“Do you recognize them?” he asked.
“Slimy, crawlies.”
“Not good to eat.”
The males were not of much help. Kerrick was about to leave, but turned about for a last look. Then he knew—without a doubt he knew what they were.
“We go back now,” he ordered, leading the way down the ramp.
After returning the males to the hanalè, Kerrick sought out the others. Sanone was there, and Kerrick hurried to him, cutting into the mandukto’s formal greetings.
“We must get meat at once, we can’t have any deaths. And they have gone many days at least without feeding.”
“I would aid you, Kerrick, if you would tell me what it is you talk about.”
“In my haste I cloud my meaning. I have found a pen, a bit of swamp, that has small murgu in it. We must feed them and look more closely, but I think I know what they are. The shape, the size is right. Immature hèsotsan. Death-sticks.”
Sanone shook his head in bewilderment. “Like much of what I see here in Deifoben, what you speak of is beyond my comprehension.”
“You can understand this. The murgu do not make things, the way we make bows—or looms for cloth. They grow creatures for their needs. The death-sticks are alive, as you must know since you have fed them yourself. But when they are young, they are as I saw them today, small creatures in a swamp. When they grow older they change into the death-sticks that we use.”
Sanone understood now and struck his fists together with pleasure. “Wise-beyond-your-years, Kerrick, you will be our salvation. These creatures you speak of will be fed, will grow and we will have all the weapons we will ever need to live in this murgu-filled world. Now we will bring them food and examine them more closely.”
It was obvious when the reptiles slithered out onto the mud to snap up the gobbets of meat that they were immature hèsotsan. Now Kerrick felt that this city that had provided their enemies would now provide them in turn. Sanone agreed with him in this, and with each new discovery they made after that he saw the future inscribed more clearly.
The hunters had found shelter from the rain in one of the unburnt structures. After a hault of days the rains died away, though the nights remained cool. Sanone spent much of his time in deep thought, and went often to examine the city model, as well as the larger one of the landscape stretching west from the ocean. He eventually reached certain conclusions, after which he conferred at great length with the other manduktos. When they were all in agreement they sent for Kerrick.
“A decision has been reached,” Sanone said. “We have labored hard to understand Kadair’s path and at last all has become clear. We understand now that when Kadair took the form of the mastodon and shaped the world, when he stamped hard upon the ground and marked his track deep into the solid rock, he left a path that we could follow had we but the wisdom. We are his children and we are learning to follow his way. He led you to us and you brought the mastodon to remind us where we came from—and where we are destined to go. Karognis sent the murgu to destroy us, but Kadair then sent the mastodon to guide us over the ice mountains to this place to wreak his vengeance upon them. And they are destroyed while this place has been burnt. But only the evil has been burnt and what remains has been left by his design for our use. I know now that our valley was just a stop along the track while we waited for Kadair to stamp out his path for us. The future lies here. We will meet this evening and drink porro and Kadair will come to us. Then at dawn the first hunters will find the track that leads from here in Deifoben along the ocean to the west, the track that goes to the south of the ice mountains, the track that the murgu followed when they attacked us. Once this way is known our people will come here and this will be our home.”
Kerrick drank the fermented porro with the others that night and once again felt himself invaded by strange forces, and knew that the manduktos who did this were strong indeed and what they were doing had to be right. He wanted to tell them this, and in the end he did, standing and swaying, his voice raised in a hoarse shout.
“This city will be born again and you will be here and I will be here and you will be here and I will be Tanu and Yilanè, and this city will be the same.”
The manduktos approved of this and the manner in which he moved and spoke, though of course they did not understand since he spoke in Yilanè. But the alien language made his speaking it that much more impressive.
The next morning Kerrick lay asleep late, his head throbbing when he moved. So he kept his eyes shut—and for the first time since the hunters had gone north without him he thought of Armun. He must bring her here to join him. But the year was late already—if he left now he would have to journey through the worst part of the winter before he reached the encampment. He did not want to be trapped there by the snow; it was better here in the warmth. Nor could Armun travel in the cold. And the baby, he had forgotten about the child, it must stay in the security of the tent until winter’s end. So there was nothing that could be done now. When the days began lengthening again he would make plans. Right now he needed some cold water to wash over his head.
Armun had planned her escape in the greatest detail. She knew that Herilak would send swift hunters after her, and knew also that there was no way that she could stay ahead of them or escape them. Therefore she would have to outsmart them, escape in a way that they would never consider. No one paid attention to her comings and goings so she was able to carry what she needed away from the encampment, a little at a time, with Harl’s help. When this had been done and all of her plans were completed it was time to leave. She sealed the flaps at dusk, put out the fire and saw to it that they all retired early in the empty tent.
The morning star was just on the horizon when she rose, took up the still-sleeping baby, gave Harl the furs to carry, and led the way out into the night. By the light of the stars they went silently between the black tents of the sleeping sammads, staying on well-trampled paths, past the dark shadows of the mastodons to the rocky hills that lay beyond, to the north. Everything that they needed had been concealed there, in the deep crevasse under a shelf of overhanging rock.
