Many hunters had worked to feed the fires that shaped the boat and each of them wanted to be first to use it. Before the quarrels broke out Kerrick decided that the four who would go must be chosen by chance, using a game the boys played. Straws were cut, all the same length, one for each hunter, and stood up in one of the newly baked pots. Four of them had their lower ends dipped in the dyesack of a hardalt and were stained purple. In turn each hunter drew one of the straws. There was much shouting, complaints from the losers and insults from the winners. In the end they all went to the boat, to load the nets and spread reeds over the four hunters so they would not be seen. They paddled out in midafternoon, disturbing the flocks already there. The hunters made no attempt to net any of these as they rose, but moved the boat into the shelter of the reeds. They would be ready when the newcomers arrived before dark.
Herilak drew Kerrick aside and spoke in a low voice. “Come with me and see something.” He led the way to his tent and brought out his hèsotsan. “You asked about the death-sticks. Was this what you meant?”
Kerrick turned it over in his hands, felt a jab of worry when he saw the creature’s foot. It was gray and dangling limply. “How long has it been like this?”
“Some days, I don’t know. What does it mean?”
“Maybe nothing. These creatures get old, they must die some time. It might be that.”
It wasn’t. The grayness on Herilak’s weapon spread, slowly at first, but it did not stop. One day the creature would not fire the darts and began to stink. They buried it in the forest away from the tents.
“I know of two more like this,” Herilak said.
“An illness of some sort,” Kerrick said. “Perhaps it spreads from one to the other. We must keep them apart.”
“What if more of them die. What then?”
“Then they die. We do not need them for hunting.”
“No, but we need them to kill murgu.” Herilak looked grimly across the water to the land beyond. “Another of the large murgu crossed over last night. The mastodons heard the thing, or smelled it. Hanath heard their noise and he killed it before it got among them. It is twice as big as a mastodon—with teeth as long as your arm. You cannot kill a marag like that with an arrow or a spear.”
“One death-stick is dead. We have others.”
“And others have the grayness already. If they all die . . .”
Kerrick could think of no easy words to say, was as worried as Herilak by this possibility. “We could trek north in the spring, go where the murgu cannot go, to the snow and the mountains.”
“We could do that—but for how long? The winter that never ends still holds the valleys. Those Tanu who still hunt there will not welcome us. Tanu have killed Tanu before—and it will happen again if we go north. We can live well here, the hunting is good. But only if we have the death-sticks.”
This fact was so obvious that they did not want to talk about it. Only when two more of the death-sticks sickened did Herilak send for the sammadars. They gathered about the fire, speaking quietly. There were few smiles, no laughter. They grew silent when Herilak rose and faced them.
“You all know of the trouble with the death-sticks. One is dead, two more have the grayness upon them.”
“Three,” Har-Havola called out. “It is upon mine today as well. If they all sicken, all die—what then?”
“All of them are not even sick yet,” Kerrick said. “Do not kill them that quickly.”
“But it could happen, what if it does happen? How will we then kill the murgu?”
There was much cross discussion with nothing of importance said. It was Merrith, standing with the others beyond the circle of sammadars, who grew impatient and called out.
“You cackle like birds on a nest—and do not even lay eggs. Where do the death-sticks come from? From the murgu, we know that. Can we get more if ours die?”
They all looked to Kerrick for an answer to that. “Not easily. If they even suspect we need more death-sticks they will be very pleased. They will not give us any, that is certain.”
“Capture them then,” a hunter called out.
“That would mean war again, because there would be a dead marag for every one we took. You all know that I stopped their attack on the valley with a threat. I don’t think I could do that a second time. Whatever we do we must not kill any of the murgu—or let them know that we need more death-sticks.”
There were more questions. They were curious as to how the death-sticks were made.
“Not made, grown. They look like ordinary lizards when they are young, though they have longer bodies than most lizards, are perhaps a little like snakes. They are raised in a place with a swampy pond, walled about so they cannot escape. As they grow older they move about less and less until one day they are as we see them.”
“Could we breed them ourselves?” Merrith asked.
“I don’t think so. When we were in the city I watched them often, tried to understand them, but it is still a secret from me. I don’t even know whether they hatch from eggs or not. When they are young they move about. Then they stiffen and become as we know them as they grow older. They cannot possibly breed then. There may be a third state they pass through that I have never seen, although I looked carefully. It is a murgu secret.”
“This place in the city where the death-sticks are kept,” Herilak said. “You know where it is?”
“I know where it was. Whether it is still there I have no way of telling. When we were in the city much of it was burnt, other parts died. Now that the murgu have returned it will have grown, changed.”
“Still, if we can find the young death-sticks, bring them back here, that will be what we need. We could do that.”
“Not easily . . .”
But Kerrick’s protests were lost in the rush of other voices. A hunting party could do it, find the place. Get more death-sticks, get enough to last them a long time. Kerrick shouted until he was heard.
“This may be a good plan, fine. But what if they are guarded, what if the murgu are there? What then?”
“We kill them!” a hunter cried and there were shouts of agreement.
