Nadaske could not bear fire, hated the smell of the smoke. If he cooked any of the meat for himself it would have to be done far from the shore. It would be better to build a fire here and eat some of the meat, bring back the rest for the males.

Finding dry wood, then coaxing a spark from the flint took some time, as did roasting a hind leg over the fire. The meat was tough but good and he ate it right down to the bone. It was late in the afternoon before he kicked dirt over the remains of the fire, threw the carcass over his shoulder and started back to the lake.

As he came along the shore he called out sounds of attention to speaking. He did it again when Nadaske did not respond. This was not like him. Was something wrong? He let the deer slide to the ground and sank down in the brush. Carefully and silently, the hèsotsan pointed before him, he moved among the trees to approach from the sheltered side. If Yilanè hunters had found the camp he wanted to be able to fire first. There was a large conifer that overhung the shore and he wriggled up behind it, carefully looked out.

Something terrible had happened. Nadaske sat on the sand, slumped forward, arms hanging limply. He had pulled Imehei up on the shore where he lay on his back with his mouth open, motionless. Dead. There was much blood and small bodies littering the sand.

When Kerrick stumbled forward making sounds of inquiry Nadaske turned empty eyes to him. It took a great effort but he finally spoke.

“They emerged. He died. It is over. My friend is dead. He is dead.”

When Kerrick went closer he saw that the bodies were of tiny Yilanè. Nadaske saw where he was looking and sprang to his feet. His jaw clacked shut, hard, again and again until saliva ran down his neck. There was pain in every movement, every expression.

“They lived, Imehei died. They killed him. I watched them being born in the water even when he was dead. The females, they are there on the shore, every one. I killed them. They, the females, they killed him. Now others of their kind are dead here.” He gestured towards the lake and snapped his thumbs together loudly. “Not the males. They are out there. If they live they will live free of these others. That is a chance they will have — that Imehei never had.”

There was nothing that Kerrick could say that would lessen Nadaske’s pain, that could change the terrible events of this day. He went back and found the deer where he had left it, brought it back.

In the city Imehei’s body would have been put to rest in one of the burial pits, where the roots of specialized plants would dissolve it, flesh and bones as well, restoring the nutrients to the city that had nurtured him. Here all that they could do was dig a grave in the soft sand beneath the conifer that stood behind camp, lay his body within it. Kerrick dragged up stones to cover the loose earth, to keep the animals from digging it up.

There was nothing here now for Nadaske. When Kerrick rolled his sleeping covers in the morning Nadaske came over to him and held out a small, leaf-wrapped bundle.

“Will you carry this for me? Exercise of care in transport/ prevention injury.”

He opened the wrapping to disclose the wire sculpture of a horned nenitesk. Kerrick signed agreement/gratitude for trust, rewrapped it and put it carefully inside the skins.

“I will carry it safely, return it when we reach our destination.”

“Then let us leave.”

The sun was just over the trees when they started down the trail. Neither of them looked back at the empty beach.

“The fishing is good here,” the sammadar Kellimans said, stirring the fire with a stick.

“And the fishing is good in the ocean everywhere — because there are fish everywhere.” Herilak spoke sharply, trying to control his anger. “And will you still be able to fish here in the winter when it is so cold that the death-sticks die? You will have to leave then. So you could leave now.”

“When the cold comes, then we will leave,” Har-Havola said. “In this I agree with Kellimans. And fishing is good in the river also, not only in the sea.”

“If you like fish that much — you should live in the ocean with them!” Herilak snapped. “We are hunters, that is what we are, not fish eaters…”

“But the hunting is good here as well.”

“I think we can hunt better to the south,” Hanath called out. “Kerrick has done something important for us.”

“Like keeping us alive,” Morgil said. “We go with Herilak if he seeks to find him.”

“Go! Who needs you,” Kellimans said with indignation. “You stole the porro from the manduktos, caused us all trouble. There are those of us who will take pleasure in seeing your backs. Leave with Herilak. But I am one who is going to stay. There is no reason to leave now.”

“There is.” Herilak jumped to his feet and pointed south into the darkness. “Will anyone here deny that Kerrick, somewhere out there, saved our lives, all of our lives?” He pulled hard at the knife he wore about his neck and the thong snapped: he hurled it down at their feet. “The murgu returned this to us. The skymetal knife that Kerrick always wore. It is a message to us. It tells us that he made them stop the war. He made them send this to us to show that we had won. The attack ended and they went away. He made them do all that. Will anyone here say that I am not speaking the truth?” He glared across the fire at the sammadars who nodded agreement. He looked up at the hunters and women behind them who were listening in silence. “All of us know that this is true. I say we must go south to see if Kerrick is there, if he is still alive, if we can help him.”

“If he is alive he will not need help,” Kellimans said and there was a murmur of agreement. “Herilak, he is of your sammad and if you want to seek him out you must do that. But we will do as we wish.”

“And we wish to stay here,” Har-Havola added.

“You all have spines like jellyfish, minds of wet mud.”

Herilak seized up the skymetal knife as Merrith walked over to the fire. She faced them with her hands on her hips, the fire reflected in her eyes. “You are all little boys that talk big — then piss yourselves with fright. Why not say what you really think? You are afraid to go near the murgu. So you will forget about Kerrick and eat your fish. May your tharms drown in the ocean and never see the stars!”

There were even angrier shouts at this.

“You should not speak like that. Not about the tharms,” Herilak said.

“I said it and I will not take back my words. Since you hunters believe that we stupid women do not have tharms — I see no reason to worry about yours. Do you leave in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Does your sammad march with you?”

“They do. We have talked about it and they will go south.”

“Even your mastodons are wiser than these sammadars. I will travel with you.”

Herilak nodded in gratitude. “You will leave with us.” He smiled. “I can always use another strong hunter at my side.”

“Hunter and woman both, sammadar. Don’t ever forget that.”

Everything that could be said around the fire had been said. Merrith left them and went past the dark mounds of the tents, to the meadow where the mastodons were tethered. Her old cow, Dooha, lifted her trunk and smelled the air, rumbled a greeting to her and reached out her trunk to touch her with the delicate tip. Merrith patted its hairy surface.

“I know you don’t like to walk after dark, but it’s not far. Now — stand still.”

Merrith had her mind made up long before the meeting around the fire had begun. She had struck her tent, tied it and all of her bundles to the carrying poles which she now secured to the mastodon. Dooha rumbled complaints but permitted herself to be led away. As soon as Merrith knew that Herilak was leaving she had made preparations. The rest of the sammads could stay here by the river and get fat and oily eating fish. She would go south with Herilak’s sammad. It would be good to move on — and she was fond of Malagen. There was no one else here who she cared about — or who cared about her. When she dropped the travois behind the tents and tied Dooha to a tree she went to Herilak’s fire. Malagen looked up at her, smiling with pleasure. “You will come with us!”