Return to Eden

by Harry Harrison

  Akotolp waddled over and nudged the limp body with her foot, signalled to the nearest fargi. “We will do a dissection, Eistaa. Perhaps there is a disease, an infection of the brain, that may explain this unusual happening.”

  Lanefenuu signed termination of presence and the corpse was hurried from her sight. Most of the onlookers left as well since the Eistaa, still moving with anger and affront, was obviously in no humor for conversation. Forgotten for the moment, Ambalasei moved away with the others, determined not to be noticed again. The fargi milled about in the dusk, seeking sheltered sleeping places, and she stayed close to them. When darkness fell they took no notice of her presence in their midst. She slept, as well as she could on the hard ground, and was awake and on her way to the waterfront at first light. She walked past the tethered uruketo to the open space at the dock’s end and waited there, forcing herself into stolid silence. Very soon after this an uruketo appeared from the sea haze and she saw, with great relief, that Elem was on the fin. Their presence was not noticed among the other uruketo: a crewmember helped her aboard and Ambalasei ordered instant departure.

  “You sign great worry, great unhappiness,” Elem said when she had climbed up to join her.

  “I have good reason to. I will speak of it later. Because right now you and your crew have no time for listening since you will be working as hard as you can to get this creature to the beach just as quickly as possible.”

  They were waiting on the sand, the four Daughters of Life and a huddled group of frightened fargi. There was a great deal of milling about before the fargi could be urged into the surf, to swim out to the uruketo. But once started they came strenuously on, strong swimmers since they were but recently emerged from the sea. They swarmed aboard and were gaping about stupidly long before the Daughters arrived. Satsat was the first to pull herself out of the water, to face an enraged Ambalasei.

  “What happened out there? What possessed that idiot Far<? Do you know what she has done?”

  “I do. She could not be dissuaded. Our work here was finished, she said, for we had talked to the fargi and had given them food. Those who understood us stayed with us and listened, but the ones that were still yiliebe drifted away. Those who learned of Ugunenapsa are with us now. Our city shall grow and prosper . . .”

  “Cease rambling? Speak of Far<.”

  Satsat looked with great unhappiness at the fargi and her companions now climbing into the uruketo, fought to order her thoughts. “She said that we had new Daughters of Life—but only daughters. For our city to grow and prosper in the natural way males were needed, as she has always said. We urged her not to go, spoke of the danger, but she would not listen to us . . .”

  “I can well believe that.”

  “Although she risked death she took the risk gladly. She felt that if she could but bring a single male to the wisdom of Ugunenapsa no sacrifice would be too great. She left us, did not return. Not last night nor this morning.”

  “She did as she desired,” Ambalasei said coarsely, “her greatest wish has been granted. She is dead. She died to stop herself from speaking. Probably the only intelligent thing that she ever did in her entire life.”

  Ambalasei turned away from the horrified Satsat and made her way into the interior of the uruketo and sought a dark and quiet spot to rest. She remained there for most of the return voyage, eating little but sleeping a great deal, ignoring the others. Although she did talk to some of the fargi, slowly and quietly with none of her usual brusqueness. Most of the time she slept. It was midday, warm and humid, when they returned. She was first ashore and left the unloading to the others. They had been seen upon the river and it seemed that the entire city was there.

  “Looking instead of working. Typical of Daughters of Dissitude.” She ignored Enge’s respectful signed welcome and turned instead to her assistant, Setèssei. “I am sure many tragedies befell during my absence?”

  “A few accidents—”

  “Any fatal?”

  “None.”

  “Too bad. Otherwise the city grows in order?”

  “It does.”

  “That at least is appreciated.” She turned to Enge and signed for attention and obedience. “Walk with me along the shore where I can avoid sight of the Daughters and all thoughts of Ugunenapsa.”

  “With pleasure. I see fargi aboard, so all was successful.”

  “I would hardly say that. One has stayed behind in Alpèasak. Far<.”

  “I do not understand. Why did she do that?”

  “She had no choice. She was dead.”

  Ambalasei spoke with enjoyable malice, then walked in silence until Enge had recovered some of her composure. When she spoke again her explanation of events was brief and unflattering.

  “She died from applied stupidity, that is what I believe.”

  “You are too harsh on the dead, Ambalasei. She will never trouble you again. She died in the hopes of seeing this city live. We will long remember her death with our sorrow.”

  “I would suggest that you remember it with joy—because if she hadn’t died that would have ended everything for you. Nor will you be happy with your new converts. I have talked with them and find them barely Yilanè and incredibly stupid. They are like trained animals. They know nothing of Ugunenapsa, care even less. They learned to repeat certain phrases that they had been taught. They did this so they would get food in return.”

  “They will grow in understanding.”

  “If they don’t they will still make good workers. But this will be the last missionary attempt. It is too dangerous to go near other cities. You must find another way to ensure your survival. Try the Eight Principles again.”

  “I will, though not at the present time. I am too filled with the despair of our lost sister. I know, Ambalasei, you don’t have to say it, she was foolish and headstrong. But what she did she did for us all and we shall mourn her.”

