Herilak turned about when he heard his name called, wiping the burnt crumbs from his fingers. It was the boy-without-a-name, solemn as always.

“The alladjex is very ill, he breathes with great difficulty. I fear that he is dying.”

He had learned to control his feelings very well. When Fraken died the boy would take his name, become the new alladjex. Undoubtedly this was what he most desired, the end to his training and servitude, yet none of this showed now.

“He will speak, we must listen,” Merrith said in a hushed voice. She had no great love for Fraken, his poultices or his predictions. But everyone knew that a person’s dying words were the most important he would ever utter. With death so close there could be no lies. There were things in death unknown in life and these the dying could many times see. The death-words were very important. When the boy turned away they hurried after him.

Others in the sammad were there before them, still more drifting up as word was spread. Furs and skins had been laid by the fire. Fraken coughed weakly when they came up, his face thin and gaunt. His eyes were closed so perhaps there would be no death-words after all. But the boy-without-a-name bent and whispered in his ear. Fraken muttered something then his eyes opened and he looked around at the silent watchers. He coughed again before he could speak and the boy wiped a trace of blood from his lips.

“You are here because I am dying. I have told you things before and you have not listened. Now I die and now you will listen. This boy who will be Fraken knows how to read the future from the owl pellets. Listen to him for I have taught him well. Listen to me now for I see clearly what I have never seen before…”

He broke off, coughed again and again and lay back until some little strength returned. “Lift me,” he said, and there was blood on his chin now. The boy supported his head so he could see across the fire to the silent, watching circle. His eyes moved across Herilak, rested on Kerrick and his face twisted with feeble anger.

“We are here in the land of the murgu and that is wrong. We should be in the mountains, in the snow. That is where we should be. Far away from the murgu, far away from thoughts of murgu, acts of murgu, sight of murgu, those who act like murgu.”

Some of the watchers looked at Kerrick, then quickly away. He kept his face motionless, expressionless. The old man had always hated him, he knew that. His were not words of truth at dying but simply bitter revenge. Die quickly, Kerrick thought. You will not be missed.

“If we live among murgu we become like murgu. We are Tanu. Return to the mountains, return to the old ways.”

His eyes closed with pain as he coughed over and over. Nor did they open again, although he did not die at once. Kerrick waited with the others, though he hated the old man, but knew that he did not dare to show this now. It was growing dark and the boy-without-a-name built the fire higher. Smoke blew over Fraken, but he was through with coughing. Herilak bent down and touched the old man’s neck, then opened one eye with his fingers, closed it again, then rose to his feet.

“He is dead. This one is now Fraken.”

Kerrick left then and walked slowly back to his tent in the darkness. He was not disturbed by the old man’s dying hatred; he was rid of him at last. Fraken had been a venomous creature, better off dead. He wanted them to return to the mountains and snow — yet he had been more than happy to come south for the warmth.

There was no game to hunt now in those distant mountains — and far too much snow. There could be no way back now for the sammads. They would have to stay where they were, here in the warm south where the hunting was good.

As long as the death-sticks kept the killer murgu at bay. It always came back to that.

Enge heard the shouted sounds as she came out of the shaded walkway, but they were without meaning until she could see Ambalasei as well as hear her voice. The old scientist was leaning back on a resting board and calling out to her assistant.

“Poke it — but do not injure it. Get it to attack the stick.”

There was a fearful hissing and screeching from the far end of the clearing. Enge looked in some astonishment at Setessei who was prodding a bird with a length of wood. The creature flapped wildly, losing feathers, bit into the stick with its teeth. It could not be a bird, not with teeth. Four more of the creatures were tied up close by, fluttering and hissing with fear.

“Now—” Ambalasei called out. “Release it.”

A binding-animal was secured about its legs. Setessei poked at it with the stick until she touched the nerve ganglion that opened its mouth. As soon as it was freed the creature ran, screaming, towards the trees. Its wings were extended and flapping and it made little soaring hops into the air. With one last screech it vanished into the undergrowth.

“Excellent,” Ambalasei said, gesturing success of endeavor with her right hand. This turned instantly to a modifier of distaste/displeasure as sharp pain shot through her bandaged thumb.

“Pleasure of presence,” Enge said. “Unhappiness at injury hopefully soon healed.”

“A hope that I share. Infection from accidental cut by stringknife during dissection. Slowness of healing indication of advanced age of organism.”

“Ambalasei is heavy with years of wisdom.”

“Heavy with years of years as well, Enge. Signs of age cannot be denied. But can be forgotten in pleasures of research/discovery. Did you see that creature run?”

“I did. Though reasons for captive/release flight were unclear, the creature itself unclear. It has the feathers of bird, but also teeth, no beak.”

Ambalasei signed appreciation of observation. “Abandon your pursuit of Ugunenapsa’s invisible theorizing and I shall make you into a true scientist. No? I did not think so. Complete waste of intelligence. As you have observed the pertinent thing about the ninkulileb are its teeth, that is why it is so named. That creature is a living fossil. I have seen beasts like it in rock from ages long gone. Yet on this isolated continent, so far from Inegban*, its descendants still live. You saw the teeth and the feathers. It is a link between early sauria and the estekel* who fly so well. Though perhaps not. Parallel evolution I believe. These creatures are more closely related to modern birds. Wings and feathers, yet not capable of being truly airborne yet, you witnessed that. Still a fast runner, aided by the wings, to capture insects and to escape predators. This continent is a revelation, the flora and fauna worth lifetimes of study.”

Ambalasei peeled the nefmakel from her hand as she talked, glared angrily at the healing wound, signed Setessei for a fresh wrapping. While her assistant was fitting it into place Ambalasei indicated query of presence to Enge.

“Concern over injury, desire for assistance.”

“The injury heals, but hurts. Assistance in aid of what?”

“Omal reports misfortune in containers. Meat rots.”

“Failure of enzyme. Setessei will take care of that as she always does. And why does Enge bear a message that Omal herself could bring? Or any yilanè fargi for that matter.”

“Ambalasei always penetrates another’s thoughts even before they are spoken. Although the matter is of no importance to you, I seek clarity of thinking for aspects of truth that escape me.”

“There are times when I feel like the only yilanè among yiliebe fargi. Where would this world be without my intelligence?”