And there they stayed for three days and three nights. There was dried meat and ekkotaz, sealed bladders of murgu meat, as well as all the water they needed from the stream close by. During the day, well-hidden from sight, she cut the long poles into shape and made a travois which she packed with their supplies. On the fourth day they again were up before dawn. Arnwheet crowed happily when he was secured into the seat on the travois. Harl took up his bow and arrows: Armun lifted up the poles of the travois and the long walk began. They worked their way south through the forest, making a wide circle around the encampment, and by midafternoon had crossed the track the sammads had made when they had come north to their encampment. New grass grew in the ruts but could not conceal the deep-cut tracks of the travois poles and prints of the mastodons. Harl scouted ahead for deer as Armun leaned into the poles and started east. Rocked by the steady motion the baby fell asleep.
They camped at dark, ate cold food because she dared not risk a fire, fell asleep rolled in their furs.
It was not easy, but she had never thought that it would be an easy thing to do. If the track had not taken the flattest route she would never have made it at all. Some days, when the path led uphill, no matter how hard she labored between the poles she still could only manage a small portion of a day’s march that the sammad might have achieved. She did not let this bother her, nor did she let her fatigue come between her and what must be done. Each evening Harl gathered wood and they had a fire, warm cooked food. She would play with the baby and tell him stories that Harl listened to with close attention. The children were not afraid of the darkness that began just beyond the light of the fire, that stretched out forever, and she would not permit herself any fear as well. The fire burned all night and she slept with the spear in her hand.
There were many days of sunshine—then heavy summer rain. This went on for a long ti
me until the muddy track became impassable for the travois. In the end she built a shelter of leafy branches and they crawled into it. She needed the rest, but despaired of the wasted time. Summer was too short as it was. Harl went out to hunt each day—and one evening returned with a rabbit. She skinned and cooked it at once and the fresh meat was delicious. The rain eventually stopped and the ground dried enough for them to start on again. But the next night, just before dawn, there was a frost that left the blades of grass tufted with white. Winter was drawing near again. With this realization there came the bitter knowledge that she would never make the long trek south along the shore before winter closed in. When she went to pack the travois she saw that she had been struck another unkindness. The death-stick was dead, the tiny mouth gaping open, killed by the frost. It was a creature of the south and could not live in the cold. It was a portent of the future.
That night, long after the two boys were well asleep, she still lay awake in her furs staring up at the twinkling lights of the stars. The moon had set and the stars stretched above her in an immense bowl, the River of the Tharms running across it from horizon to horizon. Each star was the tharm of a dead hunter, held up there in a glitter of cold light. Yet none of them could help her now. Had she been a fool to come on this helpless trek, to risk not only her own life but the lives of the two children? Perhaps, but it was too late to begin questioning. It was done. She was here. Now she had to decide what would come next. Had she any choice? Ortnar had told her she could wait on the shore for Kerrick, but he had been speaking stupidity, just to give himself an excuse for not going with her. She did not have enough supplies to last the winter on the shore, no tent, nothing to keep the winter at bay. So it was a choice then of camping and freezing—or starting south and freezing. There seemed little chance now that she could move south faster than the winter did. For the first time since she had left the encampment she felt tears in her eyes and was furious at herself for the weakness, wiped them away, rolled over and slept because she would need all of her strength for the next day’s walking.
The following night the first snow arrived and she shook it from the furs in the morning, packed them away and pressed on. That night, as they were eating, she found Harl looking at her across the fire.
“Eat it,” she said. “I like the murgu meat as little as you do, but it keeps us strong.”
“It is not the meat,” he said, “but the snow. When do we get to the place you have told us about, where Kerrick is waiting?”
“I wish I knew . . .” She reached over and brushed his fine blond hair, noticing the drawn lines about his eyes. He was eleven years old, a strong boy, but they had been walking steadily for far too long. “Sleep now, we want to be fresh when we start in the morning.”
There was no snow that night, but the last fall still lay unmelted on the ground. The day was clean yet there was little warmth in the sun. The track lay along the river valley now and she was sure that she recognized this place. The sammads had camped here before, not far from the ocean. Armun even thought that she could smell salt in the air—she moved along strongly with the wind in her face.
Yes there it was, white breakers rolling up onto the sand, the shore just beyond the bluff. She had her head down, pulling on the poles with steady endurance, following the track. She stopped only when she heard Harl’s warning cry.
There was a turf hut ahead, built into the base of the bluff and sheltered by it, with a fur-clad hunter standing before it. Motionless, apparently just as startled by her arrival as she was. She started to raise her voice and call to him—then the words choked in her throat.
He wasn’t Tanu, what he wore was not right. And his face . . .
It was covered with fur. Not just a beard on the lower part of his face—but there was fur, soft brown fur over all of his face.
uposmelikfarigi ikemespèyilanè. uposmelikyilanè ikemespènèyil. eleiensi topaa abalesso.