  “That is your choice. Mine is to further my studies of this new continent. I will be going up the river again as soon as I have made my preparations.”

  Enge signed respectful farewell when Ambalasei left. It was difficult to think that she would not see Far< ever again. She regretted now the harshness with which she had treated her sister. There was an emptiness now that would be hard to fill. But she must not brood about it. There was one of the newcomers, staring about with wonder at this new city. Enge approached her and signed greetings. The fargi recoiled.

  “Do not fear. All here are Daughters of Life and no harm will ever come to you. Do you have a name?”

  The fargi merely stared at her, though her jaws worked uneasily.

  “Do you understand what I am saying?” There was still no reaction. “Well, you will learn to speak. Then you will learn the truths as taught by Ugunenapsa . . .”

  “First principle,” the fargi said, slowly and crudely. “We resist between thumbs spirit life named Efeneleiaa.”

  “Then you are not yiliebe, and I can see that you have learned wisdom . . .”

  “Second principle. All dwell city life. Third principle. Spirit life Efeneleiaa supreme eistaa city—”

  She slowly stopped speaking and her jaws worked and she writhed in an attempt to remember what came next. She could not so she began over. “First principle . . .”

  “That is enough, you can stop now.”

  “Food—food—food!” the fargi said and opened her jaws wide like a bird in a nest.

  Enge took her arm and led her to the food vats. She was very depressed. Ambalasei had been correct. This fargi had learned to recite sounds and movements she could not possibly understand, to be rewarded with food for her efforts. Trained like an animal, not Yilanè at all. And Far< was dead.

  Enge fought back despair. There was much to be done, very much.

  Es mo tarril drepastar, er em so man drija.

  TANU SAYING

  * * *

  If my brother is wounded, I will bleed.

  SEVENTEEN

  Herilak
walked the track ahead of the sammads, his eyes never still. Not only looking into the forest on both sides but also up at the branches above. He stepped over the trunk of a tree that had fallen across the track: it had been a long time since a sammad had passed this way. Something rustled in the undergrowth and he stopped and stared but could see nothing. Bird cries sounded among the leaves—and the sudden, distant snap of a death-stick.

  He turned about and listened, there were shouts and a mastodon screeched. With his own death-stick held ready he ran back along the track to the sammad. Nadris was prodding a large, still form with his foot, the marag that they called spike-back.

  “What happened?” Herilak called out.

  “This thing came out of the trees, started towards the mastodons. I had to kill it.”

  The tiny eyes were glazed in death. It was covered with armored plates and had rows of spikes down its sides and all along the length of its tail. It had been a good shot, the poisoned dart striking the creature on its mouth.

  “They are good to eat,” Nadris said.

  “But hard to butcher,” Herilak said. “If we turn it over we can take off the rear legs. But we will have to stop for the night soon so you don’t have much time. Stay here and get started—I’ll send Newasfar to help. Use his mastodon to carry the meat and be sure to leave before dark.”

  They started forward, the mastodons rolling their eyes and trumpeting with fear when they passed the immense corpse. Herilak went ahead again, looking for a clearing where they could stop and build their fire. They would need dry wood, a lot of it, to cook all of the meat. It would spoil in the heat if they didn’t, a waste.

  An animal trail crossed the larger track, angling off into the forest. He stopped to see if the trees were thinner here and something caught his attention; he bent and looked closer. It was a blaze on the treetrunk, a mark where a section of bark had been peeled away. Though it was partly grown over it had been done this season. And there, higher up, was a branch that had been broken and left to hang. This trail had been marked by Tanu.

  Merrith was leading her mastodon, the others following in line behind it, when she saw Herilak waiting on the track ahead. When she came close she saw that he was smiling, pointing into the forest towards the east.

  “I’ve found something, a marked path leading towards the shore. Marked more than once.”

  “Could it be Kerrick?”

  “I don’t know, but it is something, another sammad perhaps. If he is not there they may know of him. We’ll stop here. You tell the others—I want to see where this trail goes.”

  It was almost dark when Herilak came to the water and looked across at the island. Too dark to go on. He sniffed the air. Was there a trace of woodsmoke? He could not be sure. He would find out in the morning.

  They ate well that night, gorged themselves because there was far more meat here than they could possibly eat or preserve. Only old Fraken complained at the toughness of the meat, but this was because he had very few teeth left. The boy-without-a-name had to cut Fraken’s food into small pieces for the old man, was ordered to do this before he ate himself. Though he did stick some of the pieces into his mouth when Fraken looked away. Herilak chewed the meat without thinking about it, wondering what he would find on the island in the morning. He lay awake a long time that night, slept restlessly, then awoke while there were still stars in the sky. He took some cold meat from the ashes of the fire and bit off a piece, went to wake Hanath.

  “I want you to come with me. I’ll need help crossing to the island.”

  Morgil awoke when Herilak spoke. “What about me?” he asked.

  “Stay with the sammad. Smoke as much of the meat as you can. We’ll be back as soon as we see if there are Tanu out there. If there is a sammad Hanath will come and tell you.”

  It was a cool morning and they moved swiftly down the trail to the water’s edge. Hanath lifted his head and sniffed the air.

