Winter in Eden

CHAPTER FOUR

In a single instant Herilak’s words had wiped away all of Armun’s nameless fears. He did not return with us. He is in the burnt murgu city. He told me to care for you in my sammad and that I will do. The world was harsh enough without imagining it worse. In silence she had turned from the hunters and trudged through the snow back to her tent. They had gone swiftly by her, calling out to the encampment as they went, listening for the answering cries from the sammads and hurrying even faster.

Armun heard all this — but was not aware of hearing it for she listened to the far louder inner voice of her thoughts. Alive. He was alive. He had not returned with the others, but Kerrick would have a good reason for that. She would ask Herilak, but later, after the first excitement of the homecoming was over. It was enough to know that Kerrick had led them in battle — and that the battle had been won. The murgu destroyed at last. Now the endless fighting would be over. He would come to her and they would live as all the other hunters lived. Unknowing, she hummed aloud with pleasure and Arnwheet chuckled happily on her back.

Later, when the baby slept, she went out and listened to the excited talk of the women. How the hunters had burnt the city of the murgu, killed the murgu, every last one, and had now returned in victory. She moved along the trampled paths in the snow until she came to Herilak’s tent. He was standing outside of it but started to go in when he saw her.

She called out to him and he turned back with some reluctance.

“I would talk to you, Herilak. I wish to ask about Kerrick.”

“He remained behind in the murgu place, I told you that.”

“You did not tell me why he did this thing and did not return with the others.”

“He did not wish to. Perhaps he likes it there with the murgu. Perhaps he is more murgu than Tanu. There were murgu still alive and he would not kill them — or let us kill them. When this happened we left and came here because we were through at that place.”

She sensed the ill feeling, and with it came the quick return of all her fears. “Did he say when he would return—”

“Leave me, I am through talking,” Herilak said, turning and entering the tent and tying it shut behind him. Armun’s temper washed away her fear.

“Well I am not through!” she shouted so loudly that people turned to listen. “Come out, Herilak, and tell me everything that happened. There is more that I want to know.”

The hunter’s silence drove her to fury and she pulled at the skins. But he had sealed them together tightly from the inside. She wanted to shout to him just what she thought of his actions — but desisted. It would only provide amusement for the onlookers. There were other ways of finding out the truth about what had happened. She spun about and the nearest hunters turned away to avoid her anger. After this she stamped away between the tents, toward those of Sorli’s sammad, to find Sorli himself where he sat by his fire with some of his hunters, sharing the smoke from a stone pipe. Armun waited until all had smoked and the pipe was laid aside before she stepped forward. Her anger was still there, but well under control now.

“I have heard of how long and hard the path was, Sorli. You and your hunters must surely be tired and in need of rest.”

Sorli waved a negligent hand. “The hunter who cannot walk the trail is no hunter.”

“It pleases me to hear that. Then the great hunter Sorli is not too tired to talk with Armun.”

Sorli narrowed his eyes as he looked at her, feeling that he was somehow being trapped. “I am not tired.”

“That is good, because my tent is far distant in the snow and there is something there that I must show you.”

Sorli looked around for aid, but there was none. The pine was being lit again and none of the other hunters were looking his way. “All right, to your tent, but the day is late and there are things to be done.”

“You are very kind to a woman alone.” She did not speak again until they had reached their destination and had entered the tent. She secured the flaps behind him, then she turned about and pointed to the sleeping infant. “That is what I wanted you to see.”

“The baby… ?”

“Kerrick’s son. Why did he not return with the rest of you to his son, his tent, return to me? Herilak will not speak of it and turns away. Now you will speak of it.”

Sorli looked about, but there was no escape. He sighed. “Give me water to drink, woman, and I will tell you. There is bad feeling now between Kerrick and Herilak.”

“Here, drink this. I know that — but you must tell me why.”

