West of Eden

by Harry Harrison

  After they had washed in the river the smell of cooking drew them back to the tents. It was a clear night and the stars were crisp and sharp above the flickering lights of the fires. Merrith served them meat, and Fraken the alladjex was there as well. The old man went to a different fire every night where people spoke to him of the things that only he knew. He looked suspiciously now at Kerrick who appeared to have knowledge that he did not. Herilak saw the look and drew the old man’s attention away.

  “I had a dream last night that I was with others and we were hunting mastodon,” Herilak said. Fraken nodded and smacked his lips over the warm tea as he listened. “How could that be? I have only hunted mastodon once, and I was very young then.”

  “It was not you who hunted this time,” the old man said. “It was your tharm.” There was silence about the fire as they listened with respect. “When we die the tharm leaves the body, but it may also leave during the time when we are asleep. Your tharm left you and joined a hunt, that is what happened. This is why a hunter should not be awakened if he is deep in sleep for his tharm may be away, and if he is awakened he will die because the tharm leaves the body when we die. Forever, never to return. If the hunter who dies has been strong in the chase his tharm will join the others among the stars.”

  His voice lowered and there was a harsh rasp now when he spoke.

  “But beware of the hunter who is a trouble-maker and has led a bad life, for there are hunters like that. When this hunter dies his tharm remains close by, causing trouble for others. Not so a strong hunter. His tharm will be there in the stars for all to see. A strong hunter’s tharm will return in dreams to help others and warn them of dangers.”

  Kerrick listened, but said nothing. Now he remembered hearing old Ogatyr tell stories like this when he had been a boy, remembering shivering with fear when he tried to sleep, afraid that the tharm of another was close by. Now—they were just stories. The Yilanè would have laughed at this talk of tharms and stars. For them death was simply the end of being and there was no mystery involved. They knew the stars to be so far distant that their existence could have no possible effect on any events here on earth. He remembered Zhekak telling him about the stars, about how hot they were, the moon cold, the planets very much like Earth. That was the reality; these were just stories. But when Kerrick looked around at their faces he saw only respect and belief and decided that this was neither the time nor the place for him to speak of these matters.

  When Fraken left to go to another fire many followed after him, leaving just a few hunters sitting close to the heat and talking. None of them took notice when the girl carrying a large handful of feathers came over and joined them. Her name was Farlan, Kerrick remembered, the elder daughter of Kellimans. She was tall and strong, her hair thick and plaited down her back. Kerrick felt a sensation he could not identify when she brushed past him, her body touching his, and he stirred restlessly. She went around the fire and sat next to Ortnar.

  “These are the feathers of the great bird you killed,” she said. Ortnar nodded agreement, scarcely looking at her.

  “They could be sewn to your robe so others would, know your skill with the bow.” She hesitated a moment. “I could sew them for you.”

  Ortnar thought about this for a long time, then apparently agreed.

  “I’ll show you the robe.” He led the way into the darkness and she followed.

  The hunters apparently took no notice of this—but one of them looked up and happened to catch Kerrick’s eye; he smiled and winked. Only when the couple were out of sight did the hunters begin to whisper to each other; one of them laughed aloud.

  Something was happening, something important Kerrick knew, but no one told him what it was. He remained silent as well for he was too ashamed of his own stupidity to ask.

  Ortnar was not in their tent when Kerrick returned, and it was only in the morning that he noticed that all of the hunter’s possessions were gone as well.

  “Where is Ortnar?” he asked.

  “Sleeping in another tent,” was all that Herilak answered, and appeared reluctant to say any more.

  Kerrick was beginning to realize that there were things about Tanu life, as with the Yilanè, that were done and not talked about. But he was Tanu, he should know. He would have to find out, but did not know how to go about this. It would require some thought.

  However Ortnar’s mysterious behavior slipped from his mind in the bustle of breaking camp.

  They were on their way south, into the unknown.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ulfadan, who knew this territory well, led the trek steadily south through the forest. It was only when the trees began to thin out and he could see the open grassland ahead that he ordered a halt and trotted back to report to Kerrick.

  “The open country is ahead. Now we have stopped as you ordered, margalus.”

  “Good,” Kerrick said. “Herilak and I have considered what to do when we go out on the plain to face the murgu. If we travel as we always do, in a single column, we will be open to attack at any time from the sides, where there is no protection. In the forest one mastodon must follow another because of the narrow track between the trees. But if there are no trees we will be able to move differently. Here is what we have decided.”

  The hunters crowded close to look as Kerrick bent and scratched a circle in the ground with a stick.

  “This is how we will move,” he said. “The mastodons will travel side by side, in a group. Herilak will go before them with one group of hunters, since he is the sacripex and will lead in any battle against the murgu. But an attack might come from the sides—or even from behind—so we must be on guard at all times. You, Kellimans, will be with the hunters of your sammad to the left side, Ulfadan the same to the right. I will follow in the rear with other hunters. All of us will be armed with the death-sticks, as well as bows and spears. In this way, with hunters on all sides, we will be able to guard the sammads in the center . . .”

