tanu fought as one in the city on the shore, then came to this valley where they fought side by side again? He has said, in his generosity, that the Tanu are welcome to stay here, free to go. We are as brothers—and sisters too—of course. We Tanu can say no less. Malagen may come with us if she so wishes.”
If Sanone felt that he had been defeated by his own words he gave no sign, merely lifted his hand in acceptance, stood and left. Herilak looked at his retreating back and hoped that there would be no unhappiness, no difficulties now. They had fought together in war: they must part in peace. He turned to the sammads again.
“We will leave in the morning. Do we agree upon the way we go? It is too cold to the north and no need to retrace the snow route across the mountains. I say we go east, the way we came, until we reach the great sea. Other decisions can be made then.”
“There is the great river that must be crossed,” Fraken complained. He was old and frail now and felt that his knowledge was not respected any more. Few even cared what he said when he explored the owl pellets for a glimpse of the future.
“We have crossed the river before, alladjex. Rafts will be made, the mastodon swim it easily at the place where it is narrow. It will not be a problem. Do others wish to speak? Let it be that way then. We leave in the morning.”
As always when the sammads trekked the mastodons, screeching in protest at the restriction of their freedom, were loaded and harnessed before dawn. When the sun rose all was in readiness. Herilak stood aside to watch the first of them leave, the trail was a familiar one and there was no precedence or command among the sammadars. He felt a great relief when he saw that Sanone was among the watching Sasku. He went to him and took him by the shoulder.
“We will meet again, my friend.”
Sanone shook his head in a solemn no. “I do not think so, my friend. I am no longer young and I do not wish to leave this valley again. I have obeyed Kadair’s commands, have seen things that I never dreamed existed. And now I am tired. And you? I think that you will not come this way again either.”
Herilak nodded solemn agreement. “There is no need. I shall look for you in the stars.”
“We all follow in Kadair’s path. If Kerrick is alive, and you find him, tell him that Sanone of the Sasku thanks him for our lives.”
“I shall,” Herilak said, turned and left without another word, nor did he look back at the valley or the Sasku with whom so much had been shared.
He trotted along the path beside the river, caught up with the slow-moving sammads, passed them. The sammadar Kellimans had only one mastodon and his sammad was small. But it was larger now by one Herilak saw as he started by. There was Merrith leading her mastodon, striding out as strongly as any warrior.
“I see here among the Tanu someone who chose to stay in the valley of the Sasku,” Herilak said.
Merrith marched on, chewing strongly on a mouthful of smoked meat. She extracted all of the nourishment and spat out the gristle before she spoke.
“Does the sammadar Herilak say I am not welcome here?”
“You are Tanu.”
“Of course I am. Which is the reason why I could not stay in that cave of a valley and work in the fields and talk nonsense with the women. A Tanu cannot live without the forest, without the freedom to go anywhere.”
Herilak was puzzled. “Then why all the talk of staying? I see no reason . . .” He hesitated and saw that she was looking at him out of the corners of her eyes, smiling. His eyes opened wide, then he began laughing. And struck her on the shoulder with appreciation.
“You act like a hunter but think like a woman. You knew that Sanone did not want that Sasku woman, Malagen, to leave the valley. So you took away his arguments even before he made them. You never intended to stay in that valley!”
“You said that, brave Herilak, not I. A weak woman must use her mind to survive in this world of strong men.”
As she said that she struck him on the back such a blow that he staggered forward. But did not stop laughing.
Herilak wondered if Sanone knew that he had been bested in argument. He may have suspected it last night—would surely know it today when he discovered that Merrith had not stayed behind after all. It was good to be on the trail again. He touched Kerrick’s skymetal knife where it hung about his neck, wondered if he were out there somewhere, still alive. If he were—he would find him.
Their path took them north along the riverbank to the place where the mastodons could cross. Hanath and Morgil, banished from the valley for their theft of the holy porro, had put up their tent here, close to the water. Hanath waved and called out as they passed, but Morgil lay stretched out on the ground and did not move. Herilak was concerned. Had there been an accident—or murgu about? He carried both death-stick and spear when he ran down the bank.
Hanath waved again when he saw him coming then sat down heavily next to his companion.
“What is wrong?” Herilak asked, looking for wounds or blood and seeing none.
“Porro,” Hanath said hoarsely, pointing to the clay pot standing inside the opening of their tent. “Not too good.”
“You should have thought of that before you stole it.”
“Stolen porro was very good,” he said, smacking his lips dryly. “It is when we make it that something happens. It tastes right, but makes a hunter feel very sick next day.”
“You have been making it? How?” Herilak looked into the pot and twitched his nose at the smell.
