Return to Eden

mean how far do we march to seek Kerrick, we march as far as is needed."
    "To the murgu city?"
    "If we must. I know he is out there somewhere."
    "I have not gone there for many days," Kerrick said, keeping his voice calm so his anger would not show.
    "That is of no importance," Armun said. "You are a hunter. A hunter goes where he wants. You can go there every day. But Arnwheet stays here with me."
    From where he sat in the shade of the large oak tree Kerrick could see across the clearing to the water.
    This island was a very good place to be. Both of the tents were hidden under the trees. The hunting was good, fresh water close by. There were duck, fish for the taking, berries carpeted the island. Armun and Darras had brought back baskets of roots and mushrooms. And they were all well, the baby growing.
    Even Ortnar, though he grumbled, was as good as could be expected. Only Nadaske's presence caused Armun's unhappiness; she would not let it rest. He was unseen—yet always seen by her. He was like a scab that she picked at constantly and made to bleed again and again.
    "It does the boy no harm," Kerrick explained patiently—and not for the first time. "And he wants to go."
    He looked over to Arnwheet who was sitting with Harl, had fled there when his parents seized up the argument one more time. Armun followed his gaze, tried to be reasonable.
    "Think of how I feel, not how he feels. He will grow up something different, half-murgu, half-Tanu.
    Like…"
    "Like me?" There was bitterness in his voice. "Half of something, all of nothing."
    "That is not what I meant—or perhaps I did. You have said you are not a good murgu or a good hunter.
    Let him be a good hunter, that is all I ask."
    "He will grow to be a great hunter because he is not being raised by the murgu—as I was. You must not fear that. But to be able to talk with them, to know about their ways, is something of great importance.
    We share our world with them and I am the only one who knows anything at all about them. When he grows up, able to speak with them, then there will be two of us."
    Kerrick felt that argument was useless. This was not the first time that he had tried to explain to her, to make her understand his feelings, so this trouble would not be between them always. But she would not understand, perhaps could not. He seized his hèsotsan and stood up.
    "I am going to see Nadaske. I will be back before dark." She looked up at him, her face as set as his.
    "Arnwheet will be coming with me. There is nothing more to talk about." He turned and walked quickly away, not wanting to hear anything more that she might say now.
    "Can Harl come," Arnwheet said happily, shaking his spear with excitement.
    "What do you say, Harl?"
    "Will you fish or hunt?"
    "Perhaps. But first we go to talk with Nadaske."
    "You do not talk, you shake and gurgle," the boy said with pent-up anger. "I will hunt by myself."
    Kerrick watched him stamp away. He was less of a boy, more of a hunter every day. And he listened too much to Ortnar who filled him with his own bitterness. He should have others to talk to, not Ortnar alone.
    This was a good camp, there was little danger and all the food they needed. Yet there was unhappiness too. It was his fault—but there was nothing he could do about it. "Let's go see Nadaske. It has been a long time since we talked with him."
    The sky was beginning to cloud over and there was the smell of rain in the air. The leaves would be falling soon in the north, the first snows were on their way. Here the nights might be cooler, little else changed. The path led down to the swamp. It was deep in places so Kerrick carried Arnwheet on his shoulders through the green water. They swam the inlet to the island on the other side. Arnwheet called out attention to speaking shrilly and Nadaske emerged from his shelter to greet them. There was pleasure of talking in his movements.
    "To one who hears only the waves, voices of friends are like songs."
    "What are songs?" Arnwheet asked, imitating Nadaske's movements and sounds for the new word.
    Kerrick started to explain, then stopped. Arnwheet was here to listen and learn; he was not going to interfere.
    "You have never heard a song? Perhaps because I have never sung one for you. I remember one that Esetta* used to sing."
    He sang hoarsely, disturbed by memories.
    Young I go, once to the beach,
    and I return. Twice I go, no longer young,
    will I return? But not a third…
    Nadaske broke off suddenly, sat