If you hunt two rabbits, you miss both.
They ate at midday , after the Sasku had killed and butchered one of the deer from the food pens. Kerrick found stones and made a fire-ring in the clear space before the hanale, then brought dried driftwood from the shore. They could have made their camp anywhere in the ruined city — but he wanted to be close to the surviving Yilane. While the Sasku hunters did not have the ready tempers and quick spears of the Tanu, they could still not be trusted alone with the two males. Death would come quickly if he were not vigilant.
By the time the hunters returned he had built the fire high so that a hot and glowing bed of coals was ready for the meat. In their hunger they could not wait until it had cooked through completely but hacked away half-raw pieces and chewed on them industriously. Kerrick had the liver, which was his right, but he shared it with Sanone.
“There are many new things to be seen in this place,” the old man said, carefully licking his greasy fingers clean before he wiped them on his cloth kirtle. “And many mysteries as well that will require much thought. Are there mastodon here among all the other creatures?”
“No, only murgu in this place, brought here from the other side of the ocean.”
“But we are eating this deer, certainly it is not murgu?”
“The deer, greatdeer as well, were all captured and bred here. But in the distant land where those-we-killed came from there are only murgu.”
Sanone chewed on this thought — along with another piece of liver. “I do not like to think of a land where only murgu walk. But this place across the ocean that you speak of is certainly part of the world that Kadair made when he stamped his feet and burst the rock asunder. From the rock he brought forth all we see and all we know, brought forth the deer and the mastodon — and the murgu. There is a reason for all this. There is a reason why we came to this place and another reason why this place is here. We must consider all these things until they can be understood.”
All of the world beyond the world became of great importance when Sanone spoke as a mandukto. Kerrick had more practical things to consider. The males in the hanale would have to be fed. And then what would he do with them? Why was he burdening himself with their existence? If he did not intervene they could die quickly enough — there would be no shortage of volunteers for that work. He was sorry for the stupid creatures, but he felt that there must be other reasons than that to keep them alive. He would puzzle over this later. Now they must be fed. Not cooked meat; they would be terrorized by the smell of the smoke. He cut some pieces of flesh from the uncooked forequarters of the deer, then pushed his way through the broken door of the hanale. The corpses were still there — and beginning to stink. They would have to be removed before dark. As he came to the unburned section he heard singing, though the sounds alone meant nothing by themselves. He stood, unnoticed in the entrance to the chamber and listened while Imehei sang in his hoarse male way. The darkness of the song reminded Kerrick at once of that distant day when Esetta‹ had sung after the death of Alipol.
Imehei broke off when he saw Kerrick — then flashed joy-of-food with juvenile palm colors when he saw the meat that Kerrick was carrying. They both ate greedily, their powerful jaws and sharp, cone-shaped teeth quickly dispatching the meal.
“Did you know Esetta‹?” Kerrick asked.
“Brother-in-here,” Imehei quickly said, but with more interest he added, “Meat-to-come, interrogative?”
Kerrick signed negative, later time, then asked, “There was another male here, Alipol, did you know him as well? He was my… friend.”
“Imehei has but recently arrived from Entoban*” Nadaske said. “Not I. I was here when Alipol was first in the hanale, before he went to the beach.”
“Alipol worked with his thumbs to make things of great beauty. Do you know of them?”
“We all know of them,” Imehei broke in. “After all — we are not rough/crude/strong and female. We know of beauty.” He turned as soon as he had finished speaking and pulled some of the ornate drapes aside to disclose an opening in the wall. Standing on claw-tip he reached up and took out the wire sculpture, turned and held it out to Kerrick.
A nenitesk — perhaps the very one that Alipol had showed to him on that distant, warm day. The carapace curled high, the three horns sharp and pointed, the eyes gleaming jewels. Imehei held it out proudly and Kerrick took it, turned it so that it caught the light. He felt the same joy that he had felt when Alipol had first revealed his sculpture. There was unhappiness along with the joy — for Alipol was long dead. Sent to certain death on the beach by Stallan. Well, she was dead as well; there was some satisfaction in that.
“I will take this,” Kerrick said — then saw their horrified gestures. Imehei was even bold enough to add a suggestion of femaleness to the movements. Kerrick understood. They had accepted him as a male, all the city knew of his maleness and had marveled, but he was now acting brutally female. He tried to make amends.
“Misinterpretation of intent. I want to take this thing of beauty but it must remain here in the hanale where Alipol meant it to be. The esekasak who cared for the hanale is gone so now the responsibility is yours. Guard it and keep it from harm.”
They could not conceal their thoughts, made no attempt to. Hidden away, deprived of responsibility, treated like fargi speechless and fresh from the ocean — how could they be anything but what they were? Now they took in the new thought, recoiled from it, then accepted it, then showed pride. When Kerrick saw this he began to have some understanding why they had to be kept alive. Not only for their own sakes — but for his. For his own selfish reasons. He was Tanu — but was Yilane as well. With these males he could face that fact, not flee from it nor feel ashamed of it. When he talked with them his thoughts came to life, those parts of his thinking that were Yilane. Not only thinking, being.
He was what he was: Kerrick of the Tanu; Kerrick of the Yilane.
“You have water — I will bring more food. Do not leave this chamber.”
They signed agreement and acceptance of instructions. With the private expressions of male-to-male. He smiled at their subtle strength. A single suggestion that he had been acting like a female had put him quickly in his place. He was beginning to like them as he understood some of what lay beneath their complaisant exteriors.
The discarded bones were cracking in the cooking fire; the Sasku, bellies full, were dozing in the sun. Sanone looked up when Kerrick reappeared, went over and sat by him.
“There are things I wish to talk about, mandukto of the Sasku,” Kerrick said formally.
“I listen.”
Kerrick ordered his thoughts before he spoke again. “We have done what we came here to do. The murgu are dead, their threat is no more. Now you will take your hunters and return to your valley and your people. But I must stay here — though the reasons for this are just now becoming clear. I am Tanu — but I am also of the Yilane, who are the murgu that grew this place. There are things here of great value, of value to the Tanu. I cannot leave without looking at them, thinking about them, considering them. I think of the death-sticks without which the murgu could never have been defeated.” He stopped as Sanone raised his hand for silence.
“I hear what you say, Kerrick, and begin to understand a little of the many thoughts that have been troubling me. My way has not been clear, but it is becoming more so. What I can understand now is that when Kadair took the form of the mastodon and shaped the world he stamped hard upon the rock and marked his track deep into