“Hunters of great stupidity!” Herilak roared. “Do that and the war starts again. You have heard Kerrick. Do that and next time it will be our end. There must be another way.”
Kerrick looked away from them, stared into the fire, yet knew from the silence that they were looking at him, waiting for him to find an answer. He was the one who knew all about murgu, he would find a way. He sighed, stood and turned to face them.
“If the worst happens, if all our death-sticks die, we will need new ones. They have death-sticks in the valley of the Sasku.”
“That is a long distance to go,” Herilak said. “And I do not think they will willingly part with many. They fear the return of the murgu. Ours die now, perhaps theirs are already dead. The city is closer.”
“Close—and deadly. It will be very difficult to get there with a hunting party. That should not even be thought about now. Not until we are sure where the death-sticks are. They must be found first.”
“You and I,” Herilak said decisively. “You because you know the ways of murgu. I, because I know the forest. The two of us will go.”
Kerrick glanced up and found he was looking into Armun’s horrified face. She knew the risks, they all did. There were murmurs of agreement and they turned to Kerrick for an answer. He did not look at Armun as he nodded.
“Herilak and I will go. We will take only one death-stick. Herilak will carry it. If this is a sickness they have, and I was told about this by one who knew about sickness, it spreads from one animal to another. That is why you must keep the rest of them apart, keep them warm and feed them well. If we do find any in the city I will carry them, keep them far away from the one that Herilak will have. We cannot risk new ones getting the old sickness.”
It was agreed that the remaining hèsotsan would be guarded and watched, and used only to kill any of the large marauders that
came to the island. Up until this point the hunters had taken the weapons very much for granted: now they realized how vital to the existence of the sammads they were.
The visit to the city must be done quickly. They would carry only their weapons and smoked meat. Kerrick packed some of this into a bag for the morning: Armun looked on.
“I will go with you,” Armun said.
“This will be a quick scouting trip, no more. You must stay and care for the baby.”
“I said once that we would never be parted again.”
“We will not be. I went on the hunt with the Paramutan. This is the same. We will move fast, find the place we are looking for, come right back. Herilak knows the forests, we will not be seen. And I know the murgu. You must not be afraid.”
She was. They both were. He did not say it aloud but they shared the knowledge that the peace of the island had been broken. The future was once more doubtful and unclear.
It began to rain during the night, thundering onto the tent and creeping in under the flaps. In the gray, wet dawn the two hunters left the island and started south towards the city. They knew the track well and made good time. On the third day they turned off of the wide track that the sammads had used and moved instead among the trees on one of the animal trails. They had hunted here many times before and Herilak seemed to know every stand of forest and depth of stream. When they reached a dark and stagnant pond he stopped in the shelter of the trees.
“We are very close now. Beyond the water there was the swamp of the large murgu with three horns.”
“Nenitesk. Are you sure? I don’t think I ever entered the city from this direction before.”
“I am sure. ”
“They were always in the most distant fields, the furthest out from the center of the city. If we can locate them I think I can find the place with the death-sticks from there.”
There was a loud crashing from the forest ahead of them, followed by a hoarse bellow. Weapons ready they approached the outermost barrier of the city. The trees here were thickly grown and interlaced with vines, some of them growing poisonous thorns. This barrier stopped or turned away most animals—but not the one that had just passed. Branches were broken and undergrowth crushed; deep footsteps in the marshy ground were still filling with water. Stamped there by massive feet armed with sharp claws.
Herilak grunted in recognition. “The big killer marag.”
“Epetruk. It must have smelled the nenitesk. We must follow it—this is the best way to get inside the city.”
A great roaring and screeching ahead marked the encounter of the epetruk with its prey. But it was an evenly matched battle. As the epetruk circled about, the nenitesk turned always to face it with the large bony shield that protected its head. The epetruk was wary of the three long horns; smears of blood on one of them showed why. There was another bellow from the swamp as a second nenitesk lurched towards the battle. The epetruk, enraged though it was, had enough intelligence to see the danger. It turned its head back and forth and roared. Twisted about, lashing its tail as it backed away. The hunters, feeling very small and exposed, ran for the protection of the large trees beyond. Behind them the crashing died to silence as the epetruk retreated. Kerrick looked for a way out of the field, for any familiar landmark.
“That way,” he said. “We’ll have to circle about since we must stay away from the inner fields as long as possible.”
Once he recognized where they were he realized that little or nothing had changed in the years since the city had grown. The trees were larger and there was different undergrowth, but everything was basically the same. His arms and legs moved as he thought of the familiar Yilanè expression—tomorrow’s tomorrow will be like yesterday’s yesterday. Grown to a plan and a model the city would stay that way as long as it existed. He should have remembered this. The areas that had died, or been destroyed by the fire, had been regrown exactly as the original. He had walked this same path as a boy. He tapped Herilak’s shoulder and pointed, spoke in a whisper.
“There are groves just ahead. The murgu go there to gather fruit for their deer, other animals. Unarmed ones do the work, but there will be guards with death-sticks this far from the city center.”
