Carnivores of Light and Darkness

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Who are you, Etjole Ehomba? What are you?”

  Before he could reply yet again that he was but a simple herdsman from the south, she had spun on the heel of her slipper and vanished through the rear-facing beaded portal. The meeting was over. For an instant, he considered following her, to try to explain further, to do his best to assuage her upset and unease. But it might very well be dark in whatever back room she had vanished into, and the walls would certainly be closer to one another, his options for flight narrower. Nor was he entirely sure he would fight very hard to escape. Best not to place himself in a position where he might be forced to find out.

  The entrance beckoned behind him. Leaving himself no more time to think, which might prove unsettling, or to feel, which could prove worse, he turned and departed.

  It was only later, when he was safely back among the boisterous, jostling crowd in the bazaar, that he was struck by the realization that she had not charged him for his visit. Dipping one hand into a pocket of his kilt, he absently fingered the little sack of gravel from the beach near the village. The simplistic, repetitive activity always helped to remind him of the village and to strengthen his memories of home. The more he thought of the dazzling seer Rael, the more he needed that reinforcement. And if her words were to be believed, he had exerted as profoundly unsettling an effect on her as she had on him. Their lovemaking would have been volcanic.

  But it was not to be. He pushed on through the crowd. There were preparations to be made. If, as she had told him, he would find no boat master in this country willing to attempt an ocean crossing, then he would have to seek farther north. That meant restocking the few basic supplies he could carry on his back. Salt, sugar, a few carefully chosen spices, some basic medicinal powders, and whatever else he could afford that might prove useful over the duration of an extended overland trek. If he was fortunate, he might learn of a caravan of some sort traveling north and join them for guidance and mutual protection. But since he could not count on doing so, he had to be prepared to press on alone.

  Of the lands to the north of the Kohoboth he knew little, only what village oldsters like Fhastal and Meruba mumbled around communal campfires. Half and more of that might be as much sheer invention as literal truth. Fhastal in particular could be exceptionally imaginative when it came to telling tales of distant lands and strange peoples. He had never paid more than cursory attention to such ramblings because they had never functioned as anything other than stories, related for the entertainment of adults and children alike.

  Now he struggled to remember what he could of those babblings, hoping to winnow a few kernels of fact from the dross of speculation. The region north of the Kohoboth was called the Unstable Lands. He did not know why. Was it because knowledge of it was so limited, or were there reasons more sinister? He would know soon enough, he realized. In the absence of access to an oceangoing ship, that was where he had to go next.

  But first, restocking. And something else. He turned, heading back toward the inn that had provided him with such good food and sleep. Not because he was hungry, or even because he was ready to choose a place to spend the night, but because of something the beauteous Rael had told him. A small matter he intended to take care of even though she would not experience the resolution of it.

  He did not think that he smelled, but he was willing to take her word for it. After all, she was a seer, and her word was to be believed, and until he left Kora Keri behind he would be forced to suffer the company of others whom he might not want to think the less of him. So he would sacrifice, and have a shower.

  VII

  IT WAS RAINING WHEN HE LEFT TOWN EARLY THE FOLLOWING morning, a drab drizzle the color of liquid charcoal that dampened his spirits if not his determination. An image appeared unbidden in his mind: of Rael, lying naked beneath silken sheets in a warm room, with the cool, clean rain-swept air pouring in through an open window, chilling the interior just enough to make the sheets a welcome accompaniment, bending them snugly across the bed, letting them outline the curves of her sleeping form with gossamer gentleness, almost as soft as . . .

  He wiped water from his mouth and eyes and pulled the hood sewn to the back of his collar lower on his forehead. Using his spear as a walking stick, he exited the old part of the city via the northern gate. It was considerably smaller than the one that ingressed from the west, there being far less traffic to and from the northern reaches of the city than from east or west or from the south, where the town faced the river. The two miserable guards stationed outside ignored him. They were huddled together against the rain and wholly occupied with those travelers desiring entry. A glance showed that neither of them had been among the quintet that had, to their detriment, harassed him on his arrival days earlier.

