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  But this had accomplished nothing. If there had been dangerous animals here she would have been killed and devoured during this time of her madness. But there were none. Beyond the strip of muddy beach there were shallow rotting swamps, quicksand and decay. Birds flew among the trees, a few creatures crawled in the mud, nothing had value. That first day her violence had made her thirsty and she had drunk from the scummed waters of the swamp. Something in the water had made her ill and retchingly weak. Later she had discovered where a spring of fresh water bubbled up among the trees, ran down the mud flats into the sea; now she drank only there.

  Nor had she eaten at first. Lying motionless in the sun she had not needed to eat, not for many days. Only when she had fallen down from weakness had she realized the stupidity of this. She might die—but she would not die this way. Some spark of the anger that had possessed her at her desertion and betrayal drove her into the sea. There were fish there, not easy to catch, the skills that had once enabled her to do this long forgotten. But she caught enough to keep alive. Shellfish in the muddy inlets were easier to find and soon formed the main part of her diet.

  Many, many days passed in this manner and Vaintè felt no need for any change. Very rarely now, when she awoke at dawn, she would look down in puzzlement at her muddy legs, her stained skin bare of any decoration, then out at the empty sea and sky. And wonder briefly at her circumstance. Was this the totality of existence? What was happening to her? These flitting moments of concern never lasted long. The sun shone warmly and the numbness in her skull was far better than the screaming agonies she had felt when first she came here.

  There was water to drink, always something to eat when she grew hungry, nothing to disturb her in this place. Nor were there any of the dark thoughts that had so obsessed her when she had been abandoned on this inhospitable shore.

  No thoughts at all. She dragged one foot slowly after another along the shore and her path in the mud was twisted and scuffed. The marks of her passage soon filled with stagnant water.

  Bruka assi stakkiz tina faralda—den ey gestarmal faralda markiz.

  TANU PROVERB

  * * *

  Enjoy this summer of your life—for life’s winter always follows.

  THREE

  Nadaske stood waist deep in the lake, splashing water on his body, scrubbing away the blood that streaked his skin. Bending to plunge his head under the surface to suck water in and out of his mouth. When he had spat out the last of the blood and flesh and cleansed himself completely, he waded ashore and pointed all four thumbs at Imehei who sat in slumped despair. It was a gesture of darkness, of loss of hope.

  “What do you mean?” Kerrick asked, stunned by the terrible events he had just witnessed.

  Nadaske writhed but did not speak. Nor did Imehei, not for a long while. Then he stirred and rubbed at the bruises on his arms and thighs, finally climbed slowly to his feet and turned wide and vacant eyes to Nadaske.

  “How long?” Nadaske asked.

  “With the two of them, I think long enough.”

  “You could be wrong.”

  “We will know soon enough. We must return at once to place of resting.”

  “We leave.”

  Imehei swayed but did not move. Nadaske went to him at once and put a strong arm across his shoulders. Helped him forward, one shuffling step after another. Together they went along the lakeside and vanished among the trees. They did not look back nor speak to Kerrick and seemed oblivious of his presence.

  There were questions he wanted to ask but he did not. He sensed that he was in the presence of a great tragedy, yet one that he could not quite understand. He remembered the songs the males used to sing in the hanalè, songs filled with grim references to their great fear of the beaches.

  “Enough!”

  He said it aloud, looking about him at the torn, dead bodies. He wanted to know what would happen to Imehei—but it would have to wait. There would be time enough later to find out the meaning of the horrifying events that he had witnessed. For the moment they would have to take care of themselves. Right now he had the rest of his sammad to consider. What of the future? What of these corpses and the supplies?

  Three Yilanè in this hunting party. Now all dead. How long before they were missed? There was no way of telling, no way to know if others would come looking for them. Yet he had to act as though this was a certainty. He must see to it that there were no traces of the crimes committed here. The corpses first. Should he bury them? Unwise. The carrion eaters would smell them out, dig them up, leave the bones as witness. They had to disappear without trace. The lake, that was the only answer.

  One by one he dragged the dead Yilanè through the reeds and shallows to the edge of the deeper part of the lake. They floated there, the water pink about them. Not good enough. Disgustedly he splashed ashore and looked through their packs. They contained some newly skinned furs, a few other items, but mostly bladders of meat. With his knife he slashed open the tough coverings and threw the meat far out into the lake: the fish would take care of that. Then he filled the packs with gravel and pebbles from the lakeshore. It was hard, disgusting work but in the end it was done. When the packs were strapped to the bodies he pushed out into deep water, sunk them there out of sight. Insects and rain would take care of the blood that had soaked into the ground. If searchers should ever pass this way there would be nothing at all for them to see. Let the disappearance of the hunters remain a mystery.

  Kerrick shook his head in disbelief when he saw that Nadaske had forgotten his hèsotsan. The weapons were essential for survival—and he had forgotten his, simply walked away from it. A surer measure of his grief than anything that he might have said. Kerrick used twisted grass to lash it into a loose bundle with the three other weapons that the hunters had brought. The extra hèsotsan would be needed: at least this much good had come out of this terrible encounter. He seized up his own weapon, took a slow look around in case he had missed anything, then started back along the shore.

