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  Elem hesitated only an instant before she joined her thumbs in the sign of obedience to authority, then turned to call orders up to the crewmember on the fin.

  The crewmembers, disciplined by their long service in the uruketo, now reinforced by obedience to Ugunenapsa’s seventh principle, did as they were ordered. While the loading took place Ambalasei and Setessei once more quartered the island, and the surrounding area frequented by the Sorogetso, but found no one. Their sweep had been complete. When the last of the limp bodies had been loaded aboard Ambalasei ordered that the area be searched carefully, that all artifacts and objects of any nature that belonged to the Sorogetso be taken as well. There were gourds for water, cages containing deadly spiders, bright stones in woven bags, as well as other objects of uncertain usage. All were brought. Only the dried grass nests they slept in were left; they could be replaced easily enough. By late afternoon the uruketo had struggled back out of the shallows and was following the leaping enteesenat upstream. Ambalasei stood at the top of the fin, enjoying her ease after the labors of the day. It had been hard work, but well worth it. She turned at the sound of attention to speaking to see that the commander had joined her.

  “Well done, Elem,” she said. “A notable contribution to the future welfare of these simple creatures.”

  “How long will they stay like this?”

  “Until they are injected and awakened. You need have no fear of violence or aggression. Now — information required. You will do as always this night? That is you will let the uruketo drift in the shallows until dawn?”

  “As always in the river.”

  “Excellent. At dawn then I will be awakened and with Setessei’s assistance will direct the creature’s progress. None will join me, none will climb this fin.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Ambalasei signed weakness of intelligence. “I thought that my meaning was obvious. Under my instruction Setessei shall direct this creature to the beach where we will land. Since one stretch of river looks very much like another, particularly to the inattentive Daughters of your crew, none but my assistant and I shall know where the Sorogetso were brought ashore. Will you be able to recognize the landing site?”

  “I am sure I will, but…”

  “Then you will remain below. I know that you are a treetrunk of strength, commander, and a good scientist. But some day I will be gone from this part of the world and I force myself to remember that you are a firm follower of Ugunenapsa. If asked for information in her name I am sure that you would give it. I cannot take that chance. The Sorogetso must remain undisturbed by any future incursions into their well-being. Now, tell me, will my instructions be followed?”

  Elem signed confusion of desires. “I am a follower of science, just as you are, great Ambalasei. Thinking as you do I agree that matters must be arranged just as you have ordered. Yet I am also a believer in the wisdom of Ugunenapsa and I must reconcile these two.”

  “Easily done. Think only of Ugunenapsa’s third principle and your thoughts will be clear, your commands obvious. Did Ugunenapsa not say that the spirit of life, Efeneleiaa, is the great eistaa of the city of life, that we are citizens and beings in this city? This must include the Sorogetso. So while they will be going to a new and physical city on this river they will still be residing in the greater city of life. As Ugunenapsa said. Is that not right?”

  Elem still hesitated. “I think that it sounds right, certainly that is what Ugunenapsa said and I thank you for reminding me of it. And I am humbled that even though you are not a Daughter of Life you know so much of Ugunenapsa’s thoughts that you correct me in my misjudgment. You are right, of course, and your orders will be obeyed.”

  It was not that Vaintè wished to issue commands to the fargi, it just seemed to have become part of the natural order. If Velikrei had any resentment that her place had been taken by Vaintè she gave no indication of it. Quite the opposite in fact. She stayed at Vaintè’s side, stretching her limited comprehension to understand Vaintè’s instructions. She brought the tastiest of the freshly caught fish to her, watched with pleasure while she ate, did not eat herself until Vaintè had finished. It was the natural order of things. Some are destined to give orders, others to obey.

  Not that any real thought was needed to command this elderly efenburu. Fishing was the only thing that they did in common; they were all certainly skilled enough in that. When they entered the sea they moved apart, swimming slowly. If a school of fish were seen this fact was remarked upon with the simplest of signals, passed from one to the other and eventually to Vaintè. She would swim in the indicated direction, decide if the school were big enough, the fish of edible interest. If they were she signed attack and they moved in a familiar and reassuring fashion.

  When not fishing they did not communicate. When thirsty they drank. When chilled they sought the sun. Like basking lizards they littered the beach and Vaintè found the sight a reassuring one, in no way a disturbance to her mindless peace.

  There is a pleasure in companionship, no matter how inarticulate. Day followed day in a repeated pattern that did not require either intelligence or attention. Here, close to the equator, one day was very much like another. At times it rained, usually it didn’t. The sea was filled with fish, the freshwater stream always ran. It was existence, simple and unthinking existence.

  This was all that the fargi were capable of. If they thought at all, which was doubtful, they must surely have preferred this to the pressures and confusions of the city.

  If Vaintè thought, and she twisted away from it when cogitation came close, she merely took pleasure from her surroundings and her companions.

  Dawn followed dusk, dusk followed dawn in stately, unending progression.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Alitha hammar ensi igo vezilin gedda. Sammad geddar o sammadar oapri.

  A deer cannot have two heads. A sammad has only one sammadar.

