Ehomba fought alongside them, roaring the battle cry of his village and thrusting with his much longer spear even as he wondered what he was doing there. Then a shrill, piercing scream rose above the general cacophony and confusion, and he knew. An infant small enough to fit in the palm of his hand had been wrenched from its mother’s arms by one of the attacking slelves. Piteous to hear, the wretched, hopeless cries of the little one were soon swallowed up by the noise of battle.
The herdsman was not as agile as his companions, but his great size gave a number of the invaders pause. It took several moments for them to realize he was no monkey, and in that time he wounded one aggressor and ran his spear through another. It fell to earth, tumbling over and over as it clutched at itself, mortally injured.
Then, just like that, it was over. The slelves withdrew back across the river, hissing and chattering among themselves, leaving the troop to count its losses. These consisted of the infant Ehomba had seen abducted and one old female who had been unable to free herself from the clutches of a pair of assailants.
An exhausted Gomo rejoined his human friend. “Two lost. Without you, my friend, it might have been much worse.” He slumped heavily on the branch. “It will be worse. They will come again tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you just leave this place?” Ehomba asked him. “Move to another part of the river?”
The troop leader favored him with a jaundiced eye. “Don’t you think we’ve tried that? The slelves track us, following our progress. To free ourselves from them completely would mean abandoning the entire length of the Aurisbub. It is a difficult choice. This is a good place, full of food. And there are no other troops here to compete with.”
Ehomba nodded slowly. “I can understand your position.”
“Yes. The living here is good. The water is clean and we have plenty to eat. It would be a paradise for us if not for the slelves.”
Folding his arms over his chest, the herdsman leaned back against the trunk of the tree. “I admire anyone willing to stand up and fight for their chosen home. Tell me, Gomo, were the slelves here before you?”
The troop leader looked up sharply. “Whose side are you on here, man?”
“The side of those who do not steal children from their mothers.” At this, Gomo relaxed. “But I have lived long enough to know that in such conflicts the truth is rarely as obvious and straightforward as either of the combatants would like others to believe.”
“We offered you our assistance in return for your help in fighting the slelves. Slurs I can get for free.”
“Don’t be so sensitive, Gomo.” Ehomba jabbed playfully at him with the butt end of his spear. “I have taken your side. But since I was very young I was taught always to examine both sides of a rock before picking it up. One never knows when there might be a scorpion on the other side.” He straightened. “Now, let us see what these slelves of yours look like close up.”
Instantly Gomo put aside his irritation with the tall human. “You have some ideas?”
“Perhaps,” Ehomba replied noncommittally. “First I need to make sure of what I am dealing with.”
The slelve he had speared lay where it had landed, sprawled on the grassy ground, one wing crumpled beneath it. With a total wingspan of more than six feet, it was an impressive creature. Covered in fine gray and beige fur, the humanoid body was slim and no bigger than a juvenile monkey. Two six-inch-long antennae protruded from the fuzzy forehead. The nostrils were wide and large, the ears pointed and batlike, and the great oversized eyes closed. A spear fashioned from sharpened wood lay nearby where the slelve had dropped it. Ehomba picked it up. Suitable for carrying by a flying creature with limited lift capability, it was made of a much lighter wood than the monkeys favored. But the tip was as sharp as a sewing needle.
Reaching down, he picked up the dead body in one hand. It weighed surprisingly little, much less than a monkey of comparable size. Much slimmer build, he saw, and bones that might be partially hollow. But the mouth was filled with needlelike teeth that were as sharp as the tip of the wooden spear, and the pointed nails on hands and feet hooked downward for grabbing and holding on.
“What do you think?” Behind Gomo, a clutch of males crowded close to listen. Several were bleeding from nasty bites and scratches. One had a heavy bark bandage on his upper arm where a spear had penetrated the lean flesh.
Ehomba found himself staring across the river in the direction of the trees where the invaders had disappeared. Tilting back his head slightly, he studied the sky. Even though they had no idea what he was doing, the assembled males copied his every move. Perhaps they thought imitation would bring understanding. Monkey see, monkey comprehend, he mused.
“You must have some relief from these depredations or you would have been forced to leave this country by now. Do the slelves only attack when the moon is sleeping?”
Gomo nodded slowly. “Mostly, though, they will sometimes come when there is as little as a sliver showing. It depends”—he choked back emotion—“on how greedy they are feeling.”
“Needy and greedy,” added another member of the troop. Around him, his companions gave voice to their fury and frustration.
“I see.” The man in their midst turned from the river to gaze down at them. “Then they will come again tomorrow night.”
“In all probability.” Gomo unloaded a vicious kick on the limp body of the dead slelve. “It is the time of the month that suits them.”
