Winter in Eden

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It was the waiting now, the not-knowing, that bothered Armun. At first it had been all right, once the decision had been made to leave the camp by the lake there had been no turning back, no hesitation on her part. If anything she had been the strong one, forcing Kerrick again and again to remember that it had been a good decision — and the only one possible. Whenever she found him sitting, grim with worry, she patiently went through their reasons for deciding to leave — yet once again. They had no other choice. They had to go.

Arnwheet, the one they were both most concerned about, seemed to care the least. He had never been parted from his mother so could not understand what it would be like. Darras, who was finally getting over her nightmares, was not happy about the change at all and cried a lot. Ortnar did not care one way or the other — while Harl could not wait for them to leave. Then he would be the only hunter, the sole provider. But the two Yilanè were sure that their end had come. Imehei was composing his death song. Nadasake was determined to die fighting and kept his hèsotsan close by him at all times. Kerrick understood their fears — but rejected them. The two halves of sammad Kerrick had a working relationship now and would have to go on like that. There was no need for it to change. The Yilanè were adept at catching the lake fish and crustacea, swimming out at dawn to set their traps and nets. But they were indifferent hunters at the best. Because of this an equal trade had been established, fish for meat, and all those concerned were pleased with the arrangement. Arnwheet, the only one welcome without suspicion in both camps, took care of the exchanges, proudly staggering under the weight of his burdens. The males would be safe — they would all be safe enough as long as their presence here was not discovered.

Leaving, getting to the headland by the sea, all that had gone easily and well. With no responsibilities or cares they had looked to each other, reveling in the newfound freedom and closeness. Many times they even walked hand-in-hand through the summer warmth. No true hunter would have done that, there must only be silence and watchfulness on the track, but Armun appreciated this even more.

That had been during the first days. But now the waiting was a strain in their camp above the bay, looking out at the empty ocean day after day. Kerrick was in a dark and sullen mood, would sit staring out over the sea, watching for the Paramutan ikkergak that never came. He sat there and did not hunt; their meat was almost gone, and he did not seem to care. Armun knew that when he was like this and if she spoke to him, she would say too much — or too little — so she stayed away during the daytime gathering the roots and plants that made up the larger part of their diet now.

It was early afternoon and her basket was less than half-full when Armun heard him calling through the trees. There was something wrong! But her fear subsided as she listened again; he was shouting something, excitedly. She ran toward him, calling out as well, and they met in the tiny meadow of high grass and yellow flowers.

“They’re here, the Paramutan, coming toward the beach!”

He seized her and spun her about so that they both fell and her basket spilled. They refilled it together until he took hold of her again and they rolled in the long grass.

“We cannot, not now,” she said gently. “We don’t want them to leave without us.”

When they came down to the little bay the black form of the ikkergak, sail lowered, was rocking in the offshore shallows. There was waving and shouting as they splashed out to it: willing hands pulled them aboard. Angajorqaq was there, eyes round and worried in the smooth fur of her face, her hands clapped over her mouth.

“Alone,” she wailed. “The two boys — gone…”

Kalaleq clambered over to them while Armun was explaining about the children, lumps of deliciously rotten meat held out in welcome greeting.

“Eat, be happy, there are many things to be told about—” Kerrick stopped him with upraised hand.

“Slowly, please… understanding difficult.”

He had forgotten the little Paramutan he had learned during the winter; he called to Armun. She listened to the rush of words, then translated for him.

“They have gone — all of the rest of the Paramutan, across the ocean to a place he calls Allanivok. This ikkergak is the last one to leave. They have found the schools of ularuaq and a good shore where they can do something, I don’t know what the word means, flensing. They have taken everything, the small boats, the paukaruts, all the children, everyone.” There was fear in her voice when she said this.

“You think that if we go with them — we will never get back here? Ask him about it, now.”

“It is a long voyage,” Kalaleq said. “You will like it there — you won’t want to come back.”

“Thick of skull, eyes that cannot see!” Angajorqaq said loudly, striking him with her closed fist on his brown-furred arm. But it was a light blow, intended only to draw his attention to the importance of her words. “Tell Armun now that when she wishes to return to this land, that you will take her — or do you wish to separate her from her first-born male child for the rest of her life?”

Kalaleq smiled, frowned, struck himself on the forehead to show his chagrin. “Of course, an easy voyage, we will go when you want, this is never a problem to one who knows the winds and the sea as I do.”

