West of Eden Page 8

  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.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “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.

  “Will they kill us, Kerrick? They won’t kill us, will they?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ysel started to wail again and threw her arms about him, pulling his body tight against hers. This wasn’t right; only small children touched each other. But even though he knew that it was not permitted he still enjoyed the feel of her flesh against his. Her breasts were small and hard and he liked to touch them. But when he did this now she pushed him from her and cried even louder. He stood and walked away in disgust. She was stupid and he didn’t like her. She had never talked to him before they had been brought to this place. But now that there were just the two of them it was different for her. Not for him. It would have been better if one of his friends were here instead. But they were all dead; a pang of fear went through at the memory. No one else from the sammad left alive. They would be next. Ysel didn’t seem to understand that, she could not bring herself to believe that there was nothing they could do to save themselves. He had searched carefully, over and over again, but there wasn’t a thing in the wooden chamber that could be used for a weapon. Nor was there any way to escape. The gourds were too light to harm even a child. Much less one of the murgu who had brought them here. He picked up the gourd of water and sipped at it; his empty stomach rumbled. He was hungry—but not hungry enough to eat the meat they had brought. Just looking at it made him want to vomit. It wasn’t cooked—nor was it raw. Something had been done to it so that it hung from the bone like cold jelly. He poked at it with his finger and shuddered. The door creaked, then opened.

  Ysel pressed her face to the base of the wall and screamed, her eyes closed, not wanting to see what came through. Kerrick stood, facing the opening, his fists clenched and empty. Thinking about his spear. What he would do to them if he only had his spear.

  There were two of the murgu creatures this time. He might have seen them before, he might not. It made no difference, they all looked alike. Bumpy, scaly, thick-tailed, blotched with different colors, with those ugly things sticking out behind their heads. Murgu that walked like men and grabbed things with their deformed two-thumbed hands. Kerrick moved slowly back as they entered, until his shoulders were against the wall and he could go no further. They stared at him with expressionless eyes and he wished again for his spear. One of them twitched and moved its limbs, making mewling noises at the same time. The wood was hard against his shoulders.

  “Have they eaten anything yet?” Enge asked. Stallan signified negative, then pointed to the gourd.

  “That’s good meat, enzyme-treated and ready to eat. They use fire to burn their own meat before they eat it, so I knew they wouldn’t want to have it raw.”

  “Have you put some fruit out for them?”

  “No. They are meat eaters.”

  “They may be omnivores. We know little about their habits. Get some fruit.”

  “I cannot leave you here alone. Vaintè herself ordered me to guard you.” There was a tremble of dismay to the hunter’s words caused by the conflicting orders.

  “I can defend myself against these small creatures if I have to. Have they attacked anyone before this?”

  “Just when we brought them in. The male is vicious. We beat him until he stopped. He hasn’t done it since then.”

  “I shall be safe. You have followed your instructions. Now obey mine.”

  Stallan had no choice. She left, reluctantly but quickly, and Enge waited in silence, searching for a way to open communication with the creatures. The female still lay facing the wall, once more making the high-pitched sound. The small male was silent, undoubtedly as stupid as all males. She reached down and took the female by the shoulder, pulled at her to turn her around. The creature’s skin was warm and not unpleasant to touch. The wailing sound grew louder—and sudden agony lanced through her arm.

  Enge bellowed with pain and lashed out, knocking the male to the ground. The thing’s teeth had broken her skin, drawn blood. She arched her clawed fingers and hissed in anger. The creature scrabbled away from her and she followed. Then stopped. And felt guilt.

  “We are at fault,” she said, anger ebbing away. “We killed the rest of your pack. You cannot be blamed for doing what you did.” She rubbed at her sore arm, then looked at the bright stain of blood on her palm. The door opened and Stallan came in, carrying a gourd of orange fruit.

  “The male creature bit me,” Enge said calmly. “Are they poisonous?”

  Stallan hurled the gourd aside and rushed to her side, glanced at the wound—then raised a hard fist to strike the cowering male. Enge restrained her with a light touch.

  “No. The fault was mine. Now, what about the bite?”

  “Not dangerous if it is cleaned well. You must come with me so I can treat it.”

  “No, I shall wait here. I don’t want to show fear to these animals. I will be all right.”

  Stallan moved with disapproval, but could do nothing. She hurried out, was gone for only a brief time before returning with a wooden chest. From it she took a container of water and used it to cleanse the bite, then stripped the cover from a nefmakel and put it into position. Enge’s moist skin stirred the dormant creature to life and it adhered to her flesh, already beginning to secrete antibacterial fluid. As soon as this was done Stallan took two knotted black lumps from the box.

  “I’m going to secure the male’s legs and arms. It won’t be the first time. The creature is vicious.”

  The small male fought to escape but Stallan seized it and hurled it to the floor, then knelt on its back, holding it still with one hand. With the other she seized one of the bindings and wrapped it around the beast’s ankles, then inserted the binding’s tail into its mouth. The binding swallowed by reflex, drawing its body tight. Only when it was well-secured did Stallan throw the creature aside.

