importance.”
Nadaske heard the sound of his voice and pushed his head out of their sleeping shelter to see what he was saying. “Pleasure to see-again,” he said, and there was a movement of undisguised relief as he spoke.
“Agreement,” Imehei said. “Death from vicious ustuzou threatened us each instant you were departed.”
Kerrick ignored the obvious exaggeration and returned the hesotsan with a signed gratitude-for-use. In response to the querying movements from the two he told them what had happened in Alpeasak.
“Ustuzou fled, Yilane once again.”
“Females and death, too close, too close,” Imehei wailed.
“Well you weren’t very happy when the city was ustuzou,” Kerrick reminded him. “You had better decide which you prefer.”
“Equally bad,” Nadaske said. “Death from stone tooth, death on the beaches.”
“Then stay away from the city.”
“Look, see,” Arnwheet said, coming between them and holding out the chart.
Imehei took it from him with appreciative movements at the rich colors. Kerrick started to speak — then stopped, shocked. Arnwheet had spoken in Yilane. Crudely and simply — but Yilane it was! Imehei and Nadaske admired the detailed lines and colors of the map while the boy looked on proudly. He watched and listened when they spoke and seemed to understand some part of what they said. Kerrick was overwhelmed by affection for the boy, bent and seized him, hurled him laughing into the air, sat him proudly on his shoulders. Why shouldn’t he understand? He was young, he learned like all children by listening to others — Kerrick as a boy had been far older and he had learned Yilane. He was proud of his son’s accomplishment, more than proud. It was an important thing to have happen, a greater bond between them. Up until this moment he had been alone, the only living creature in the world who could speak with both Yilane and Tanu. This was no longer true.
“Objects of great delight,” Imehei said, holding the chart up to the sun the better to admire the colors. “Great artistry, see how the lines penetrate from one side to the other.”
“They have a function and a purpose,” Kerrick said. “They are aids to navigation, directions for crossing the ocean.”
“Little purpose, no importance,” Imehei said.
“They were needed by the uruketo that brought you here,” Kerrick said with overtones of malice. “Without them, you could have ended up in the frozen sea.”
“Since I shall never venture aboard an uruketo again, smelling-boring, they are useless. Except for wall hangings, color to place of living; could be placed beside the sculpture of the nenitesk, polite request.”
“No,” Kerrick said. “I want to study them. They are from Ikhalmenets — do you know where that is?”
“Distant — fish-filled.”
“ Island of little importance.”
As always the males took no interest in anything other than their own comforts, their own survival. They could be no different, Kerrick thought. In the hanale they had no responsibilities. But they had made the break, were self-sufficient now; he must give them credit for that.
He carried Arnwheet and the map back in a strangely thoughtful mood. The fact that the boy was beginning to speak Yilane was of great importance. He felt that — but logically knew no reason why. When the others were asleep that night he lay awake in the darkness speaking softly to Armun.
“Arnwheet can speak with the murgu a bit — he will get better at it.”
“He should not go near them, disgusting. I will see that Darras plays with him more. When do we go back to the sammads?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” To her in the darkness he admitted his worries and fears, held tight to her, as she to him. “The valley is distant and the murgu will be watching all of the trails. How can we escape them? Ortnar cannot walk. And I do not think he would go with us if he had to ride like an infant in the travois. I think that he would walk into the forest alone if he had to go that way. What would that leave us? Children — and one half-grown boy who is probably the best hunter here, better than I am I know.”
“I have a strong arm and a good spear.”
“I know.” He held her, smelling the freshness of her hair. “Your strength is my strength. But you know as little of hunting as I do. We will need food. The hunting is good here, Harl gets what we need, and we have the fish in the lake. But it would be a long and hard trail if we left. I think we have been on enough trails like that. Far too many.”
“Then you want us to stay here?
“I don’t know what I want, not yet. When I try to think about it I feel a knot of pain and my thoughts twist away. But now we are safe here. We must take time to decide what to do. And the sammads, I think about them too, and wonder if there is anything we can do to help them. The murgu will be after them.”
“Their hunters are strong. They can take care of themselves. It is not yours to worry about,” she said.
It was a true and practical answer. She understood his feelings — but did not share his sense of responsibility for all the others. What she had received in her life she had fought for. He, their son, this tiny sammad, this was her world and the only thing of any importance to her. To live in peace with them, to survive, that was her only desire. The sammads were not her concern.
Nothing was that simple and straightforward for Kerrick. He rolled and turned and finally fell asleep.
He awoke at dawn, went to sit at the lake’s edge and looked across the still water. The surface rippled as unseen fish arrowed under it. A flight of great coral-colored birds flew by in line, calling to each other. The world, here, at this moment at least, was at peace. Arnwheet had left the Yilane charts blowing about the camp so Kerrick had picked them up as he walked, gathered them together. Now he spread out the top one and tried to make sense of it. It was useless. Perhaps some colors meant land, some meant ocean, yet they turned and twisted over each other in a manner quite impossible to understand. In this they resembled the Paramutan frames of joined bone. But those were just possible to comprehend. Kalaleq had pointed out the ice cap, the distant land, and Kerrick had understood that much. But other things about them were beyond him. Perhaps the Paramutan might understand these masses of color, he certainly could not. Maybe he should give them to the males to hang up for decorations. He tossed them to the ground and looked unseeing and uncomprehending at their swirls.
What could he do? When he looked at the future he saw only blackness. To remain here by the lake provided only temporary salvation; it had no future. Here they were like animals burying themselves in the ground, hiding from the enemy outside. The spy-birds flew, the Yilane watched, and one day they would be seen. It would end then. But what other choice had they? To trek west to the valley? A dangerous trip — yet at the other end there would be friends, all of the sammads. Under a threat of disaster because Vainte was on her way there as well. So what should he do? What could he do? In all directions he saw nothing, nothing but certain despair, despair ending in certain death. There was nothing he could do, nothing at all, no way out. He sat in the shadows beside the water until the sun was high in the sky and the flies busy around his nose and eyes. He brushed his hand across his face but was really not aware of them at all, so deep and intense were his fears.
Later they ate most of the leg of the deer Harl had killed, admiring it and his skill greatly so that the boy was red with pleasure and turned away. Only Ortnar disagreed.
“You should be ashamed. You needed three arrows.”
“The undergrowth was thick and there were leaves in the way,” Harl protested.
“The brush is always heavy. Come over here and bring your bow. We will say that tree is a deer. Now you will kill it for me.”
Ortnar moved only with a great effort. He could no longer use his bow — but was still deadly with his spear. And he knew how to hunt: there were many things that he could teach Harl. Arnwheet too Kerrick thought, as the smaller boy ran over to join the fun, to watch and learn.
“It is not yet time for Ortnar to go alone into the forest,” Kerrick said to Armun. She followed his eye and nodded agreement.
“The boys must learn. Ortnar is a hunter who knows all the important things.”
“And I am one who doesn’t.”
She was angry in his defense. “You know things stupid hunters will never know! You can speak with the murgu and have crossed the ocean. You are the one who led the sammads in battle to victory. Any hunter can shoot a bow or throw a spear — but did they know how to use the death-sticks until you showed them? You are
