“For the kindness she and her city have shown me I would risk death.”

“Well said. Gratitude from all. This matter has troubled the Eistaa for too long. Gratitude magnified many times if you can aid her.”

“It will be done, this day. Request if possible to locate one with skill in painting for I must have arms of greatest importance before I speak.”

“I will send for one. It will be done this day.”

Saagakel, having seen to all the pressing matters of the city, leaned back on the sunwarmed wood and felt tired. Responsibility was no easy thing. She was aware of motion as those about her drew away and she looked and saw Vaintè slowly approaching. Her arms were painted and her body stiffened in signs of some importance/privacy of talking needed. Saagakel found this of great interest because it was the triviality of city affairs that fatigued her. She stirred and rose to her feet.

“I go to the pool in the trees where none will disturb me. Come with me Vaintè and we shall talk.”

When they were alone she took a slab of cool meat from the container, that always rested there in case of sudden hunger, bit into it and made the signs of sharing to Vaintè. Vaintè took a token ceremonial piece, chewed it slowly and swallowed before she spoke.

“I who was Eistaa, speak to you as Eistaa. We have both been made to suffer from the same source. I will speak of painful matters, but speak only because I see future termination of past difficulties. I would speak of the Daughters of Life whom I call the Daughters of Death. Will you hear me?”

Saagakel’s body writhed with anger, as did Vaintè’s in instant sympathy. There was hatred as well, and there can be no greater bond than hatred shared.

“Speak,” Saagakel commanded, “for I can see that we are as one in this. Tell me what you know — and what you can do. Rid me of the burden that possesses my days and you will clasp my right thumbs as highest in all things. Speak!”

Vaintè signed gratitude and submission. “I must tell you of things past that bear on things present. We are born into an efenburu. We do not choose it. I had an efensele whom I now reject. I wish her dead. Her name is Enge and she leads others in the Daughters of Death.”

“An Enge came to this city, was imprisoned by me for she talked sedition. She talked of it to a respected scientist of advanced years named Ambalasei. What she said turned her from the natural way. She freed all of those deadly creatures and took them from here in one of my uruketo. They have not been seen or found since that day.”

“Strong hunter Fafnepto talked to me of this, asked for any intelligence on the matter that I might have. We talked and with our joint knowledge concluded that facts of importance should be presented to you. I do that now because all others have been forbidden to speak of the matter.”

“With reason. Anger without object present destroys.”

“I know — for I have felt that way.

“Tell me all that you know.”

“The uruketo left here and has not been seen since. No city in Entoban* knows of it.”

“Then they are dead?”

“I think not. This Enge has been to Gendasi* and survived the destruction of Alpèasak. If she were not a Daughter of Death she has the ability to rule as an eistaa. It is my thought that she has taken the uruketo beyond your reach. For now.”

“To Entoban*? Is this possible?”

“Possible and probable. No city in Gendasi* would accept their cargo of death — and no city has seen them. But Entoban* is large, most of it unknown to us, warm and filled with good meat. She has gone there, your uruketo has gone there, the traitor Ambalasei has gone there. I have not seen this, know none who have seen this. But I feel it so strongly through my body as I say it that it must have happened in just that way.”

Saagakel could not be still; she walked the length of the clearing, then back. Her muscles knotted and moved, her jaw snapped so hard that her teeth clashed together, but she was unaware of it. “What can be done?” she called out loudly. “You have been thinking of this — what can be done?”

“A search must be made. I know the land of Entoban * well for I have tracked and pursued the killer-ustuzou there. And killed them. There are Yilanè of science present in Alpèasak who have ways of searching and finding. Until now they have only looked for ustuzou — but they can find Yilanè just as well.”

Saagakel was calmer now, drained by her fury. “I must think about this and make decisions. I am glad we talked, Vaintè, for I can now do something about the anger that is sealed within me. Go now and speak to Ostuku. Tell her to tell the others that in the morning we will discuss matters no longer forbidden. It will be like cleansing a wound, purifying it. We will, together, take action on this and there will be deaths. I was too kind.”

“I as well. I treated them as Yilanè once, not the danger they were. They merit only death.”

The hillside above the spring was steep, the grass slicked by the afternoon rain. Kerrick missed his footing, skidded and fell, slid helplessly down the slope into a tangle of berry bushes. The thorns clung to him as he used the butt of his spear to clamber to his feet, ripped his skin as he pulled himself free. His thoughts had been on Nadaske before he fell, thinking that he should visit him on his solitary island, thinking in Yilanè of course. It was far better than Marbak for expressing dissatisfaction so now he writhed and verbalized disgusting descriptions of the thorny growths as he tore at their restraint. It was a fitting end to a depressing day. Heavy rain had interrupted the hunt, driven the game to cover. The few creatures they did disturb had easily avoided his arrows to be killed by others. Once free of the thorns he went carefully down to the spring, dropped his spear and bow onto the cool moss, knelt beside them and splashed water onto the scratches in his skin. There was a crackling in the brush and he seized up his spear.

“I am Tanu, not murgu,” Hanath said when he saw the pointed spear. “Spare my life, brave sammadar, and I will respond with great kindness.”

Kerrick growled in answer and drank from his cupped hands. Normally he enjoyed Hanath’s good spirits — but not this day. He watched as the hunter lowered the large clay pot into the water to fill it.

“Women carry water, hunters bring meat,” he said, ill-temperedly.

“They do,” Hanath said, rinsing out the pot, cheerfully immune to any insult. “And this hunter brought plenty of meat to little Malagen before she baked this pot. Only she can make them this big, this strong.”

“A hunter has no need of pots.”

“This hunter does. A good pot to this hunter is worth a herd of deer.”

Kerrick’s ill-humor was forgotten as he considered this novel thought. “Why?”

“Why? You who have drunk with the Sasku manduktos and have tasted their porro, you ask me why? Porro that tastes better than a young deer’s liver, better than having a woman, is far better than eating deer liver while having a woman…”

“I remember — Herilak told me. You and Morgil had trouble with the manduktos in the valley. He said that you stole and drank their porro.”

“Never!” Hanath drew himself up, slapped his chest a mighty blow. “We are not thieves in the night who steal from others. Yes, we tasted some of theirs, a very little bit. Then we watched, saw how they made it. It is a very small secret. After that we made our own, drank that.”

“And were quite sick?”