After shouted greetings from everyone else aboard there was the suggestion made that perhaps this would be a good day to start on the voyage to Allanivok. They could leave now, there was no reason to stay. With the Tanu aboard there was nothing else to do on this side of the ocean. Once the decision had been made, with typical Paramutan enthusiasm, they hurled themselves into the task. All the waterskins were taken ashore, rinsed and refilled from the stream. The instant they were all back aboard the ikkergak was pushed off the beach, swung about to catch the wind. The lines to the sail were tightened, and the voyage began. Their course was northeast so they slowly drew away from the shore. The land grew more distant and before sunset had vanished completely. When the sun dropped below the horizon they were alone in the ocean.

The pitching and rolling of the ikkergak made it very easy to refuse the offer of decayed meat and rich blubber: seasickness struck both Tanu down. Once the others had finished eating most of them crawled under the forward shelter and fell asleep. It was a warm night and the air was fresher outside; Armun and Kerrick stayed where they were.

“Do you know how long it will take us to make the crossing?” Kerrick asked. Armun laughed.

“I asked Kalaleq that. A number of days he said. Either they don’t count very well — or they don’t care.”

“A little of both. They don’t seem to be worried at all being away from shore like this. How do they find their way and not sail in circles?”

As though in answer to their question, Kalaleq climbed up next to the mast and held to it with one hand, swaying as they rode up on the easy waves. There was no moon, but it was easy to see in the bright starlight. He held something to the sky and looked at it, then shouted instructions to the helmsman who pulled the steering oar over. The sail flapped a little at this so Kalaleq loosened knots, tightened some lines and let out others, until the sail was angled to their satisfaction. When this was finished Armun called him over and asked him what he had been doing looking at the stars.

“Finding the way back to our paukaruts,” he said with some satisfaction. “The stars show us the way.”

“How?”

“With this.”

He passed over the construction of joined bones. Kerrick looked at it, turning it over before shaking his head and passing it back.

“It makes little sense to me — just four bones tied together at the corners to make a square.”

“Yes, of course, you are right,” Kalaleq agreed. “But it was tied together by Nanuaq when he was standing among the paukaruts on Allanivok’s shore. That is the way it is done. It is an important secret knowledge which I will tell you now. Do you see that star up there?”

With much pointing and shouted help from the others they finally discovered which star he was talking about. Kerrick knew little of the sky; it was Armun who identified it.

“That is Ermanpadar’s Eye, that is what I was taught. All the other stars — they are the tharms of brave hunters who have died. Each night they walk up into the sky there in the east, rise up over our heads and then go to rest in the west. They walk together like a great herd of deer and are watched over by Ermanpadar who does not move with them. He stands there in the north and watches, and that star is his eye. It stands still while the tharms go around it.”

“I never noticed.”

“Watch it tonight — you will see.”

“But how does that help us find our way?”

This involved more shouted explanation from Kalaleq, who felt that Kerrick’s inability to understand Paramutan was because he was deaf. If he shouted loud enough surely Kerrick would know what he meant. With Armun translating he explained how the frame worked.

“This fat bone, it is the bottom. You must hold it before your eye and look along it at the place where the water meets the sky. Tilt it up and down until you cannot see its length, just the round end. When that is done — and you must keep it pointed correctly at all times — you must quickly look up along this bone which is the Allanivok bone, and look for the star. It must point right at the star. Look, keep trying.”

Kerrick struggled with the frame, blinking and sighting until his eyes were tired and watering. “I cannot do it,” he finally said. “When this bone points to the horizon — the other points above the star.”

At this Kalaleq gave a shout of joy and called out to the other Paramutan to witness how quickly Kerrick had learned to guide the ikkergak already, his first day out from shore. Kerrick could not understand what the excitement was about since he had got it wrong.

“You are right,” Kalaleq insisted. “It is the ikkergak that is wrong. We are too far south. You will see — when we go farther north the bone will point at the star.”

“But you said that this star did not move like all the others?”

Kalaleq was hysterical at this and rolled about with laughter. It was some time before he could explain. It appeared that this star did not move unless you moved. If you sailed north it rose higher in the sky, if you went south it became lower. Which meant that for every place you were the star had a certain position in the sky. That was how you found your way. Kerrick was not sure exactly what this meant and fell asleep while still puzzling over it.

Though Kerrick and Armun were always slightly queasy from the bobbing, twisting, rise and fall of the boat, their seasickness did get better after some days at sea. They ate meagerly of the blubber and meat, but finished all of their carefully measured ration of water each day. They helped catch fish because the juice from the fish, freshly squeezed, satisfied their thirst even better than the water did.

