West of Eden Page 6

  Vaintè had moved back into the shade and she noticed that most of the workers had done the same. The afternoon was hot and comfortable, but not a time for getting any work done.

  “When these seedlings have been planted send the workers back to the city,” Vaintè said.

  Enge was working alongside the others; Vaintè waited until she caught her eye, then signaled her over. Enge expressed gratitude before she spoke.

  “You have taken the shackles off your prisoners. We are most thankful.”

  “Don’t be. The reason that I had them shackled on the uruketo was so they could not attempt to seize the craft and escape.”

  “You don’t understand the Daughters of Life, do you? Violence is not our way . . .”

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” Vaintè said dryly. “My way is to take no chances. Now that the uruketo has gone there are only forests and jungle to escape to should anyone not be satisfied with her lot. Not only that, your companions will work better unshackled.”

  “Yet we are still prisoners.”

  “No,” Vaintè said firmly, “you are not. You are free citizens of Alpèasak with all the rights and duties of other citizens. Do not confuse what happened with what will happen. The council of Inegban* deemed you unworthy of citizenship in that city and sent you here. To make new lives in a new city. I hope you will not repeat the same mistakes here that you did there.”

  “Is that a threat, Vaintè? Does the Eistaa of Alpèasak think that we are different from other citizens here—that we will be treated differently?”

  “It is not a threat, but a warning, my efenselè. Learn by what happened. Believe what you will among yourselves—but keep your secrets to yourselves. You are forbidden to talk of these matters to others. The rest of us do not wish to know.”

  “You can be that sure?” Enge asked sternly. “You are that wise?”

  “Wise enough to know that you are trouble-makers,” Vaintè snapped. “Sure enough of that fact to take the precaution that you shall be watched closely. You’ll not make the trouble here that you did in Inegban*. I shall not be as patient as the council there.”

  Enge’s body scarcely moved while she spoke, her words neutral and unoffensive. “We make no trouble, intend no trouble. We just believe . . .”

  “Fine. Just as long as you do your believing in dark places where others cannot hear. I will brook no subversion in my city.”

  Vaintè knew that she was beginning to lose her temper, as she always did when faced with the rock-like immobility of Enge’s strange beliefs. She therefore welcomed the sight of the fargi hurrying towards her with a message. Though the youngster did not speak very well her memory was good.

  “The city . . . comes one . . . name of Stallan. Things of importance to be said . . . presence requested.”

  Vaintè waved her off, then turned her back rudely on Enge and made her way into the city. Stallan was there, awaiting her arrival, success obvious in every attitude of her hard body.

  “You have done that which I asked you to do?” Vaintè said.

  “I have, Eistaa. I followed the killer-beasts until I came upon them. Then I shot and killed one myself and have returned with the body. It is close by. I left the worthless one Hèksei to look after it. There are strange things about this ustuzou that I find disturbing.”

  “Strange? What? You must tell me.”

  “I must show you so that you will understand.”

  Stallan led the way in silence to that part of the city closest to the river. Hèksei waited here, standing watch over a tightly wrapped bundle. Her skin was filthy and scratched and she began to wail in protest as soon as they appeared. Before the first words had been spoken Stallan struck her on the head and hurled her to the ground.

  “Worse than useless,” Stallan hissed. “Lazy, noisy on the hunt, filled with fear. Slowed me down and almost got us both killed. I want nothing more to do with her.”

  “Nor does Alpèasak,” Vaintè said in quick judgement. “Leave us. Leave the city. Join the ambenin.”

  Hèksei started to protest, but Stallan kicked her cruelly in the mouth. Hèksei fled, her screeches of agony rebounding from the aerial roots and leaves overhead. Vaintè put the worthless creature instantly from her mind and pointed at the bundle.

  “Is this the killer animal?”

  “It is.”

  Stallan pulled at the covering and Hastila’s corpse rolled out onto the damp earth.

  At the sight of it Vaintè spoke wordlessly of horror and amazement. Controlling her feeling of revulsion she stepped forward slowly, then prodded it with her foot.

  “There were four of the creatures,” Stallan said. “All smaller than this one. I found them and I followed them. They did not walk on the shore but were in the ocean. Nor did they have a boat. Instead they sat on a tree in the water and pushed it forward with bits of wood. I watched them kill other fur animals, just as they must have killed the males and their guards on the beach. They do not use teeth or claws or horns because they are hornless as you can see, while their teeth and claws are small and weak. Instead they do their killing with a thing like a sharp tooth fixed to a length of wood.”

  “They do many tricks, these fur animals. They have brains.”

  “All creatures have brains, even a primitive hèsotsan like this,” Stallan tapped the weapon hanging from her shoulder. “But this hèsotsan is not dangerous by itself if handled correctly. These things are. Now, if you would, look closely at the beast. They have much fur here, as you can see, on the top of their bodies about the head. But this other fur, lower down, does not belong to the creature but is bound about it. It bears a pouch, and in the pouch I found this. What appears to be a shaped piece of stone with a sharp edge. See, this bound-about skin comes away and the creature has its own fur beneath.”