The field was still there, rotting fruit lying on the ground, but empty now of any Yilanè. Kerrick led the way through the scattered trees to the far side.
“It is not too distant from here now. See, that high bank there? It is just on the other side.”
Herilak bent to examine the ground. “Tracks, very fresh.”
“What kind of animal?”
“The murgu who live in the city now. Very recent, since the rain last night.”
He led the way, silent as a shadow through the trees, with Kerrick following carefully, looking at the ground, trying to walk as quietly. They came around the bank just as the others were coming towards them. There was no way back.
Two fargi with burdens, eyes wide with astonishment.
The Yilanè with them raised her hèsotsan. Herilak was faster, fired first. She doubled over and fell.
Kerrick cried out, but he was too late. Herilak’s weapon cracked again sharply, twice, and the fargi were dead as well.
“You didn’t have to kill them. They’re harmless.”
“Can they speak, those two?”
“They could have, I suppose. You’re right. They saw us. They are workers so they can understand and speak well enough to take instructions. They could tell what they saw.”
“Stay here—there may be more.”
Herilak slipped under the trees, ran silently past the bodies. Kerrick looked at them, eyes wide with death, mouths dropped open. Each of the fargi had been carrying immature hèsotsan he saw, and these had been spilled on the ground. Their legs twitched feebly and they crawled off slowly through the grass. Kerrick remembered that he used to collect them as well at this stage, when they could not escape easily. He went and gathered them up, six of them: their tiny legs scratched at his arms but they could not escape.
“There were just the three murgu,” Herilak said, then saw what Kerrick was carrying. “You have them! The death-sticks that we need. We must leave before more murgu come.”
“Not until we have done something about these bodies. The murgu would not use the death-sticks on each other. If these three are found they will that know someone from outside the city killed them.”
“Drag them into the swamp. Bury them.”
“They might be found.” Kerrick looked up at the mound beside them. “The death-sticks, the young are in there, very many of them. I remember we used to feed them meat from this wall.”
“There is meat here,” Herilak said crudely, pushing the dead Yilanè with his toe. “If these beasts eat fast the murgu who may come to look for them will find nothing.”
“Make sure you drop the bodies into the water at the deep end, so their bones won’t be seen. That’s all we can do.” He bent to pick up the guard’s hèsotsan, had to pry it from the Yilanè’s fingers. Herilak dragged the first body away.
Before they left Herilak searched the ground for any traces of what had happened, brushed away some tracks they had made. Moving quickly they left the city as they had entered it, past the nenitesk now peacefully grazing, to the safety of the forest beyond.
TWENTY
When they were once more back among the trees that surrounded the city Kerrick called out. “Wait.”
Herilak looked around warily, listened to the forest noises. “We should go on. It is not safe to stop this close.”
“We must take some time. Look.”
Herilak now saw that Kerrick’s arms and chest were scratched and bleeding where the death-sticks had dug at him with their claws. Kerrick dropped them into the grass and went to the water nearby to wash himself clean.
“You must find a better way to carry them,” Herilak said. “Are they poisonous when they can still move like this?”
“I don’t think so. One of them was chewing
on my arm—so I hope they are not.”
“Their teeth are sharp, but they are not poisonous when old. I know, I have had my fingers bitten more than once feeding them. Put the meat from your bag into mine. Cut up the leather to tie them with. But do it quickly.”
Kerrick slashed his bag into ragged strips and tied them about the hèsotsan. Then he bound them into a bundle with the shoulder strap, leaving a loop of strap to carry them by. They went on again as soon as he was done.
Just before dark Herilak killed one of the little running murgu, but did not go near it, left it for Kerrick to butcher. They stayed apart, keeping the weapon he was carrying away from the ones they had captured. Kerrick cut up the still-warm corpse and fed bits of it to the hèsotsan. He and Herilak ate the dried meat, not wanting to light a fire so close to the city.
“I don’t want to go back to the city again,” Kerrick said as they settled down in the darkness.
“We won’t have to—if these death-sticks live. But now we know where to go if more of the creatures die.”
“The risk is too great.”
“No risk is too great—because without them we cannot live.”
In the morning they fed the immature hèsotsan more of the fresh meat, then went north at a steady pace along the track. The rains had ended and the sunlight filtered down through the tall trees, spreading bars of light across the ground.
The sunlight reflected off the crystal eye of the ugunkshaa, clearly revealing Ambalasei’s image as the memory-creature had recorded it. The sounds it made were weak but audible, her meaning clear.
“The river has many tributaries, two at least almost as large as the main stream. It obviously drains a major part of this continent. I intend to go as far upstream as it is navigable, taking water samples at measured daily intervals . . .”
The sounds of attention-to-speaking drowned out the small voice. Ukhereb turned one eye towards the entrance to see her assistant, Anatempè, standing there.
“What is it?” Ukhereb asked.
“Pain at interrupting meeting of scientific importance, but a fargi with message of singular gravity has arrived. The Eistaa wishes your/both presence.”
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