YILANÈ APOTHEGM
A fargi lies down to sleep and one morning awakes a Yilanè. Since the egg of time a Yilanè who sleeps awakes always a Yilanè.
CHAPTER SIX
Vaintè looked at the activity in the port with great interest. Up until this moment Ikhalmenets had just been a name to her, sea-girt Ikhalmenets, almost always expressed that way and now she could see why. Ikhalmenets had grown along a curving natural harbor—the reason for the city’s existence. All of the other islands in this group were rocky and barren. But not this one. It lay on the shore, at the base of the high mountain that caught the moist winds, cooled them to cloud as they rose up, until heavily burdened they released their moisture as snow and rain. The snow tipped white the mountain top while the rain ran down the slopes until it was funneled into the city.
But Ikhalmenets was more of the sea than of the land. Uruketo lined the shore, mixing with the smaller fishing boats heavy-laden with their catch. Erafnais called down instructions to guide the uruketo through the rush to a berth at the dock. Vaintè stood aside as the crewmembers climbed down from the fin and made the creature secure.
“All to remain on board,” Erafnais ordered as she prepared to leave. Vaintè listened, then was careful to express no antipathy when she spoke.
“Is your order addressed to me as well, commander?”
Erafnais was immobile with thought; then she spoke. “I do not wish wild accounts of what occurred in Alpèasak to be spread through the city. I will talk with the Eistaa first and await her commands. But you—I cannot command you Vaintè. I can only ask you to—”
“The need to ask is superfluous/close-to-insult, commander.”
“Never my intent!”
“That I realize, so no insult is taken. Vaintè does not gossip in the ambesed.”
There was a wheezing behind them as Akotolp pulled her bulk to the top of the fin, laboring even harder as she hauled the protesting Esetta< after her. She signed dutiful-request to Erafnais.
“It is required that I relieve myself of the burden of this male creature. Your discussion was overhead, so take my assurance that in the doing of this labor in the city none shall hear from me of Alpèasak’s destruction.”
“It will be my duty to aid you,” Vaintè said. “The male shall proceed between us to the hanalè. This will cause the least amount of disturbance/attraction among the fargi.”
“I am in Vaintè’s debt,” Akotolp said with pleasure-of-gratitude. “A single male is a sight rarely seen. I do not wish to arouse unseemly emotions.”
Erafnais turned her back, closed her mind on the matter. The stories would get out soon enough, though not from Vaintè and the scientist. But her crewmembers would be quick to gossip. Before this happened she had to seek out Lanefenuu, the Eistaa of Ikhalmenets, to report everything that she knew, everything that she had seen. It was a burden for an eistaa not for her and she yearned to be free of it.
While Akotolp climbed slowly down, Vaintè waited on the scarred wood of the dockside, her nostril flaps open wide to the drifting smells of the city, almost forgotten during the days at sea. Pungent odor of fish, warm breath of fargi, hints of decay from the undergrowth, while over it all lay the lush embrace of the growing city itself. Unexpected pleasure to be ashore moved through her body.
“Truly felt, Vaintè, and I share your emotion,” Akotolp said as she came wide-mouthed to her side. Esetta<, held firmly by the wrist, looked around at the city with interest—though he shied away with quick fear when Vaintè took his other arm. Vaintè felt pleasure at this reaction and squeezed both of her thumbs together harder than she need. In this way they proceeded toward the main avenue leading into Ikhalmenets. Fargi turned to look at them with eye-widened interest and soon joined together and walked in a train behind. Vaintè examined her followers with one backward-turned eye, then signalled for attention.
“Whichever of you is with perfection-of-speaking and knowledge-of-city come forward.”
There was a milling about as the gap-mouth youngsters in front pushed back with fear of c
onfrontation. They were shoved aside by an older fargi.
“From one below to her highest with male attached. I have some knowledge and wish to be of aid.”
“You know where the hanalè is?”
“The location is known to me.”
“Lead us.”
The fargi, swollen with importance, waddled quickly to the fore and the procession wound its way along the avenue. Large boughs overhung it, providing protection from the sun, but the cool north wind made the sun desirable. They proceeded along the sunlit strip to one side, to a great structure with a sealed door. Two fargi, holding dried and preserved hèsotsan as symbols of their status, stood before it.
“Summon the esekasak who is in charge of all affairs here,” Vaintè ordered. The guards writhed with inferior confusion until Vaintè snapped a clarification to the command.
“That one will go; that one will remain on guard.”
The esekasak radiated lack-of-knowledge of arrival and willingness-to-obey when she appeared and saw them waiting. Vaintè, every movement of her body demanding obedience and respect, addressed her.
“Here is a new male for your loyal protection. We will bring him into the entrance for you.”
Once inside, with the heavy door closed behind them, they could not be overheard.
“This is what must be done,” Vaintè said. “This is Esetta< and he has just crossed the ocean from a far city. He is tired and needs rest. He also needs privacy-without-end until your eistaa commands different. You will bring his meat and he will speak only to you. If you are asked who issued these orders, you will say that Vaintè has done this. Do you understand?”
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