Return to Eden e-3

by Harry Harrison

  “Darras was telling me about her new doll. She is very happy with it.”

  Merrith smiled and nodded agreement. “She is not the only one who is filled with pleasure.”

  Herilak called out greetings and Kerrick went to join him. They sat in darkness before the tent looking at the woman and the little girl in the flickering firelight. Herilak seemed as happy as Merrith was. Kerrick was reluctant to spoil all this; Herilak had been grim and unsmiling for far too long. They talked of hunting, the other sammads, and of the Sasku valley. They did this until Merrith took the girl into the tent and the flap was closed.

  “It may be very hot here in the summer, Herilak said. “But it is never cold in the winter. This island is a very good place for the sammads.”

  “Will we ever go back to the mountains? That was what old Fraken talked of when dying.”

  “Old Fraken was an old fool. I have heard you say that many times. There is still the winter that does not stop to the north.”

  “I think that my death-stick has the sickness.”

  Herilak was very still for a long time. When he finally spoke the grim unhappiness was back in his voice.

  “It had to happen some day. We all knew that it would. This time we must get new death-sticks before the old ones die, keep them apart.”

  “You mean go to the city again? Steal more of them? Kill more murgu?”

  “Can you think of any different thing to do?”

  Kerrick had no quick answer for this. He sat in silence, his hands clasped before him, wringing his fingers together so hard that his knuckles cracked. The moon rose above the trees and drenched the clearing with cool light. An owl drifted silently above their heads: a night creature called distantly in the forest.

  “No,” Kerrick said with great reluctance. “I can think of nothing else. We know now where the death-sticks are. But if we are seen again…”

  “You need not go this time. I know where the pit is now.”

  “I am not afraid of going there!”

  “I did not say that you were. I meant only that others can take the risk. You have done your part, and more, many times over.”

  “That is also not important. What I fear most is our dependency on the murgu and the city. We will go now because we must, then one day we will have to go again. But one time when we go it will happen. Once when we are in the city we will be seen by the murgu. And what then?”

  “You worry too much. Life is to be taken one day at a time.”

  “That is no longer true. When we lived in the mountains and followed the deer you could say that. No longer. We are in a trap and there is no way out.”

  “We will be a bigger hunting party this time. We will bring back many death-sticks.”

  “No. Impossible. The risk is too great. Two hunters at most. And we will leave our own death-sticks behind here. Then, when we are distant from the sammads, we must wash ourselves and the skins we wear, many times. If there is a sickness it must not spread to the death-sticks we bring back.

  “I do not understand your talk of washing and sickness.”

  “Neither do I,” Kerrick said with a twisted smile. “But I was told about it by one who knew. This was before we met and I had been very sick…”

  “Then it was a marag who told you this?”

  “Yes. And after the attack on the city, then the valley where they grew special plants just to kill us, you can see clearly how much they know of living things. This marag of great knowledge told me that disease, infections, are spread by small living things.”

  “I have seen grubs in wounds.”

  “Living creatures even smaller than that, so small that you cannot see them. I know it is hard to believe, but I am just telling you what I was told. So perhaps what is killing the death-sticks passes from one to the other. I don’t know. But if we can stop it by washing ourselves then we must do it.

  “Surely we must. And any hunter would smell better for a good washing. It will be you and I then. We will go.”

  “No,” Kerrick said with sudden firmness. “You are a sammadar and I cannot tell you what to do. I will take one who will obey me, who will do as I order. We will go in silence and avoid the murgu. Avoid killing if we see any of them. If you were there, and that should happen, would you obey an order not to kill?”

  “I would not. You speak the truth in that. But who would you take? Your sammad is small, the boy Harl the only hunter you have.”

  “He is skilled and silent in the forest. He will go with me. That is the way it must be.”

  “You are making a mistake—”

  ‘I might be — but it is my mistake.”

  Herilak frowned angrily but could think of nothing more to say. The decision had been made. “When do you leave?”

  “Very soon. This time we must go there and get the death-sticks, bring them back before the others that we have here die. They must be ready for us when we need them.”

  There was little to add after this and they parted in silence.

  Kerrick was still awake the next morning at first light, had slept little during the night. He lay unmoving, listening to Armun’s gentle breathing, until sunlight touched the wall of the tent. Only then did he slip out quietly and go to the shelter where he kept the hèsotsan, to unwrap it carefully and hold it up in the light. The dead area was there, bigger now, still there.

  The flap of the hunters’ tent had been thrown back and Ortnar sat in the morning sunlight. His dead leg was stretched out before him on the ground, his perpetual scowl etched with deep lines into his face.

  “I want to talk with Harl,” Kerrick said.

  “I still slept when he left, well before light. He knows a place by the stream where deer come at dawn. He will be a good hunter one day.”

  “I will speak with him when he returns.” There was nothing to add, Ortnar was never one for small talk. Kerrick turned away and went to his own tent. Armun was awake, stirring the fire to life.

  “I saw you looking at the death-stick. You worry too much about it.”

  “It is more than a worry. It has the sickness.”

  “Not again!” The words were a cry of pain, wrenched from her.

