West of Eden

by Harry Harrison

The three vanished from sight and Vaintè’s eye rolled back and came to focus on Enge who had come up silently and now stood before her, bent in a gesture of supplication.

  “Leave me,” Vaintè said, as curtly as she could. “I speak with no one.”

  “A matter of greatest importance. I implore you to listen.”

  “Go.”

  “You must listen. Stallan beats the ustuzou. I am afraid she will kill it.”

  Vaintè gave Enge her full attention now, demanding an instant explanation.

  “The creature tried to escape but was recaptured. Stallan beats it terribly.”

  “This is not my wish. Command her to cease. Wait—I will do it myself. I want to hear more about this escape. How did it happen?”

  “Only Stallan knows. She has told no one.”

  “She will tell me,” Vaintè said, grim authority in her gesture.

  When they reached the prison chamber they saw that the door was open and could hear the thudding sound of blows, the moans of pain, as they came down the corridor. “Stop,” Vaintè ordered, halting in the doorway, speaking the word with such strength that Stallan halted, her arm still raised, the blood-drenched leash in her hand.

  At her feet Kerrick lay twisted in agony, his back raw bloody flesh, beaten half unconscious.

  “Tend the creature,” Vaintè ordered and Enge rushed forward. “And you, put that thing down and give me an instant explanation.”

  There was such certain death hovering behind her words that even the strong and fearless Stallan quavered before it. The leash fell from her powerless fingers: it took all of her will to force her body to answer. Knowing that Vaintè had but to speak the few words more and she was doomed.

  “The creature escaped from me, ran. Very fast. No one could catch it. We followed it to the fields, keeping close behind it. But never close enough. It would have escaped had it not been caught by one of the traps placed around the fields to stop the ustuzou night raiders.”

  “That close,” Vaintè said looking down at the small form. “These wild animals have abilities we are not aware of.” Her anger was dying away and Stallan quivered with relief. “But how did it escape?”

  “I do not know, Eistaa. Or rather I know what happened but cannot explain it.”

  “Try.”

  “I shall. It walked beside me, obeying my commands. When we had gone some distance it stopped and raised its hands to the collar of this leash, choking and saying it was being strangled. This was possible. I reached to the collar but before I could touch it the ustuzou ran away. And it was not choking.”

  “But it told you it was choking?”

  “It did.”

  Vaintè’s anger was gone now as she thought hard about what the hunter had said. “Were you not holding the leash?”

  “I had released it when I reached for the collar. The beast was choking, it could not escape.”

  “Of course. You did the only thing possible. But it was not choking. You are sure of that?”

  “Positive. It ran a long way and breathed well. When it was captured the first thing I did was look at the collar. It was just as it had been when I put it on.”

  “These things are unexplainable,” Vaintè said, looking down at the unconscious ustuzou. Enge was bent over it, cleaning the blood from its back and chest. Its eyes were discolored and bruised, there was blood upon its face as well. Surprising that it was alive after Stallan’s attention. The inescapable fact was that the collar had not been choking it. But it had said it was being choked. That was impossible. But it had happened.

  Then Vaintè stiffened into immobility. It was a thought, an impossible thought, one that would never have occurred to a crude hunter like Stallan. Vaintè controlled the thought, held it at bay for the moment as she spoke rudely and stiffly.

  “Leave at once.”

  Stallan hurried out immediately, expressing relief and gratitude, knowing that her life was out of danger for the moment, happy to put everything that had happened out of her mind.

  But not Vaintè. Enge’s back was still turned so she was able to seize the thought, examine it, and not be concerned about anyone observing her own thinking processes.

  It was simply an impossible idea. But it had happened. One of the first things that she had learned in the science of thought was that when all other explanations have been rejected, the remaining explanation, no matter how illogical or apparently false, must be the only explanation.

  The ustuzou had said the collar was choking it. The collar was not choking it.

  The statement of a fact was not a fact.

  The ustuzou had said a fact that was not a fact.

  There was no word or expression for this in Yilanè so she must make one up. It was a lie. The ustuzou had lied.

  No Yilanè could lie. There was only immobility, or lack of expression to conceal one’s thoughts. A statement was a thought and a thought was a statement. The act of speaking was one with the act of thinking.

  But not with the ustuzou.

  It could think one thing and speak another. It could appear quiet and docile, then say it was choking—when all of the time it was only thinking of escape. It could lie.

  This creature must be kept alive, cherished, guarded—and prevented from escaping. The future was gray and formless and Vaintè was not sure of the details. But she knew with positive assurance that the ustuzou was her future. She would use it and its ability to lie. Use it to climb, use it to reach the summit of her ambitions.

  But now she must put all thoughts of this impossible talent from her own mind. She must order things done so that none of the others should know. She would order all discussion of the escape forbidden. Should Stallan die? For a moment she considered it—then rejected it. The hunter was too valuable. Stallan would obey the order for silence, would enjoy obeying it since she would certainly remember how close she had been to death before Vaintè’s anger. When she had composed herself Vaintè drew Enge’s attention.

  “Is the creature badly hurt?”