  “I will remain and guard you,” she said. “I must. Vaintè ordered your protection. I have been remiss once and you have been injured. I cannot permit it to happen again.”

  Enge indicated begrudging agreement, then looked at the discarded gourd and the fruit tumbled on the floor. She pointed at the prostrate female.

  “I’ll get the round-sweet-eating-things. Turn that one over so she can see me.”

  Ysel screamed hoarsely when the cold hands grabbed her, lifted her roughly, and pushed her back against the wall. She chewed at her knuckles and sobbed as the other marag stamped towards her, stopped, then held up an orange. Its mouth slowly opened to reveal rows of pointed white teeth. It uttered an animal’s screech as it waved the orange, scratching its claws on the floor when it did this. Ysel could only moan with fear, unaware that she had bitten into the flesh of her fingers and that blood was running down her chin.

  “Fruit,” Enge said. “Round, sweet good things that you eat. Fill your stomach, make you happy. Eating makes one strong. Now do as I command.” She spoke temptingly at first, then commanding. “You will take this fruit. You eat at once!”

  Then she saw the blood where the creature had injur
ed itself and she turned away in disgust. She put the gourd of fruit onto the floor and signaled Stallan to join her by the door.

  “They have crude tools,” Enge said. “You said they had shelters of some kind, as well as large animals to serve them?” Stallan nodded. “Then they must have some degree of intelligence.”

  “That doesn’t mean that they can talk.”

  “A well-made point, hunter. But for the moment we shall just have to assume that they do have a language that they use to communicate with one another. I must not let a single failure stop me—look, the male is moving! It must have smelled the fruit. Masculine reactions are coarser, it cares more for its hunger than our possible threat. But it still watches us, still a wild animal. Look!” She cried out with triumph. “It is eating the fruit. A first success. We can at least feed them now. And there, see that, it is bringing fruit to the female. Altruism—that must denote intelligence.”

  Stallan was not convinced. “Wild animals feed their young. I have seen them work together on the hunt. I have seen it. That is no proof.”

  “Perhaps not—but I will not permit myself to be dissuaded so quickly. If boats can understand simple commands, why, then creatures like these should at least be able to do the same.”

  “You will teach them then, in the same manner that boats are taught?”

  “No. I considered that at first, but I want to obtain a better level of communication. Teaching boats involves positive and negative reinforcement of a few commands. An electric shock indicates a wrong action, while a bit of food rewards success. That is good for training boats, but I am not trying to train these animals. I want to talk with them, communicate with them.”

  “Talking is a very difficult thing to do. Many of those who emerge from the sea never do learn.”

  “You are correct, hunter, but that is a matter of degree. The young may have difficulty in talking as adults, but you must remember that all of the young talk together when they are in the sea.”

  “Then teach these beasts the children’s language. They might be able to master that.”

  Enge smiled. “It has been many years since you spoke as a child. Do you remember what this means?”

  She raised her hand and the palm changed from green to red, then back to green again as she made a signal with her fingers. Stallan smiled.

  “Squid—a lot of them.”

  “You do remember. But do you notice how important the color of my hand is? What I said would be incomprehensible without that. Can these fur creatures change the color of their palms?”

  “I don’t think so. I have never seen them do it. Though their bodies have red and white colors.”

  “That may be an important part of their speech—”

  “If they have one.”

  “Agreed, if they have one. I must watch them more closely when they make their sounds again. But the greater urgency is to have them speak like Yilanè. Beginning with the simplest of expressions. They must learn the completeness of communication.”

  Stallan made a gesture of incomprehension. “I do not know what that means.”

  “Then I will demonstrate to make my meaning clear. Listen carefully to what I say. Ready? Now—I am warm. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I am warm, that is a statement. The completeness is made clear in the union of the parts of the statement. I now say it again even more slowly. I . . . am . . . warm . . . I move my thumb in this manner, looking upward a little at the same time, say warm as I lift my tail slightly. All of that, the sounds spoken aloud and the correct motions are all combined together to form the complete expression.”

  “I have never considered such matters—and I find that my head hurts when I do.”

  Enge laughed and indicated appreciation of the attempt at humor. “I would fare as badly in the jungle outside as you do in the jungle of language. Very few make a study of it, perhaps because it is so complex and difficult. I believe that the first step in understanding is to consider that our language recapitulates phylogeny.”

  “Now my head does ache. And you think beasts like these can understand that—when even I have no idea of what you are talking about?” Stallan indicated the creatures, now quiescent against the wall, the gourd empty of its fruit, bits of skin littering the floor around them.

  “I will not attempt anything that complex. What I meant was that the history of our language is matched by our development in life. When we are young and first enter the sea we do not yet speak, but we do seek the protection and comfort of the others in our efenburu who enter the water at the same time. As our intelligence grows we see older ones talking to each other. Simple motions of the hand or leg, a color change of the palm. We learn more and more as we grow older, and when we emerge from the sea we add spoken sounds to the other things that we have learned until we become Yilanè in the completeness of our communications. That brings me to my problem here. How do I teach our language to these creatures who do not share our cycle of life? Or do they? Do they pass through an aquatic period after birth?”