  “Again. I will have to go to the murgu city. Again.”

  “No, not you. There are others who can go.”

  “Others could surely go — but they would never return. Only a Tanu who is half marag can understand that murgu city. Now I will eat and rest. I slept little last night.”

  The sun was high in the sky when he awoke. The sky was bright and he blinked into its glare. Harl was sitting outside, waiting for him in patient silence. Seeing him like this, his mind still clouded with sleep, Kerrick looked at him as a stranger. No longer the small boy, but a hunter grown. As soon as he saw that Kerrick was awake he stood and came over to the tent.

  “Ortnar said you came to find me, you would speak to me.”

  “He told me that you were hunting. The deer came?”

  “Right beneath me. Two are dead. What is it you want?”

  Like Ortnar, he had no time for small talk. He used words like arrows, sharp and swift.

  “I want you. Will you go to the murgu city with me? My death-stick has the sickness.”

  “How many will go?”

  “You and I alone.”

  Harl’s eyes opened wide. “You went with the sammadar Herilak last time.”

  “I did. And he killed the murgu we met. This time I wish to rely on skill in woodcraft and not killing. I wish to see and not be seen. Will you go with me?”

  Harl smiled and held out his clenched fists, one above the other. “I will go. We will bring back death-sticks?”

  “Yes. But you must tell me one thing now. Will you do as I order you to? If we see the murgu of the city they must not be killed. Will you do that?”

  “You are asking a difficult thing.”

  “I know. But if you do not do it, then another will. You are of my sammad. If you will do as I ask you, then there
will be no other hunter. It is your choice.”

  “Then I choose to come with you. I will do as you order, sammadar. When will we leave?”

  “In the morning. Spear and bow only. The death-sticks stay here.”

  “What do we do then if we meet a large marag that we cannot kill with spear or arrow?”

  “We die. So it is your skill in the forest that will lead us away from them. Can you do that?”

  “Yes. We will do as the sammadar says.”

  They left at dawn, and by the heat of the day they were well upon the track south. When they came to the ford across the narrow river they took turns to scrub themselves clean in the clear water, one washing while the other stood guard. Harl could not see the reason for this, still he did as he was told. He grumbled about getting his bow and quiver wet, spread his arrows on the grass to dry. Kerrick looked at their packs of dried meat and ekkotaz.

  “You cannot wash the meat,” Harl said. Kerrick smiled.

  “True. But we can eat it. Before we enter the city we throw away what we haven’t finished, the bags as well. The last time we went I cut up the leather to bind the death-sticks. The illness could have been passed on that way. This time we will use split saplings and vines to hold them. They must not get the sickness again.”

  On the second day Harl stopped them with a raised hand, listened to the forest ahead. There was something there, large. They made a long swing out through the trees to the shore, went along the sand for the rest of the day. Only when the coast became swampy and impassable did they return inland. There were no other disturbances after this and they made very good time. When they reached the now-familiar outer reaches of the city Kerrick called a stop.

  “We will go back to the last stream we crossed. Get rid of the meat bags and wash again.”

  “We will eat all the meat we can first.”

  “Yes, of course. Then go on in the afternoon.” Harl frowned at this, seemed displeased. “There is a good reason to wait. The murgu in the city do not move around at night. If they are near the death-stick pens they will leave in time to be well back inside the city by dark. If we reach there at dusk we can get the death-sticks and find our way out even if it is after nightfall. Can that be done?”

  “If I see a track by day I can walk it by night. It shall be as you say, sammadar.”

  By midafternoon, their leather garments still wet and cool against their skin, they penetrated the outer wall of the city. Kerrick went first, cutting and pushing aside the poisonous plants and thorns. Once past this barrier he whispered instructions to Harl who now led the way. Slower and slower, crawling the last distance to the earthen wall of the pen. Harl went on himself, then waved Kerrick forward.

  “There is no one here, no tracks since the last rain.”

  “I still want to stay out of sight until it is darker. We can use these vines to make nets to carry the death-sticks.”

  It was near dusk when Harl pulled himself up onto the earthen wall, looked around and beckoned Kerrick forward. The hèsotsan were thick in the shallow water below and on the sandy bank. Kerrick threw clods down to chase the active ones away, then jumped down into the pit. There were hèsotsan close by on the sand, feebly moving their legs and unable to escape.

  “These are the ones we want,” he said. “I’ll hand them up to you.”

  He passed up as many as they could carry easily, then took Harl’s hand and pulled himself out. The hèsotsan hissed weakly when they were bound and tried to snap at their fingers. It was quickly done. They slung the bundled creatures over their shoulders and seized up their weapons.

  “We have done it!” Kerrick said, already feeling the tension drain away. “Now — let’s get out of here.”

  Harl led the way in an easy lope, back along the track they had followed when they had entered the city.

  As he came around the end of the embankment there was the sharp crack of a hèsotsan and he collapsed. Dead before he hit the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Kerrick stopped, fell backward, huddled against the earthen wall. Harl lay crumpled just before him. His mouth hung open and his eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. The bundle of hèsotsan lay across his chest with the creatures writhing slowly against their bonds.