  He was interrupted by a cry of alarm from one of the boys who were watching the forest around them. The hunters turned, weapons ready. A strange hunter had appeared from the trees and stood motionless, looking at them. He was from one of the sammads from beyond the mountains, they could tell that by the birchbark leggings he wore below his knees. It was Herilak who went forward to meet him. When he came close the hunter bent and placed his spear on the ground. Herilak did the same, and when he did so the hunter called out to him. Herilak shook his head, then turned and called back to the others.

  “He speaks, but I understand little.”

  “Newasfar will talk with him,” Ulfadan said. “He has hunted beyond the mountains and knows how they talk.”

  Newasfar left his own spear behind and went to speak with the stranger while they all watched. There was a brief exchange which Newasfar translated.

  “He is a sammadar called Har-Havola. He says that their mastodons died in the cold of winter and they had to eat them in order to stay alive themselves. Now all their food has gone and they will die when the snows come. He has heard that there is much food here and he asks for some.”

  “No,” Herilak said in instant response. The other hunters nodded agreement. Har-Havola stepped back at this, for it was one word that he knew. He looked around at the expressionless faces, started to speak, then must have realized that it was useless. He bent and picked up his spear, was turning away—when Kerrick called out.

  “Wait. Newasfar, tell him not to leave. Ask him how many hunters he has in his sammad?”

  “We have no food to spare,” Herilak said. “He must leave.”

  “I speak now as margalus. Listen to what I have to say.” Herilak acknowledged this and was silent. “We have more food than we can eat right now. Meat from the hunt as well as the murgu meat that we captured. When we go out into the grasslands there will be good hunting and we will have even more meat. But there will also be murgu that we must defend ourselves against. When they attack the more hunters we have
to fight them the more secure we will be. I say let them join us for we can use their spears.”

  Herilak thought about this, then nodded in agreement.

  “The margalus speaks the truth. We will need many hunters now because some must stand guard during the night. I say as well—let them come with us. Speak with him, Newasfar, tell him what we do and what the danger is. Tell him that if his hunters fight at our side, then all in his sammad will eat.”

  Har-Havola straightened up when he heard this and struck his chest. They did not need Newasfar to translate his words. The Tanu from beyond the mountains were great hunters and fighters. They would come.

  Then he turned towards the trees and called out a command. The file of frightened women emerged from the trees, clutching their children to them. The hunters came behind them. They were all emaciated and did not hesitate to take the food that was offered to them. When everyone had eaten, the column started forward again and moved slowly out onto the plain.

  While the mastodons were being gathered together in a group Herilak spoke to the sammadars.

  “Now that we have more hunters we have more security. Kerrick can join me in the fore since he is margalus. Har-Havola will march to the rear with his hunters, since there will be less danger there and they do not have death-sticks. As soon as the hunters are in position we will start.”

  The grassy plain stretched before them to the horizon, a series of undulating low hills. There were clumps of trees scattered about, but most of the plain was grass. A herd of animals, too far distant to identify, was running swiftly away from them and soon vanished from sight. Nothing else moved: the plain had a deceptively peaceful air. Ulfadan knew better; his fingers touched the great tooth suspended about his neck as he looked carefully about. All of the hunters clutched their weapons tightly now, well aware that they did not belong here. Even the mastodons seemed to feel the tension, trumpeting and tossing their great heads.

  At first the distant beasts were only dark specks coming up from a shallow valley. But they moved quickly and soon the rumble of their feet could be heard as more and more appeared, coming towards the Tanu. The mastodons were halted at a signal from Herilak, the hunters moving quickly forward to stand in line between this unknown threat and the sammads. Now the beasts in the herd could be clearly seen, unknown creatures with long necks and legs. The leaders swerved when they saw the Tanu and galloped across their front, throwing up a billowing cloud of dust. It was from this dust that the murgu struck.

  There was more than one of them, large and indistinct creatures that pursued the fleeing herd. They bounded suddenly into sight. The nearest of them saw the shapes of the mastodon, screeched loudly, turned and attacked.

  Kerrick had his weapon raised and fired at the charging figure, again and again. It rose into the air, screaming, then fell and crashed into the grass before them as the poison took effect. Close enough so that the beast’s bulging eye was just before Kerrick and seemed to be glaring into his. It kicked out its clawed feet in a spasm of agony, the mouth fell open and it roared fitfully. The rotten smell of its breath reached the hunters as it died.

  The mastodons were screaming now with fear, rearing up and threatening to crush the travois and those nearby. Some of the hunters ran to quiet them while the rest still faced outward, weapons ready.

  But the danger had passed. The herd was vanishing in the distance still pursued by the giant carnivores. Kerrick stepped forward warily towards the one they had killed. It lay unmoving now, a mound of dead flesh the size of a mastodon. A giant beast designed for slaughter, its rear legs long and muscled, its jaws filled with rows of pointed teeth.

  “Can the flesh of this creature be eaten?” one of the hunters asked, turning to Kerrick.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like this before. But it is a meat eater and the murgu only eat the flesh of the animals that eat grass and leaves.”

