here?”
Kerrick did not answer but instead turned and with his arm still about her started back towards the tent. The baby was due now, was perhaps late, and he knew that she was in pain although she did not tell him. This was no time to discuss the Yilane males. The sides of the tent were rolled up, it had been a very warm day, and he could see Arnwheet already asleep on the skins. Six years old now and growing fast, a strong and happy boy. The girl Darras was still awake, for she was much older, lying there and watching them in silence. She was still very quiet and only spoke when talked to. If she thought of her dead parents she never mentioned it. She was very much like a daughter to them now.
The night was so still that the murmur of voices from the hunters’ tent could be clearly heard. One of them laughed and this pleased Kerrick. Ortnar, crippled as he was, still had a place here. As long as his skills could be taught to the two boys there was no more talk of walking into the forest and not returning.
A night bird called in the distance, the lonely sound emphasizing the silence. There was peace, food for them all, the family and the sammad. Kerrick wanted no more. He smiled into the darkness until Armun’s whispered words disturbed him.
“I wish the baby would come. It has been a long time.”
“Soon. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
“No! You should not say that — it brings bad luck to speak well of things that have not happened yet. That is what my mother said. No matter how clear the water in the river is, there is always something dark upstream drifting down towards you.”
“Rest now,” he said, reaching out to find her mouth in the darkness, placing his finger gently against the cleft in her lip. She murmured something but was close to sleep and he could not make out what it was.
When Kerrick awoke it was to the grayness of a misty dawn. The haze would soon burn away under the searing touch of the summer sun. Armun sighed in her sleep when he gently took his arm from beneath her head. He stood and yawned and made his way from the tent as silently as he could. Arnwheet must have slipped out at first light for he was returning now from the direction of the lake, chewing on a rich lump of raw fish.
“Nadaske and Imehei go far around the lake today,” he said. “To a place where fish live/grow/swarm richly.”
He shook his hips with this, for he had no tail to express the modifier of expansiveness. As always when he had been with the males he spoke Yilane to Kerrick. In the time his mother and father had been away, the best part of a year, he had grown proficient in speaking. Kerrick glanced back at the silent tent before he answered. They were careful to talk only in Marbak when Armun was present.
“A good exercise/walk for male/fat/Yilane. But a young ustuzou hunts in the forest with me today.”
“Yes, yes!” Arnwheet said, clapping his hands and falling into Marbak. “Harl too?”
“And Ortnar. They have found a tree where there is a bansemnilla den and will need help driving them out. Go get your spear. Ortnar wants to leave while it is still cool.”
Armun heard them speaking and emerged from the tent. “Will it be a long hunt?” she asked, worried, her hands unknowingly resting on her rounded midriff. He shook his head no.
“The den is very close by. I won’t leave you alone until after the baby comes, not for longer than the smallest part of the day. Don’t be afraid.”
She shook her head and sat down heavily. “Return swiftly. Darras will be with me,” she added as the silent girl joined them. “It might happen today.”
“I don’t have to go…”
“It won’t happen that soon. There are no signs.”
“Tonight we will eat bansemnilla. Baked in mud in the coals.”
“I would like that very much.”
Before they set out Kerrick walked along the lake to the vine-covered shelter that the males had grown at the water’s edge. One of them emerged and Kerrick called his name in greeting.
“Imehei.”
Kerrick smiled to himself as he realized the name meant soft-to-touch. Nothing could be less appropriate for this squat, grim Yilane who now shaped his arms in respectful acknowledgment of welcome. His round eyes, both looking towards Kerrick, were empty of emotion. But his great jaw opened slightly in the gape of pleasure, to reveal a white row of conical teeth.
“Eat with us/join with us,” Imehei said.
“I have already eaten, regretful thankfulness. Arnwheet tells me you explore the world today?”
“Little wet-from-the-sea sees our small journey as a great adventure/exploration. Along the lake shore is water of some depth/ springs of fresh water. Fish of great size abound. Desire to catch/eat. Will small/soft go with us?”
“Not this time. Bansemnilla have been found in the forest and we mean to hunt them.”
“Lack of knowledge of creature/name unknown.”
“Small furry, long-tailed, pouched; good to eat.”
“Pleasure of contemplation of a portion! We will bring back fine fish in exchange.”
“May your nets be full, your hooks sink deep.”
Nadaske emerged in time to hear this and signed pleased gratitude. Kerrick watched as they shouldered their rolled nets, secured their hesotsan so that it rode high, then eased themselves into the water, to swim off easily along the reed-covered shore. They had come a long way from their protected existence in the hanale of the city. They were now strong and secure individuals in their own right. A shrill ululation sounded behind him and he turned to see Arnwheet calling out and waving to him.
“We are here, Atta,” he said.
Kerrick walked over and saw Ortnar standing in the shadows. As always the wooden crutch was tucked under his left arm, supporting his weight. The falling sickness had not killed him, but the strength had never truly returned to his left side. His leg dragged and his arm had just enough strength to hold to the wooden support. With its aid he could limp along, slowly but steadily. There must have been pain, though he never mentioned it, because sharp grooves were cut in the skin below his eyes; he never smiled. But the strength of his right arm had not been affected and the spear he held was as deadly as ever. He tipped it towards Kerrick now in silent greeting.
“Shall we have good hunting?” Kerrick asked.
“That — and good eating. There are many of them there, but one fat one that lives in the tree, that is the one we must try to get. I have watched it.”
“Then show us the way.”
The two boys had bows as well as spears, but Kerrick brought only his hesotsan. The cool length of the living weapon stirred in his hands as he walked last in the column. The darts that it spat forth were instant death for any creature, no matter how large. Without this Yilane weapon, death-stick the Tanu called it, life would have been impossible in the forest. Their spears and arrows could not kill the large murgu that roamed here. Only the Yilane poison could do that. They had only three of the weapons now, one had died, drowned by accident. It was irreplaceable. When the other three died — then what? But they were not dead yet, it was too early to worry. Kerrick shrugged off the dark thought. Better to think of the hunt and the sweet flesh cooking in the fire.
They walked in silence along the forest track — even more silently when Ortnar touched the spear shaft to his lips. It was hot in the still air under the trees and they were quickly drenched in perspiration. Ortnar pointed to a large-boled tree, at the thick branches high above.
“There,” he whispered, “you can see the opening of the lair.” A squat dark form scurried along the branch and Arnwheet giggled with excitement until hushed by Ortnar’s sharp gesture.
But killing any of the animals was not that easy. They sped along the branches and vanished among the leaves, aided by their clutching claws and agile tails. Arrows were fired, missed and retrieved. Ortnar had sharp words to say about their accuracy. Kerrick stood aside, watching the hunt when he could, but keeping more aware of the surrounding forest and any dangers that might be hidden there. In the end both boys had to climb the tree and hammer on the trunk with their bows. When a dark form scurried out along a branch Ortnar’s deadly spear made quick work of it. The impaled bansemnilla squealed once as it fell into the shrubs below, to be retrieved by the happily shouting boys. Kerrick admired the fatness of the still form while Ortnar muttered about the excess noise. In single file, the boys carrying the creature on a pole between them, they returned to the camp by the