  Harl was dead. Killed by a hèsotsan. A Yilanè, it had to be a Yilanè who was out there, lying in wait. It had been a neatly planned trap. There was no way out of it. If he moved or tried to retreat he would be exposed. He could not go forward — and there was no way back. The instant they saw him they would shoot: a marauding ustuzou would be killed on sight.

  Then he had to be Yilanè again.

  “Attention to speaking!” He called out. Then added, “Death… negative!” It did not make much sense, but he wanted those who were waiting out there to hesitate before they fired. He laid the bundle of hèsotsan aside, rose slowly to his feet — then stepped out of cover calling out loudly as he did, his arms and thumbs held in the form of submission.

  “I am unarmed. Do not kill me,” he said as firmly and clearly as he could. His skin quivered, expecting the dart that would bring instant death. The Yilanè stood just ahead of him in the dense shrubbery. She had emerged from the shelter of the trees. Her hèsotsan was aimed directly at him. She appeared to be alone. All he could do was stand rigidly still, signing submission.

  Intepelei looked at him, never moving her weapon. But she did not fire.

  “You are the ustuzou who is yilanè. I know of you.”

  “I am Kerrick who is Yilanè.”

  “Then you must be the one who went to Ikhalmenets and killed the uruketo of our city. You are that one?”

  Kerrick thought of lying; there was no point to it.

  “I am.”

  Intepelei signed pleasure of discovery — but still kept the hèsotsan aimed at his chest. “Then I must take you to Lanefenuu who has talked much of the ustuzou and her hatred for you. I think she wants to see you before you die. Did you kill the three Yilanè and put them into the pit with the hèsotsan?”

  “I did not kill them.”

  “But your kind of ustuzou did?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was my thought that this was the explanation of their deaths. No other agreed with me. I did what had to be done. I have had fargi hidden near this place ever since that day. Fargi instructed to come to me if any ustuzou pass. One came to me this day. Now we go to speak with Lanefenuu.”

  “It is almost dark.”

  “Then you will hurry. For if it grows dark before we reach the ambesed I will kill you. Move quickly.”

  Kerrick stepped reluctantly forward, searching for a way out, finding none. This Yilanè was a hunter, he could tell that, knew he would be killed instantly if he tried to attack. She signed with her top thumbs as she stepped forward. Then shivered and almost fell.

  The arrow made a thunking sound as it struck deep into her back.

  She raised the hèsotsan, her hands shaking, pointing it towards Kerrick. It cracked once, the dart missed. She raised it higher.

  The second arrow took her in the neck and she fell. Herilak ran silently up the path, looked down at the two bodies.

  “I did not see the marag until it killed the boy. I did not have a clear shot until it moved into the track.”

  “You followed us.”

  “I did. I did not bring a death-stick but I followed you. There was a danger just the two of you alone. We must get rid of the bodies. Into the pit…”

  “No, no need,” Kerrick said wearily. “I talked to that one before you killed her, you heard me. She had guards posted to watch this track. They told her that we were coming.”

  “We must leave quickly!”

  “No, she is a hunter, she came here alone. It is too dark now for others to follow her. But the watchers who saw us come and told her, they are in the city. Others will be here in the morning. We cannot hide the fact that we were here. They know now. I didn’t want any killing, I thought it would be better with
out you. But you followed anyway. We should bury Harl.”

  ‘Foolish, waste of time. His tharm is in the stars and he cares not for the meat left behind. I will cut out my arrows, we will take the death-sticks and leave. By morning when they come here we will be far down the track.”

  Kerrick felt a great weariness. He knelt beside the dead boy and removed the bundle of hèsotsan. Then straightened Harl’s limbs and closed his eyes. He rose slowly to his feet.

  “I killed him,” he said, bitterly. “I brought him here.”

  “The marag killed him. We have new death-sticks. Leave him now — and leave all thought of him. He was young but he was a good hunter. I will take his spear and bow. Another boy who wishes to be a hunter will get great strength from them.”

  Tbere was nothing more to say, nothing that could be said. They had the weapons. With the bundles slung across their shoulders they started north, were quickly out of sight. It grew dark under the trees and shadows stretched across the two bodies, so alien to each other, now united in the inescapable bond of death.

  There were no large carrion eaters here within the city, so the corpses were undisturbed during the night. At dawn the crows found them. Landed hesitantly and hopped forward, very suspicious of the large and unexpected gift. They were beginning to tear at the flesh when loud shouts disturbed them and they flapped away. The first fargi, hèsotsan held hesitantly before them, approached down the path. They milled about, looked into the forest, searched further along the track. Only when Muruspe came up, she had been careful to lead them only from the rear, was any order restored. Anatempè stood beside her, signing shock and grief.

  “What is the meaning of this? What happened?”

  “It is very clear what happened, Muruspe said, displaying immense distaste. “Intepelei received warning of intrusion, she came alone, she died for her valor. She must have killed one ustuzou, others killed her. You are a Yilanè of science who assists Ukhereb. Can you tell me when this happened?”

  Anatempè squatted down and touched the skin on both bodies. Signed unclarity of conclusion. “Not this morning. Perhaps during the night, probably late yesterday.”