Sorli wiped his lips on the back of his sleeve. “The reasons why are hidden from me. I will tell you what happened. We burned the place of the murgu, and the murgu who did not die in the fire died also, I do not know why. They are murgu and therefore incomprehensible. Some escaped on a thing-that-swam. Kerrick talked with a murgu, would not let Herilak kill it. He let it escape. Then other murgu were found alive and these too Kerrick would not allow to be killed. Herilak was great in his anger at this and would not remain in that place and wished to leave at once. The road back was long, we knew that, so the decision was made to leave.”

“But Kerrick remained behind. Why? What did he say?”

“He talked with Herilak, I did not listen, it is hard to remember.” Sorli shifted uneasily on the furs and gulped down more water. Armun’s eyes sparkled in the firelight, her temper barely under control.

“You must do better than that, brave Sorli, bold Sorli. You are strong enough to tell me what happened that day.”

“My tongue speaks truth, Armun. Kerrick spoke of things that must be done in that place. I understood little. The Sasku seemed to understand, they remained when we left. We all returned with Herilak. We had done what we had come to do. The trail back was long…”

Armun sat with head lowered for a moment, then rose and unlaced the entrances. “My thanks to Sorli for telling me of these things.”

He hesitated, but she remained in silence. There was nothing he could add. He hurried out into the growing darkness, glad to be free. Armun sealed the tent again, added wood to the fire and sat beside it.

Her face was grim with anger. How easily these brave hunters had turned their backs on Kerrick. They followed him in battle — then left him. If the Sasku had remained with him he must have asked the hunters to stay as well. And there must be something important in the murgu city, something so important that it had come between the two leaders. She would find out about it in good time. The winter would be over and in the spring Kerrick would return. That is what would happen in the spring.

Armun kept herself occupied so that the winter would go faster, so she would not miss Kerrick too much. Arnwheet was now in his second year and unhappy at the confines of the tent. Armun had cured and scraped the softest deerskins, shaped them, then sewn them into clothing for him with thin lengths of gut. While the other babies his age were still being carried on their mothers’ backs he played and rolled in the snow. As was the custom, the other babies were being nursed until they were four, even five years old. Arnwheet was almost weaned by his second year. Armun ignored the dark looks and shouted remarks of the women: she was well used to being an outcast. She knew that they were just jealous of her freedom and nursed only to prevent more pregnancies.

So while their babies dangled out of their carriers and gummed their knuckles, Arnwheet grew strong and straight and chewed the tough meat with his growing teeth.

On a sunny, cold day, with no hint of spring in the air, she walked away from the tents with little Arnwheet trotting to keep pace. She carried a spear always now when away from the sammads — and was suddenly glad that she had it with her. There was something up ahead, in among the trees, making a mewling sound. She pointed the spear and stood ready. Arnwheet clung to her leg in wide-eyed silence as she tried to make out what it was. It was then that she saw the footprints leading from the trail, human footprints. She lowered the spear and followed them, then pushed aside the snowy boughs that shielded the boy. He turned about; his snuffling died away as he scrubbed at his face that was streaked with tears and blood.

“I know you,” Armun said, reached down with her sleeve to wipe his cheeks. “You are from Herilak’s sammad. Your name is Harl?” The boy nodded, eyes brimming. “Did you not come to my fire one night with the story of the owl you had killed?”

When she said this he began wailing again, burying his head in his arms. Armun lifted him with kind hands and brushed the snow from his skins. “Come to my tent. You will have something warm to drink.”

The boy pulled back, reluctant to go, until Arnwheet trustingly took his hand. They went back to the tent this way, each holding one of Arnwheet’s hands. There Armun stirred sweet bark into warm water and gave it to Harl to drink. Arnwheet wanted some too, but spluttered over the strong flavor and let it dribble down his chin. After Armun had cleaned the blood from the boy’s face she sat back and pointed at the bruises. “Tell me about these,” she said.

