They called out loudly to Kerrick as the ikkergak swooped down on the little boat, laughing and shouting compliments. He must have heard them—yet he never turned to look. Just faced ahead and sailed on. When they raced alongside he still took no notice. Only when the ikkergak moved in front of him, cutting him off, did he look up. He pushed over on the steering oar and sat, slumped, as the sail dropped and he lost way. His hands lay on his thighs and his chin rested on his chest and he never moved or seemed aware of their shouts. Someone threw a line to him but he took no notice as it slipped into the sea. They maneuvered closer and seized his sail. When the hulls bumped together Armun saw her chance, clambered over the side and half-fell into the boat.

“Kerrick,” she called out softly. “It is Armun. I am here.”

He stirred and lifted his eyes to hers and she saw the tears that stained his face. “They are going to die,” he said, “all of them will die. I could prevent that, I could. Now they are going to die and it is all my fault.”

“No!” she cried, seizing him and holding him tight to her. “You cannot blame yourself. You did not make this world the way it is. You did not bring the murgu. You are not to blame.”

He was going out of his mind, she was sure of this now. This was not the Kerrick who had fought the murgu without fear, who had followed her into the frozen north. Something terrible was happening to him and she did not know what she could do. He had been like this in the camp by the lake. Though not this bad, and he had seemed to be much better after they had left. But the sickness in his head had returned—and stronger now than ever before.

Kerrick held tight to her all night, exhausted and deeply asleep, as they sailed back to the north.

In the morning he appeared calmer, ate and drank some water. But he did not answer when he was spoken to and the Paramutan sulked because they thought he was spoiling their fun. They soon forgot this though and cried out happily when the paukaruts came into sight soon after dawn. Armun could not forget. She looked at his grim and silent face and felt hope slipping away from her. Only when they were alone at last did he answer her.

“Yes, I was going to the island. There is nothing else that I can do. They depend upon me.”

“But what can you do alone—even if you find it?”

“I don’t know!” he cried aloud with pain. “I only know that I must try.”