up, then died away. Herilak gasped with the effort and sat back.
The next time he spun the stick the wisp of smoke became a tiny spark of flame. They dropped more wood-dust upon it, blew carefully, cupped it between their hands as the flame grew, laughing with pleasure. They built the fire high, adding more and more wood, then let it die back to a bed of glowing coals. Soon the meat was roasting in the coals and Kerrick breathed in the cooking odors that he had completely forgotten.
They burnt their fingers on the hot meat, hacked off great pieces, ate and ate until their faces ran with grease and sweat. Rested, then ate some more. Kerrick could not remember having eaten anything so good in his entire life.
That night they slept with their feet to the banked fire, warm and content, their stomachs full.
Kerrick woke during the night when Herilak got up to put more wood on the fire. The stars were bright points of light in the black sky, the star-group of the Hunter just above the horizon in the east. For the first time since their escape Kerrick was at peace, feeling the security of the hunters on both sides of him. They had not been followed. They were safe from the Yilane.
Safe from the Yilane? Would that ever be possible? He knew as these hunters did not how ruthless their enemy was. How strong. The raptors would fly and find every Tanu in every valley and meadow; nowhere could they be safe. The armed fargi would attack again and again until all the Tanu were dead. There was no possible escape. Nor could he sink back again into the blank escape of sleep.
Kerrick lay there awake, possessed by the knowledge of certain destruction. He watched as the sky lightened in the east and the stars vanished one by one. The new day had begun. The first day of his new life.
CHAPTER THREE
Kerrick’s feet were swollen and sore after the long walk the day before. Sitting on a large boulder, chewing a lump of tough yet delicious meat, he bathed them in the cool water of the stream. Although his soles were thickly callused and tough he was unaccustomed to walking on stony ground. Now his feet were scratched and cut and he was not looking forward to the strenuous day that lay ahead. Herilak saw what he was doing and pointed to the long gash that cut through the callus of Kerrick’s right foot. “We must do something about that.” He and Ortnar were wearing flexible but strong madraps, made from two pieces of cured leather that had been carefully sewn together with lengths of gut. They did not have the materials here to fashion anything for him this complex — but there were other raw materials close to hand. Herilak found stones that would chip correctly and hammered off small, sharp flakes. Under his direction Ortnar removed the deer’s skin, then scraped the adhering flesh from it in the running water. Herilak cut squares and strips from this, put the larger pieces around Kerrick’s feet and bound them into place with the thin lengths.
“Good enough for now,” he said. “By the time the skin gets stiff and starts to stink we will be far away from here.” Kerrick picked up the rest of the discarded deerskin and found that it would just fit around his waist, where it could be held in place with a prong of the deer’s horn. He scraped it clean of flesh, as he had seen Ortnar do, then took off the soft skin pouch that he had worn for so many years. It lay limply in his hand, the adhering suckers inside it gleaming wetly. With sudden revulsion he hurled it into the stream. That life was behind him forever; he was Tanu now.
But when he turned he tripped over the ring that had been around Inlenu*’s neck for all those years, that was still attached to the ring about his own neck. He held it out before him, loathing its smooth transparency and its solid strength. In sudden anger he smashed it down on the rock that rose from the stream bed, seized up another rock and beat at it until the anger died. It was not even scratched.
Ortnar looked on with interest, stretched out his hand and rubbed it over the unmarked surface.
“Won’t cut, won’t scratch. Stronger than stone. I’ve never seen anything like it. Water won’t soften it?”
“No, nothing.”
“Even hot water, boiling water?”
“I’ve never tried. We had nothing like that in the city. You can’t boil water without fire…”
As soon as Kerrick had spoken the words he stiffened, looking down at the ring and its flexible lead, then slowly raised his eyes to the smoking fire on the shore. Not water, even boiling water. But something that the Yilane knew nothing about.
Fire.
It might just be possible. The substance wasn’t stone or metal. It might melt, or char, soften perhaps. If this happened it might then be weak enough to cut. Ortnar saw the direction of Kerrick’s gaze and struck his hands together with enthusiasm.
“Why not? Fire might do something to it. You said the murgu don’t have fire.”
“They don’t.”
“Let me try.”
Ortnar picked up the discarded ring at the other end of the lead and stepped over to the smoking ashes of the fire, poked it down into them.
Nothing happened. Kerrick looked on gloomily when he took it out and brushed the ashes from the smooth surface. It was unmarked — but he burnt his fingers. Ortnar sucked at them, then spat out bits of charcoal. Still determined he stirred the fire with a stick until it flamed up. When the stick began to burn he touched it to the ring.
Screamed and dropped it as it burst into scorching flame, crackling and exploding.
Kerrick saw the flame gush out surrounded by a growing cloud of black smoke, the ring burning, the fire flashing up the lead towards his face.
Unthinking, he hurled himself backward, away from the scorching heat. Fell splashing into the stream.
When he spluttered and rose to his feet again he saw the red weal across his arm and midriff where the burning lead had touched his body. It ended on his chest. With wondering fingers he touched the stub of the lead that ended there as well.
It was gone. This connection that had dominated his life, this restraint that had been with him all those long years. It was gone. He stood up straight, not feeling the burns, aware only that a great burden had been removed. His last tie with the Yilane severed.
As they rubbed deer fat onto their burns, Ortnar pointed to the length of lead still hanging from the ring on Kerrick’s neck.
“We could burn that off too. You could lie in the water, just that much above the surface, I could get some burning wood…”
“I think we’ve done enough for one day,” Kerrick said. “We’ll wait until the burns heal before trying anything like this again.”
Ortnar kicked the hot metal ring into the water. When it had cooled he examined it with great interest, rubbing it with a stone. “It shines like skymetal. They have great skills, the murgu, to fit it about your flesh like that.” He reluctantly gave the ring to Kerrick when he reached out for it.
“It was molded in place by one of their animals,” he said.
“You will keep it?”
There was hope in Ortnar’s voice and Kerrick almost gave the ring back to him. But as he clutched it in his hands he felt the same repulsion that he had when he took off the breech covering for the last time.
“No. It is Yilane, murgu.” He threw it out into the stream where it splashed and sank. “I still wear one about my neck. That is enough to have.”
They were ready now to leave, but Herilak stood, leaning on his spear, looking back the way they had come.
“If more had escaped they would be here by now,” he said. “And we have been running like frightened women. Now we must stop and consider our trail ahead. Tell me about the murgu, Kerrick, what are they doing now?”
“I do not understand.”
“Are they still following us? Are they waiting still on the beach where they attacked?”
