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  Vaintè saw the murdered fargi fall and was shaken by the need for vengeance. The blood-dripping point was swinging towards her — but she did not flinch away. She stood her ground, raising the hèsotsan, squeezing off quick explosions, dropping the ustuzou before it could reach her. She had not noticed the small one, didn’t know it was there until pain lanced through her leg. Roaring with agony she struck the creature down with the butt end of the hèsotsan.

  The wound was bloody and painful — but not serious, she could see that now. Her rage died away as she examined it, then turned her attention to the battle raging around her.

  It was almost over. Few if any of the ustuzou remained alive. They lay in tumbled heaps among the baskets, limp corpses on the skins and poles. The attackers from the sea were now meeting up with the others who had moved up the river to attack from behind, an encircling movement they had used in their youth to catch their prey in the sea. It had worked as well on land.

  “Stop the killing at once,” Vaintè ordered, calling out to those nearest her. “Tell the others. Stop now. I want some survivors. I want to know more about these fur beasts.”

  They were just animals who used sharp bits of stones, she could see that now. They had a crude social organization, rough stone artifacts, and even made use of the larger animals that were now being killed as they fled in panic. All of this indicated that if there was one group this size — why then there might very well be others. If that were so then she needed to find out everything she could about the creatures.

  At her feet the small one she had struck down stirred and whimpered. She called out to Stallan who was near by.

  “Hunter — tie this one so it cannot escape. Throw it into a boat.”

  There were more darts in the container suspended from the harness she wore. The ones she had expended in the battle must be replaced. The hèsotsan had been well-fed and should be able to fire for some time yet. She prodded it with her finger until the loading orifice dilated, then pushed the darts into their correct positions inside.

  The first stars were appearing now, the last red of the sky fading behind the hills. She needed a cloak from the boat. She signaled a fargi to bring one to her and was wrapping herself in its warm embrace when the survivors were brought before her.

  “This is all?” she asked.

  “Our warriors were hard to control,” Stallan said. “Once you start killing these creatures it is hard to stop.”

  “Full well I know that myself. The adult ones — all dead?”

  “All dead. This small one I found hiding and brought it out.” She held the thing by its long hair, shaking it back and forth so it wailed with pain. “This very young one I found inside another’s coverings.” She held out the infant, a few-months-old baby that she had pulled from its wrappings, that had been held tight in its mother’s dead arms.

  Vaintè looked at the tiny hairless thing with disgust as Stallan held it towards her. The hunter was used to touching and handling all kinds of repulsive creatures; the thought of doing it herself sickened her. Yet she was Vaintè, Eistaa, and she could do anything any other citizen could do. She reached out slowly and took the wriggling thing in both hands. It was warm, warmer than a cloak, almost hot. Her disgust ebbed for a moment as she felt the pleasant heat. When she turned it over and over it opened a red and toothless mouth and wailed. A jet of hot excrement from it ran down Vaintè’s arm. The instant pleasure of the heat was replaced by a wave of disgust.

  It was too much, too revolting. She hurled the creature, as hard as she could, against a nearby boulder. It became silent as she went quickly to the water to scrub herself clean, calling back to Stallan.

  “It is enough. Tell the others to return to the boats after they have made sure that none live.”

  “It will be done, Highest. All dead. The end of them.”

  Is it? Vaintè thought as she plunged her arms into the water. Is it the end? Instead of elation at the victory she found herself sinking into a dark depression.

  The end — or just the beginning?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Enge moved close to the wall and leaned against it so she could feel the warmth of the heater. Though the sun had risen, the city still held some of the chill of the night. Around her the varied animals and plants of Alpèasak stirred to life, but this was so normal that she took no heed. Beneath her feet was the latticework of the floor that rested on the thick layers of dried leaves below. Within the leaves there was the rustle of large beetles and the other insects that cleared away debris, even the movements, had she listened, of a scurrying mouse. All around her there were stirrings as the ebb of life accelerated with the coming of day. High above, the sun was already shining on the leaves of the great tree, as well as on the many other plants that made up this living city. Water vapor was now being drawn from the stomata of these leaves, to be replaced by water that moved slowly upwards through the vessels of the trees, vines, creepers, water brought into the living system by the millions of root hairs beneath the ground. At Enge’s side, unheeded, the tendril of her discarded cloak twitched as it sucked at the saptree.

  To Enge all of this was as natural as the air she breathed, the richness of the intertwined and interdependent life forms that existed on all sides of her. Occasionally she thought about it and all of its moral implications. But not today, not after what she had heard. Boasting of murdering another species! How she longed to talk to these innocent braggarts, to explain to them about the meaning of life, to force them to understand the terrible crime that they had committed. Life was the balance of death, as sea was the balance of sky. If one killed life — why, one was killing oneself.

  Her attention was drawn as one of the fargi pulled at her manacled hands, confused by her status and unsure how to address her. The young fargi knew that Enge was one of the highest — yet her wrists were bound like one of the lowest. Lacking the words she could only touch Enge to draw her attention.

