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  “Looking instead of working. Typical of Daughters of Dissitude.” She ignored Enge’s respectful signed welcome and turned instead to her assistant, Setessei. “I am sure many tragedies befell during my absence?”

  “A few accidents—”

  “Any fatal?”

  “None.”

  “Too bad. Otherwise the city grows in order?”

  “It does.”

  “That at least is appreciated.” She turned to Enge and signed for attention and obedience. “Walk with me along the shore where I can avoid sight of the Daughters and all thoughts of Ugunenapsa.”

  “With pleasure. I see fargi aboard, so all was successful.”

  “I would hardly say that. One has stayed behind in Alpèasak. Far!.”

  “I do not understand. Why did she do that?”

  “She had no choice. She was dead.”

  Ambalasei spoke with enjoyable malice, then walked in silence until Enge had recovered some of her composure. When she spoke again her explanation of events was brief and unflattering.

  “She died from applied stupidity, that is what I believe.”

  “You are too harsh on the dead, Ambalasei. She will never trouble you again. She died in the hopes of seeing this city live. We will long remember her death with our sorrow.”

  “I would suggest that you remember it with joy — because if she hadn’t died that would have ended everything for you. Nor will you be happy with your new converts. I have talked with them and find them barely Yilanè and incredibly stupid. They are like trained animals. They know nothing of Ugunenapsa, care even less. They learned to repeat certain phrases that they had been taught. They did this so they would get food in return.”

  “They will grow in understanding.”

  “If they don’t they will still make good workers. But this will be the last missionary attempt. It is too dangerous to go near other cities. You must find another way to ensure your survival. Try the Eight Principles again.”

  “I will, though not at the present time. I am too filled with the despair of our lost sister. I know, Ambalasei, you don’t have to say it, she was foolish and headstrong. But what she did she did for us all and we shall mourn her.”

  “That is your choice. Mine is to further my studies of this new continent. I will be going up the river again as soon as I have made my preparations.”

  Enge signed respectful farewell when Ambalasei left. It was difficult to think that she would not see Far! ever again. She regretted now the harshness with which she had treated her sister. There was an emptiness now that would be hard to fill. But she must not brood about it. There was one of the newcomers, staring about with wonder at this new city . Enge approached her and signed greetings. The fargi recoiled.

  “Do not fear. All here are Daughters of Life and no harm will ever come to you. Do you have a name?”

  The fargi merely stared at her, though her jaws worked uneasily.

  “Do you understand what I am saying?” There was still no reaction. “Well, you will learn to speak. Then you will learn the truths as taught by Ugunenapsa…”

  “First principle,” the fargi said, slowly and crudely. “We resist between thumbs spirit life named Efeneleiaa.”

  “Then you are not yiliebe, and I can see that you have learned wisdom…”

  “Second principle. All dwell city life. Third principle. Spirit life Efeneleiaa supreme eistaa city-”

  She slowly stopped speaking and her jaws worked and she writhed in an attempt to remember what came next. She could not so she began over. “First principle…”

  “That is enough, you can stop now.”

  “Food-food-food!” the fargi said and opened her jaws wide like a bird in a nest.

  Enge took her arm and led her to the food vats. She was very depressed. Ambalasei had been correct. This fargi had learned to recite sounds and movements she could not possibly understand, to be rewarded with food for her efforts. Trained like an animal, not Yilanè at all. And Far! was dead.

  Enge fought back despair. There was much to be done, very much.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Es rno tarril drepastar, er em so man drija.

  If my brother is wounded, I will bleed.

  Tanu saying

  Herilak walked the track ahead of the sammads, his eyes never still. Not only looking into the forest on both sides but also up at the branches above. He stepped over the trunk of a tree that had fallen across the track: it had been a long time since a sammad had passed this way. Something rustled in the undergrowth and he stopped and stared but could see nothing. Bird cries sounded among the leaves — and the sudden, distant snap of a death-stick.

  He turned about and listened, there were shouts and a mastodon screeched. With his own death-stick held ready he ran back along the track to the sammad. Nadris was prodding a large, still form with his foot, the marag that they called spike-back.

  “What happened?” Herilak called out.

  “This thing came out of the trees, started towards the mastodons. I had to kill it.”

  The tiny eyes were glazed in death. It was covered with armored plates and had rows of spikes down its sides and all along the length of its tail. It had been a good shot, the poisoned dart striking the creature on its mouth.

  “They are good to eat,” Nadris said.

  “But hard to butcher,” Herilak said. “If we turn it over we can take off the rear legs. But we will have to stop for the night soon so you don’t have much time. Stay here and get started — I’ll send Newasfar to help. Use his mastodon to carry the meat and be sure to leave before dark.”

  They started forward, the mastodons rolling their eyes and trumpeting with fear when they passed the immense corpse. Herilak went ahead again, looking for a clearing where they could stop and build their fire. They would need dry wood, a lot of it, to cook all of the meat. It would spoil in the heat if they didn’t, a waste.