“Easy enough to do. We watched how they did it, many times at night. They aren’t good hunters, we crawled right on top of them. It is easy to make, you just take the ground up things they grow, the tagaso. Put it in water, put it in the sun, put in the moss, that is all there is to it.”
Morgil stirred and opened one bloodshot eye and groaned. “It must have been the moss. I think we used too much moss.”
Herilak had enough of their foolishness. “The sammads are leaving.”
“We’ll follow. Maybe tomorrow. We will be all right.”
“Not if you drink any more of this,” Herilak said and kicked over the pot so the porro poured out and soaked into the ground. It smelled awful.
“It could only have been the moss,” Morgil said weakly.
Kerrick looked at the baby and was worried.
“Has she a sickness? Her eyes are open at last but they roll around and around and I don’t think that she can see.”
Armun laughed loudly at that, a clear an
d happy sound. “You do not remember when Arnwheet’s eyes were just like this? It is the same for all babies. Ysel will see very well. It just takes time.”
“And you, are you ready to walk?”
“I have been telling you for days now that I am strong. And I want to leave this lake.” She did not look across at the other encampment but he knew what she was thinking. He knew that he had been putting off their departure, but could do so no longer. Everything that they were taking was rolled into bundles and secured to the two travois. It was a small portion of a mastodon’s load—but they had no mastodon. What they took was limited to the amount he and Harl could pull. Armun and Darras would take care of the baby. Arnwheet would carry spear and bow. If Ortnar carried himself that was burden enough. The time had come to leave.
Flies swarmed on the hindquarters of a freshly butchered deer that was too much for them to take. The males would appreciate it. He brushed off the flies, seized it up and swung it onto his shoulder.
“We won’t leave this to rot. As soon as I get back we will go.”
When he started across the clearing Arnwheet called and ran after him, walked at his side.
“I don’t want to leave our friends,” he said in Yilanè when he knew that his mother could not hear him. He had never been told to do this, but instructions can be delivered in many ways. Armun made no secret of her hatred of the two Yilanè males.
“Neither do I. But many times in life we take actions that we don’t want to do.”
“Why?”
“Because sometimes things just have to be done. We must leave here before more of the hunters come and find us. We must do that as soon as possible. Imehei cannot come now—and Nadaske will not leave him alone.”
“Is Imehei sick? Nadaske will not tell me.”
“It is a sickness of a kind. When it is over, then I hope he will be able to travel.”
“They will both come and find us. Then we can talk again.”
“Then we will talk again,” Kerrick said, concealing any reservations that he might have had.
Nadaske sat at the water’s edge, at his unconscious friend’s side. He looked up but did not move when they approached. He grew more alert when Arnwheet went into great detail about their preparations for the trip, how well he could shoot his new bow, and here, feel at the sharpness of his speartip. Kerrick looked on with pleasure for the boy was Yilanè indeed. But would he remember all this when they left the lake and his Yilanè friends were not there to talk to?
“Wet-from-sea is a mighty hunter,” Nadaske said. “After he has gone we will miss all the meat that he has killed/brought.”
Arnwheet arched his back proudly, not catching the sophisticated overtones of size of meat and quantity brought. In truth he had only managed to impale one small lizard since he began shooting his bow. Kerrick appreciated the effort Nadaske was making, for there were also undertones of unhappiness and despair hidden behind his surface meanings.
“All will be well,” Kerrick said, “With you, with us.”
“All will be well,” Nadaske repeated but there was only darkness in his modifiers. In the lake Imehei burbled in his perpetual sleep and his hand drifted slowly under the water in unconscious parody of farewell.
“When we find a safe place you will join us,” Kerrick said, but Nadaske had looked away and did not hear him. Kerrick took Arnwheet’s hand in his and went to join the others.
“It grows late,” Ortnar said grumpily, dragging his bad leg forward, “and the trail is long.”
Kerrick bent and picked up the poles as did Harl. They walked in silence into the forest and only Arnwheet looked back. But the trees were in the way and his two friends at the water’s edge were already out of sight.
apsohesepaa anulonok elinepsuts kakhaato>.
YILANÈ APOTHEGM
* * *
There are more strands to the web of life than there are drops of water in the sea.
SEVEN
Ambalasei sat on the stranded tree trunk on the shore, blinking happily into the sunlight that bathed her in warm waves. It was an unaccustomed pleasure to relax, take pleasure of sun/surroundings, and contemplate this admirable river. So wide that the far bank was scarcely visible, brown with the soil of the continent it drained. Grassy islands in the river drifted past. The sky was cloudless here, but there must have been heavy rain and flooding somewhere upstream for tree after great tree floated majestically past. One drifted into the shallows and stranded itself ponderously on the bank close by: small chattering ustuzou jumped from it to the safety of the shore. One of them passed close, turned to flee when Ambalasei moved, fell dead when the hèsotsan snapped. Brown fur, prehensile tail. She turned it over with her claws and saw movement in its midriff; a tiny head appeared. A marsupial with young. Excellent. Setèssei would preserve the specimen for study. Ambalasei sat down on the tree again and sighed with pleasure.
