CHAPTER THIRTY

It was late afternoon before the raptor flew south. The great bird had killed a rabbit earlier in the day, then had flapped up to the top of a tall dead tree with its prey still kicking in its talons. Perching there, it had torn the creature apart and had eaten it. When it was done it remained, sated. The dark lump on its leg was obvious to anyone who might have looked up at it from the huddle of tents below. The raptor wiped its hooked beak clean on the bark, preened its feathers — and finally launched itself into the air. Rising in ever higher circles it turned and flew away to the south.

One of the boys who had been ordered to watch the bird ran at once to tell Kerrick, who shielded his eyes and looked at the sky, saw the white speck vanishing in the distance.

“Herilak, it is gone,” he called out.

The big hunter turned from the deer’s carcass that he was butchering, arms red to the elbows. “There may be others.”

“There may be, we can never be sure. But that flock of seabirds is gone and the boys say that there are no other large birds to be seen.”

“What do you think that we should do, margalus?”

“Leave now and not wait for dark. We have all the food we need, there is nothing to be gained by staying here any longer.”

“Agreed. We go.”

Inside the tents all of their belongings had already been bundled and tied, ready for departure. As the tents came down the travois were lashed to the mastodons and quickly loaded. Everyone was eager to leave the menace of the coast for the security of the mountains. Even as the last loads were being tied into place the first protesting mastodon was trudging heavily away. The hunters looked over their shoulders as they left, but the beach was empty, as was the sky. The fires still smoked on the shore, the half-gutted deer hung from the frame. The sammads were gone.

They walked until dark, stopped and ate cold meat, lit no fires, then went on. The march continued through the night with only brief halts to rest the animals. By dawn they were in the forested hills, distant from the route they had taken on their westward trek to the beaches. The mastodons were freed of the travois so they could graze while the weary sammads slept under the trees.

When Armun opened her eyes the slanting beams of light through the branches showed that it was afternoon. The baby’s hungry, fretting crying had woken her. She sat with her back to the bole of the tree and put him to her breast. Kerrick was no longer sleeping at her side; she saw him in the glade talking with the sammadars. His face was set and serious when he trudged back up the hill, but it lit up with a smile when he saw her there. Her smile mirrored his and she took his hand in hers when he sat next to her.

“We are leaving soon,” he said, turning away as he saw the loving smile fade from her lips; her hand clenched hard.

“You have to do this?” she said, and it was halfway between a statement and a question.

“You know that I must. It was my plan — I cannot let the others go to the attack without me.”

“You’ll be leaving me…” There was a hoarseness to her voice, all the pain of her lonely life behind her words. “You are all that I have.”

“That is not true. You have Arnwheet now and you will keep him safe until I return. I am doing this, all of us are going for the same reason, so that the sammads will be safe. There is no security as long as the murgu can hunt and slay us. When they are dead, only then can we live in peace as we once did. Go with the sammads to the meadow at the bend in the river. We will join you there before the winter is out. Stay safe until I return.”

“You will come back to me, tell me that.”

She had her head down and her rich hair fell across her face just as it had done when he had first seen her. The baby sucked and smacked lustily, looking up at him with round blue eyes. Kerrick reached out and held Armun lightly by the chin, raised her face to his. He brushed the hair aside and ran his fingertips down her face, then lightly across her divided lips.

“Like you, I lived a life alone,” he said, quietly so only she could hear. “Like you, I was different from all those around me, hated them all. That is all past now. We are together — and we shall never be apart again after I return. That I promise you.”

The loving caress on her lips disarmed her, for she knew that he truthfully meant what he had said, that he could look at her face like this without laughing. The tears welled up and she could only nod agreement as he rose and left. She looked at the baby, holding it and rocking it back to sleep, not raising her eyes again until she knew that the hunters were gone.

Herilak led the way up into the hills, staying in the shadow of the trees all the while. He walked at a fast and steady pace and the others followed. They were all strong and fit, had eaten well before the march began. They were bent now under the weight of the burdens on their back, but most of this was food so their packs would become lighter as they went. It was important at this time not to take the time to hunt, but to put as much distance between themselves and the sammads as they could. When the birds flew, as fly they would, their departure must not be noted. They must vanish into the wilderness.

They went on without stopping until it was too dark to see the track, until they were stumbling with fatigue. Only then did Herilak call a halt. He dropped his burden to the ground and the others did the same, grunting with pleasure. Kerrick came and sat next to him and shared his meat. They ate in silence as the darkness thickened and the stars appeared. Above them in the trees an owl called.

“Are they watching us already? Will that owl tell the other birds that we are here?” Herilak asked, concerned.

“No. That is just an owl. The birds that spy us out talk only to the murgu, not to one another. The raptor that saw us yesterday will not have returned to Alpèasak yet, so they still believe that we are camped on the shore. By the time they discover that we have gone and send others to look for us, we will be far distant. They will find the sammads and track them. They will not think to look for us here. Our danger of being seen will only come again when we are close to their city.”

“Then it will be too late.”

“Yes, then it will be too late for them.”

Brave words, Kerrick thought to himself, and smiled wryly in the darkness. Could this little band of hunters really destroy that mighty city with all its teeming inhabitants? It did not seem possible. How many were there here? Less than the count of three hault, the count of three men. Armed with hèsotsan — but so were the Yilanè. Hesotsan and arrows and spears to fight a powerful race that had filled the world since the egg of time. The impossibility of this brought a darkness to his thoughts even darker than the night around them. How could it be done?

Yet even as he felt these doubtful thoughts his fingers found the wooden chest he had brought with him from the valley. Inside the chest was the stone with the fire trapped inside it. With fire it might be done, could be done — would be done. With this firm resolve, held to him as tightly as he clenched the chest, he lay on his side and was asleep.

“The first birds that we sent out have returned,” Vaintè said. “The pictures have been examined and we think that the ustuzou pack from the shore is close to these mountains now, farther to the north.”

“You are sure?” Malsas‹ asked.

“There is never certainty with the ustuzou since one of the creatures is very much like any other. But we do know that they are on the beach no longer, nor are there any packs of them still to the south.”

Stallan stayed behind them, silent, listening. No packs had been found, she agreed with that. But nothing still meant nothing. There was something wrong in all this. She had that feeling, a hunter’s feeling, but did not know what was causing it. Malsas‹, though not a hunter, all unknowingly shared her sense of unease.