Return to Eden

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It was a happy leavetaking because that was the Paramutan way. Everyone knew that if one showed unhappiness before a voyage it would only bring the worst kind of bad luck, blizzards, disaster. Hanath and Morgil were equally happy at the results of their trading, laughing and getting soaked alongside the Paramutan as they helped to push the ikkergak into the sea. The waves were large and broke over them before the craft was floating free. Kalaleq was the last to board, was pulled dripping from the water by strong hands on arms and tail.

“After the winter we will be here again. There will be much to trade. Come back!”

“We will,” Armun called out, shouting to be heard above the crashing of the waves upon the beach. “We will be here.”

“What did the furry one say?” Hanath asked with clattering teeth, blue with cold. He wrapped one of the new furs about him.

“They want us to trade here again.”

“We will! Next time we will come early and make porro. They will like that.”

“Don’t even suggest it,” Kerrick said. “Not until you have spent a winter snowbound with them. They are a very strange people.”

“I like them,” Morgil said. “They know how to enjoy themselves. Now you can tell us what that horrible black muck was that you buried. I can still smell it.

“That is what is going to keep us alive when these die,” Kerrick said, picking up his hèsotsan. “The Paramutan make a powerful poison called takkuuk. It can kill the biggest creature in the sea. It will kill murgu too. Now we know how to make it. I don’t know how but A

“Not really,” she said. “It is just entrails and blood made to rot in a special way, then certain roots are added. I know the plant, we were always told to never go near it or touch it. Now I know why.”

“The stink will kill us before it kills a marag,” Hanath said.

“I don’t think so.” Kerrick held up his spear. “When the poison is buried a second time it will be in small leather bags that will be wrapped around the spearpoints. We will bury the spears too, special spears only for killing murgu. Then, when we stab a marag, the spearpoint goes through the bag and into the flesh and the thing dies.”

“We can certainly do that,” Morgil said with great enthusiasm. “We will help you, Armun, make a lot of takkuuk spears. Then we can trade them to the other sammads. We can even trek to the valley of the Sasku, trade with them for cloth.”

“You may never hunt again,” Armun said. “You will trade anything now.”

“Of course. We can hunt too, if we want to. But we like trading.”

There were so many furs and rolls of hide that the two traders had to cut poles for a travois. It was heavy laden and they took turns dragging it when they started south. The nights were cold, the days crisp, the new furs and hides a pleasure to sleep in at night. The stars seemed brighter here than they were on the island, Kerrick thought, lying awake and watching them after Armun had gone to sleep. Perhaps because they were the tharms of hunters, therefore shone more brightly in the north, here where the hunters had died. One day the snows might melt again and they could go back to the mountains. Meanwhile they lived, the sammads grew larger, the murgu would no longer be a threat when the hèsotsan died. Tomorrow’s tomorrow was going to be good. This was a Yilanè phrase that they used very often, and when he thought of this his legs arched and his hands shaped the meaning. Armun moaned in her sleep, disturbed by his movements, and he lay still. Forget Yilanè, it was enough to be Tanu.

It was an easy trek south along the familiar path. Only twice were they attacked by murgu large enough to need killing with the death-sticks. And they ate well. Whichever of the two hunters was not pulling the travois would slip into the forest. Catch up with them later with a freshly killed marag or deer. They built a fire each night and cooked the fresh meat, ate enough to last them through the next day. In this way they moved steadily south.

When they came to the path that branched off to the other sammads there was some discussion of the possibility of stopping. Hanath and Morgil wanted to trade. Kerrick did not care either way, but Armun was firm.

“No. These sammads may have gone south. If they did not you two can always come back to them. We return to our own sammad. I have children there — and I want to see them.” She looked at Kerrick in a very accusing ma

“I too, yes. We won’t stop. We go directly to the island.”

The days were growing shorter, the distance that could be traveled in daylight growing less as well. Armun was troubled at their slow progress. She made them start out on the trail before it was light, continue after dark.

“I grow tired,” Hanath said one evening, looking up at the darkening sky. “I think it would be better if we stopped now.”

“I am going on,” she said firmly. “I am tired too — but if we reach the camping place by the stream tonight, then we will be back on the island before dark tomorrow. I will go on by myself if you do not wish to. Give me one of the death-sticks.”

“We go on, we go on,” Hanath muttered leaning his weight against the straps.

It rained during the night but cleared before morning. Armun woke them, laughing at their complaints. But once on the trail they were all eager to return. They did not stop, but instead ate some of the cold meat as they walked. Not drinking anything since they were all able to go without water until dark. Kerrick did not notice the side trail until Morgil pointed it out, pushed newly grown branches aside to turn into it. Before they reached the river crossing they heard shouts ahead and met a hunting party. There were warm greetings and cries of appreciation at the fur and hides. The hunters were happy to help carry these new possessions and they went the faster.

Herilak called a loud greeting as they arrived among the sammads. Malagen came from their tent holding the baby. She laughed and called out to them and Armun seized up Ysel and held her high.

“The Paramutan were there and you traded well,” Herilak said, feeling the softness of the furs.

“Better than you realize, sammadar,” Kerrick said. “There is a thing they make called takkuuk, and we now know how to make it ourselves. It is going to be very important for all the Tanu.”

“Where is Arnwheet?” Armun said, holding the baby tight to her as she looked around at the children who had run up. “Where is he?”

“He is not here — but I know where he is,” one of the boys said. “He goes to the forbidden island by himself and wiggles like this with the marag there.

He shook back and forth, but his laughter turned to a cry of pain as Armun slapped out and sent him sprawling.

“You would not know that if you had not gone there yourself — and that is forbidden. He should not be there alone.” She looked angrily at Kerrick when she said this.

“I will bring him back,” he said, taking up his death-stick. “Walk with me, Herilak, for there are many things to tell you.”

“I will,” he said and went to get his bow and quiver.

“Have we reached the proper place?” Vaintè asked, holding the image sheet in the sunlight, then looking from it over to the nearby shore.

“We have,” Akotolp said, touching it with her finger. “We are here. Close to these small islands on the coast. The one you see out there conceals the larger island inland, where the ustuzou lair is.”

“Will the uruketo take us to it?”

“Unhappily, no. The water between the islands is too shallow.”

“Understood. Now where is the place where the Yilanè is found?”

“There, on that island facing the sea.”

“Then that is where we will land. We will speak with her. The ustuzou creatures are deadly. When we attack them it will be only to kill them. She will be able to help me, tell me if the one I seek is here, aid me in finding him. The others can live or die, it does not matter to me. It is his death that I must have.” She signed brusque instructions to Elem. “Towards that island, go close. Order Enge up here.”