Return to Eden

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was raining. A heavy tropical downpour that cascaded ceaselessly from the leaden sky. It drummed so loudly on the stretched skins that they had to raise their voices to be heard.

“Is it ever going to stop?” Armun asked. The baby wailed as the sky split with lightning; thunder rumbled through the trees. Armun opened her clothing and nursed the infant into silence.

“This is the third day now,” Kerrick said. “I don’t think it has ever rained for more than three days at a time. It should stop today, perhaps tonight. The cloud seems to be thinner.”

He looked at Harl who was drying a thin slab of deer meat over the fire. The smoke spread out along the ground: a gust of wind blew it swirling around him and he coughed and rubbed his eyes with his forearm. Arnwheet, squatting across the fire from him, laughed — until he breathed in some smoke as well. Ortnar sat as he always did, his swollen and useless leg stretched out before him, staring sightlessly into the rain. He had become too silent and sat like this too much of the time since they had come to the island. Kerrick was worried. It was his only concern now, for the island was far superior to their encampment at Round Lake . There were ducks in the reeds that could be taken with nets, game to be hunted, deer and small murgu with sweet flesh. They had killed the large murgu carnivores as they found them. More of them had crossed over the shallow river since then from the mainland, but not many. This was a good place to be. Armun, as she did often when they were together, seemed to be sharing his thoughts.

“This is a good camp. I don’t think that I would ever like to leave it.”

“Nor I. Though sometimes I think about the sammads. I wonder if they are still with the Sasku in the valley?”

“I worry that they are all dead, killed and eaten by the murgu with the death-sticks.”

“I’ve told you many times — they are alive and well.” He reached over and moved aside the strands of hair that had fallen across her face when she looked down at the baby. Tucked them aside, then ran his fingers over her sweetly cleft lip until she smiled. This was not a thing a hunter was supposed to do, not with others looking, and for this reason she appreciated it all the more.

“You can’t be sure,” she said, still worried.

“I am sure. I’ve explained, these murgu cannot tell lies. It’s the way they talk, think really. It’s as if you spoke aloud every thought that went through your head.”

“I wouldn’t do that. Some people might be very unhappy.” She laughed. “And some of them happy too.”

“Then you understand. The murgu have to say what they think when they speak. The one I talked with, the sammadar of their city, the one I gave the skymetal knife to, she said she would stop the fighting and return to the city and stay there. She said it — so it happened.”

The rain was slowly dying away, although water still dripped down from the sodden trees. Before dark the skies cleared a little and the late afternoon sun slanted between the boughs. Kerrick rose and stretched and sniffed the air. “Tomorrow will be clear, a good day.”

Happy to finally be out of the confining tent he took his spear and hèsotsan and started up the hill behind the encampment. Arnwheet called after him and he waved the boy forward. It was good to be moving about again. Arnwheet trotted at his side with his small spear ready. He was learning woodcraft from Harl and Ortnar so already, at the age of seven, he moved far more quietly than his father. There was a rustle in the undergrowth and they both stopped. Something small hurried away and Arnwheet hurled his spear after it.

“An elinou,” he said. “I saw the colors on its back, I almost had it!”

He ran to retrieve his spear. Elinou, a small and agile dinosaur, very good eating. Arnwheet had learned its correct name from one of the males by the lake, so he spoke in Yilanè when he talked about it. But he used the language less and less now, had little opportunity to.

They reached the ridge and looked across the lagoon to the little islands of the coast. White surf broke on their far sides, a heavy sea from the storm. The ocean was empty — as it always was. The Yilanè in the city never seemed to venture north along this coast. He wondered if their hunters had gone to Round Lake again. And if so — what had happened to the males there?

“Can we go for a swim?” Arnwheet asked. In Marbak, Yilanè forgotten already.

“Too late, almost dark. We can go in the morning — and see if we can catch some fish.”

“Don’t want to eat fish.”

“You will — if that is what we are having.”