  Despite the drizzle, men and women were out working their fields, broad-brimmed hats and capes providing some protection from the weather. Kora Keri was a modest town, surviving both on trade and on the production of all manner of growing things. Though the soil was barely adequate, the river supplied a constant, reliable source of water. It was very different from home, where potable water was as precious as gold and the herds had to be moved periodically from water hole to water hole, pasture to meager pasture.

  Watching the farmers at work in their fields as he strode past, he decided that he was glad he had not grown up in such a well-watered land. Too much ease made a man soft, and lazy. He was neither, nor were any of his friends back in the village. If necessary, they could survive in the harshest desert imaginable armed with only a digging stick and clad only in a loincloth. He allowed himself a slight smile, wondering if Rael had factored that knowledge into her predictions. The Naumkib had survived many disasters. Surely he could survive one.

  Who knew? Perhaps this Hymneth the Possessed would prove amenable to reason, or even better, would have lost interest in his abducted lady by the time Ehomba reached the land where he held sway. Even beautiful women were known to bore powerful men eventually, and vice versa. The real trial Ehomba faced might consist solely of reaching the sorcerer’s country—if indeed he was a sorcerer. For all her skill, Rael had seemed uncertain as to his true vocation, if not his nature.

  Well, Ehomba would find out. He hoped he would not have to fight the fellow. Fighting was a waste of time when a man could be looking after his herds and raising his family. Perhaps this Hymneth was not possessed by evil, but only by unhappiness, or a choleric disposition. Ehomba was good at making friends. Most people liked him instinctively. With luck, so would this Hymneth the Possessed.

  Water, mud, and saturated vegetable matter sloshed through his toes. Boots would have kept his feet dry, but he could not imagine wearing footgear that completely enclosed his feet. A man’s soles had to breathe. Besides, the air was warm, and whatever liquid ran into the front of his sandals quickly ran out the back.

  Gradually he left the cultivated fields and struggling orchards behind. The modest road he had been following shrank to a rutted track, then to a trail, until it finally disappeared in undisturbed grass that rose to his knees. Startled by his approach, birds and small flying reptiles exploded from cover to flee, squawking or hissing, in many directions. When he was hungry enough, he killed something to eat.

  • • •

  Several days out from Kora Keri, he reached a broad but very shallow river whose name he did not know. Wide sandbars protruded from water that ran clear over gravelly shallows. Unlike his crossing of the Aurisbub, here he confronted a watercourse that he would not have to swim.

  Making sure his pack was secure, he hefted it a little higher on his back and was preparing to make his way down the gently curving bank when a voice hissed, softly but distinctly, “Man, I am going to kill you.”

  At first he could not find the source of the declaration. Only when he lowered his gaze markedly did he see the snake lying coiled in the grass where it gave way to the mud of the bank. It was ten or eleven feet long and a light lavender color, its scales shining brightl
y in the sun. No spots or stripes decorated its body, which helped to explain why he had not seen it. It was within easy striking distance of the place where he had put his foot. He knew that a poisonous snake that large would carry a lot of venom, and even though he did not recognize the type, he doubted its words no less than its intent.

  Pushing his lips close together, he responded in the language of the legless. The snake’s head drew back at his reply. Plainly it was not used to being addressed by a human in its own tongue.

  “You sspeak the wordss that sslither. What kind of human are you that you do sso?”

  “Just a herdssman, long brother.” To show that he meant no harm, and that he was not afraid, Ehomba sat down on the side of the bank, letting his feet dangle over the edge. “There are ssome herdssmen who believe that a ssnake sshould be killed on ssight, to protect their animalss. Mysself, I do not believe in killing anything unless it iss for a much more sspecific reasson.”

  The snake’s head lowered and it eyed the seated man with great curiosity. In his seated, relaxed position, Ehomba was quite helpless before the serpent, and the snake knew it. Realizing that it could kill the biped anytime it wished, the inquisitive reptile slithered closer.

  “Enlightened, as well as articulate. What if I were to kill one of your animalss? How then would you ssee me?”

  Ehomba shrugged, gazing out across the river as if he had not a care in the world, including the impressively venomous reptile that had approached to within an arm’s length of his exposed leg.