  “It is a male!” Vaintè shouted. “A male fur-creature with a dim and bestial brain that now is bold enough to threaten us, the Yilanè. Is that what you are trying to tell me? That these ugly beasts are a danger to us?”

  “I believe so, Vaintè. But you are Eistaa and you are the one who decides what thing is what thing. I have merely told you what I have seen, shown you what I have found.”

  Vaintè held the hard sharpness of the stone between her thumbs, stared down at the corpse for a long time before she spoke again.

  “I believe that it is possible that even a ustuzou might grow to have a low kind of intelligence and cunning. Our boats understand a few instructions. All animals have brains of some kind. Enteesenat can be trained to search out food in the sea. In this savage part of the world so far from our own, who can possibly say what strange things have happened since the egg of time? Now we are beginning to find out. There are no Yilanè here to order and control things. It is therefore possible, and hard to deny since the evidence is here before our eyes, that a species of disgusting mammal has attained some form of perverted intelligence. Enough to find bits of stone and learn to kill with them. Yes, it is possible. But they should have remained in their jungle, killing and eating each other. They mistakenly ventured forth. Vermin like these, male vermin, and they have killed our males. So understand now what we must do. We must seek them out and slaughter them all. We have no choice if our city is to live on these beaches. Can we do that?”

  “We must do that. But we must go in strength, taking everyone who can be spared from the city. All of them armed with hèsotsan.”

  “But you said there were only four of the beasts? And only three of them remain alive now . . .”

  Realization came to Vaintè as it had come to Stallan when she had found the small group moving north. “Could there be others? More of these?”

  “There must be. These few must have voyaged away from the main pack for some reason. Now they return to it. I am sure of that. We must move in force and find them all.”

  “And kill them all. Of course. I will issue the orders so we can leave at once.”

  “That would not be wise since the day is
long advanced and there will be many of us. If we leave at dawn, take only the best fed and fastest boats, we will easily catch them because they move slowly. Follow them and find the others.”

  “And butcher them as they butchered the males. It is a good plan. Have this creature taken to the ambesed and spread out for all to see. We will want supplies, fresh water, enough to last a few days at least so we won’t have to stop.”

  Fargi were sent hurrying to all parts of the city, spreading the word, ordering the citizens to gather in the ambesed until it was crowded as it had never been before. An angry murmur rose from the mass of Yilanè as they pushed each other for a chance to see the body. Vaintè herself was entering the ambesed when her eye was caught by Ikemend signaling for attention; she stopped instantly.

  “A few words, please, Eistaa.”

  “There is no trouble with your charges?” Vaintè asked in sudden fear. Ikemend, her efenselè, had been appointed to the vital position of guarding and sheltering the males. After the briefest session of questioning the previous guardian had revealed that it was her lack of control that had resulted in all the deaths on the beach. She had sickened and died when Vaintè had stripped her of her name.

  “All is well. But the males have heard about the dead ustuzou and want to see it. Should they be permitted?”

  “Of course—they are not children. Let them think about their responsibilities. But not until the ambesed is clear. We don’t want any hysterical scenes.”

  Ikemend was not the only one seeking her attention. Enge blocked her way, nor would she move when ordered aside.

  “I have heard what you plan to do, follow and kill the fur-beasts.”

  “What you have heard is correct. I am going to make the public announcement now.”

  “Before you do that—there is something that I must tell you. I cannot support you. None of the Daughters of Life can. It goes contrary to everything that we believe in. We cannot be a part of this killing. Base animals are as they are because they lack the knowledge of death. To destroy them because of this is not possible. We kill when we must eat. All other killing is forbidden. Therefore you understand that we cannot . . .”

  “Silence! You will do as I order. Anything else will be treason.”

  Enge answered her rage with cold reason. “What you call treason we call the gift of life. We have no recourse.”

  “I do. I can have you all killed at once.”

  “You can. Then you will be the murderess and the guilty one as well.”

  “I have no guilt—just anger. And hatred and loathing that an efenselè of mine could betray her race in this manner. I won’t kill you because I need your bodies for hard work. Your people will be chained together until we return. You will be chained with them. You have no more special privileges. I disown you as an efenselè. You will work with them and die with them. Disowned and loathed for your treachery. That is your fate.”

  Alitha thurlastar, hannas audim senstar, sammad deinarmal na mer ensi edo.

  The deer is killed, a man may die, a woman grows old—only the sammad endures.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Kerrick was in his usual position in the prow of the boat, tending the fire. But this was a boy’s work and he had wanted to row with the others. Amahast had permitted him to try but he was too small, the great oar too clumsy for him to handle. He leaned forward now, squinting his eyes to see through the fog, but nothing was visible. Unseen seabirds cried out with the voices of wailing children, invisible in the mist. Only the crash of breaking waves off to the left gave them any guide. Normally they would have waited until the fog had lifted, but not this day. The memory of Hastila being pulled forever beneath the sea was with all of them. They moved as fast as they could: they wanted this voyage over and finished with. Kerrick sniffed the air, raised his head and sniffed again.

  “Father,” he called out. “Smoke—I can smell smoke!”