They had not eaten fish very often since they had left the lake. Perhaps there had been too much of it. The lake, it stayed on his mind and he knew why. What had happened there since they had left? Had the eggs hatched, or whatever they did? And if this had happened was Imehei still alive? The thoughts occupied his mind, as they had increasingly more and more these days. If Imehei were dead then Nadaske would be alone, with no one there to talk to. Both of them liked to speak all of the time — even if no one was listening. But it was better with an audience. What had happened to them?

They went back to the camp before dark, ate and talked about what they would do the next day. Harl agreed that fishing and swimming would be a good idea. Darras, who rarely spoke, asked to go with them.

“Take her,” Ortnar said. “Armun knows how to use the death-stick, my spear arm is strong. There is nothing to fear in this place now.”

What Ortnar had said decided Kerrick. He knew now what he must do. When he and Armun were alone, ready for sleep, he spoke his thoughts to her in the darkness.

“Do you know how the Sasku mark the passage of time? They don’t count the days at all.”

She made an interested sound, on the border of sleep.

“Sanone used to do it for me when I asked. It was a secret knowledge of the manduktos he said, but it was easy enough to understand. I can’t make the drawings on the ground the way he did. But I can count by the moons. From one full moon to the next full moon is the time you count. It is many days. The moon has been three times full since we left the lake.”

It was not his words but something in his voice, the meaning behind the words that drew her attention. He felt her body stiffen beside him.

“We are gone from there,” she said. “So there is no need to talk about it. It is time for sleep.”

“Since we left — I wonder what has happened at the lake?”

She was wide awake now and staring into the darkness, her thoughts rushing ahead of his.

“The lake is of no importance, there may be murgu there. You must forget about those two. You won’t see them again.”

“I am concerned about them — can you understand that? To you, I know, they are just two more murgu, better off dead.”

“I am sorry I ever said that. I am trying harder now to understand how you feel about them. I try to think of you living among murgu. I don’t know how it would feel, but I think I can understand how you might like some of them, those two.”

Kerrick held her to him. She had never before talked like this. “If you understand — then you know that I have to find out what has happened.” He felt her stir in his arms, then push him away.

“Don’t go back there. Don’t. I know how you feel about this, but for them I feel nothing. Stay here.”

“We will talk another time.”

“We talk now. You will return to them?”

“Just to see what has happened. I’ll be careful, just a few days away. You’ll be safe here.”

Armun turned her back and rolled away from him, ceased to listen. It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.

She had been right; his mind was made up. There was continued silence next morning as he made up a light pack of smoked meat, added some of the roots that had been parched in the ashes. Ortnar thought it was all a great mistake.

“The lake is nothing. We are gone, no reason to return. There may be more murgu there now. It is a trap.”

“You know my reasons, Ortnar. I am going. I will only be a few days. Guard the sammad while I am away.”

“I am only half a hunter…”

“Your spear arm is as good as it ever was, your spearhead just as sharp. Harl is more of a hunter than I am, Armun uses the death-stick as well as I do. You will survive very well in my absence. Will you do this for me?”

Kerrick took the grunted response as a yes and he tied the strong skins about his feet for the trail ahead. Armun spoke to him only when he asked her a direct question, otherwise she was silent. She had been like this ever since he had decided to return to the lake. He did not wish to leave when she was angry at him — but he had no choice. Once again she surprised him by calling out as he left.

“Go carefully, return safely.”

“You know why I must do this?”

“No. I only know that you must. I would go with you but I could not take the baby. Be quick.”

“I will. You must not worry.”

Harl went with him across the river on the raft that they had made, thick poles tied together with vines. He would return with it and hide it among the trees. Harl had nothing to say, just lifted his hand in farewell. Kerrick strode off between the trees, the hèsotsan held ready.

When he reached the wider trail, still scored deep by the passing of the sammads, he turned south, then stopped and looked about. His woodcraft was no match for any of the Tanu who had grown up in the forest. He could not even see the broken branch that Ortnar had marked the path with. He put the hèsotsan aside and took out his flint knife. With it he peeled away a patch of bark on the nearest tree. After that he looked carefully at the land and the forest and tried to remember just what this place looked like so he could find the path when he returned. Seizing up the hèsotsan he turned and started down the trail.

