“Karu…” he said, and did not fire. Inlènu* moaned in fear.
The mastodon lifted its trunk and bellowed again. Then turned and vanished from sight.
Karu. Why had he said that? What did it mean? He had been startled by the giant creature—but not afraid at all. That strange word, Karu, it stirred up mixed memories. Warm and friendly. Cold as death. He trembled and pushed them away. The fighting should be very close. The large, hairy beast must have been frightened by the battle, had run this way. He was glad that he had not killed it.
“The Eistaa sends for one by the name of Kerrick,” the fargi said, moving slowly along the river bank. She had been wounded by some sharp object and a large bandage covered her lower arm. There was blood on her side and streaked down her leg.
“Wash yourself clean,” Kerrick ordered, then gave a tug on his lead and Inlènu* lumbered to her feet. The hèsotsan had finished the bit of meat and he smoothed its mouth shut as they walked; it had tiny, sharp teeth and could give a nasty little bite if this were not done.
They followed the river bank, then turned away from it when they came to a well-trampled path. More wounded fargi passed them going in the opposite direction. Some of them had stopped; others were sprawled on the ground, too weak to go any further. They passed one of them that had died on the way, eyes wide and mouth gaping. The fighting must have been fierce.
Then Kerrick saw his first dead Tanu. They were heaped together, men and women, children’s tiny corpses tossed aside. Beyond them a mastodon, dead among the broken poles, its load burst and scattered.
Kerrick was numb, with an emotion—or lack of emotion—that left him stumbling along in silence. These were ustuzou, they needed killing. These were Tanu—why were they dead? These were the loathsome ustuzou that had slaughtered the Yilanè males and the young on the beaches. But what did he really care or know about that? He had never even been close to the beaches.
A fargi, the spear that had killed it still through her body, lay in bloody embrace over the body of the hunter who had wielded it. The fargi was Yilanè and he, Kerrick, he was Yilanè as well.
But, no, he was Tanu. Was he Tanu too?
The question could not be answered, but could not be forgotten as well. Yet he must forget it then and remember that he had been a boy—but that boy was dead. In order to live he must live as a Yilanè. He was Yilanè, not dirty ustuzou.
A fargi pulled at his arm and he stumbled after her. Through the column of death; dead Tanu, mastodons, Yilanè. It could not bear looking at. They came to a group of armed fargi who moved aside so that Kerrick could pass. Vaintè stood there, every movement of her body expressing unconcealed anger. When she saw Kerrick she pointed soundlessly at the object on the ground before her. It was an animal’s skin, badly tanned and mottled, limp and shapeless except for the head that had been stuffed.
Kerrick recoiled in horror. Not an animal—a Yilanè, and one that he recognized. Sokain, the surveyor who had been killed by the ustuzou. Killed, skinned, and brought here.
“See this.” Every motion of Vaintè’s body, each sound she spoke, exuded hatred and a relentless anger. “See what these animals have done to one of such intelligence and grace. I want to know more of this matter, which one of them was responsible, how many were involved, where we can find them. You will question the ustuzou we hold captive over there. We had to club it into submission. It may be the pack leader. Make it bleed, make it tell you what it knows before I kill it. Be quick. I will want to know when I return. A few of them fled destruction but Stallan leads her hunters and follows and will pull them down.”
There was a glade here surrounded by high trees. The Tanu lay on the ground, arms and legs bound, while a fargi beat the creature with its own spear. “Make it suffer—but do not kill it,” Vaintè ordered, then turned away as a messenger hurried up.