She listened in silence, Arnwheet falling asleep on her lap, and soon understood why the boy had cried when she had mentioned the owl.

“I did not know it was an owl. It was my first bow, my first arrow, my uncle, Nadris, he helped me to make it. The sammadar Kerrick said I did a good thing, for the creature that I killed was not a real owl but a murgu owl and it was right to kill it. That was then, but now the alladjex has said that it was wrong. That killing an owl is wrong. He has told my father that and now my father beats me and won’t let me sit by the fire when it is cold.”

The boy sobbed again at the thought. Armun reached carefully for the ekkotaz so she would not wake the sleeping infant, then gave Harl a handful of the sweet berry and nut paste. He wolfed it down hungrily.

“What you did was correct,” she said. “Old Fraken is wrong about this. The margalus Kerrick knows about murgu, knew that this was a murgu owl, knew that you did the right thing in killing it. Now go back to your tent, tell your father what I have said. What you did was a good thing.”

The wind was strengthening so she laced the tent flaps tight after the boy had gone. Old Fraken was wrong more often than right. Since her parents had died, since she had been alone, she had thought less and less of Fraken and his warnings and predictions from owl pellets. Kerrick had laughed at Fraken and his owl vomitings and had helped her lose her fear of the old man. He was stupid and foolish and caused trouble, like this thing with the boy.

Later that same night she awoke, her heart hammering with terror at a scratching on the outside of the tent. She groped for the spear in the darkness until she heard the voice calling her name. Then she blew on the fire until the coals glowed, added fresh wood and unlaced the flap. Harl pushed his bow and arrows in before him then crawled after them.

“He beat me,” he said, dry-eyed now. “My father beat me with my own bow when I told him what you had said. He did not want to hear it. He shouted that Kerrick knew all about murgu because he was half murgu himself…” His voice died away and he lowered his head. “Just like you, he said. Then he beat me again and I ran away.”

Armun burnt with anger; not for herself, she had heard worse insults. “Old Fraken could read the future better from murgu turds. And your father is as bad, listening to stupidities like that. Kerrick who saved the sammads, now he is away they are quick to forget. How old are you?”

“This is my eleventh winter.”

“Old enough to beat, too young to be a hunter and fight back. Lie there until morning, Harl, until your father wonders where you are and comes to find you. I’ll tell him about murgu!”

Armun went out in the morning and walked among the tents of sammads and listened to what the women were saying. There was concern over the missing boy and hunters were out looking for him. Good, she thought to herself, they only get fat lying around their tents and doing nothing. She waited until the sun was low on the horizon before she went out and stopped the first woman she met.

“Go to the tent of Nivoth, and tell him that the boy Harl has been found and he is in my tent. Hurry.”

As she expected the woman was not in that much of a hurry that she did not have time enough to stop along the way to tell others — which was what Armun had expected. She went back to her tent and stayed there until she heard her name being called. Then she went out and closed the flaps behind her.

Nivoth had a scar from an old wound on his cheek that pulled his mouth into a perpetual scowl; his temper matched his face.

“I have come for the boy,” he said rudely. Behind him the growing crowd listened with interest: it had been a long and boring winter.

“I am Armun and this is the tent of Kerrick. What is your name?”

“Move aside woman — I want that boy.”

“Will you beat him again? And did you say that Kerrick was half murgu?”

“He is all murgu for what I know. I’ll beat the boy rightly enough for carrying tales — and beat you too if you don’t stand aside.”

She did not move and he reached out and pushed her. This was a bad mistake. He should have remembered what happened when she was younger and they called her squirrel-face.

Her closed fist caught him squarely on the nose and he went over backward into the snow. When he struggled up to his knees, blood dripping from his chin, she hit him again in the same place. This was greatly appreciated by the crowd — and by Harl who was peeking through a slitted opening in the tent.