Kerrick still puzzled over the bone framework each night as the sighting star rose measurably higher in the sky. Then, one night, Kalaleq shouted happily after taking its measurement and they all took turns looking along the bones and yes, they were pointing at the star and the horizon at the same time now. With this their course was changed, farther to the east, and the sail reset. In the morning Kalaleq rooted among his possessions and produced the larger framework of many bones that Kerrick had seen before.

“We are here,” he said proudly, tapping one of the lateral bones. He ran his finger along it to the right until it came to another bone that was tied across it. “We sail this way and come here — and that is Allanivok. So easy.”

“It may be a lot of things — but it is not easy,” Kerrick said, turning the complex latticework over in his hands. Then he remembered. “Armun — those murgu charts. I still have them in my pack. Tell Kalaleq what they are while I get them.”

“But — what are they?”

“Tell him — it’s not easy. Tell him that the murgu cross this ocean in their big fish. When they do they use flat things with lines of color on them to guide them. I have no idea how they use them — perhaps he can understand how it is done.”

All the Paramutan grouped round and shouted in astonishment at the charts, those not able to get close calling out for a description. At first they simply admired the colors and patterns, turning them over and over. They were particularly impressed by the fact that rubbing with spittle or even scratching with the fingernail would not affect the lines — which went right through the hard, semitransparent substance. Kalaleq waited until all had a chance to admire them before he crouched down and pored over their detail.

Later that day the wind began to increase, sending black clouds scudding before it. There had been squalls and showers some days earlier, but this looked like a proper storm. Kerrick watched the sky with some trepidation — but the Paramutan were excited and happy, digging into the dunnage. By the time the storm broke and the rain lashed down they had spread a large section of skin, held it stretched by the edges to collect the rain. The wind caught it and tried to pull it from them, while the lightning flared and thunder rolled over them. It was hard work for all of them, but well worth it because before the storm had passed three of the waterskins had been filled; they had all drunk their fill of the fresh water as well.

The weather remained cooler after the storm, with cloud most of the time. With his seasickness reduced to a continual, mild annoyance, Kerrick had the energy to learn more Paramutan. Armun tutored him, answered questions when he was in difficulties, but he went to the Paramutan themselves for his practice. There was no problem with this since they were great talkers, would talk to themselves if no one else was there to listen. Time passed easily this way, until they woke one morning to great excitement. Touched red by the dawn sunlight they saw two white seabirds passing overhead. Kerrick was unimpressed until Kalaleq explained.

“There is land, in that direction — and it cannot be many days sailing away!”

After this they all hung over the side and looked at the water, and were rewarded when one of the women squealed and almost fell overboard, two others held her by the ankles, another by her tail which came free of her clothing, while she groped head first in the ocean. They pulled her back, dripping and smiling — but holding tightly to a length of seaweed.

“Grows only close to shore!” she cried out, joyfully squeezing and popping its flotation bladders.

But land was not that close yet. There were storms and contrary winds and the Paramutan were so annoyed that they lowered the sail and put one of the boats into the water. They secured this to the bow by a length of braided leather line and four at a time, male and female, took turns at the oars. Armun and Kerrick did their stint, gasping and sweating as they pulled the large ikkergak at a snail’s pace through the water. They were as glad as the others when a light westerly wind came up and, with much shouting, the boat was pulled back aboard and the sail was set again.

It was the following day, just before sunset, that someone saw the dark line on the horizon ahead. There was much loud argument whether it was cloud or land, followed by cries of happiness when they saw that it was land after all. The sail was lowered and a length of line trailed from the stern to keep them from being pushed along by the waves. At dawn they were all awake as the sun rose above the forested hills, far closer now. Kalaleq climbed up the mast as far as he could to look for landmarks as they drew closer — finally shouted and pointed north to some small islands just visible off the coast. They turned that way, catching the breeze and making a good passage. The islands were passed before noon and beyond them, above a sandy beach, were the rounded black domes of the paukaruts.

“Allanivok!” someone cried out and all the Paramutan shouted in happy agreement.

“ Forest and undergrowth,” Kerrick said. “The hunting should be good here. A land without murgu, none of the Paramutan have seen any. This could be the place for us to be. To forget all about the murgu, never think of them again.”

Armun was silent, for there was nothing that she could say. She knew that memory of the other sammads, the murgu pursuing them, would not go away. He did not talk about it any more, but she could tell from his face that it was always in his thoughts. They might be safe.

But what about all of the others?