salvation of the city is lost in the reality that I see no salvation for the Daughters of Life. We will remain here, studying Ugunenapsa's wisdom, and grow old in our studies."
"Grow old and die and that will be the end of everything."
"Everything," Enge echoed in tones and overtones dark as death itself. She shook herself as though a cold wind had brushed her, held out her hands and willed them to turn from the dark green of grief to a roseate color of hope. "Yet I will not stop searching for an answer to this. One must exist. It is my own inferior inability to recognize it that is the problem. You do think that there is an answer, don't you, great Ambalasei?"
Ambalasei did not speak. That was kindest. She turned away and directed her attention to the water and sky. But the failing light made her think of death.
Death was something that Vaintè never considered. Nor life either. She just existed. Catching fish when she grew hungry, drinking at the spring when thirsty. It was a mindless and empty existence which suited her now. Occasionally when she did think of the things that had happened she grew restless and uncomfortable and clashed her teeth together in the grip of strong emotions. She did not like that.
It was better not to dwell on such disturbing matters, best not to think at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fanasso to tundri hugalatta, ensi to tharmanni—foa er suas tharm, so et hola likiz modia.
Tanu saying
Keep your gaze on the forest and not on the stars—or you may catch sight of your own tharm up there.
Kerrick called a halt when the heat under the trees became oppressive.
"It is too early to stop," Harl said, making no attempt to conceal his disagreement with the decision. This was his sixteenth summer and he was more of a hunter now, less of a boy.
"For you, perhaps. But the rest of us will stay here during the heat of the day, go on when it is cooler. If the strong hunter does not wish to rest he can scout the track ahead. Perhaps his spear can find fresh meat."
Harl happily dropped the poles of his travois and stretched his tired back. As he seized up his spear again Kerrick stopped him.
"Take the death-stick as well."
"It is not good for hunting."
"It is good for killing murgu. Take it."
Harl loped off silently down the trail and Kerrick turned to Armun who was seated, wearily, with her back to a tree.
"I should have stopped earlier," he said.
"No, this is good. Unless I walk I will not get my strength back." Darras, who had been carrying the baby, passed her down to her mother. Armun wore only a loose skin around her waist because of the heat, held the baby now to her breast. Arnwheet was not pleased by all this domesticity and lack of attention and he pulled at Kerrick's arm.
"I want to go hunt with Harl. My spear thirsts to drink an animal's blood."
Kerrick smiled. "Big talk for small boy. You have been hearing too many of Ortnar's hunting stories." He glanced up as he said this, looked back under the trees and along the trail they had taken. It was empty.
The lame hunter would be some time catching up with them for he moved very slowly. This march was going to be a long one. Kerrick took the smoked meat that Darras handed him, sat down beside her and began to eat. Arnwheet, hunting forgotten at the sight of food, sat next to him as well. They had almost finished when there was movement under the trees. Kerrick reached for his hèsotsan and Arnwheet laughed.
"It is only Ortnar. Do not shoot him."
"I won't. But my eyesight is not as keen as that of the mighty small hunter."
Ortnar limped up slowly, dragging his dead leg, streaming with perspiration. Darras hurried to him with the water gourd and he drained it, then let himself slide down the bole of a tree until he sat on the ground.
"You stop too early," he said.
"Armun tires quickly. We will go on when it is cooler."
"Keep your death-stick pointed towards me," he said quietly. "There is something out there, it has been stalking me for
"Grow old and die and that will be the end of everything."
"Everything," Enge echoed in tones and overtones dark as death itself. She shook herself as though a cold wind had brushed her, held out her hands and willed them to turn from the dark green of grief to a roseate color of hope. "Yet I will not stop searching for an answer to this. One must exist. It is my own inferior inability to recognize it that is the problem. You do think that there is an answer, don't you, great Ambalasei?"
Ambalasei did not speak. That was kindest. She turned away and directed her attention to the water and sky. But the failing light made her think of death.
Death was something that Vaintè never considered. Nor life either. She just existed. Catching fish when she grew hungry, drinking at the spring when thirsty. It was a mindless and empty existence which suited her now. Occasionally when she did think of the things that had happened she grew restless and uncomfortable and clashed her teeth together in the grip of strong emotions. She did not like that.
It was better not to dwell on such disturbing matters, best not to think at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Fanasso to tundri hugalatta, ensi to tharmanni—foa er suas tharm, so et hola likiz modia.
Tanu saying
Keep your gaze on the forest and not on the stars—or you may catch sight of your own tharm up there.
Kerrick called a halt when the heat under the trees became oppressive.
"It is too early to stop," Harl said, making no attempt to conceal his disagreement with the decision. This was his sixteenth summer and he was more of a hunter now, less of a boy.
"For you, perhaps. But the rest of us will stay here during the heat of the day, go on when it is cooler. If the strong hunter does not wish to rest he can scout the track ahead. Perhaps his spear can find fresh meat."
Harl happily dropped the poles of his travois and stretched his tired back. As he seized up his spear again Kerrick stopped him.
"Take the death-stick as well."
"It is not good for hunting."
"It is good for killing murgu. Take it."
Harl loped off silently down the trail and Kerrick turned to Armun who was seated, wearily, with her back to a tree.
"I should have stopped earlier," he said.
"No, this is good. Unless I walk I will not get my strength back." Darras, who had been carrying the baby, passed her down to her mother. Armun wore only a loose skin around her waist because of the heat, held the baby now to her breast. Arnwheet was not pleased by all this domesticity and lack of attention and he pulled at Kerrick's arm.
"I want to go hunt with Harl. My spear thirsts to drink an animal's blood."
Kerrick smiled. "Big talk for small boy. You have been hearing too many of Ortnar's hunting stories." He glanced up as he said this, looked back under the trees and along the trail they had taken. It was empty.
The lame hunter would be some time catching up with them for he moved very slowly. This march was going to be a long one. Kerrick took the smoked meat that Darras handed him, sat down beside her and began to eat. Arnwheet, hunting forgotten at the sight of food, sat next to him as well. They had almost finished when there was movement under the trees. Kerrick reached for his hèsotsan and Arnwheet laughed.
"It is only Ortnar. Do not shoot him."
"I won't. But my eyesight is not as keen as that of the mighty small hunter."
Ortnar limped up slowly, dragging his dead leg, streaming with perspiration. Darras hurried to him with the water gourd and he drained it, then let himself slide down the bole of a tree until he sat on the ground.
"You stop too early," he said.
"Armun tires quickly. We will go on when it is cooler."
"Keep your death-stick pointed towards me," he said quietly. "There is something out there, it has been stalking me for
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