  “Smoke,” he said, pointing at the island. “Coming from over there.”

  “I thought I smelled it last night—and look here, these marks. A raft or a boat has been pulled up onto the mud. There is someone on the island, there has to be.”

  “How do we get across?”

  “The same way . . .”

  “See—something is moving over there, under the trees.”

  Both hunters stood motionless and silent, peering at the shadows under the distant trees. A bough was pushed aside and someone emerged into the sunlight, then another.

  “A hunter and a boy,” Hanath said.

  “Two boys, one big enough to be a hunter.”

  Herilak cupped his hands before his mouth and called out an ululating cry. Both boys stopped and turned—then waved when they saw the hunters. Then they turned and disappeared back under the trees.

  Kerrick looked at them when the boys came running down the slope, shouting, so out of breath they could barely gasp out the words.

  “Hunters, two of them, over the water.”

  “Were they Tanu?” Ortnar asked, dragging himself up.

  “They had hair just like ours, and spears,” Harl said. “They are Tanu hunters.”

  “I must see them,” Kerrick said, taking up his hèsotsan.

  “I’ll show you where they are!” Arnwheet was bouncing with excitement.

  “All right.”

  Armun heard this as she came from the tent with the baby in her arms.

  “Let the boy stay here,” she said.

  “There is nothing to be afraid of. They’re Tanu. Ortnar will be here with you. Arnwheet saw them first, he deserves to meet them as well. Maybe they can tell us what has happened at the valley.”

  “Bring them here.”

  She watched as they raced away, the boys shouting to each other. Could it be another sammad? There would be other women to talk to then, other children. She was just as excited as the boys were. Darras came out of the tent, silent and fearful as always. It would be good for her to be with other girls. It would be wonderful if there really was another sammad close by.

  The boys ran ahead, shouting with excitement and were already pulling the raft out of the brush when Kerrick reached the shore. They were right, there was a hunter on the other side. Just one though, large and somehow familiar. He waved a hèsotsan and called out.

  It was Herilak, it could be no other. Kerrick waved back in silence, remembering the last time they had met in the city. The sammadar had been angry at him for forcing the sammads to stay and help in the city’s defense. They had not spoken since then because Kerrick and Ortnar had gone north the next morning. Their route carefully chosen so they did not pass near any of the Tanu. If they had, the two Yilanè males with them would have been killed on sight. What was Herilak doing hero—and what would he say now? There had been many harsh words between them.

  Kerrick stood silently on the raft while the boys poled it across. Looking at the big hunter who was silent as well now. When the raft grounded on the shore, Herilak placed his weapon on the grass and stepped forward.

  “I greet you, Kerrick,” he said. “Greet you.” He touched the skymetal knife that hung around his neck, then pulled it free and held it out before him. Kerrick reached over slowly and took it. He could see that it had been polished with sand and glistened in the sunlight.

  “They brought it,” Herilak said. “The murgu. They had been attacking us, they were winning. Then they stopped. And left this for us.”

  “It was meant as a message for another. But it is good you saw it too. You understood its meaning?”

  Herilak’s grim face broke into a rare smile. “I understood not at all how it had happened. But knew that something had been done, the attack which was killing us had stopped, the murgu were gone. And it must have been your doing. I knew that it had to be you when I saw this.” Herilak’s face was grim again and he stopped and folded his arms. “When we met last I said many harsh things, Kerrick. You are of my sammad yet I said and did things that I should not have d
one. I did not do as I should have for your woman Armun. I have a great shame for that.”

  “It is the past, Herilak. We will not talk of it again. Here, greet my son Arnwheet. This is the sammadar, Herilak, first among sammadars and hunters.”

  “Not first, Arnwheet,” Herilak said looking down at the boy. “Take pride of your father. He is first among all of us. And this one, I know him. The son of Nivoth. He left with Armun. She is here then as well?”

  “She is here. And also Ortnar of your sammad.”

  “There was a darkness in my head then. I treated Ortnar as I treated you. Worse perhaps. I struck him. I can only say that the darkness is gone. I wish I had not done the things I did—but I cannot take them back now.”

  “There is no need to talk of this here. The boys said there were two hunters?”

  “The other has returned to the sammad, to bring them here to the water. Will you join with us, you and your sammad?”

  “Where do you trek to?”

  “Why—to find you.”

  Kerrick burst out laughing at Herilak’s baffled expression—and Herilak frowned at first, then laughed as well.

  “You have found me, so the trek can end here. Join us. The island is safe, the hunting good. There are deer and small eating murgu. It is a very fine place to camp.”

  “Killer murgu?”

  “Some, but not many cross the river from the mainland. We watch for their spoor in the mud here, track them down and kill them at once.” Talking about murgu brought something important to mind.

  “You and the sammads are welcome here,” Kerrick said, then hesitated. “But I must tell you, one of the males from the city is close by, on an island by himself.”

  “One of those who lived through the fire in the city?” He frowned and unconsciously lifted his weapon.

  “The same. There were two, the other . . . died. I know you think that every marag should be killed, you told me that. But this one is harmless.”