When the sammad had come north from the lake they had taken many days, able to go no faster than Ortnar could hobble. Now that he was alone he made much better time. On the third day he left the rutted track for the familiar path that led to Round Lake . He had hunted these woods often, knew them well. He circled when he came close to the encampment, approached the lake close to the spot where they had had their tents. Slower and slower, lying flat and crawling the last part under the cover of the bushes. Their campsite was empty and already overgrown, the black traces of their cooking fire the only indication that anyone had ever been here. When he stood behind a large tree he could see across the water to the other camp.

Something moved near the shore and he raised the hèsotsan. A Yilanè was there, back turned. He waited until the figure straightened up and turned towards him.

It was Nadaske, without a doubt. He started to call out, then thought again. Was he here alone? Or were there others in hiding? It appeared to be safe enough. He saw Nadaske go to the shore and bend over a dark figure in the water. It could only be Imehei — still alive! He felt a sudden great pleasure, stepped forward and called out attention to communication.

Nadaske spun about, ran to the shelter, came out a moment later with his hèsotsan raised and ready to fire. Kerrick stepped out where he could be seen.

“Greatings great hunter, killer of all that dares move in the forest.”

Nadaske stood as though carved of stone, the hèsotsan still ready, and did not move until Kerrick had come close. Only then did he lower the weapon and speak.

“Pleasure multiplied. Presence unexpected/unbelieved. Lack of talking has made me yiliebe. You did come back.”

“Of course.” Kerrick pointed a thumb of query at Imehei.

“He is as he was. The eggs have broken.”

“I don’t understand. The eggs are gone?”

“In my ignorance I forgot your ustuzou failure of knowledge in these matters. After the eggs are laid in the pouch some time passes. Then the eggs crack and the elininyil emerge and grow within the same pouch, taking nourishment from certain glands. When they are large enough they will come out of the pouch and swim into the lake and then we will know about Imehei.”

“Doubt of complete meaning.”

Nadaske turned to look at the water, at his unmoving and silent friend. He made the sign of life and death, equal and opposite. “He remains as you see him until the young emerge. Then he lives — or dies. We can only wait. It should be soon now. They move about a lot, look you can see.”

Kerrick looked at the stirring beneath the skin, then turned away from the unconscious figure in the lake. “How long before it happens?”

“I don’t know. Today, tomorrow, more days. When it happened to me I had no memory of it.” He saw Kerrick’s movements of interrogation. “Yes, I have been to the beaches. Once. They say in the hanalè that once you may live, twice you may die, thrice you are dead. This is Imehei’s first. We have good reason to hope.”

There was no real reason to make a fire that evening, other than to drive the biting insects away. The air was warm as always — and Kerrick had eaten raw fish before. And Nadaske detested the smell of smoke, sniffed and withdrew from the traces on Kerrick’s garments. They ate and talked until it was too dark even for twilight talk. Then slept close to each other under the shelter that the two males had grown and shaped in place. It was more like a Yilanè sleeping chamber than a Tanu tent and, for some inexplicable reason, Kerrick slept very, very soundly.

The raw fish did not look that appetizing in the morning. Kerrick took his hèsotsan and walked along the lake to a grove of fruit trees, ate some of that instead. When he returned Nadaske was feeding Imehei, then, when he stirred uncomfortably rolled him over in the water to a better position.

“Will it happen today?” Kerrick asked.

“Today, some day. But it will happen.”

This was the only answer he could get to his question and it was highly unsatisfactory. If he stayed here — how long would it be? He had promised to return quickly — but how quickly? He still felt that Nadaske and Imehei were part of his sammad, just as much as the Tanu, and he owed them equal loyalty. The others would be safe on the island. If he had a responsibility now it was here bv the lake.

Easy enough to say. But one day became two, then three. On the fourth day without change Kerrick knew that the time had come to return to the island. He had told Armun it would only be a few days: that time had long since run out. One day more, then he would have to leave, perhaps come back later. But that would mean another long trip, mean being away from the island for an even longer time.