  Tanu saying

  It was raining. A heavy tropical downpour that cascaded ceaselessly from the leaden sky. It drummed so loudly on the stretched skins that they had to raise their voices to be heard.

  “Is it ever going to stop?” Armun asked. The baby wailed as the sky split with lightning; thunder rumbled through the trees. Armun opened her clothing and nursed the infant into silence.

  “This is the third day now,” Kerrick said. “I don’t think it has ever rained for more than three days at a time. It should stop today, perhaps tonight. The cloud seems to be thinner.”

  He looked at Harl who was drying a thin slab of deer meat over the fire. The smoke spread out along the ground: a gust of wind blew it swirling around him and he coughed and rubbed his eyes with his forearm. Arnwheet, squatting across the fire from him, laughed — until he breathed in some smoke as well. Ortnar sat as he always did, his swollen and useless leg stretched out before him, staring sightlessly into the rain. He had become too silent and sat like this too much of the time since they had come to the island. Kerrick was worried. It was his only concern now, for the island was far superior to their encampment at Round Lake . There were ducks in the reeds that could be taken with nets, game to be hunted, deer and small murgu with sweet flesh. They had killed the large murgu carnivores as they found them. More of them had crossed over the shallow river since then from the mainland, but not many. This was a good place to be. Armun, as she did often when they were together, seemed to be sharing his thoughts.

  “This is a good camp. I don’t think that I would ever like to leave it.”

  “Nor I. Though sometimes I think about the sammads. I wonder if they are still with the Sasku in the valley?”

  “I worry that they are all dead, killed and eaten by the murgu with the death-sticks.”

  “I’ve told you many times — they are alive and well.” He reached over and moved aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her face when she looked down at the baby. Tucked them aside, then ran his fingers over her sweetly cleft lip until she smiled. This w
as not a thing a hunter was supposed to do, not with others looking, and for this reason she appreciated it all the more.

  “You can’t be sure,” she said, still worried.

  “I am sure. I’ve explained, these murgu cannot tell lies. It’s the way they talk, think really. It’s as if you spoke aloud every thought that went through your head.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. Some people might be very unhappy.” She laughed. “And some of them happy too.”

  “Then you understand. The murgu have to say what they think when they speak. The one I talked with, the sammadar of their city, the one I gave the skymetal knife to, she said she would stop the fighting and return to the city and stay there. She said it — so it happened.”

  The rain was slowly dying away, although water still dripped down from the sodden trees. Before dark the skies cleared a little and the late afternoon sun slanted between the boughs. Kerrick rose and stretched and sniffed the air. “Tomorrow will be clear, a good day.”

  Happy to finally be out of the confining tent he took his spear and hèsotsan and started up the hill behind the encampment. Arnwheet called after him and he waved the boy forward. It was good to be moving about again. Arnwheet trotted at his side with his small spear ready. He was learning woodcraft from Harl and Ortnar so already, at the age of seven, he moved far more quietly than his father. There was a rustle in the undergrowth and they both stopped. Something small hurried away and Arnwheet hurled his spear after it.

  “An elinou,” he said. “I saw the colors on its back, I almost had it!”

  He ran to retrieve his spear. Elinou, a small and agile dinosaur, very good eating. Arnwheet had learned its correct name from one of the males by the lake, so he spoke in Yilanè when he talked about it. But he used the language less and less now, had little opportunity to.

  They reached the ridge and looked across the lagoon to the little islands of the coast. White surf broke on their far sides, a heavy sea from the storm. The ocean was empty — as it always was. The Yilanè in the city never seemed to venture north along this coast. He wondered if their hunters had gone to Round Lake again. And if so — what had happened to the males there?

  “Can we go for a swim?” Arnwheet asked. In Marbak, Yilanè forgotten already.

  “Too late, almost dark. We can go in the morning — and see if we can catch some fish.”

  “Don’t want to eat fish.”

  “You will — if that is what we are having.”

  They had not eaten fish very often since they had left the lake. Perhaps there had been too much of it. The lake, it stayed on his mind and he knew why. What had happened there since they had left? Had the eggs hatched, or whatever they did? And if this had happened was Imehei still alive? The thoughts occupied his mind, as they had increasingly more and more these days. If Imehei were dead then Nadaske would be alone, with no one there to talk to. Both of them liked to speak all of the time — even if no one was listening. But it was better with an audience. What had happened to them?

  They went back to the camp before dark, ate and talked about what they would do the next day. Harl agreed that fishing and swimming would be a good idea. Darras, who rarely spoke, asked to go with them.

  “Take her,” Ortnar said. “Armun knows how to use the death-stick, my spear arm is strong. There is nothing to fear in this place now.”

  What Ortnar had said decided Kerrick. He knew now what he must do. When he and Armun were alone, ready for sleep, he spoke his thoughts to her in the darkness.

  “Do you know how the Sasku mark the passage of time? They don’t count the days at all.”

  She made an interested sound, on the border of sleep.

  “Sanone used to do it for me when I asked. It was a secret knowledge of the manduktos he said, but it was easy enough to understand. I can’t make the drawings on the ground the way he did. But I can count by the moons. From one full moon to the next full moon is the time you count. It is many days. The moon has been three times full since we left the lake.”

