the cylinder from her. “I will do what is needed for it must be finished before dark.”
Elem looked on with total incomprehension as Ambalasi twisted the end of the cylinder so that a fine spray of liquid emerged. Holding it at arm’s length she used it to moisten the barrier of vines and plants that stretched between the row of trees. They were in a region of the city that she had never visited before so she did not realize that the trees were part of the living wall of the orchard where they had been imprisoned. When Ambalasi discarded the empty cylinder and made her way slowly back through the growing dusk, Elem was already cool enough to drape the cloak loosely about herself. Ambalasi took the other cloak and placed it on the ground, signing great annoyance as she stretched out upon it.
“This is the last time that I ever intend to sleep upon the ground. We must awaken at first light, before the city stirs.” She said this with motions of utmost importance and great urgency. Elem signed acceptance of commands then closed her eyes and slept.
Bird calls awakened her and she knew that dawn was close. She pulled the warm cloak closer about her and looked up through the branches above. When the sky grew light between them she rose and called out respectfully to the old scientist.
“Light… orders… goes…”
Her meaning was unclear because of the darkness but the sound of her voice had the desired affect. Ambalasi rose and discarded the cloak, walked stiffly over to the wall of plants. There was enough light now to see that there was a marked difference in the vegetation where she had sprayed: the leaves were wilted and yellow. She signed pleasure of accomplishment as she reached out and tugged at a thick vine. It broke in her hand, crumbling into dust.
“Forward,” she ordered Elem. “With nostrils closed, membranes over eyes, force your way through this.”
A cloud of dust and fragments boiled out as Elem flailed with her arms. In a moment she had broken through the thick barrier and found herself staring down at two of the Daughters of Life — as startled at her presence as she was at theirs.
“Don’t gape like fargi,” Ambalasi ordered, with accompanying gestures of silence and speed of movement. “Wake everyone, command them to join me here. They must come quickly and in absolute silence.”
The first of the Daughters appeared in the growing light and Ambalasi ordered them forward. “You,” she said to the first arrival, “stand by this opening and sign all that come to follow those before her. When all are through follow them yourself. You others follow me.”
She turned and led the way through the wakening city, all of the Daughters following her in silent progression. The few Yilane they passed ignored them; lacking all curiosity. Only the fargi took interest and many of them joined the procession, eager to see and learn new things. The sun was well above the horizon when Ambalasi halted the march at the waterfront, behind the rounded warehouses, and passed on the order to send Enge to her.
“Come with me and do not speak,” she responded to Enge’s interrogative, then led the way out of the shadows toward the high fin of the nearest uruketo. A crewmember had just appeared above, eyes slitted in the morning sun, and Ambalasi called out to her.
“Commander’s presence before me ordered immediately.”
The crewmember vanished from sight and a few moments later the commander climbed down and jumped from the back of the gently rocking uruketo to the rough wood of the dock.
“Orders to be obeyed at once,” Ambalasi said, with modifiers of urgency. “Go to the Eistaa.”
The commander signalled assent as she hurried away. When she was out of sight Ambalasi spoke to the curious crew-members on top of the fin above. “Onto the dock, everyone aboard. There are others coming and I do not want you in the way.” She turned to Enge as the first of them began climbing down. “Now — bring them all at once. But stop the fargi — there is no room for them. When the eistaa questions the commander she will know at once that something is wrong. We must be gone by then.”
Ambalasi, never known for her patience, prowled the dock as the Daughters hurried by. She signed the curious crew-members to move back, then signalled presence-needed, first to Enge, then to Elem.
“We leave as soon as the last one is aboard. And we leave without the crew. You will be commander, Elem, since you informed me that you served on an uruketo.” She cut off the other’s protest with a sharp command. “I have watched the commander work. It is not a skilled occupation. You will teach others what they must know.”
“There is risk in this,” Enge said.
“There is no alternative. Where we are going we must not be found. We want no witnesses who might return and inform the Eistaa where we are.”
“Where do we go?”
Ambalasi answered only with silence — and the gesture that meant end of communication.
The shocked crewmembers cried out fearful questions and milled about in confusion when the dock-bindings were cast loose and the uruketo moved out into the river behind the sporting enteesenat. They wailed unhappily when the first waves broke over its back as it grew smaller in the distance.
They were still standing there, staring out toward the flocks of estekel* fishing at the river’s mouth, when the first gape-mouthed messengers of the Eistaa stumbled up. They answered the mumbled enquiries with forceful negatives.
The sea was empty, the uruketo gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mer sensta.
We die.
As they moved steadily northward Kerrick was filled with an elation that made him want to shout loudly — even though he knew that a hunter was always silent on the trail. With each forward step he left a little more responsibility behind, walked that much more easily.
He had done what he could to save the city; it was now up to the others to carry on where he had left off. It was no longer his burden to carry. Ortnar’s broad back, running with sweat, moved steadily along before him. Mosquitoes hummed around the hunter’s head and he brushed them away with his free hand. Kerrick felt a sudden affection for him, for they had come a long way together, ever since Ortnar had killed his leashed Yilane, Inlenu‹, and Kerrick had tried hard to kill him in return. There was a bond between them now that could never be broken. That was the reality, that and the forest around him. The city and all of its problems grew distant as they moved steadily north. By nightfall he was very tired and more than ready to stop, but did not want to be the first to order a halt. It was Ortnar who stopped when they came to the grassy hollow by the stream. He pointed at the gray remains of an ancient campfire.
“A good place for the night.”
The words were in Marbak and the thought was a Tanu one. There was no need now for Kerrick to speak Yilane — or Sesek for that matter — and follow the complicated arguments of the manduktos. Sky and forest, these were reality. While at the end of their march Armun would be waiting. He felt the relief at laying down a burden — one he had not even known that he was carrying. He was twenty-four years of age and had traveled a great distance, through many different worlds, in the sixteen years since his capture by the Yilane. That night he slept more soundly and more deeply than he had in a very long time.
There was a thin mist above the stream when he awoke in the morning. Ortnar touched his shoulder and motioned him to silence as he slowly lifted and aimed his hesotsan. The small buck, knee-deep in the water, raised its head at some sudden warning — but fell forward when the dart imbedded itself in his side.
The rich flesh was a change from the preserved murgu meat and they ate their fill, drying and preserving