  “I cannot tell. It is bruised and cut, but that could be all. See, it stirs, its eyes are open.”

  Kerrick looked up blurredly at the two murgu standing above him. He had failed to escape, he hurt, and he had failed. There would be another time.

  “Tell me what you feel,” Vaintè ordered, and he was surprised at the worry in her words.

  “I hurt. All over.” He moved his arms and legs. “That is all. I hurt all over.”

  “That is because you tried to escape,” Vaintè said. “You took your chance when Stallan let go of your leash. I will arrange matters in the future so that this will never happen again.”

  Kerrick was not too tired or sore to notice the elision in Vaintè’s words, the obvious leaving out of a statement. Vaintè must know what he had said to Stallan to make her drop the leash. Enge did not notice, but he did. He saw that knowledge and wondered at it, then forgot it. He hurt too much.

  One of Vanalpè’s students came and dressed his wounds—and after that he was left completely alone for many days while they healed. The student brought food every morning, then checked the progress of his healing. There were no more language lessons—nor did he have to suffer the attentions of the dreaded Stallan. His manacles were removed, but the door was always securely locked.

  When the pain lessened enough he thought about his attempt to escape—and what had gone wrong. He would not be trapped that way next time. He would avoid the false vines, leap over them, and flee into the jungle.

  Had he really seen the bearded face there among the leaves? Or was it just wishing, hoping, that had placed it there? He could not be sure. Maybe it was only his desire that someone be there, waiting. It did not matter. He did not need any help. Just the chance to run. The next time they would not stop him.

  Day after slow day passed until his wounds had healed and the scabs had fallen away, leaving white scars in their place. The student still examined him closely every morning when she brought the
food. When all the bruises on his skull were healed she brought the unutakh to remove the long stubble of hair that had grown. After this he became used to the creature’s slimy ministrations once again. The door was always sealed when the student was with him, and he could feel the ominous presence of Stallan on the other side of it. There was no escape that way. But they would not keep him in this chamber forever.

  On the day the student came in, moving with excitement, he knew that something was going to happen. She washed him and carefully inspected his body, saw that his skin pouch was decently in place, then crouched and watched the door. Kerrick knew better than to ask the creature what was happening. She never spoke to him or answered his questions. So he sat back and looked at the entrance as well.

  It was indeed an important day. When the door opened next Vaintè entered, followed by the waddling fat body of Zhekak. Fargi and aides followed them bearing containers.

  “It has escaped once,” Vaintè said. “It must be arranged that it shall never happen again.”

  “An interesting problem, Eistaa, and one that has given me many happy moments of contemplation. I believe that I have the answer, but I shall show you rather than tell you in the hopes that you will take pleasure from the revelation.”

  “I take pleasure in any work of Zhekak’s,” Vaintè said formally, but allowed an extra feeling of satisfaction to show through. Zhekak waved a fargi over and took the container from her.

  “This is very new,” she said, drawing out a length of flexible material. It was thin, darkish red in color—and immensely strong. Zhekak demonstrated that it could not be broken by having two fargi tug at the ends of it, struggling and slipping to the amusement of all. As a final test she took up a string-knife and pulled it back and forth across the taut length. When it was handed to Vaintè she looked close and saw that it had scored the shining surface, but no more than that. She expressed admiration—and puzzlement.

  “I shall be happy to elucidate,” Zhekak said with immense self-esteem. “A string-knife, as you know, is a single long molecule. It cuts because of its small diameter, it is virtually unbreakable because of the strength of the intramolecular bonds. And here we have like attempting to cut like. The flexible length is made of fibers of molecular carbon grown in that medium. They will bend but not break, and cannot be cut.”

  Vaintè radiated approval. “So you have a leash that will certainly secure the beast. So I ask the next obvious questions. How do you fasten it to the ustuzou—and to what do you fasten the other end?”

  Zhekak wriggled her soft flesh with pleasure. “Eistaa, you do understand these things so well. Here is the creature’s collar-to-be.”

  An assistant produced a semi transparent, jellyfish object the length and thickness of her arm. It writhed sluggishly as Zhekak draped it about Kerrick’s neck. He disliked the cold touch of it but knew better than to protest in the slightest. Zhekak issued brisk orders as the assistant brushed the ends of the creature with some salve, then pressed them together to form a thick collar about Kerrick’s neck.

  “Quickly!” Zhekak ordered, “the secretion process is beginning.”

  With careful touch they looped the end of the leash about the creature, then pulled on it so that it sank into the thing’s transparent flesh, to the very center.

  “Lean close, Eistaa,” Zhekak called out, “and you will see the process begin.”

  The transparent flesh was beginning to discolor deep down, congealing about the alien object in its core.

  “This animal is a simple metal secretor,” Zhekak said. “It is depositing molecules of iron about the flexible core. Soon it will stiffen and grow strong. We will feed the creature until a complete metal collar is formed about the ustuzou’s neck. A metal collar too strong to be broken or cut.”

  “Admirable. But what will you affix to the other end?”

  Zhekak’s pendant flesh wriggled with pleasure as she walked across the room to the watching fargi and pulled one forward. This creature was taller and wider than most; strong muscles rippled under her skin as she walked. Zhekak pinched one muscular arm between her thumbs and could not dent it.