  It was not his words but something in his voice, the meaning behind the words that drew her attention. He felt her body stiffen beside him.

  “We are gone from there,” she said. “So there is no need to talk about it. It is time for sleep.”

  “Since we left — I wonder what has happened at the lake?”

  She was wide awake now and staring into the darkness, her thoughts rushing ahead of his.

  “The lake is of no importance, there may be murgu there. You must forget about those two. You won’t see them again.”

  “I am concerned about them — can you understand that? To you, I know, they are just two more murgu, better off dead.”

  “I am sorry I ever said that. I am trying harder now to understand how you feel about them. I try to think of you living among murgu. I don’t know how it would feel, but I think I can understand how you might like some of them, those two.”

  Kerrick held her to him. She had never before talked like this. “If you understand — then you know that I have to find out what has happened.” He felt her stir in his arms, then push him away.

  “Don’t go back there. Don’t. I know how you feel about this, but for them I feel nothing. Stay here.”

  “We will talk another time.”

  “We talk now. You will return to them?”

  “Just to see what has happened. I’ll be careful, just a few days away. You’ll be safe here.”

  Armun turned her back and rolled away from him, ceased to listen. It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.

  She had been right; his mind was made up. There was continued silence next morning as he made up a light pack of smoked meat, added some of the roots that had been parched in the ashes. Ortnar thought it was all a great mistake.

  “The lake is nothing. We are gone, no reason to return. There may be more murgu there now. It is a trap.”

  “You know my reasons, Ortnar. I am going. I will only be a few days. Guard the sammad while I am away.”

  “I am only half a hunter…”

  “Your spear arm is as good as it ever was, your spearhead just as sharp. Harl is more of a hunter than I am, Armun uses the death-stick as well as I do. You will survive very well in my absence. Will you do this for me?”

  Kerrick took the grunted response as a yes and he tied the strong skins about his feet for the trail ahead. Armun spoke to him only when he asked her a direct question, otherwise she was silent. She had been like this ever since he had decided to return to the lake. He did not wish to leave when she was angry at him — but he had no choice. Once again she surprised him by calling out as he left.

  “Go carefully, return safely.”

  “You know why I must do this?”

  “No. I only know that you must. I would go with you but I could not take the baby. Be quick.”

  “I will. You must not worry.”

  Harl went with him across the river on the raft that they had made, thick poles tied together with vines. He would return with it and hide it among the trees. Harl had nothing to say, just lifted his hand in farewell. Kerrick strode off between the trees, the hèsotsan held ready.

  When he reached the wider trail, still scored deep by the passing of the sammads, he turned south, then stopped and looked about. His woodcraft was no match for any of the Tanu who had grown up in the forest. He could not even see the broken branch that Ortnar had marked the path with. He put the hèsotsan aside and took out his flint knife. With it he peeled away a patch of bark on the nearest tree. After that he looked carefully at the land and the forest and tried to remember just what this place looked like so he could find the path when he returned. Seizing up the hèsotsan he turned and started down the trail.

  When the sammad had come north from the lake they had taken many days, able to go no faster than Ortnar could hobble. Now that he was alone he made much better time. On the third day he left the rutted track for the familiar path that led to Round Lake . He had hunted
these woods often, knew them well. He circled when he came close to the encampment, approached the lake close to the spot where they had had their tents. Slower and slower, lying flat and crawling the last part under the cover of the bushes. Their campsite was empty and already overgrown, the black traces of their cooking fire the only indication that anyone had ever been here. When he stood behind a large tree he could see across the water to the other camp.

  Something moved near the shore and he raised the hèsotsan. A Yilanè was there, back turned. He waited until the figure straightened up and turned towards him.

  It was Nadaske, without a doubt. He started to call out, then thought again. Was he here alone? Or were there others in hiding? It appeared to be safe enough. He saw Nadaske go to the shore and bend over a dark figure in the water. It could only be Imehei — still alive! He felt a sudden great pleasure, stepped forward and called out attention to communication.

  Nadaske spun about, ran to the shelter, came out a moment later with his hèsotsan raised and ready to fire. Kerrick stepped out where he could be seen.

  “Greatings great hunter, killer of all that dares move in the forest.”

  Nadaske stood as though carved of stone, the hèsotsan still ready, and did not move until Kerrick had come close. Only then did he lower the weapon and speak.

  “Pleasure multiplied. Presence unexpected/unbelieved. Lack of talking has made me yiliebe. You did come back.”

  “Of course.” Kerrick pointed a thumb of query at Imehei.

  “He is as he was. The eggs have broken.”

  “I don’t understand. The eggs are gone?”

  “In my ignorance I forgot your ustuzou failure of knowledge in these matters. After the eggs are laid in the pouch some time passes. Then the eggs crack and the elininyil emerge and grow within the same pouch, taking nourishment from certain glands. When they are large enough they will come out of the pouch and swim into the lake and then we will know about Imehei.”

  “Doubt of complete meaning.”