  “The Eistaa wants you to come now,” the fargi said.

  Vaintè was sitting in her place of power when Enge entered, the seat formed by the living bark of the city tree. There were memory creatures on the table beside her and one of them had the tendril above its withered eyes pressed into a fold of the ugunkshaa, the memory-speaker. The ugunkshaa spoke quietly while at the same time its organic molecule lens flickered with motion, a black and white picture of the Yilanè who had originally spoken to the memory-creature. Vaintè silenced the ugunkshaa when Enge entered and picked up the stone spearpoint that was lying next to it.

  “Approach,” she ordered, and Enge did so. Vaintè clasped the stone blade in her hand and raised it; Enge did not quail or pull away. Vaintè seized her by the arm.

  “You have no fear,” Vaintè said. “Even though you can see how sharp this scrap of stone is, as good as any of our string-knives.”

  She sawed through the bindings and Enge’s hands were free. Enge rubbed gently at her skin where it had been irritated by the bonds. “ — You are freeing us all?” she asked.

  “Do not be too greedy. Just you — since I have need of your knowledge.”

  “I will not aid you in murder.”

  “There is no need to. The killing is over.” For the time being, she thought to herself, knowing better than to mention it aloud. If she did speak, whatever she said would reveal her thoughts completely. Not only was she unable to tell a lie but the very concept of a lie was completely alien to her. It was impossible to tell a lie when every movement of one’s body revealed a meaning. The only way for a Yilanè to keep her thoughts secret was not to speak of them. Vaintè was most adept at this form of concealment. She practiced it now since she needed Enge’s help. “We have come to the time for learning. Did you not study the use of language at one time?”

  “You know that I did, with Yilespei. I was her first student.”

  “You were. Her first and best. Before the rot ate into your brain. You did all sorts of foolish things as I remember, watching the wa
y that children communicate with each other, sometimes doing it yourself to draw their attention. I understand that you even eavesdropped on the males. That puzzles me. Why those stupid creatures of all things? What could one possibly learn from them?”

  “They have a way of talking among themselves when we are not about, a way of saying things in a different manner…”

  “I’m not talking about that. I mean why study such things? Of what importance can it be how others speak?”

  “Of greatest importance. We are language, language is us. When we lack it we are mutes and no better than animals. It was thoughts and studies like these that led me to the great Ugunenapsa and her teachings.”

  “You would have been far better off to have continued with your language studies and kept yourself out of trouble. Those of us who will become Yilanè must learn to speak as we grow up — that is a fact or you and I would not be here. But can a young one be taught to speak? It seems like a stupid and repellent idea. Can it be done?”

  “It can,” Enge said. “I have done it myself. It is not easy, most young ones don’t want to listen, but it can be done. I used the training techniques the boatmasters use.”

  “But boats are almost as stupid as cloaks. All they ever learn to understand are just a few commands.”

  “The technique is the same.”

  “Good.” Vaintè looked shrewdly out of the corner of her eyes and chose her words carefully. “Then you could teach an animal to understand and to speak?”

  “No, not to speak. To understand, yes, a few simple commands if the brain is big enough. But speaking requires vocal apparatus and areas of the brain that animals do not possess.”

  “But I have heard animals talking.”

  “Not talking, repeating sound patterns they have learned. Birds can do this.”

  “No. I mean talking. Communicating with each other.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I am talking about fur animals. Filthy ustuzou.”

  Enge began to understand the point that Vaintè was making and she signed her understanding. “Of course. If these creatures have some degree of intelligence — the fact that they use crude artifacts suggests that — why then, they might very well talk to each other. What an extraordinary thought. You have heard them talk?”

  “I have. And so can you if you wish. We have two of them here.” She waved over a passing fargi. “Find the hunter Stallan. Bring her to me at once.”

  “How are the animals faring?” Vaintè asked when Stallan appeared.

  “I have had them washed, then I examined their injuries. Bruises, no more. I have also had the filth-ridden fur removed from their heads. The larger one is female, the smaller one a male. They drink water, but will eat nothing I have provided so far. But you must be careful if you get close to them.”

  “I have no intention of doing that,” Vaintè said, shivering with disgust. “It is Enge here who will approach them.” Stallan turned to her.

  “You must face them at all times. Never turn your back on a wild animal. The small one bites, and they have claws, so I have manacled them for safety.”

  “I will do as you say.”

  “One other thing,” Stallan said, taking a small sack from her harness and opening it. “When I cleaned the beasts I found this hung about the male’s neck.” She placed a small object on the table beside Vaintè.

  It was a blade of some kind, made of metal. There was an opening pierced at one end, while simple patterns had been scratched upon it. Vaintè poked at it with a tentative thumb.

  “It has been thoroughly cleaned,” Stallan said. Vaintè picked it up and examined it closely.

  “The patterns are unfamiliar, as is the metal,” she said, not liking what she saw. “Where did the animals find this? Who made the design? And the metal, where did they get that from? Do not try to tell me that they have the science to grow metal.” She tested the edge against her skin. “Not sharp at all. What can it possibly mean?”

