But Vaintè lived as well. This creature of hatred survived the destruction of her city, fled on the uruketo, the great living vessel the Yilanè used, sailed out to sea.
This is what has happened in the past. Now I stand on the shore with the ashes of the city blowing about me and try to think of what will happen now, what must be done in the years to come.
CHAPTER ONE
Tharman i ermani lasfa katiskapri ap naudinz modia — em bleit hepellin er atta, so faldar elka ensi hammar.
The tharms in the stars may gaze down on a hunter with pleasure — but that is a cold appreciation that cannot light a fire.
The storm was ending, blowing out to sea. Sheets of rain swept over the distant uruketo hiding it from sight. It appeared again suddenly as the rain moved past it, farther away now, a dark shape against the whitefoamed waves. Low evening sun pierced the broken clouds and washed the uruketo with russet light, picking out the high outline of the fin. Then it was gone, invisible now in the growing darkness. Herilak stood in the surf and shook his spear after it, shouting aloud with bitterness.
“They should have died too, all of them, none should escape.”
“The killing has stopped,” Kerrick said wearily. “It is over, done, finished. We have won. We have slain the murgu, burned their city.” He pointed to the smoking trees behind them. “You have had your vengeance. For every one of your sammad that they killed you have burned a hault of murgu. You have done that. For every hunter, woman, child dead, you have killed murgu to the count of a man. That is enough. Now we must forget dying and think about living.”