CHAPTER NINETEEN

A child could have read the signs of the sammads’ passage, so clearly were they marked in the soft turf. The deep ruts cut by the poles of the travois, the large footprints of the mastodons, their high-heaped dung. Herilak made no attempt to obliterate these tracks — but hunters waited in hiding, some of them a two-day march behind the sammads, to make sure they were not being followed. Days passed and there was no evidence that the dark Tanu or their longtooth companions were behind them. Despite this Herilak still made certain that there were guards ready and watching, day and night.

Since all of the valleys and ridges led down from the high mountains, flattening out and vanishing on the arid plain, they went down from the hills to the plain itself. Instead of working their way across the ridges, the march continued along the edge of the desert. Hunters went ahead, scouting the valleys for water. When they camped each evening the mastodons would be led up the valley to drink and browse.

The march continued. The hunting was sparse in the foothills and on the plain. The grasslands at the foot of the hills began to extend further and further into what had been only arid desert, cut now and again by dry watercourses. But there was no water upon the grassy plain, little or no animal life. They could only go on.

It was only after the moon had waxed and waned twice that they reached the river. The water must have drained from the high mountains for the current here was strong and the channel that it had cut was very deep. They stopped at the brink, seeing the water tumbling over the rocks below, sending up white spray.

“There is no way to cross the river here,” Kerrick said. Herilak nodded and looked away downstream.

“It might be wisest not to cross it — but to follow it instead. With all this water there must be an end to the desert. Where the desert ends we will find game. This we must do for even the murgu meat is coming to an end. We have to find a place where there is food to gather and animals to hunt.”

Then he spoke aloud the thought that was with them always. “We must find this before winter comes.”

They followed the river as it snaked across the plain and into a range of hills. There were many places where the bank had broken down, where they could water the mastodons. At some of these sites there were also the track of deer. And something else. It was Munan who spoke of it first. He joined Herilak and Kerrick at their fire and sat down, his back to the hills.

“I have hunted for many years,” he said. “Only once was I hunted myself. Let me tell you about that. It was in the high hills that you call mountains where I was tracking greatdeer. The trail was fresh and it was early morning. I walked silently, yet I felt something was wrong. Then I knew what it was. I was being followed as well, watched. I could feel eyes on me. When I knew this to be true I jumped about suddenly — and there it was on the ledge above me. A longtooth. Not close enough to spring, not yet. It must have been tracking me — just as I tracked the greatdeer. It looked into my eyes, then it was gone.”

Herilak nodded in agreement. “Animals know when they are being watched. Once I watched some longtooth and they turned because they felt my eyes. A hunter can sometimes know when there are eyes upon him.”

“We are being watched now,” Munan said quietly, poking at the fire. “Do not turn your heads, but get wood and when you so do look at the hill behind my back. There is something there, watching us, I am sure of that.”

“Get wood, Kerrick,” Herilak said. “Your eyes are good.”

Kerrick rose slowly and walked a few paces, returning with some sticks that he pushed into the fire.

“I cannot be sure,” he said. “There is a ridge of rock near the top of the hill, dark shadow below the rock. The animal might be there.”

“There will be extra guards out tonight,” Herilak said. “This is new country. There could be anything in these hills. Even murgu.”

There was no alarm during the night. Before dawn Herilak woke Kerrick and they were joined by Munan. They had agreed on the stratagem the night before. Going different ways, silent as the shadows around them, they approached the rocky ledge from the sides and below. When the sun rose they were in the positions they had chosen.

When Herilak called like a bird they closed in. They met before the ledge, weapons ready, but there was nothing there. But something had been there. Kerrick pointed. “The grass has been flattened, broken in this place. Something was watching us.”

“Spread out. Look for tracks,” Herilak said.

It was Munan who found the mark. “Over here, in the sand. A footprint.”

They bent close and looked. In silence, because there was no possible way of mistaking the creature that had made it.

“Tanu,” Herilak said, standing and looking to the north. “Could the dark Tanu have followed us here?”

“That would not have been easy,” Kerrick said. “And if they had done it they would have to have circled around us into the hills, to get ahead of us. This print is from different Tanu. I am sure of that.”

“Tanu behind, Tanu ahead.” Herilak scowled at the thought. “Must we fight then in order to hunt?”

“This Tanu did not fight — but only watched,” Kerrick said. “Tanu does not always kill Tanu. Only with the cold winters did that begin. Where we are here, this far to the south, the winters are not as bad.”

“What do we do?” Munan asked.

“Watch for them as well, try to talk to them,” Kerrick said. “They may be afraid of us.”

“I’m afraid of them,” Munan said. “Afraid of a spear in the back.”

“Then we are each afraid of the other,” Kerrick said. “As long as we march together, with many spears and bows, these new Tanu may be too afraid to come close. If I go ahead on my own, taking just my spear, perhaps I will meet them.”

“It is dangerous,” Herilak said.

“All life is dangerous. There are Tanu out there, you see the print before you. If we do not try to make peaceful contact we have only one other choice. Do we want that?”

“No,” Herilak said. “There is enough death without our killing each other. We will stay at this camp today. Give me your arrows and bow. Do not go too far into the hills. If nothing has happened by midday , return then. Is that understood?”

Kerrick nodded, passing over his weapons in silence. Then he watched and waited until the two hunters had returned the way they had come, down the hill towards the tents, before he turned his back on them and started slowly up the slope.

There was rock and hard soil here so that whoever had made the footprint made no others — nor did he leave any trail that could be followed. Kerrick climbed to the next ridge and looked back at the tents that were far below him now. This would be a good place for him to wait. It was open and no one could slip up on him without being seen. And if he had to flee his way was clear. He sat down, facing the valley, cradling his spear, watchful and aware.

The hills were silent, bare and empty of anything that moved, other than the ants in the sand before him. They were struggling with a dead beetle many times their size, trying to carry it to their nest. Kerrick watched the ants — and from the corners of his eyes watched around him as well.

Something itched the back of his neck and he brushed at it, but there was nothing there. He still felt something, not really an itch, but a sensation of some kind. Then he recognized it, remembered Munan’s description of what he had felt. He was being watched.

Slowly he stood and turned about, looking up at the grassy slope of the hill and the stand of trees beyond. No one was visible. There were some bushes on the hillside, but they were thin and offered no cover. If he were being watched it had to be from behind the trees. He looked at them and waited, but nothing moved. If the hidden watcher was afraid then he would have to take some initiative himself. Only when he started to put his spear down did he realize that his hand was tight-gripped about the shaft. His only protection. He did not want to discard it. Yet he must if the unseen watcher — or watchers — were to believe that he came in peace. With an effort of will, and a decisiveness that he did not feel, he hurled it aside. There was still no movement under the trees.