  There were no answers to these disturbing questions — nor had she expected any. She handed the bit of metal to Enge. “Another mystery for you to solve when you learn to speak to the creatures.” Enge examined it and handed it back.

  “When may I see them?” she asked.

  “Now,” Vaintè said. She signaled Stallan. “Take us to them.”

  Stallan led the way through the corridors of the city, to a high, dark passage. Signaling for continuing silence, she swung open a hatch set into the wall. Vaintè and Enge looked through into the chamber beyond. They could see that it was sealed by a single heavy door. There were no other openings and the only illumination was the feeble light that filtered down through a tough transparent sheet high above.

  Two repellent little creatures lay on the floor below. Tiny versions of the mutilated corpse that Enge had been forced to look at in the ambesed. Their skulls were bare and scratched where their fur had been removed. With the fur gone, and deprived of the stinking bits of skin that they had been bound about with, it could be seen that they were completely covered with repulsive, single-colored and waxy skin. The larger one, the female, was lying flat and making a repetitive wailing noise. The male squatted beside the female and emitted varied grunting sounds. This went on for a long time, until the wailing stopped. Then the female made other sounds as well. Vaintè signaled Stallan to close the hatch and leave.

  “It might be a kind of talking,” Enge said, excited despite herself. “But they move very little when they make the sounds, which is very confusing. It will take much study. The whole concept is a novel one, a different language, the language of ustuzou, a different type of creature from any of those we have ever studied. It is a tremendous and exciting idea.”

  “Indeed. So exciting that I command you to learn their way of speaking so you can converse with them.”

  Enge made a sign of submission. “You cannot command me to think, Eistaa. Even your great power does not extend into another’s skull. I will study the talk of the animals because I wish to.”

  “I do not care about your reasons — as long as you obey my commands.”

  “Why do you wish to understand them?” Enge asked.

  Vaintè chose her expressions carefully so as not to reveal all of her motives. “Like you, I am challenged by the thought that an animal might speak. Don’t you believe that I am capable of intellectual pursuits?”

  “Forgive the negative thought, Vaintè. You were always first in our efenburu. You led then because you understood when we didn’t. When do I begin?”

  “Now. This instant. How will you go about it?”

  “I have no idea for it has never been done before. Let me return to the hatch and listen to the sounds. While I do this I will make a plan.”

  Vaintè left silently, immensely pleased with what she had accomplished. It had been imperative to get Enge’s cooperation, for if she had refused it would have meant messages back to Inegban*, to then suffer the long wait while someone was located and sent out to investigate the talking beasts. If they really were talking and not just making noises. Vaintè needed that information at once since there might be more of the creatures about that could be a menace. She needed information for the safety of the city.

  First she must learn all she could about these fur-animals, find out where they lived and how they lived. How they bred. That would be the first step.

  The second would be to kill them. All of them. Exterminate them completely from the face of the earth. For even with their low cunning arid crude stone artifacts they were still just miserable animals. Deadly animals who had slaughtered the males and the young without mercy. That would be their ruin.

  Enge watched from the darkness, studying the creatures, deep in thought. Had she had a single clue to Vaintè’s real motives she would, of course, have refused to cooperate. Even if she had stopped to think for a moment she might have realized Vaintè’s concealed intentions. She had not done this because her thoughts were entirely on this fascinating ling
uistic problem.

  She stood observing in silence for almost half a day, listening and watching and trying to understand. In the end she understood nothing of what she had heard, but she did have the glimmerings of a plan where she should begin. She silently closed the hatch and went in search of Stallan.

  “I’ll stay with you,” the huntress said as she unbarred the door. “They can be dangerous.”

  “Just for a short time. As soon as they quiet down I will need to be alone with them. But then you will stand by outside. If there is any need I will call for you.”

  An uncontrollable shiver rippled Enge’s crest as Stallan opened the door and she stepped through. The coarse smell of the beasts struck her. It was too much like entering an animal’s lair. But intelligence overcame physical revulsion and she stood firm as the door closed behind her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Kennep at halikaro, kennep at hargoro, ensi naudin ar san eret skarpa tharm senstar et sano lawali.

  A boy can be fleet of foot and strong of arm — but he is a hunter only when there is a beast’s tharm upon his spearpoint.

  “They killed my mother, then my brother, right beside me,” Ysel said. She had stopped the shrieking and crying now, but tears still filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, then went back to rubbing her shaved head.

  “They killed everyone,” Kerrick said.

  He had not cried, not once since he had been brought to this place. Perhaps it was the way the girl carried on, wailing and screaming all the time. She was older than he was, five or even six years older, yet she shrieked like an infant. Kerrick understood that, knew it was easy enough to do. All you had to do was give in. But he wouldn’t. A hunter does not cry — and he had been on a hunt. With his father. Amahast the greatest hunter. Now dead like all of the rest of the sammad. There was a swelling in his throat at the thought, but he fought it down. A hunter does not cry.