“There is no change,” Nadaske said next morning in response to his unspoken question.

“I think we could use some fresh meat. I am sure that you, like me, have had enough fish.” Nadaske signed modifiers of magnification of statement many times. “I thought so. I saw deer far down the lake. I’ll bring one back.”

It wasn’t only the fresh meat that he wanted. He needed an opportunity to be away from the beach for a time. The sight of Imehei, neither alive nor dead, was one that he found very difficult to bear. This had to be the last day. If nothing happened he would start back in the morning.

After this decision he became engrossed in the hunt. He had not brought his bow, had never attained the skill with it for successful hunting, but used the hèsotsan instead. While this required more skill at stalking, since it was not as accurate as the bow, it also insured that no creature wounded by a badly aimed arrow would escape from him. By circling under cover of the forest he put himself downwind from the small herd. His first stalk failed when he was seen and the deer quickly bounded out of sight. He had better luck with the next herd and managed to bring down a small buck.

Nadaske could not bear fire, hated the smell of the smoke. If he cooked any of the meat for himself it would have to be done far from the shore. It would be better to build a fire here and eat some of the meat, bring back the rest for the males.

Finding dry wood, then coaxing a spark from the flint took some time, as did roasting a hind leg over the fire. The meat was tough but good and he ate it right down to the bone. It was late in the afternoon before he kicked dirt over the remains of the fire, threw the carcass over his shoulder and started back to the lake.

As he came along the shore he called out sounds of attention to speaking. He did it again when Nadaske did not respond. This was not like him. Was something wrong? He let the deer slide to the ground and sank down in the brush. Carefully and silently, the hèsotsan pointed before him, he moved among the trees to approach from the sheltered side. If Yilanè hunters had found the camp he wanted to be able to fire first. There was a large conifer that overhung the shore and he wriggled up behind it, carefully looked out.

Something terrible had happened. Nadaske sat on the sand, slumped forward, arms hanging limply. He had pulled Imehei up on the shore where he lay on his back with his mouth open, motionless. Dead. There was much blood and small bodies littering the sand.

When Kerrick stumbled forward making sounds of inquiry Nadaske turned empty eyes to him. It took a great effort but he finally spoke.

“They emerged. He died. It is over. My friend is dead. He is dead.”

When Kerrick went closer he saw that the bodies were of tiny Yilanè. Nadaske saw where he was looking and sprang to his feet. His jaw clacked shut, hard, again and again until saliva ran down his neck. There was pain in every movement, every expression.

“They lived, Imehei died. They killed him. I watched them being born in the water even when he was dead. The females, they are there on the shore, every one. I killed them. They, the females, they killed him. Now others of their kind are dead here.” He gestured towards the lake and snapped his thumbs together loudly. “Not the males. They are out there. If they live they will live free of these others. That is a chance they will have — that Imehei never had.”

There was nothing that Kerrick could say that would lessen Nadaske’s pain, that could change the terrible events of this day. He went back and found the deer where he had left it, brought it back.

In the city Imehei’s body would have been put to rest in one of the burial pits, where the roots of specialized plants would dissolve it, flesh and bones as well, restoring the nutrients to the city that had nurtured him. Here all that they could do was dig a grave in the soft sand beneath the conifer that stood behind camp, lay his body within it. Kerrick dragged up stones to cover the loose earth, to keep the animals from digging it up.

There was nothing here now for Nadaske. When Kerrick rolled his sleeping covers in the morning Nadaske came over to him and held out a small, leaf-wrapped bundle.

“Will you carry this for me? Exercise of care in transport/ prevention injury.”

He opened the wrapping to disclose the wire sculpture of a horned nenitesk. Kerrick signed agreement/gratitude for trust, rewrapped it and put it carefully inside the skins.

“I will carry it safely, return it when we reach our destination.”

“Then let us leave.”

The sun was just over the trees when they started down the trail. Neither of them looked back at the empty beach.