  Now that he had time to think one fact became painfully clear. They must get away from this lake, all of them. If Yilanè hunters could come here, as these indeed had, then the sammad was too close to the city. Others might come looking for these three. Even if they did not come the camp was still too close. One day it would be discovered and then it would be too late. They must go north. But they would have to wait until the baby was born. Armun was in no state to travel now. After the birth, when Armun had recovered, then they would leave. It would not be easy. He had been right to kill the mastodon that had brought them here; it would have been impossible to hide and would have been seen by the flying creatures that sought them out. But he missed it now. Never mind. They would take only what they could carry. He would make a travois and pull it himself. Harl was big enough and strong enough now to pull one as well. All Ortnar had to do was move himself along. He did it, not well, but at least he did it.

  Something dark moved under the trees ahead. Kerrick bent double and ran quickly to shelter among the shrubs. There were murgu concealed there, silent killers. He slipped forward with his weapon raised and ready.

  Until he realized that he was looking at the two male Yilanè. One of them stretched out and resting, the other sitting up at his side.

  “Attention to presence,” he called out, stood and strode forward.

  Nadaske just turned one eye enough to look at Kerrick, then slowly away again. Otherwise he did not speak or move. Imehei lay at his side, eyes closed, immobile.

  “What is it?” Kerrick asked.

  Nadaske replied with an effort, and when he did his meaning was muffled with palpable sadness.

  “He has gone to the beach. The eggs are in his pouch.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “That is because although you are male you are not Yilanè male. You ustuzou order things differently. You have told me that your females carry the eggs, though I do not really understand how this can be possible. But you saw what happe
ned to him this day. They did it to him. Now the eggs are in his pouch and his eyes are closed in the sleep that is not sleep. He will be like that until the eggs hatch and the young go into the water.”

  “Is there anything we can do to stop this?”

  “Nothing. Once it begins it must go to the end. He will remain like this until the hatching.”

  “Will he . . . die?”

  “Probably yes, probably no. Some die, some live. We can only wait. He must be taken back and cared for, fed and watched over. I must do that for him.”

  “Do we carry him?”

  “No. The water. He must be in the water, the warm water of the birth beach. That is so the eggs will mature and hatch. If they die now he dies as well. This thing must run its course. Help me take him into the lake.”

  Imehei was unconscious, heavy, hard to move. Working together they struggled with his torpid body to the shore and dragged it through the reeds. Once in the water he would be easier to pull along.

  Kerrick helped until the lake deepened enough so that Nadaske was able to swim. He grasped Imehei under the shoulders and kicked with his stout legs, making slow but steady progress. Kerrick waded ashore, seized up the hèsotsan and moved quickly off. It was late and he wanted to get back to their camp before dark.

  They were waiting for his return. Armun looked down the path behind him and saw it empty. She nodded approval.

  “Good. You have killed the murgu. It was time.”

  “No, they are still alive. At least for the present.” How could he explain to them what had happened—when he was not sure about it himself? “There were murgu hunters from the city out there, three of them. I killed one, Nadaske killed the other two. Imehei is—hurt, unconscious. Nadaske is bringing him back.”

  “No!” Armun screamed. “I hate them, hate them here, don’t want them here again.”

  “There are more important things for us to talk of and we need not concern ourselves with them now. What is important is that we are no longer safe in this place. If hunters from the city could come this far they are sure to be followed by others. One day they will come.”

  “They came because of those two, their own kind, you must kill them quickly . . .”

  Kerrick’s temper rose to meet hers, but he controlled it because he knew why she was so disturbed. The baby was late, she was sick, worried. He had to understand. She needed reassuring.

  “It will be all right. We must wait until the baby is born, until you feel better. Then we will all leave here, go north, we cannot stay if the hunters are this close.”

  “And what of these two murgu you care so much for?”

  “They stay here. We go without them. That is enough now. I am hungry and want food. And look at this—we have three more death-sticks. It will be all right.”

  All right for them, he thought as he chewed the cold meat. But what about the males? They must stay here. With Imehei immobile in the lake it would be impossible for them to leave. Yet the rest of his sammad must go as soon as possible. That was all there was to it. There was no choice.

  It was late in the afternoon of the next day before Nadaske finally appeared with Imehei in tow. He was exhausted and moved one slow stroke at a time, floating and resting often. Kerrick took up Nadaske’s hèsotsan and went to help him, stopping Arnwheet when he tried to follow. The boy did as he had been ordered, stood and gnawed his knuckles, worried and insecure, knowing only that something bad had happened to his friends. He watched in unhappy silence as the unconscious Imehei was dragged up onto the shore, until his head rested on the sand with the lower part of his body still in the water.

  Kerrick thought that he was unconscious until his lips moved and he said something with languid motions of his arms. It was as though he were talking in his sleep for his eyes never opened.

  “Food . . . desire to eat . . . hunger.”

