The trail they followed twisted up through sandy hillocks set with towering pine trees, fresh-smelling with the morning breeze rustling their needles above. Herilak raised his hand suddenly and they stopped in rigid silence. He raised his head and sniffed the air, then cocked his head to listen. They could all hear the sound now, a faint crackling like burning twigs, or waves upon a stony shore. They crept forward then, to a place where the trees opened out upon grassy meadows. Meadows filled with movement.
Murgu, a giant herd of them, stretching out into the distance. Four-legged, round, each twice as big as a man, small eyes rolling as they tore at the grass and pine-cones. One reared to seize a branch in its duck-like bill, sharp claws on its small forelegs, sharper claws on its long hindlegs. Herilak signaled a retreat; they would have to work their way around the herd. Before they could move there was a scream from the jungle and a great marag appeared among the trees, leaping forward onto one of the grazing beasts. It was armored and scaled, its teeth white daggers now dripping with blood. Its forelegs were tiny and useless — but the claws of its great hind legs tore the life from its prey. The rest of the herd squealed and ran; the hunters hurried on before the marag took notice of them as well.
The trail led down from the trees into low, brush-covered land. The ground was getting softer, water pushing up between their toes as they walked; the sun burned on their backs while here in the open, away from the shelter of the forest, the damp heat was suffocating. They were running with sweat, panting for air, by the time Herilak signaled a halt.
“Up ahead, do you see it?” He spoke so quietly that they could barely make out his words. “That open stretch of water. That is where I saw them. Go forward in silence and do not show yourselves.’
They moved like shadows. No blade of grass rustled, no leaf moved to show that they had passed. One by one they slid up to the water’s edge where they peered unseen from the darkness. Then there was the quiet gasp of indrawn breath from one of the hunters; Herilak scowled in his direction.
Although the sammadar had told them what he had seen, and of course they had believed him, the reality was another thing altogether. They could only watch in horrified silence as the two dark forms slid silently through the water towards them. The first of them came close, passed by before the concealed hunters.
A boat — but not a boat — for it moved without oars. It had been decorated with a large shell at the front. No, not decorated, the shell grew there, was part of the living creature that was the boat itself. And on its back it carried other creatures, murgu. They could only be the ones that Herilak had told them of. But his words had not prepared them for the disgusting reality. Like deformed Tanu they stood erect, or unlike Tanu squatted back on their thick tails. Some of them held strange objects, while others had long dark sticks that must be the weapons Herilak had described. The hunters watched in frozen silence while the creatures passed, not a short arrow flight away. One of them was making clacking, growling sounds. Everything about the scene was alien and repellent.
Then the dark forms were past, had stopped on the far bank and the murgu were climbing ashore.
“You have seen,” Herilak said. “It is as I told you. They did this same thing yesterday, then they returned. Now you must move without being seen and find places along the bank where there is space to draw your bows. Lay your arrows on the ground before you. Wait in silence. When they return I will give the order to be ready. Choose your targets. Wait. Bend your bows but do not loose your arrows. Wait. When I give the command — kill them all. Not one must escape to warn the others. Is this understood?”
He looked at each grim, set face, and each hunter nodded agreement. In silence they took their positions, then in silence, unmoving, they waited. The sun rose high, the heat was intense, the insects bit and their mouths were dry with thirst. Yet no one moved. They waited.
The murgu were doing strange, incomprehensible things, while making loud animal sounds at the same time. They were either still as stones or twitching with repulsive movements. This went on for an unbearably long time.
Then ended as suddenly as it had begun. The murgu were putting their artifacts onto the living boats, then boarding them. The ones with the killing-sticks, obviously acting as guards, went first. They pushed off.
The birds were silent in the heat of the day, the only sound the ripple of water around the shell bows of the approaching creatures. Closer they came, and still closer, until the colored details of their scaled skins were repulsively clear. They were close to the bank, coming even with the unseen hunters, passing…
“Now.”
Strum of bowstrings, hiss of arrows. A murgu screamed hoarsely, the only one to utter a sound, then was silenced as a second arrow caught it in the throat.
Arrows had plunged as well into the dark hides of the living boats; they heaved in the water, spun about, the bodies of the dead murgu spilling from them. There was another loud splash as Herilak dived into the water and swam to the massacre. He returned dragging one of the bodies after him, was helped from the water by ready hands.
They turned the marag over, stared into the sightless eyes, prodded it unbelievingly with their bows.
“It was well done,” Herilak said. “All dead. Now we leave — and we take this with us.” He held out one of the killing-sticks. “We also take the body.”
They gaped in silence, not understanding. Herilak’s answering smile was the smile of death.
“Others must see what we have seen. They must be warned. We take this corpse with us in the boat. We row all this day and all of the night if we must. We get far away from this place and the murgu. Then, before this marag stinks too much, we flay it.”
“Good,” Tellges said. “Take the skull too. Cure the hide and take it with us.”
“That is correct,” Herilak said. “There will be no doubt then, none at all. Every Tanu who sees these things we have brought will then know what we have seen.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The model had a practical purpose, was indeed essential to the planning and design of the city. But like all things Yilanè it had to have a functional gestalt of its own, a completeness that went far beyond actual necessity. A chart could have been made that would serve the same purpose well enough, just as charts were used for navigation of the uruketo. But charts were used there only because of the shortage of space. In that particular case necessity demanded charts so the pragmatic answer was to make charts. Since no such restriction existed in the city, a scale model of Alpèasak was constructed that was essential for future planning, yet was also pleasing to behold.
Vaintè walked slowly around it, immensely satisfied. It was much improved since Sokain had come from Inegban* with her trained assistants. They had fleshed out the details that had only been indicated by the field surveyors. Now tiny stunted trees formed the heart of the city, surrounding the small opening of the ambesed. When Vaintè bent close to look there was the golden crescent of the birth beaches, complete down to the wall of thorns.
Alakensi was of course right behind her, a constant reminder that Malsas‹ would be getting reports on every detail of her movements and decisions, a nagging presence that dulled the pleasure of everything. Kerrick came next in line, as he did all of the time now. He was feeling even more excited interest than Vaintè, though he was careful not to reveal this in any way. This was the first time he had seen this model; he had not even known of its existence until this moment. He must study it, try to memorize it all. Then, when he escaped from the city, he would know just what course to take to safety. As he moved so did Inlènu*, a few steps behind him, holding up a loop of the lead that bound them together. Kerrick was so used to her presence now that he usually forgot all about her. She was just an inescapable fact of life — like the metal collar that rested about his neck. When he stopped she stopped, her back turned, not listening to anything being said, thinking her own placid thoughts until a tug on the lead stirred her to life again.