  “This fargi has served me many years and is the strongest I have ever found. She is barely able to talk, but she still does all the lifting and heavy work in the laboratory. She is yours now, Eistaa, for a more important service.” Zhekak’s little eyes, almost lost in the folds of flesh, looked around at her silent and expectant audience.

  “This is what her service will be. A collar will be grown about her neck as well—with the other end of the lead firmly grown into it. The ustuzou and the fargi will be joined together for life like two fruits growing from the same bough!”

  “Your mind is like the mind of no other,” Vaintè said, and all of the aides and assistants signaled agreement. “Joined together, forever inseparable. I am told our ustuzou runs very fast. Tell me, ustuzou, how far can you run pulling this little fargi?”

  There was no answer to this so Kerrick was silent, while all of the others were much amused. He looked at the stupid features of the creature at the other end of the lead and felt nothing but burning hatred. Then he noticed that Vaintè was looking closely at him and he silently expressed resignation and acceptance. She approved.

  “This fargi has a new name,” Vaintè said, and they all grew silent. “From this moment on she shall be named Inlènu* for her mighty body shall make the entire world a prison for the ustuzou. Do you know your name, strong one?”

  “Inlènu*,” she said with great satisfaction, knowing that she had been named by the Eistaa herself and would now serve the Eistaa.

  Kerrick’s posture of acceptance was as false as the pleasure of all the rest in the chamber was true. He reached out slowly with his toe and rolled it over the length of the lead where it lay on the floor, already thinking of possible ways to sever it.

  Es mo tarril drepastar, er em so man drija.

  If my brother is wounded, it is I who will bleed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The evening sky was as red as fire behind the black outlines of the trees, while over the ocean the first bright stars had appeared, tharms of the strongest warriors. But the four men on the beach faced away from the stars, stared instead at the dark wall of the jungle before them, for they feared the unseen beasts that were hidden there. They crouched with their backs against the wooden side of their boat, taking some strength from its solidity. It had brought them here and would, they fervently hoped, take them safely away again from this place of many dangers.

  Ortnar could no longer keep silent, and he spoke the thoughts of all of them.

  “There could be murgu in there, watching us right now, ready to attack. We should not be here.” He chewed his lip with apprehension, his imagination filling the darkness with unseen dangers: he was a lean and nervous man much given to worry.

  “Herilak told us to wait here,” Tellges said, and this decided the matter for him. He did not fear what he could not see, and much preferred taking orders to giving them. He would wait patiently until the sammadar returned.

  “But he has been gone all day. He could be dead, eaten by the murgu.” Ortnar was possesed by the terror of his thoughts. “We should never have come this far south. We passed herds of deer, we could have hunted . . .”

  “We hunt when we return,” Serriak said, catching some of Ortnar’s fear. “Now shut your mouth.”

  “Why? Because I speak the truth, that is why. Because Herilak seeks revenge we will all die. We should not have come . . .”

  “Be silent,” Henver said. “There is something moving along the beach.”

  They crouched, spears ready, lowering them with relief only when Herilak’s silhouette was clear against the sky as he climbed the dune.

  “You have been gone all day,” Ortnar said when the sammadar came close, the reproof clear in his voice. Herilak chose not to hear it, standing before them and leaning wearily on his spear.

  “Bring me water,” he ord
ered, “then listen to what I have to say.” He drank thirstily, then dropped the gourd onto the sand and lowered himself beside it. When he spoke his voice was low and distant as he talked first of things they knew.

  “The sammad of Amahast is no more, all killed, you saw their bones upon the shore. You see Amahast’s skymetal knife now around my neck and know that I took it from among his bones. What I found on that beach, among those skeletons, led me to believe that death came to them from the south. I chose you to come with me to find that death. I chose you because you are strong hunters. We have come south for many days, stopping only to kill for meat to fill our bellies. We have come south to the country of the murgu and have seen many of them. But yesterday we found something different. We found trails that were not animal trails. I followed those trails to where they led. I will tell you now what I found.”

  There was something in Herilak’s voice that silenced them all, even Ortnar. The last light of sunset washed Herilak’s face as red as blood, a blood-mask that belonged with the anger that drew his lips back from his teeth, clenched his jaw so tightly that it now muffled his words.

  “I have found the killers. Those paths were made by murgu, of a kind I have never seen before. There is a great nest of them out there where they teem like ants in an anthill. But they are not ants—or Tanu—although they stand erect on legs like Tanu. They are not any of the beasts we know, but are murgu of a new kind. They move over the water on the backs of creatures like boats and their nest is guarded by a wall of thorns. And they have weapons.”

  “What are you saying?” There was terror in Ortnar’s voice, for Herilak spoke of nightmares come alive. “That there are murgu that walk like Tanu? Who have spears and bows and kill like Tanu? We must leave, now, quickly, before they reach us . . .”

  “Silence.” There was grim command in Herilak’s voice. “You are a hunter, not a woman. If you show your fear the animals you hunt will know it and will laugh at you and all of your arrows will miss their mark.”