  “All creaturess have to eat. Mysself, I am very fond of meat. So I undersstand.”

  “Is that sso? I have heard that ssome humanss conssume only fruitss and vegetabless.”

  The herdsman smiled down at the serpent. “Long brother, we each of uss eatss what ssuits our belliess. As for mysself, I cannot imagine ssurviving on a diet of nutss and grass.”

  The snake hissed appreciatively. “I, too, long for ssomething warm and bloody to sslide down my throat. It iss the most deliciouss feeling. But you are human: You burn your food before you eat it.”

  “Not alwayss. It sso happenss that I mysself also enjoy the occassional tasste of raw flessh.”

  Uninvited, the snake slid the upper portion of its body onto Ehomba’s lap. It was heavy, and like the rest of its kind, as solid as a flexible steel cable. He could not escape now if he wanted to—but he did not want to. He was enjoying the conversation. Not all snakes were so voluble.

  “What a remarkable human you are. I think maybe I will not kill you.”

  “I appreciate that. It would sspoil what hass otherwisse been a good day.” Reaching down with one hand, he allowed the snake to slither onto it. Lifting it up, he found himself eye-to-eye with the business end of cold, smooth flesh. Personified by penetrating, slitted, unblinking oculi, Death loomed only inches away. For its part, Death regarded him cordially.

  “Bessides,” he added, “I am too large for you to sswallow anyway.”

  The serpent’s tongue flicked out, delicately exploring Ehomba’s lips. “You tasste good. Warm and wet. But you are right.”

  Gently, mischievously, the herdsman moved his hand from side to side, carrying the snake’s head with it. The reptile did not object to the play. “Then why did you want to kill me?”

  “You sstartled me. I don’t like to be sstartled, esspecially when I am hunting. Alsso, I have not killed anything in many dayss.”

  “As far as that goess, long brother, I am hungry too.” Lowering his hand, he let the snake’s head slip back into his lap. “Would you sshare a meal with me? I will find ssomething of the right ssize to ssuit both our gulletss.”

  Raising its upper body three feet off the ground, the disbelieving reptile contemplated its unexpected new friend. “You would do thiss for me? After I promissed your death?”

  Rising, the herdsman brushed dirt and mud from the seat of his kilt. “Why not? When I meet ssomeone else on the road I am alwayss willing to sshare a meal with them. That iss the right way of traveling.”

  “If thiss iss a trick, my brotherss will find you.” The snake weaved back and forth as it spoke.

  Ehomba smiled. “No matter. Your ssmall brotherss the wormss will have me one day regardless. Now come with me, and let uss ssee what we can find to kill. I am a good tracker.”

  “You have the advantage of height,” the snake declared, “while I musst rely on ssmell, and on heat.”

  After several hours of searching, Ehomba found the spoor of a capybara and tracked it to an inlet of the river where a small herd of the giant rodents lazed in the warm shallows. Two juveniles provided more than enough food for both hunters. In deference to the sensibilities of his companion, the herdsman ate his rodent raw. The serpent was appreciative.

  “The ssmell of cooked meat makess me nauseouss.” Though coiled tightly next to the herdsman’s campfire, the snake could not hide the bulge that now dominated its middle. Swallowing the young capy had been a slow process, and Ehomba had stood guard until the serpent had finished. “I thank you for your courtessy.”

  “You’re welcome.” Ehomba chewed slowly on a strip of haunch. It was greasy, as was all rodent meat, but not unflavorful.

  “I want to give you ssomething, human. As thankss for your help in hunting, and as a reminder of our friendsship. Ssomething very sspecial. I ssee that you carry water with you.”

  The herdsman rested a hand on the leather water bag that was fastened to his pack. “I need it more than your kind.”

  “Bring it closse to me. I would go to it, but I am full.”

  Obediently, Ehomba removed the sloshing sack and placed it close to the snake.

  “Open it.” Puzzled, the herdsman complied.