  “My knowledge of these matters is far from complete—and you must remember that this species of ustuzou is new to us. But I doubt strongly if they were ever aquatic. I have captured and bred some of the more common and smaller wild species that abound in the jungle. They all seem to have certain things in common. They are very warm, all of the time.”

  “I have noticed that. It seems quite strange.”

  “Other things are equally strange. Look at that male there. You will see that he has only a single penis that cannot be decently retracted. None of the species of ustuzou I have captured has a normal double penis. Not only that, but I have studied their mating habits and they are disgusting.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that after impregnation of the egg the females carry the young. And when they are born they still keep them close about their bodies and feed them with soft organs that grow on their torsos. You can see them, there, on the young female.”

  “How very unusual. Then you believe that the young stay on land? They do not go properly into the sea?”

  “That is correct. It is a trait that is common to all the different ustuzou species I have observed. Their life cycles appear to be different from ours in every way.”

  “Then do you appreciate the import of your observations? If they do have a language of their own they can’t possibly learn it in the same way that we learn ours.”

  Stallan signed agreement. “I appreciate that now, and thank you for the explanation. But does that not raise a most important question? If they have a language—how do they learn to speak it?”

  “That is indeed the most important question, and I must attempt to find the answer to it. But I can tell you truthfully now that I have not the slightest idea.”

  Enge looked at the wild creatures, their faces sticky with the juice of the fruit they had eaten; they stared back at her. How could she possibly find a way to communicate with them?

  “Leave me now, Stallan. The male is securely bound, the female shows no signs of violence. If I am alone they will have only me to watch without their attention being distracted.”

  Stallan considered this for a long moment before signing reluctant agreement. “It shall be as you request. I agree that the danger is not great now. But I shall remain just outside the door which will be slightly open and unlocked. You must call to me if they threaten you in any way.”

  “I will. You have my promise. Now my work must begin.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was much work to be done in establishing this new city. Much extra work needed to put right the errors perpetrated by the former Eistaa, the justifiably dead Deeste, and with all this Vaintè found her days filled from first light to the coming of dark. As she sank into sleep she sometimes envied the nocturnal boats and other creatures that moved by night. If she could remain awake, just for a short time longer each day, so much more could be accomplished. It was
an unnatural idea, but was still the last thing that occupied her thoughts many nights before she slept. These thoughts, of course, did not interfere with her sleep, because disturbed sleep was a physical impossibility for the Yilanè. When she closed her eyes, she slept—a motionless sleep that, to an outsider, had a disturbing resemblance to death. Yet this sleep was so light that it was easily broken by something unusual. Many times during the dark hours of the night, animal cries would lift Vaintè gently awake. Her eyes would open and she would listen for a moment. Hearing nothing more her eyes would close and she would be asleep again.

  Only the gray light of dawn woke her completely. This morning—as all other mornings—she stepped from the warm bed to the floor, then prodded the bed with her toe. As it stirred she turned to the place where one of the countless trunks and stems of the living city bulged out into a gourd-like growth filled with water. Vaintè placed her lips over its orifice and sucked in sweetened water until she had drunk her fill. Behind her the bed quivered with slow spasms as it curled itself into a long bundle against the wall; its body cooled as it sank into a comatose state until it was needed again.

  It had rained during the night and the dampness of the woven floor was uncomfortably cool on the soles of Vaintè’s feet as she crossed an open area. After that she stayed under shelter as she made her way to the ambesed, fargi after fargi assembling in the train behind her as she went.

  Each morning, before the work began, the project leaders, like all of the other citizens of the city, would be sure to pass through the ambesed. There they would stop for awhile and talk to one another. This large, open area in the heart of the city was the hub around which all of its varied activities revolved. Vaintè went to her favored spot on the west side where the rising sun struck first, deep in thought and unaware of the citizens who moved aside to let her pass. She was the Eistaa, the one who always walked in a straight line. The bark of the tree was already warm and she leaned against it with satisfaction, her pupils contracting to narrow slits as the rising sun washed over her. She looked on with great satisfaction as Alpèasak stirred to life. This brought her a different warmth that was even more enjoyable. Pride of place, the highest place, for this was her city. Hers to grow, to build, to expand, to create out of a wilderness on this hostile shore. She would build well. When the cold winds swept over distant Inegban* this new city would be ready. Then her people would come and live here and honor her for what she had accomplished. When she thought of this there was always the small irritating memory in the back of her mind that on the day when this happened she would no longer be Eistaa here. Malsas< would come with the others, Malsas<, Eistaa of Inegban*, and destined to rule the new city as well. Perhaps. Vaintè kept that word most secret and never spoke it aloud. Perhaps. Many things happened in the course of time. Malsas< was no longer young, there were those who pushed from below; everything changes with time. Vaintè would cross that river when she came to it. It was enough for now to build the new city—and build well.