  Nadaske went to fetch fresh fish from the little holding pond that they had dug with such great effort. He tore pieces from the fish and pressed them into Imehei’s gaping mouth. Who slowly closed his jaws and chewed placidly.

  “How long will he be like this?” Kerrick asked.

  “A long time. There is no count to the days that I know. Others may know, it is no knowledge that I have.”

  “And at the end of that time?”

  Nadaske made a shrugging motion of hope/fear, knowledge/ignorance. “The eggs break, the elininyil feed, they enter the lake. Imehei lives or dies. Only then will we know.”

  “I am going to have to leave with the others, as soon as Armun can travel, to go north. It will be dangerous to remain here.”

  Nadaske rolled one eye in his direction and signed suspected knowledge. “It was my consideration you would do that. Others are sure to follow those who were killed. They may hunt in this direction. I cannot come with you.”

  “I know that. But I will come back for you, for both of you, as soon as we have found a safe place.”

  “I believe you Kerrick Yilanè/ustuzou. I have learned how you feel about these things and I know that you must consider your own ustuzou efenburu first. Take them to safety.”

  “We will talk of this again. It will be some days yet before we can leave.”

  When Kerrick started back he found that Ortnar had stumbled down to the beach and was waiting for him.

  “The baby is coming soon. She told me to tell you that. I know nothing of these things and cannot help you.”

  “Guard us from harm, Ortnar, that is what a strong hunter can do. I know as little as you do of these matters, but I must try to help her.”

  He turned and hurried away. This was a day of many events. One who was perhaps moving towards death, one surely coming into life.

  Darras looked up when he came in but never let go of Armun’s hand. Armun smiled wearily, her hair soaked and perspiration beading her face.

  “Do not look so worried, my hunter. It is a late baby but a strong one. Do not worry.”

  He was the one who should be comforting her, he realized, not the other way around. But this matter was beyond his knowledge. It was the women who always took care of it themselves.

  “We should never have left the other sammads,” he said. “You should not be here on your own.”

  “I do what many women have done before. My own mother, our sammad was small, no other women. This is the way things are, have always been. You must go, eat and rest. I will send Darras for you when it is time.”

  Kerrick could say nothing, do nothing. He went out to the fire where Ortnar was cooking meat. He looked up, then hacked off a piece and gave it to Kerrick who chewed it in silence. Harl and Arnwheet, their faces well smeared with grease, sat across from him finishing their meal. Ortnar stared out at the gathering darkness, then signalled to Harl who rose and kicked sand over the fire. They must stay on their guard, particularly now.

  The moon was out, the night warm, marsh birds calling quietly to each other as they settled down. Kerrick could just make out the dark form of Imehei where he rested half in and half out of the water at the lake’s edge. He knew that there was nothing he could do now for the males, nothing.

  He heard a murmur of voices behind him in the tent and turned to look. But there was darkness, only darkness. Kerrick threw the unfinished meat away; he suddenly had no appetite. He blamed himself for what was happening now. The baby might die, worse, he dared not think about it, Armun might die, because of him. If he had returned to the sammads with the others they would all still be together. The other women knew how to take care of things like this. It was all his fault.

  He climbed to his feet, unable to sit still, torn by fear and worry, walked under the tree to stare out at the lake in the moonlight. He looked but did not see it, saw only his inner fears. They should not be here. They should have been with the sammads now, safe in the valley of the Sasku, all safe.

  FOUR

  The poisonous murgu vines rimming the Sasku valley had turned brown, then died and fallen to the valley floo
r. They had been pushed into the river and washed away, vanished from sight along with the memories of the last murgu attack.

  Herilak sat by the fire turning the shining knife over and over in his hands. Kerrick’s knife of skymetal. He had worn it always about his neck, hanging from the solid metal band the murgu had put there. Across the fire from him Sanone nodded and smiled.

  “In my ignorance I thought it meant his death,” Sanone said.

  “His life and our life, that is what it means.”

  “At first I could not believe you, lived with the fear that Kadair had deserted us, that we had strayed from the path he prescribed for us.”

  “I care nothing for your Kadair, Sanone, only for Kerrick who saved us. I hold this knife so I will not forget what he did . . .”

  “I am not pleased when you talk of Kadair that way.”

  Herilak stared across the fire at the old man, spoke his mind because the two of them were alone and had come to understand each other.

  “I care as little for your Kadair as you do for Ermanpadar who guides the Tanu. That is the truth. Now we put aside this talk of the invisible powers that control our lives and talk instead of what we ourselves must do. I talk instead of two of my hunters . . .”

  “I will not hear their names, do not speak them aloud for their offense was great. The porro sacred to Kadair, they stole it and drank it.”

  “To you sacred, to them a very interesting thing to do. The other hunters envy them and have asked me to ask you for more of this drink.”

  “You cannot mean this!”

  “I do, and there is something else, still more important, that we must talk about. The hunters who drank your porro have been banished from this valley. They now have their tent far up the river. It comes to me that the sammads will join them there.”