  An animal trail crossed the larger track, angling off into the forest. He stopped to see if the trees were thinner here and something caught his attention; he bent and looked closer. It was a blaze on the treetrunk, a mark where a section of bark had been peeled away. Though it was partly grown over it had been done this season. And there, higher up, was a branch that had been broken and left to hang. This trail had been marked by Tanu.

  Merrith was leading her mastodon, the others following in line behind it, when she saw Herilak waiting on the track ahead. When she came close she saw that he was smiling, pointing into the forest towards the east.

  “I’ve found something, a marked path leading towards the shore. Marked more than once.”

  “Could it be Kerrick?”

  “I don’t know, but it is something, another sammad perhaps. If he is not there they may know of him. We’ll stop here. You tell the others — I want to see where this trail goes.”

  It was almost dark when Herilak came to the water and looked across at the island. Too dark to go on. He sniffed the air. Was there a trace of woodsmoke? He could not be sure. He would find out in the morning.

  They ate well that night, gorged themselves because there was far more meat here than they could possibly eat or preserve. Only old Fraken complained at the toughness of the meat, but this was because he had very few teeth left. The boy-without-a-name had to cut Fraken’s food into small pieces for the old man, was ordered to do this before he ate himself. Though he did stick some of the pieces into his mouth when Fraken looked away. Herilak chewed the meat without thinking about it, wondering what he would find on the island in the morning. He lay awake a long time that night, slept restlessly, then awoke while there were still stars in the sky. He took some cold meat from the ashes of the fire and bit oft a piece, went to wake Hanath.

  “I want you to come with me. I’ll need help crossing to the island.”

  Morgil awoke when Herilak spoke. “What about me?” he asked.

  “Stay with the sammad. Smoke as much of the meat as you can. We’ll be back as soo
n as we see if there are Tanu out there. If there is a sammad Hanath will come and tell you.”

  It was a cool morning and they moved swiftly down the trail to the water’s edge. Hanath lifted his head and sniffed the air.

  “Smoke,” he said, pointing at the island. “Coming from over there.”

  “I thought I smelled it last night — and look here, these marks. A raft or a boat has been pulled up onto the mud. There is someone on the island, there has to be.”

  “How do we get across?”

  “The same way…”

  “See — something is moving over there, under the trees.”

  Both hunters stood motionless and silent, peering at the shadows under the distant trees. A bough was pushed aside and someone emerged into the sunlight, then another.

  “A hunter and a boy,” Hanath said.

  “Two boys, one big enough to be a hunter.”

  Herilak cupped his hands before his mouth and called out an ululating cry. Both boys stopped and turned — then waved when they saw the hunters. Then they turned and disappeared back under the trees.

  Kerrick looked at them when the boys came running down the slope, shouting, so out of breath they could barely gasp out the words.

  “Hunters, two of them, over the water.”

  “Were they Tanu?” Ortnar asked, dragging himself up.

  “They had hair just like ours, and spears,” Harl said. “They are Tanu hunters.”

  “I must see them,” Kerrick said, taking up his hèsotsan.

  “I’ll show you where they are!” Arnwheet was bouncing with excitement.

  “All right.”

  Armun heard this as she came from the tent with the baby in her arms.

  “Let the boy stay here,” she said.

  “There is nothing to be afraid of. They’re Tanu. Ortnar will be here with you. Arnwheet saw them first, he deserves to meet them as well. Maybe they can tell us what has happened at the valley.”

  “Bring them here.”

  She watched as they raced away, the boys shouting to each other. Could it be another sammad? There would be other women to talk to then, other children. She was just as excited as the boys were. Darras came out of the tent, silent and fearful as always. It would be good for her to be with other girls. It would be wonderful if there really was another sammad close by.

  The boys ran ahead, shouting with excitement and were already pulling the raft out of the brush when Kerrick reached the shore. They were right, there was a hunter on the other side. Just one though, large and somehow familiar. He waved a hèsotsan and called out.

  It was Herilak, it could be no other. Kerrick waved back in silence, remembering the last time they had met in the city. The sammadar had been angry at him for forcing the sammads to stay and help in the city’s defense. They had not spoken since then because Kerrick and Ortnar had gone north the next morning. Their route carefully chosen so they did not pass near any of the Tanu. If they had, the two Yilanè males with them would have been killed on sight. What was Herilak doing here — and what would he say now? There had been many harsh words between them.

  Kerrick stood silently on the raft while the boys poled it across. Looking at the big hunter who was silent as well now. When the raft grounded on the shore, Herilak placed his weapon on the grass and stepped forward.

  “I greet you, Kerrick,” he said. “Greet you.” He touched the skymetal knife that hung around his neck, then pulled it free and held it out before him. Kerrick reached over slowly and took it. He could see that it had been polished with sand and glistened in the sunlight.

  “They brought it,” Herilak said. “The murgu. They had been attacking us, they were winning. Then they stopped. And left this for us.”

  “It was meant as a message for another. But it is good you saw it too. You understood its meaning?”

