smelled the air, rumbled a greeting to her and reached out her trunk to touch her with the delicate tip. Merrith patted its hairy surface.
“I know you don’t like to walk after dark, but it’s not far. Now — stand still.”
Merrith had her mind made up long before the meeting around the fire had begun. She had struck her tent, tied it and all of her bundles to the carrying poles which she now secured to the mastodon. Dooha rumbled complaints but permitted herself to be led away. As soon as Merrith knew that Herilak was leaving she had made preparations. The rest of the sammads could stay here by the river and get fat and oily eating fish. She would go south with Herilak’s sammad. It would be good to move on — and she was fond of Malagen. There was no one else here who she cared about — or who cared about her. When she dropped the travois behind the tents and tied Dooha to a tree she went to Herilak’s fire. Malagen looked up at her, smiling with pleasure. “You will come with us!”
“I will. This place stinks too much of fish.”
Malagen leaned over and whispered. “It is not only you — but Fraken, the alladjex is coming too. That will be very good.”
Merrith sniffed loudly. “Old Fraken is a burden. He eats his fill of others’ food.” Malagen was shocked.
“But he is the alladjex. We need him.”
“Not that old windbag. I have forgotten more healing poultices than he ever knew how to make. Don’t confuse him with your Sasku manduktos. They are at least possessed of some wisdom and leadership. This one is too old and foolish. He will be dead soon and boy-without-a-name will take his place.”
“It is not true that Fraken can see the future with the owl packets?”
“Some say so. I have little faith in the skins and bones of regurgitated mice. I can tell the future without their help.”
“You can?”
“I’ll show you. He did not say it yet — but Nivoth will be leaving this sammad before morning.”
“May Kadair always guide you!” Malagen’s eyes were wide in the firelight. “You were not here, could not have seen, but Nivoth just dragged his tent away.”
Merrith laughed out loud and slapped her thigh. “I knew it. But it took little intelligence to predict that. If we go to search for Kerrick and find him, why then we may find Armun who went to join him. Once she knocked Nivoth to the ground with her fist, broke his nose, that is why it is twisted so. He has no desire to meet her again. It is very good to see his back.”
“You know everything about the sammads. You must tell me.”
“Not everything, but enough.”
“You will put your tent here?”
“Not tonight. It is rolled and on the poles, ready to leave in the morning.”
“Then you sleep in my tent.”
“No, it is the tent of your hunter, Newasfar. There can only be one woman in a tent. I will lie by the fire. It won’t be the first time.”
The fire was cold ashes by morning, but the night had been warm. Merrith lay, still wrapped in her robes, as the morning star faded over the ocean in the first red touch of dawn. She rose and had tied the poles of the travois into place long before the others emerged.
“If you sleep until noon you won’t get far today, Herilak,” she said as he emerged and sniffed the air. He scowled.
“Your tongue first thing in the morning is no pleasure.”
“My tongue only speaks the truth, great sammadar. Is it true, old Fraken joins us? His love for Kerrick was never that great.”
“His love of warmth is. He fears the winter here.”
“That I can understand. How far do we march?”
“Today, until we camp by a small river we have stopped at before. If you mean how far do we march to seek Kerrick, we march as far as is needed.”
“To the murgu city?”
“If we must. I know he is out there somewhere.”
“I have not gone there for many days,” Kerrick said, keeping his voice calm so his anger would not show.
“That is of no importance,” Armun said. “You are a hunter. A hunter goes where he wants. You can go there every day. But Arnwheet stays here with me.”
From where he sat in the shade of the large oak tree Kerrick could see across the clearing to the water. This island was a very good place to be. Both of the tents were hidden under the trees. The hunting was good, fresh water close by. There were duck, fish for the taking, berries carpeted the island. Armun and Darras had brought back baskets of roots and mushrooms. And they were all well, the baby growing. Even Ortnar, though he grumbled, was as good as could be expected. Only Nadaske’s presence caused Armun’s unhappiness; she would not let it rest. He was unseen — yet always seen by her. He was like a scab that she picked at constantly and made to bleed again and again.
“It does the boy no harm,” Kerrick explained patiently — and not for the first time. “And he wants to go.” He looked over to Arnwheet who was sitting with Harl, had fled there when his parents seized up the argument one more time. Armun followed his gaze, tried to be reasonable.
“Think of how I feel, not how he feels. He will grow up something different, half-murgu, half-Tanu. Like…”
“Like me?” There was bitterness in his voice. “Half of something, all of nothing.”
“That is not what I meant — or perhaps I did. You have said you are not a good murgu or a good hunter. Let him be a good hunter, that is all I ask.”
“He will grow to be a great hunter because he is not being raised by the murgu — as I was. You must not fear that. But to be able to talk with them, to know about their ways, is something of great importance. We share our world with them and I am the only one who knows anything at all about them. When he grows up, able to speak with them, then there will be two of us.”
Kerrick felt that argument was useless. This was not the first time that he had tried to explain to her, to make her understand his feelings, so this trouble would not be between them always. But she would not understand, perhaps could not. He seized his hesotsan and stood up.
“I am going to see Nadaske. I will be back before dark.” She looked up at him, her face as set as his. “Arnwheet will be coming with me. There is nothing more to talk about.” He turned and walked quickly away, not wanting to hear anything more that she might say now.
“Can Harl come,” Arnwheet said happily, shaking his spear with excitement.
“What do you say, Harl?”
“Will you fish or hunt?”
“Perhaps. But first we go to talk with Nadaske.”
“You do not talk, you shake and gurgle,” the boy said with pent-up anger. “I will hunt by myself.”
Kerrick watched him stamp away. He was less of a boy, more of a hunter every day. And he listened too much to Ortnar who filled him with his own bitterness. He should have others to talk to, not Ortnar alone. This was a good camp, there was little danger and all the food they needed. Yet there was unhappiness too. It was his fault — but there was nothing he could do about it. “Let’s go see Nadaske. It has been a long time since we talked with him.”
The sky was beginning to cloud over and there was the smell of rain in the air. The leaves would be falling soon in the north, the first snows were on their way. Here the nights might be cooler, little else changed. The path led down to the swamp. It was deep in places so Kerrick carried Arnwheet on his shoulders through the green water. They swam the inlet to the island on the other side. Arnwheet called out attention to speaking shrilly and Nadaske emerged from his shelter to greet them. There was pleasure of talking in his movements.
“To one who hears only the waves, voices of friends are like songs.”
“What are songs?” Arnwheet asked, imitating Nadaske’s movements and sounds for the new word. Kerrick started to explain, then stopped. Arnwheet was here to listen and learn; he was not going to interfere.
