Return to Eden

return to the lake. He did not wish to leave when she was angry at him—but he had no choice. Once again she surprised him by calling out as he left.
    "Go carefully, return safely."
    "You know why I must do this?"
    "No. I only know that you must. I would go with you but I could not take the baby. Be quick."
    "I will. You must not worry."
    Harl went with him across the river on the raft that they had made, thick poles tied together with vines. He would return with it and hide it among the trees. Harl had nothing to say, just lifted his hand in farewell.
    Kerrick strode off between the trees, the hèsotsan held ready.
    When he reached the wider trail, still scored deep by the passing of the sammads, he turned south, then stopped and looked about. His woodcraft was no match for any of the Tanu who had grown up in the forest. He could not even see the broken branch that Ortnar had marked the path with. He put the hèsotsan aside and took out his flint knife. With it he peeled away a patch of bark on the nearest tree. After that he looked carefully at the land and the forest and tried to remember just what this place looked like so he could find the path when he returned. Seizing up the hèsotsan he turned and started down the trail.
    When the sammad had come north from the lake they had taken many days, able to go no faster than Ortnar could hobble. Now that he was alone he made much better time. On the third day he left the rutted track for the familiar path that led to Round Lake. He had hunted these woods often, knew them well. He circled when he came close to the encampment, approached the lake close to the spot where they had had their tents. Slower and slower, lying flat and crawling the last part under the cover of the bushes. Their campsite was empty and already overgrown, the black traces of their cooking fire the only indication that anyone had ever been here. When he stood behind a large tree he could see across the water to the other camp.
    Something moved near the shore and he raised the hèsotsan. A Yilanè was there, back turned. He waited until the figure straightened up and turned towards him.
    It was Nadaske, without a doubt. He started to call out, then thought again. Was he here alone? Or were there others in hiding? It appeared to be safe enough. He saw Nadaske go to the shore and bend over a dark figure in the water. It could only be Imehei—still alive! He felt a sudden great pleasure, stepped forward and called out attention to communication.
    Nadaske spun about, ran to the shelter, came out a moment later with his hèsotsan raised and ready to fire.
    Kerrick stepped out where he could be seen.
    "Greatings great hunter, killer of all that dares move in the forest."
    Nadaske stood as though carved of stone, the hèsotsan still ready, and did not move until Kerrick had come close. Only then did he lower the weapon and speak.
    "Pleasure multiplied. Presence unexpected/unbelieved. Lack of talking has made me yiliebe. You did come back."
    "Of course." Kerrick pointed a thumb of query at Imehei.
    "He is as he was. The eggs have broken."
    "I don't understand. The eggs are gone?"
    "In my ignorance I forgot your ustuzou failure of knowledge in these matters. After the eggs are laid in the pouch some time passes. Then the eggs crack and the elininyil emerge and grow within the same pouch, taking nourishment from certain glands. When they are large enough they will come out of the pouch and swim into the lake and then we will know about Imehei."
    "Doubt of complete meaning."
    Nadaske turned to look at the water, at his unmoving and silent friend. He made the sign of life and death, equal and opposite. "He remains as you see him until the young emerge. Then he lives—or dies. We can only wait. It should be soon now. They move about a lot, look you can see."
    Kerrick looked at the stirring beneath the skin, then turned away from the unconscious figure in the lake.
    "How long before it happens?"
    "I don't know. Today, tomorrow, more days. When it happened to me I had no memory of it." He saw Kerrick's movements of interrogation. "Yes, I have been to the beaches. Once. They say in the hanalè that once you may live, twice you may die, thrice you are dead. This is Imehei's first. We have good reason to hope."
    There was no real reason to make a fire that evening, other than to drive the biting insects away. The air was warm as always—and Kerrick had eaten raw fish before. And Nadaske detested the smell of