brutal things. A fact as well that all the skill and Yilane art are confined to the males. You have seen artful/glowing the wire/stone nenitesk.”
“Can I see it now?”
“Another time. Now I will show you something more interesting/edible.”
They followed Nadaske to the landward side of the island where he had dug a pit just at tide level. He moved aside the flat rock that covered it to reveal the seaweed lined interior. Mixed in with the wet seaweed were fresh shellfish. He selected large and juicy ones for his guests, put another in his mouth and clamped down hard to break the shell.
“Nadaske’s teeth are strong/manifold,” Kerrick said, using his flint knife to prize open the shellfish. “Ustuzou teeth suited for other things. So stone tooth must be used.”
“Metal tooth too,” Arnwheet said, slipping the thong over his head and using his skymetal knife to attack the shell.
“No,” Kerrick said, “don’t use that.” Arnwheet looked up, startled at the forcefulness of his negative modifiers. Kerrick wondered himself at the strength of his feelings. He passed over his flint knife, took the metal one and rubbed it with his fingers. It was scratched and nicked, but had a good edge to it, and a sharp point, where Arnwheet had sharpened it on a stone. “This was mine, he said. “It hung always about my neck on a thong, then from this metal collar as this knife does now.”
“One bigger, one smaller, very much the same.” Nadaske said. “Explanation of existence/relationship.”
“Cut from skymetal, Herilak told me. He was there when it fell, a burning rock from the sky that was not stone at all, but metal. Skymetal. He was with the hunters when they searched for it. The one who found it was a sammadar named Amahast. As you can see the skymetal is hard, but it can be sawn by notched sheets of stone. That is how these knives were made, a large and a small one. Amahast wore the large one and the smaller was worn by his son. Amahast was my father. Now my son wears mine, as I did.”
“What is father what is son?” Nadaske asked, rubbing his thumb over the shining surface of the knife.
“That will be hard to explain to you.”
“You think that I am a fargi of low intelligence without intellect to understand/appreciate?”
Kerrick signed apologies for misunderstandings. “No, it is just that it has to do with the way ustuzou are born. There are no eggs, no efenburu in the sea. A child is born from its mother therefore knows its father as well.”
Nadaske signed confusion and disbelief. “Kerrick spoke correctly. There are some things that are beyond understanding about ustuzou.”
“You should think of Arnwheet and I as being of the smallest efenburu. Closer than close.”
“Understanding partial, acceptance complete. Eat more shellfish.”
By late afternoon Arnwheet became bored with the talk and looked around restlessly. Kerrick saw this and realized that it was important that he not be troubled seeing Nadaske. It must always be interesting, something to look forward to.
“It is time to leave,” Kerrick said. “Perhaps the birds are returning to the swamp and you can shoot one.”
“Shortness of visit/shortness of life,” Nadaske said in a gloomy attempt to keep them longer.
“Soon again — with fresh meat, Kerrick said, turning away. He took up the hesotsan, brushed a few grains of sand from it.
Stopped suddenly, very still.
“You see something I do not see,” Nadaske said, reading alarm into the curve of his body.
“I see nothing. Just some sand on this stupid hesotsan.” He brushed at it with his fingers, then brushed it again.
The small gray patch would not come off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Kerrick did not want to speak of what he had seen, as though in keeping silent the spot would vanish, might have never existed. Arnwheet approved of his silence as he stalked ahead. He shot his arrow at a basking lizard, came very close as it scuttled away into the grass. Then he sat in the bow of the boat all the way back, trailing his fingers in the water. Kerrick started to warn him with sudden memory of doing the same thing when he was a boy, the horror of the marag surging up from the sea. But that had happened a long time ago: there was nothing to fear from these shallow inland waters. They beached the boat, turned it over and Arnwheet ran ahead to the tent. Kerrick looked again at the hesotsan. The spot was still there.
There was silence around their fire. Armun knew where they had gone and her disapproval was obvious in her every movement. This one time Kerrick did not attempt to talk to her, to make her forget their visit to the island: he was just as silent as she. Arnwheet, tired from the day, was asleep even before the first stars appeared. Kerrick kicked sand over the smoldering fire then went to the stream to wash his hands and arms. He rubbed them thoroughly, then did it all a second time. Though if he had brought the disease to the hesotsan it was far too late for this. He shook them dry and went down the path to Herilak’s tent.
When he came into the clearing he saw that Merrith had moved her tent until it was just beside that of the sammadar. Darras sat now in the open flap of the tent holding a doll woven of straw. She was still a silent little girl, but she did smile at him even though she did not speak. The flap of Herilak’s tent was closed and he heard laughter from inside. He was going to call out when he realized that it was woman’s laughter. He had not known about this before. It was a good thing. He sat down on the fur beside Darras.
“I never saw that doll before.”
“My grandmother made it. I watched her do it. Isn’t she nice? Her name is Melde. That was my mother’s name too.”
“It is a very nice doll.”
He added some dry branches to the fire and stirred it until the wood crackled and the flames grew higher. The flaps of the other tent were opened and Merrith came over and sat next to him.
“Darras was telling me about her new doll. She is very happy with it.”
Merrith smiled and nodded agreement. “She is not the only one who is filled with pleasure.”
Herilak called out greetings and Kerrick went to join him. They sat in darkness before the tent looking at the woman and the little girl in the flickering firelight. Herilak seemed as happy as Merrith was. Kerrick was reluctant to spoil all this; Herilak had been grim and unsmiling for far too long. They talked of hunting, the other sammads, and of the Sasku valley. They did this until Merrith took the girl into the tent and the flap was closed.
“It may be very hot here in the summer, Herilak said. “But it is never cold in the winter. This island is a very good place for the sammads.”
“Will we ever go back to the mountains? That was what old Fraken talked of when dying.”
“Old Fraken was an old fool. I have heard you say that many times. There is still the winter that does not stop to the north.”
“I think that my death-stick has the sickness.”
Herilak was very still for a long time. When he finally spoke the grim unhappiness was back in his voice.
“It had to happen some day. We all knew that it would. This time we must get new death-sticks before the old ones die, keep them apart.”
“You mean go to the city again? Steal more of them? Kill more murgu?”
“Can you think of any different thing to do?”
Kerrick had no quick answer for this. He sat in silence, his hands clasped before him, wringing his fingers together so hard that his knuckles cracked. The moon rose above the trees and drenched the clearing with cool light. An owl drifted silently above their heads: a night creature called distantly in the forest.
“No,” Kerrick said with great reluctance. “I can think of nothing else. We know now where the death-sticks are. But if we are seen again…”
“You need not go this time. I know where the pit is now.”