  “Let us move on,” Herilak ordered. “We do the same. Leave this beast.”

  The Tanu only ate the meat from carnivores when they were starving; the taste was strong and repellent and not to their liking. Now they had enough food and no desire at all to cut into this hideous creature. They went on quickly, the mastodons rolling their eyes and bellowing with fear as they passed the dead animal. Tanu and mastodon, they all wanted to be away from this place as quickly as they could.

  The plain teemed with life. Dark creatures that were obviously not birds soared above them. Great forms wallowed in a shallow lake which they prudently made a large circle to avoid. Smaller murgu, half-seen, moved away from them in the high grass. Though they stayed alert, their weapons ready, they were not attacked again. The day passed in this manner without further encounters. The shadows were getting long when they stopped to water their beasts at a stream. Herilak pointed to a low hill nearby that was topped by a thick growth of trees.

  “We will stop there for the night. The trees will give us protection and this water is close by.”

  Kerrick looked up at the grove; it worried him. “We don’t know what might be concealed there,” he said. “Wouldn’t we be better here on the plain where we could see anything approaching?”

  “We know now that this plain is alive with murgu during the day—but we don’t know what moves in the darkness in this place. The trees will be our shelter.”

  “Then we must be sure that we are the only ones sheltering there. Let some of the best hunters search there now before it is too dark to see.”

  They went cautiously, but the trees hid nothing of any great danger. Small murgu, tails held high, ran before them. There was a great flapping and screeching when they disturbed some birds feeding on fruit in the trees above. Other than this the grove was empty. It would be a good place to stop.

  The mastodons quieted once they were freed of their burdens and were soon tearing at the green leaves. The boys brought the fire, carried in clay-lined baskets, and the tents were quickly set up. Guards were posted around the camp as darkness fell; they would be changed during the night.

  “We have done all that we can do,” Herilak said. “We have survived our first day.”

  “May we live through the night as well,” Kerrick said, looking about worriedly. “I hope that we did not make a mistake in coming here.”

  “You bother yourself too much with things that cannot be changed. The decision was made. There was no other path to take.”

  Herilak was right, Kerrick thought, I worry too much. But he has been a sammadar and sacripex before, and knows about leading others. All of this is still new to me.

  He fell asleep quickly after they had eaten, and did not stir until Herilak touched his shoulder. The night was very dark, but the stars of the Hunter had gone from the western sky and the Mastodon would soon follow: dawn was close by.

  “Nothing came near us during the night,” Herilak said, “though there are plenty of creatures out there. Perhaps they do not like our smell.”

  The dark shapes of other hunters moved under the trees as the sentries were replaced. Kerrick stood at the top of the slope and looked down at the darker outline of the stream.

  “We have seen animals watering there,” Herilak said, “but there was no way of telling what they were.”

  “As long as they leave us alone it does not matter.”

  They waited in silence until the sky lightened in the east with approaching dawn.

  “A day and a night and we are all still alive,” Herilak said. “It is said that a trek that begins well ends well. May that be true now.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The slow march continued south that day, then the next and the next again. The hunters still took the precaution of flanking the sammads during the daylight hours and posting guards at night, but they walked with less apprehension, slept without worry. The plain was rich with animal life, but most of the creatures were murgu herbivores who stayed well clear of the sammads and their mastodons. There were predators, and many of the largest of these
carnivores did attempt to attack them. The hunters killed the ones that came close and the others saw this and stayed clear. But the hunters knew that without the weapons that they had captured they would have been long since dead. With their defense the sammads could penetrate deeper and deeper into the plain.

  The course they took stayed well clear of the swamps along the river and the large creatures that could be seen wallowing there. They avoided the thick forest as well, whenever they could, because when they passed through it they were forced to go in single file which made the column much harder to guard.

  Despite the ever-present dangers the hunters still looked forward each morning to what the new day might bring, while each night they talked late around the fires about what they had seen that day. For them the world about them was an essential part of their lives. Normally they knew every animal in the forest, every bird in the trees; they knew their habits and how they were to be hunted.

  But now they had discovered a whole new world. They had passed through a border area when the trek had begun, where they had seen some deer and other familiar beasts, as well as murgu of different kinds. Quite suddenly this had all changed and the animals they had watched and hunted all their lives were no more. Only some of the birds looked familiar, while the fish in the river were apparently no different. The rest were murgu, murgu in such variety that they could no longer be called by that single name. They were underfoot and in the grass, small lizards and snakes, while grazing the sea of grass itself were beasts of all sizes and colors. The hunters were specially watchful when they passed one of these herds because many times they were followed by packs of voracious carnivores.

  Once, squatting and tearing at the rotting corpse of a large and nameless animal, they had seen carrion birds as large as the raptor that had once watched them. They were ungainly things with dark red plumage and very long tails. When the hunters passed close by they hopped about on their long legs and opened their beaks to hiss in anger. They were efficient carrion eaters for instead of bills they had jaws lined with sharp teeth.