Kalaleq was indeed very happy. He sang hunting songs to himself as he went over the boat’s sail stitch by stitch, sewing in more gut if there was any sign of weakness. He had done the same with the hull, checking and caulking. The first part of the journey south would be the most trying and every precaution must be taken before they left. Food stowed and lashed firmly into position — and the same for the waterskins. He knew full well what the fury of the winter storms could do. There would be two pumps instead of one for if they foundered they were lost. What fun! He laughed aloud as he worked, pretending not to see the jealous and envying looks of the others. What a voyage it would be!

Even when all of the preparations were complete they had to wait, for now in the depths of winter, the winds blew their worst, banking the snow outside the paukaruts and screaming continuously overhead. Now they could only wait. Some of Kerrick’s dark mood returned with every day’s delay and he fought to control it, knowing that nothing could be done. The work completed Kalaleq slept and harbored his strength. Armun remained calm, resigned, and this had a salutary affect on Kerrick. They would leave when the weather permitted.

When Kerrick woke he knew at once that something was very different. The shrieking wind that had torn at the paukarut for endless days was gone. Everything was still. Kalaleq was ahead of him, opening the lashings to admit the bright sunshine.

“What weather! How good!”

“Then we leave?”

“Now, soon, at once, no delay! The spirit of the wind has told us we must go at once while he is resting. He will not rest long, and we must try to be across the bay of storms before he returns. To the boat!”

With the end of the blizzard everyone knew that the long-delayed voyage would now begin. The paukaruts emptied, and the shouting, laughing mob converged on the boat. It was lifted clear of the snow and rushed to the ocean’s edge. Waves still broke in a cloud of spray and rushed far up the slanting length of the flensing ledge. There was much loud argument as to the best manner of launching, but agreement was quickly reached. Ready volunteers hauled the boat into the surf, laughing and shouting at the cold soaking, held it there in the crashing waves. Still others seized up the three voyagers, sat them on their shoulders to keep them dry, then staggered forward into the water. The instant they were aboard Kalaleq raised the sail as willing hands pushed them into the breaking waves. As the boat surged forward the helpers were tumbled over by the heavy surf and washed ashore, laughing until they were exhausted. Armun watched with amazement; she would never understand these strange, furry hunters.

With the prevailing wind from the west they had to tack very often to make any progress to the south and west. Kalaleq knew that the coast to the south of them ran from east to west and they would never turn the headland west of the bay if they allowed themselves to be carried toward the land. Watching both the sail and the sky he took the bobbing, tiny craft on a course that should keep them well clear of the shore.

Seasickness struck Armun almost at once and she lay sprawled, damp-skinned under her fur covers. Kerrick seemed unaffected by the swooping rush through the waves and helped with the lines whenever they had to go about. He was smiling too, even laughing like the Paramutan while the spray froze on his hair and beard. Kalaleq shared his enthusiasm and only Armun seemed to understand the risks they were taking, the utter insanity of the voyage. But it was far too late to return, far too late.

The good weather held for the best part of two days, fair winds and clear sky. When the storms returned they were not as fierce as they had previously been. They sailed on for three days more before the ice on the rigging became so heavy that they had to go ashore to clear it away. They pulled the boat far up on the sand of a small beach, hacked at the ice until they were soaked and chilled, then huddled close to the fire Kerrick made, teeth chattering, their soaked clothing steaming and charring as they tried to dry it.

They had passed the murgu base during the storm, had seen nothing of it, nor did they expect to find any of the heat-loving creatures in these cold northern seas at this time of year. But with each day’s voyage south there was an improvement in the weather. The storms seemed to have lost a good deal of their fury as the tiny craft moved slowly, ever southward, along the rocky coast.

It was foggy at dawn and a thin rain soaked them, chilling them more than the cold dry winds of the north. Kerrick stood in the bow peering as well as he could at the shore. A rocky headland rose above the fog ahead and they moved swiftly toward it, swept forward by wind and current. Kerrick looked from chart to land, chewing nervously on his lip. It must be, there seemed little doubt. He turned quickly and called out to Kalaleq.

“Put her over, take a heading as far west as you can. I am sure that we are coming close to Genaglè, the current is fierce there, rushing into the other sea.”

“Are we there? This is wonderful!” Kalaleq shouted aloud and laughed as he pushed the tiller over, secured it then rushed to adjust the sail. “Oh that I should see this, a whole new world — and filled with murgu. Will the murgu be sailing in this sea now?”

“I don’t think so, not this time of year. But after we cross the mouth of Genaglè we will come to the great continent of Entoban* where it is always warm. There we must be careful.”

Murgu, Yilanè, the two words merged in his mind. They would be coming to the island soon. And he must attack them just as they attacked the Tanu on the other side of this sea. As they must be attacking them, even now.

“They will not fight,” Herilak said, his lips white with anger. “They will not attack us — and when we attack them they hide behind their poison walls where we cannot reach them.”

“They are murgu and murgu cannot be expected to war as Tanu or Sasku do,” Sanone said, reaching out with a stick to stir the fire so that sparks rose high and blew away on the cold breeze. In winter, at night, even in this protected valley the air grew chill, and he was no longer young with the warm flesh of youth. He drew his thick robe closer about him and looked around at the sleeping valley. Only he and Herilak remained awake; the others slept.

“They learn, the murgu learn,” Herilak said with some bitterness. “In the beginning we could spear them at night, cut them down and kill them. Now we cannot reach them at night. Nor during the day. They stay secure and do not advance until we have gone. Then they come on, slowly, but always closer.”

“How close are they now?” Sanone asked.

“They surround us, on all sides. Not within sight, not yet, but still there, four days’ march in any direction. The circle is not complete; they have separate armed camps, but all of them are invulnerable. If we attack one they stay inside and do not move. But while we do that the others come closer. One day they will all be here and the valley will be surrounded and that will be the end.”

“Then we must leave before it is too late, before we are trapped.”

“Go where?” Herilak’s eyes were wide with mixed feelings, their whites glowing in the firelight. “Is there any place that is safe from them? You are the mandukto of the Sasku, you lead your hunters and women. Do you know of any place of safety to lead them to now?”

Sanone shifted uneasily before he spoke. “Across the desert to the west. It is said that there is water, green grass on the other side.”

“Do you wish to lead your Sasku there?”

The fire crackled and a log fell in and it was a long time before Sanone answered. “No, I do not wish to take them away from this valley. We have always lived here. It is fit and right that if we are to die that we should die here.”