A verdant new land for her to explore. Pleasures of ratiocination amplified many times by absence of disputatious Daughters. The harmony of her work was not disturbed by their continual interrupting existence: she only thought of them now to take pleasure from their absence. The commander of the uruketo, Elem, was different, a Yilanè of science. She knew how to monitor her speaking without being told. The hated name of Ugunenapsa had not passed over her teeth or colored her palms in all of the many days of this voyage.
Ambalasei’s thoughts were interrupted by a crashing from the forest behind her: she turned her head slightly so she could watch both river and jungle at the same time. Her hèsotsan was ready, but she lowered it when one of the crewmembers appeared. She had a large stringknife which she was using to cut a path through the shrubs and vines. It was hard work and her mouth gaped wide; she staggered and almost fell.
“Cessation of labors!” Ambalasei commanded loudly. “Into the water before you perish from overheating.”
The crewmember dropped the stringknife and stumbled to the riverbank and fell full length into the water. When she surfaced she raised one palm to Ambalasei and signed gratitude for aid.
“Gratitude indeed. Not only must I order and guide incompetents but I must think for them as well. Stay there until you can close your mouth.”
She looked up at the river again, but the uruketo was still not in sight. It did not matter, it was only midafternoon and Ambalasei had given them the entire day to exercise the enteesenat and catch food for the uruketo. Now there was movement from the other direction as Setèssei and two heavily burdened crewmembers emerged from the forest. The crewmembers let fall their bundles and joined their companion in the water. Setèssei had her mouth open but did not appear to be as overheated as the others.
“Discovery exactly as Ambalasei predicted,” she said.
“Excellent. From the contours of the land and the configuration of the tributary I knew that there had to be a lake in there.”
“A warm one, alive with fish, shored by sunny beaches.”
“And uninhabited?”
“Creatures of all kinds. Except Sorogetso.”
“Again as I predicted, the same as at the other sites. And of all the lakes we have examined this one is the nearest to the city. I am forced to the reluctant conclusion that the small group of Sorogetso that I discovered is the only one in existence. Certainly the only one on this river. Do you know what that means?”
“Ignorance of meaning/desire for enlightenment.”
“It means, faithful Setèssei, that our Sorogetso are not native to these shores. They were brought here, planted here, left here, as I had supposed. A single colony, fruit of dark experiments by a scientist unknown. Did you find anything else of note on your expedition?”
“Specimens of interest, featherless/furless flying creatures, and another of possible value.”
The crewmembers were emerging from the river now and Setèssei ordered that the discarded bundles be brought forward. She opened one and took out the body of a small, beaked lizard that was no longer than her for
earm. Ambalasei examined it with interest, stretched out the lengthy tail.
“Agile, it is obvious that it grazes on all fours—yet can flee danger using its hindlegs alone. It can also feed anywhere with this sharp beak, eat woody stems, tough leaves.”
“Tastes good too. They were sitting on nests in the undergrowth. Admission of dislike for repetitive diet. I have consumed a sufficiency of preserved meat. I killed two, ate one . . .”
“Solely in the interests of science.”
“Solely. But it was my considered opinion that if the flesh was good I would collect the eggs.”
“And of course you have. You are turning into a true scientist, Setèssei. A new food source is always appreciated. And I am a little tired of eel as well.”
Ambalasei’s lips unconsciously drew back from her teeth as she examined the specimen. Her mouth opened. Then snapped shut since, in the name of science, she needed this specimen intact for dissection. “It shall be known as naeb because of its beak. Now—show me what else you have brought back.”
Ambalasei never ceased to be amazed at the quantity of new species that this continent held. It was to be expected, but was still pleasure magnified many degrees. A beetle bigger than her hand, tiny ustuzou, butterflies, a bewildering array. “Most satisfactory. Into the preserving containers—they have been exposed to the air long enough now. We will have a feast of discovery when we return. Which will be far too soon.”
Setèssei caught the overtones of Daughters/depression behind her statements and quickly went to get a water-fruit that had been cooling in the river. Ambalasei drank gratefully but would not be turned aside from her morbid preoccupations.
“Exploration and pleasures at an end: depressing confrontations to come. I have refrained from thinking about what we will find when we get back. I consider it now since when the uruketo returns—so do we.”
“Interests of science/explorations incomplete,” Setèssei said temptingly. Ambalasei signed a regretful negative.
Return to Eden Page 7