  Moving forward, the serpent promptly bit down on the metal rim of the bag. Ehomba could just make out the twin rivulets of poison that ran down the grooved fangs to filter into the leather. When it had finished, the snake drew back.

  “I have meassured the dose carefully, man. Drink it sslowly, a little at a time. By the time you have finisshed the last drop, you will be immune. Not only to my poison, but to many other kindss.” The scaly head bowed, pointing groundward. “It iss my gift to you.”

  Gingerly, Ehomba used a patch from the repair kit that he carried to reseal the two tiny punctures. Though dubious of the snake’s claim, he was willing to give it a try. He was not worried about swallowing the diluted toxin. If the snake wanted to kill him, it could do so easily, at any moment.

  “Thank you for your gift, long brother.” Leaning back on the pillow of his pack, he let his gaze drift upward, toward the stars. “And now I think we should ssleep.”

  “Yess.” The serpent placed its head on its coils and closed its eyes. “Try not to wake me in the morning, man. I will ssleep for sseveral dayss.”

  “I will be quiet as a mousse,” Ehomba assured it.

  The sibilant hiss was already diffuse as the snake drifted off into sleep. “I am quite, quite full. Sso pleasse: Do not sspeak to me of food.”

  VIII

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, EHOMBA MADE NO NOISE AT ALL WHEN HE awoke the following day. Ephemeral as a baby’s breath on a cold morning, mist was rising from the shallow surface of the river. In the green-heavy trees on the opposite bank, a querulous parakeel screeched in solitary joy at having been granted another day of existence.

  Gathering his gear about him, Ehomba parted from the serpent, reaching out to give it one final, friendly caress. Its skin was cool and dry to the touch. He had always marveled at town women who recoiled in horror from any snake, no matter how small or harmless, but who would without a qualm gladly dress themselves in snakeskin sandals or belt. The self-contradictions of his fellow man never failed to bemuse him. As for the serpent, it did not even stir, embalmed as it was in the arduous slumber of slow digestion.

  Wading the gurgling, slowly running river, which at its deepest never climbed over his knees, Ehomba splashed as little as possible so as not to wake the snake—or any dozy
, lurking river denizens. Slivers of silver shot past him as small schools of fingerlings twinkled like elongated stars around and past his legs. Their biology was not uppermost in his mind as he studied them thoughtfully. Unlike the great reptile he had left drowsing on the bank behind, Ehomba could still think about food.

  He took an experimental sip from the water bag. The taste was slightly bitter, but not intolerable. At once, his heart began to race and a dull pounding thumped at the front of his forehead. But both faded quickly, leaving him much relieved. The snake had been true to its word.

  He reached the far bank without incident. Soon the character of the landscape began to change radically. Instead of desert, or flat fertile plains, or river bottom, unchecked vegetation overwhelmed the land. He had entered true jungle, a riot of crackling greenery and noisy creatures. Such places had been only a rumor to him, as they were to anyone who had been raised in the dry, barren country to the south.

  As he strode along beneath the towering boles he marveled at the variety and shapes of the growths that closed in around him. Who would have thought that the world contained so many different kinds of trees, so many varieties of vine, so many strangely shaped leaves? The plethora of insects that flew, crawled, and hopped within the forest was equally astonishing.

  He had no trouble walking. The tallest trees spread their uppermost branches wide, blocking much of the sky and keeping the light from reaching the ground. There, the competition for life-giving sunlight was intense among seedlings and saplings. Gomo and his troop would love the place, he mused.

  There was no trail. No traders came this way, no farmers tilled fields this far north of Kora Keri. He had to make his own way. That was a prospect that did not trouble him. It was something he had been doing all his life.

  Brilliantly tinted birds whistled and sang in the branches, dragoneels cawed, and small, uncivilized primates rustled the treetops. While watching them, he kept a sharp eye out for snakes and insects on the forest floor, where downed logs and accumulating litter made it hard to see the actual ground. Stepping over a rotting log, he was careful to avoid the bristly fungi that had sprouted along its degenerating length. Some mushrooms and toadstools were toxic to the touch, he knew, while others provided shade to tiny intelligences whose whimsical approach to existence he did not want to have to deal with right now.