“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.”

Hoatil ham tina grunnan, sassi peria malom skermom mallivo.

TANU SAYING

Anyone can bear misery, few are the better for good times.

TWENTY-THREE

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.”