Hunters do not strike women, other than their own women, so Nivoth was not certain what to do. Nor did he have much time to think about it. Armun was as big as he was — and stronger in her wrath. He fled beneath the hail of her blows. The crowd dispersed slowly regretting the end of the fascinating encounter.

It did end with that. Harl stayed on in her tent and no one came for him, nor was the matter discussed in Armun’s presence. Harl’s mother had died in the last hungry winter and his father seemed to care nothing of the boy. Armun was glad of his companionship and the whole matter rested there.

Spring was late, it was always late now, and when the ice finally cracked on the river and floated away in great floes Armun looked to the east for Kerrick. Each day it was harder and harder to control her impatience, and when the flowers were in full blossom she left Arnwheet playing on the river-bank with Harl and went to find Herilak. He sat in the sun before his tent, restringing his bow with fresh gut for the hunting they had all been awaiting. He only nodded when she spoke to him and did not look up from his work.

“Summer is here and Kerrick has not come.”

His only response was a grunt. She looked down at his bowed head and controlled her temper.

“This is now the time to travel. If he does not come to me I will go to him. I will ask some hunters to accompany me who know the track.”

There was still silence and she was about to speak again when Herilak lifted his face to her. “No,” he said. “There will be no hunters, you will not go. You are in my sammad and I forbid it. Now leave me.”

“I want to leave you,” she shouted. “Leave you, leave this sammad and go to the place where I belong. You will tell them…”

“I will tell you just once more to leave,” he said, standing and towering over her. This was not Nivoth. She could not strike Herilak — nor would he listen to her. There was nothing more to be said. She turned on her heel and left him and went to the river, sat and watched the boys playing and rolling in the new grass. She could expect no help from Herilak, the opposite if anything. Then who could she turn to? There was only one she could think of. She went to his tent and found him alone and called the hunter away from the fire.

“You are Ortnar and are the only one still alive from the first sammad of Herilak, you who were of that sammad before it was killed by the murgu.”

He nodded agreement, wondering why she was here.

“It was Kerrick who freed your sammadar when the murgu captured him, Kerrick who led us all south when there was no food, who led the attack on the murgu.”

“I know these things, Armun. Why do you tell me them now?”

“Then you also know that Kerrick remains in the south and I would be with him. Take me to him. You are his friend.”

“I am his friend.” Ortnar looked around, then sighed heavily. “But I cannot help you. Herilak has spoken to us of this and has said that you will not go.”

Armun looked at him with disbelief. “Are you a little boy who pisses in his skins when Herilak talks? Or are you a hunter who is Tanu and does as he himself sees fit?”

Ortnar ignored the insult, waving it away with a slice of his hand. “I am a hunter. Yet there is still the bond of the dead sammad between Herilak and myself — and that cannot be broken. Neither will I go against Kerrick who was our margalus when we needed him.”

“Then what will you do?”

“I will help you, if you are strong enough.”

“I am strong, Ortnar. So tell me what this help is that will need my strength.”

“You know how to make the death-stick kill murgu, I have seen you use one when we were attacked. You will have my death-stick. And I will tell you the way to the murgu city. It is an easy track to follow after you have reached the ocean. When you get to the shore, you must decide then what you will do next. You can wait at that place until Kerrick returns. Or you can go to him.”

Armun smiled — then laughed aloud. “You will send me alone into the land of the murgu! That is a wonderful offer — but still better than any other I have received. I am strong enough to do that, brave Ortnar, and I believe that you are also very brave to risk Herilak’s wrath in this manner, because he is sure to find out what has happened.”

“I will tell him myself,” Ortnar said with grim determination.

Armun left him then, but returned when it was dark to meet him and get the death-stick and all the darts that he had made that winter.

Because her tent was away from the others, and she did not move among the sammads very much, Armun’s tent was laced tight and silent for two days before it was discovered that she was gone.

After some days the hunters that Herilak had sent out to find her returned empty-handed. Her woodcraft was too good; there was no trace of her to be found, no trace at all.