  Herilak’s grim face broke into a rare smile. “I understood not at all how it had happened. But knew that something had been done, the attack which was killing us had stopped, the murgu were gone. And it must have been your doing. I knew that it had to be you when I saw this.” Herilak’s face was grim again and he stopped and folded his arms. “When we met last I said many harsh things, Kerrick. You are of my sammad yet I said and did things that I should not have done. I did not do as I should have for your woman Armun. I have a great shame for that.”

  “It is the past, Herilak. We will not talk of it again. Here, greet my son Arnwheet. This is the sammadar, Herilak, first among sammadars and hunters.”

  “Not first, Arnwheet,” Herilak said looking down at the boy. “Take pride of your father. He is first among all of us. And this one, I know him. The son of Nivoth. He left with Armun. She is here then as well?”

  “She is here. And also Ortnar of your sammad.”

  “There was a darkness in my head then. I treated Ortnar as I treated you. Worse perhaps. I struck him. I can only say that the darkness is gone. I wish I had not done the things I did — but I cannot take them back now.”

  “There is no need to talk of this here. The boys said there were two hunters?”

  “The other has returned to the sammad, to bring them here to the water. Will you join with us, you and your sammad?

  “Where do you trek to?”

  “Why — to find you.”

  Kerrick burst out laughing at Herilak’s baffled expression — and Herilak frowned at first, then laughed as well.

  “You have found me, so the trek can end here. Join us. The island is safe, the hunting good. There are deer and small eating murgu. It is a very fine place to camp.”

  “Killer murgu?”

  “Some, but not many cross the river from the mainland. We watch for their spoor in the mud here, track them down and kill them at once.” Talking about murgu brought something important to mind.

  “You and the sammads are welcome here”, Kerrick said, then hesitated. “But I must tell you, one of the males from the city is close by, on an island by himself.”

  “One of those who lived through the fire in the city?” He frowned and unconsciously lifted his weapon.

  “The same. There were two, the other… died. I know you think that every marag should be killed, you told me that. But this one is harmless.”

  “Are you saying that if we come to this place — the marag must not be disturbed? That is a hard thing to ask.”

  “Hard, perhaps, but that is the way it must be. I talk with him. And because I can talk with the murgu I did what had to be done to save the valley, to make them stop the war. To bring you this knife.”

  “I have not thought of these things before. To me, always after the death of my sammad, murgu were there to be hated and destroyed. All of them. You have said that some of them are different, but I cannot understand that.”

  “This one is harmless, a male, locked away with other males all his life. It is the females that make war. I want this one to live.”

  Herilak frowned, but finally nodded his head. “It will be as you say. I will not go near the beast.

  “And the others?”

  “They must each say the same thing — or they cannot stay here. The island where this marag is will be forbidden, that is the best way. Tell us which island it is so each Tanu will make an oath not to go there. The children as well. I do not like this. But it is you who we owe our lives to, we can at least do this thing for you. The creature will be safe.”

  There was a trumpeting from the forest and the first of the mastodons came into view. The sammads had come to the island.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Armun heard the mastodons well before she saw them and clutched the baby to her with excitement. There they were, tearing at the leaves as they came, hunters leading them between the trees. Not only hunters, for the first one was a woman — and someone familiar.

  “Merrith!” she cried, again and again until the older woman heard her, turned and saw her, waved and hurried over.

  “Armun! You are here, you are safe. You
have a family. You were only a girl, now a mother — such a baby of great beauty. I must hold her.”

  “Her name is Ysel,” Armun said, smiling with happiness as she passed her over. “And her brother has grown, you must have seen him, he went to meet you.”

  “Look at her eyes, just like yours.” Merrith glanced up when the tent flap moved aside and Darras looked out shyly. “And another daughter as well!”

  “She is like a daughter to us now, but not our daughter.” Darras clung to Armun’s leg, reluctantly coming forward to meet this new woman she had never seen before. “This is Merrith, who I have known since I was only a little girl, when I was even younger than you are now, Darras.”

  Merrith smiled and touched the girl’s hair, felt her shiver beneath her fingers. Then the girl twisted away and ran over to look at the mastodon who stood placidly chewing a great mouthful of leaves.

  “She was alone when we found her,” Armun said. “Just her and a mastodon. The rest of the sammad killed by the murgu. She has been with us ever since. She has dreams that wake her at night.”

  “Poor baby,” Merrith said, then passed Ysel back to her mother. “Do you know what sammad it was?”

  “Sorli, sammad Sorli.”

  Merrith gasped and clutched her hands to her breasts. “Then she is dead, my daughter is dead! She and her hunter, they went with sammad Sorli. Melde. Dead now, like her sister.”

  When she heard this Armun went rigid, holding the baby so tightly that she began to wail. She controlled herself, caressed the infant until it stopped crying, until she could talk. Yet her voice still trembled when she did.

  “At first Darras would not speak when we found her, could only cry. She had watched them all being killed. Later I could talk to her, she told me about it, how she had been alone in the forest. Told me her name. Darras. Told me her mother’s name as well.” Armun hesitated, then forced herself to speak. “She spoke her mother’s name. It was Melde.”

  The two women looked at each other in shocked silence and it was Merrith who managed to speak first.