“I will, though not at the present time. I am too filled with the despair of our lost sister. I know, Ambalasei, you don’t have to say it, she was foolish and headstrong. But what she did she did for us all and we shall mourn her.”

“That is your choice. Mine is to further my studies of this new continent. I will be going up the river again as soon as I have made my preparations.”

Enge signed respectful farewell when Ambalasei left. It was difficult to think that she would not see Far! ever again. She regretted now the harshness with which she had treated her sister. There was an emptiness now that would be hard to fill. But she must not brood about it. There was one of the newcomers, staring about with wonder at this new city . Enge approached her and signed greetings. The fargi recoiled.

“Do not fear. All here are Daughters of Life and no harm will ever come to you. Do you have a name?”

The fargi merely stared at her, though her jaws worked uneasily.

“Do you understand what I am saying?” There was still no reaction. “Well, you will learn to speak. Then you will learn the truths as taught by Ugunenapsa…”

“First principle,” the fargi said, slowly and crudely. “We resist between thumbs spirit life named Efeneleiaa.”

“Then you are not yiliebe, and I can see that you have learned wisdom…”

“Second principle. All dwell city life. Third principle. Spirit life Efeneleiaa supreme eistaa city-”

She slowly stopped speaking and her jaws worked and she writhed in an attempt to remember what came next. She could not so she began over. “First principle…”

“That is enough, you can stop now.”

“Food-food-food!” the fargi said and opened her jaws wide like a bird in a nest.

Enge took her arm and led her to the food vats. She was very depressed. Ambalasei had been correct. This fargi had learned to recite sounds and movements she could not possibly understand, to be rewarded with food for her efforts. Trained like an animal, not Yilanè at all. And Far! was dead.

Enge fought back despair. There was much to be done, very much.

Herilak walked the track ahead of the sammads, his eyes never still. Not only looking into the forest on both sides but also up at the branches above. He stepped over the trunk of a tree that had fallen across the track: it had been a long time since a sammad had passed this way. Something rustled in the undergrowth and he stopped and stared but could see nothing. Bird cries sounded among the leaves — and the sudden, distant snap of a death-stick.

He turned about and listened, there were shouts and a mastodon screeched. With his own death-stick held ready he ran back along the track to the sammad. Nadris was prodding a large, still form with his foot, the marag that they called spike-back.

“What happened?” Herilak called out.

“This thing came out of the trees, started towards the mastodons. I had to kill it.”

The tiny eyes were glazed in death. It was covered with armored plates and had rows of spikes down its sides and all along the length of its tail. It had been a good shot, the poisoned dart striking the creature on its mouth.

“They are good to eat,” Nadris said.

“But hard to butcher,” Herilak said. “If we turn it over we can take off the rear legs. But we will have to stop for the night soon so you don’t have much time. Stay here and get started — I’ll send Newasfar to help. Use his mastodon to carry the meat and be sure to leave before dark.”

They started forward, the mastodons rolling their eyes and trumpeting with fear when they passed the immense corpse. Herilak went ahead again, looking for a clearing where they could stop and build their fire. They would need dry wood, a lot of it, to cook all of the meat. It would spoil in the heat if they didn’t, a waste.

An animal trail crossed the larger track, angling off into the forest. He stopped to see if the trees were thinner here and something caught his attention; he bent and looked closer. It was a blaze on the treetrunk, a mark where a section of bark had been peeled away. Though it was partly grown over it had been done this season. And there, higher up, was a branch that had been broken and left to hang. This trail had been marked by Tanu.

Merrith was leading her mastodon, the others following in line behind it, when she saw Herilak waiting on the track ahead. When she came close she saw that he was smiling, pointing into the forest towards the east.

“I’ve found something, a marked path leading towards the shore. Marked more than once.”

“Could it be Kerrick?”

“I don’t know, but it is something, another sammad perhaps. If he is not there they may know of him. We’ll stop here. You tell the others — I want to see where this trail goes.”

It was almost dark when Herilak came to the water and looked across at the island. Too dark to go on. He sniffed the air. Was there a trace of woodsmoke? He could not be sure. He would find out in the morning.

They ate well that night, gorged themselves because there was far more meat here than they could possibly eat or preserve. Only old Fraken complained at the toughness of the meat, but this was because he had very few teeth left. The boy-without-a-name had to cut Fraken’s food into small pieces for the old man, was ordered to do this before he ate himself. Though he did stick some of the pieces into his mouth when Fraken looked away. Herilak chewed the meat without thinking about it, wondering what he would find on the island in the morning. He lay awake a long time that night, slept restlessly, then awoke while there were still stars in the sky. He took some cold meat from the ashes of the fire and bit oft a piece, went to wake Hanath.

“I want you to come with me. I’ll need help crossing to the island.”

Morgil awoke when Herilak spoke. “What about me?” he asked.

“Stay with the sammad. Smoke as much of the meat as you can. We’ll be back as soon as we see if there are Tanu out there. If there is a sammad Hanath will come and tell you.”

It was a cool morning and they moved swiftly down the trail to the water’s edge. Hanath lifted his head and sniffed the air.

“Smoke,” he said, pointing at the island. “Coming from over there.”

“I thought I smelled it last night — and look here, these marks. A raft or a boat has been pulled up onto the mud. There is someone on the island, there has to be.”

“How do we get across?”

“The same way…”

“See — something is moving over there, under the trees.”

Both hunters stood motionless and silent, peering at the shadows under the distant trees. A bough was pushed aside and someone emerged into the sunlight, then another.

“A hunter and a boy,” Hanath said.

“Two boys, one big enough to be a hunter.”

Herilak cupped his hands before his mouth and called out an ululating cry. Both boys stopped and turned — then waved when they saw the hunters. Then they turned and disappeared back under the trees.

Kerrick looked at them when the boys came running down the slope, shouting, so out of breath they could barely gasp out the words.

“Hunters, two of them, over the water.”

“Were they Tanu?” Ortnar asked, dragging himself up.

“They had hair just like ours, and spears,” Harl said. “They are Tanu hunters.”

“I must see them,” Kerrick said, taking up his hèsotsan.

“I’ll show you where they are!” Arnwheet was bouncing with excitement.

“All right.”

Armun heard this as she came from the tent with the baby in her arms.

“Let the boy stay here,” she said.