Return to Eden

when first she came here.
    There was water to drink, always something to eat when she grew hungry, nothing to disturb her in this place. Nor were there any of the dark thoughts that had so obsessed her when she had been abandoned on this inhospitable shore.
    No thoughts at all. She dragged one foot slowly after another along the shore and her path in the mud was twisted and scuffed. The marks of her passage soon filled with stagnant water.
    CHAPTER THREE
    Bruka assi stakkiz tina faralda—den ey gestarmal faralda markiz.
    Tanu proverb
    Enjoy this summer of your life—for life's winter always follows.
    Nadaske stood waist deep in the lake, splashing water on his body, scrubbing away the blood that streaked his skin. Bending to plunge his head under the surface to suck water in and out of his mouth. When he had spat out the last of the blood and flesh and cleansed himself completely, he waded ashore and pointed all four thumbs at Imehei who sat in slumped despair. It was a gesture of darkness, of loss of hope.
    "What do you mean?" Kerrick asked, stunned by the terrible events he had just witnessed.
    Nadaske writhed but did not speak. Nor did Imehei, not for a long while. Then he stirred and rubbed at the bruises on his arms and thighs, finally climbed slowly to his feet and turned wide and vacant eyes to Nadaske.
    "How long?" Nadaske asked.
    "With the two of them, I think long enough."
    "You could be wrong."
    "We will know soon enough. We must return at once to place of resting."
    "We leave."
    Imehei swayed but did not move. Nadaske went to him at once and put a strong arm across his shoulders.
    Helped him forward, one shuffling step after another. Together they went along the lakeside and vanished among the trees. They did not look back nor speak to Kerrick and seemed oblivious of his presence.
    There were questions he wanted to ask but he did not. He sensed that he was in the presence of a great tragedy, yet one that he could not quite understand. He remembered the songs the males used to sing in the hanalè, songs filled with grim references to their great fear of the beaches.
    "Enough!"
    He said it aloud, looking about him at the torn, dead bodies. He wanted to know what would happen to Imehei—but it would have to wait. There would be time enough later to find out the meaning of the horrifying events that he had witnessed. For the moment they would have to take care of themselves.
    Right now he had the rest of his sammad to consider. What of the future? What of these corpses and the supplies?
    Three Yilanè in this hunting party. Now all dead. How long before they were missed? There was no way of telling, no way to know if others would come looking for them. Yet he had to act as though this was a certainty. He must see to it that there were no traces of the crimes committed here. The corpses first.
    Should he bury them? Unwise. The carrion eaters would smell them out, dig them up, leave the bones as witness. They had to disappear without trace. The lake, that was the only answer.
    One by one he dragged the dead Yilanè through the reeds and shallows to the edge of the deeper part of the lake. They floated there, the water pink about them. Not good enough. Disgustedly he splashed ashore and looked through their packs. They contained some newly skinned furs, a few other items, but mostly bladders of meat. With his knife he slashed open the tough coverings and threw the meat far out into the lake: the fish would take care of that. Then he filled the packs with gravel and pebbles from the lakeshore.
    It was hard, disgusting work but in the end it was done. When the packs were strapped to the bodies he pushed out into deep water, sunk them there out of sight. Insects and rain would take care of the blood that had soaked into the ground. If searchers should ever pass this way there would be nothing at all for them to see. Let the disappearance of the hunters remain a mystery.
    Kerrick shook his head in disbelief when he saw that Nadaske had forgotten his hèsotsan. The weapons were essential for survival—and he had forgotten his, simply walked away from it. A surer measure of his grief than anything that he might have said. Kerrick used twisted grass to lash it into a loose bundle with the three other weapons that the hunters had brought. The extra hèsotsan would be needed: at least this much good had come out of this terrible encounter. He seized up his own weapon, took a slow look around in case he had missed