  “There is smoke on us and on the meat,” Amahast said, yet he paddled a little faster at the thought. Could the sammad be that close?

  “No, this is not old smoke. This is fresh—on the wind from ahead. And listen to the waves. Are they not different?”

  They were indeed. With the reek of the skins and the meat there may have been some doubt about the smoke. But not the waves. Their sound was growing fainter, falling behind them. Many of the tents of the sammad had been pitched on the banks of a great river, where it ran into the sea. The waves might very well be going up this estuary now, dying away in the flow of fresh water there.

  “Pull towards shore!” Amahast ordered, leaning hard into his own oar.

  The sky was growing lighter now: the mist was lifting. Above the screams of the gulls they heard a woman calling out and they shouted in answer.

  Once the sun began burning through the fog it began to lift faster and faster. It still lay close to the surface of the water, but beyond it was the shore and the waiting tents, smoking fires, piles of debris—all of the familiar bustle of their encampment. The boat was seen now and a great shout went up and people rushed from the tents to the water’s edge. Everyone was crying out with happiness and there were echoing trumpetings from the meadow where the mastodons were grazing. They were home.

  Men and women both were splashing into the water, calling out—but their shouts of welcome died away as they counted the places in the boat. Five had left on the hunting expedition. Just three had returned. As the boat grated against the sandy bottom it was seized and pulled up onto the beach. Nothing was said but the woman of Hastila, suddenly screamed with horror as she realized he was missing, as did the woman of Diken and his children.

  “Both dead,” were Amahast’s first words, lest they have false hopes that the others were following behind. “Diken and Hastila. They are among the stars. Are there many away from the encampment?”

  “Alkos and Kassis have gone up the river, to get fish,” Aleth said. “They are the only ones not close by.”

  “Go after them,” Amahast ordered. “Bring them back at once. Strike the tents, load the beasts. We leave today for the mountains.”

  There were shouts and cries of protest at this because they were not prepared for this sudden departure. While on the move they would break camp every morning: they did this easily because just the essentials were unpacked. This was not true now. The summer encampment sprawled along both sides of the small river, while in the tents all their, baskets, furs, everything were spread about in confusion.

  Ogatyr shouted at them, his voice rising over the women’s wails of distress. “Do as Amahast says or you will die in the snows. The season is late, the path long.”

  Amahast said nothing more. This reason was as good as any. Perhaps even better than the real reason, for which he could give no evidence. Despite this lack he was sure that he was being watched. He, a hunter, knew when he was being hunted in turn. For all of this day, and the day before, he had felt eyes upon him. He had seen nothing, the sea had always been empty when he looked. Yet something was out there, he knew it. He could not forget that Hastila had been pulled beneath the ocean and had not returned. Now Amahast wanted them to leave, this day, pack the travois and lash them behind the mastodons and turn their faces away from the sea and what lay beneath it. Not until they were back among the familiar mountains would he feel safe.

  Although he worked them until they ran with sweat, it still took the entire day to break camp. He shouted at the women and beat the youths when they slowed down. It was no easy thing to leave a summer camp. Scattered goods had to be brought together and packed, the tentacles of hardalt from the drying racks loaded into baskets as well. Nor were there enough baskets for all the hardalt and there was wailing and complaining when he ordered that some of the catch be left behind. There was not even time to mourn the dead; that would come later. Now they must leave.

  The sun was dropping behind the hills before they were ready. They would have to travel by night, but they had done that before. The skies were clear, th
e new moon just a crescent of light, the tharms of warriors were bright above and would guide them on their way. There was much trumpeting and waving of trunks as the mastodons, long unharnessed, bellowed their protests. Yet they permitted the boys to climb up to their backs, and watched with rolling eyes as the great poles were lashed into place. Two to each beast, trailing behind on both sides, making a frame to which the crosspieces were tied, then the tents and stores were loaded on top.

  Kerrick sat on the neck of the great bull, Karu, tired as they all were, but still pleased that the sammad was leaving. He wanted to be away from the ocean as soon as it was possible. He was afraid of the sea and of the creatures in it. Out of the entire sammad he was the only one who had seen the arms rise from the sea to pull Hastila down. Dark arms in the ocean, dark forms in the sea.

  He looked out at the sea and his screams, over and over again, cut through the voices, silencing them, drawing every eye to the ocean where he pointed and screamed and pointed again.

  Out of the evening darkness even darker forms were emerging. Low, black boats that had no oars yet moved more swiftly than any Tanu boat, rushing forward in a line as straight as a breaking wave. Nor did they stop until they were in the surf and rasping on the shore. From them came the murgu, clearly seen despite the failing light.

  Ogatyr was close to the water when they landed, could see them clearly. He knew them for what they were.

  “The ones we killed, on the beach . . .”

  The nearest marag raised the length of stick and squeezed with both hands. It made a loud crack and pain struck Ogatyr’s chest and he fell.

  Other sticks were cracking now and above the sound were the human cries of pain and terror.

  “They flee!” Vaintè shouted, waving the attackers forward. “After them. None shall escape.”