“Then we must make ready. We will need some things.”
“You do have an idea.” The troop leader’s eyes shone with eagerness.
Ehomba nodded. “I think so. It cannot hurt to try it. If nothing else, it will surprise them.”
Gomo put a long-fingered hand on the herdsman’s arm. “Tell us what to do.”
IV
AFTER SEEING TO THE SETTING OF A NIGHT WATCH, GOMO AND the other members of the troop retired to an uneasy sleep, leaving Ehomba to contemplate his plan in silence. If it worked, it might well free the troop from the depredations of the slelves forever. If not, he would try something else. Though he was dismayed at the delay in his journey, he had given his word that he would try to help. And he had told Gomo the truth in one other matter.
He didn’t much care for a people who stole the children of others.
The following morning the monkeys responded to his directions with an alacrity that bordered on the hyperkinetic, rushing to and fro in response to instructions almost before he could finish explaining what he wanted them to do. As the intent behind his directives became clear, Gomo began to smile more and more frequently.
“I think I understand what you have in mind, man. You intend to make the slelves easier to see. So that we can make better use of our bows and arrows?”
“No.” As he spoke, Ehomba watched the monkeys rushing to carry out his instructions. “That is not my idea at all.”
The troop leader, who thought he had figured it all out, looked momentarily crestfallen. “Then I have to confess that I don’t understand.”
“You will.” Ehomba raised his voice to a pair of peripatetic young males. “No, not there! Higher up! Yes, that’s better.” He returned his attention to Gomo. “That is, you will if it works.”
His refusal to explain further left the troop leader pensive, but willing to wait.
Although it hardly seemed possible, the new night brought a darkness even deeper than that of the one that had preceded it. In the dead tree they had chosen for their frontline outpost, Gomo crouched next to Ehomba. Together they surveyed the line of trees that rose like a leafy stockade on the far side of the Aurisbub.
“A perfect night for the slelves,” the troop leader whispered. “I would be surprised if they chose not to make another foray.” His voice fell. “Especially after their success last night.”
“If this works, that will be their last success.” Ehomba was quietly confident.
“I pray that it is so. I am deathly tired of having to console mo
thers made vacant by the slelves.”
“We will know soon if you will have to do so again.” Ehomba raised an arm and pointed.
The dark mass came boiling out of the far treetops, forming an ominous smudge against the night sky that blotted out the stars. To the intently focused Ehomba it seemed bigger than the one the night before. His suspicion was confirmed by Gomo.
“There are more of them tonight. In addition to the one you killed, we slew several yesterday. They are not used to multiple losses. I think we made them angry.” He concluded with a quietly triumphant gesture that was a recognizable obscenity to any primate.
“Probably you did,” Ehomba agreed. “In addition, they know that I am here.”
Gomo looked up at the human squatting stolidly on the branch alongside him. “You are not worried, or afraid?”
“Of course I am worried. I am always worried when I know that something is coming to try and kill me. But I am not afraid. The first time a little boy is guarding cattle at night and hears a distant dragon roar, he either loses his fear or is never sent to guard the herd again.” In the darkness, he smiled at the monkey. “I am a good herdsman.”
The troop leader nodded sagely. “I hope you will prove as good an undertaker.” A hand came up to rest gently on Ehomba’s knee. “For a human, you possess almost enough natural nobility to be counted a monkey.”
“They’re coming.” Ehomba tensed. “Make ready.”
“Everyone knows what to do. You briefed them thoroughly. My people will not let you down.” With that final quiet assurance, Gomo went silent.
There were indeed more of the slelves than before. Their swooping, darting movements as they crossed the river suggested agitation as well as anger. To find a human in the monkeys’ midst must have surprised them. To find one fighting on behalf of his fellow primates had surely left them enraged.
Onward they flew, brandishing their spear-sticks and small knives, intent this night not merely on abduction but on murder. Their collective demeanor suggested an intention to deliver a lesson to the monkeys: that resistance was futile, and that death would always be met with more death.
Rising from the branch on which he had been kneeling, Ehomba raised his spear above his head and waved with his free hand. “Here! We’re over here!”
Like a dark river, the flush of slelves shifted in midflight to home in on the dead tree. Spears were drawn back in readiness for throwing. The high-pitched squealing of the attackers rose until it drowned out the sound of the river, of the forest.
Gomo held his ground, or rather his branch, silently, but several of the other armed members of the troop found themselves stealing nervous glances in the human’s direction. What if his plan didn’t work? they found themselves wondering. After all, it was a human and not a monkey plan, and everyone knew that the People of the Trees were vastly more clever and devious than any ground dweller. Still, none of them ran, as much out of fear of what Gomo would do to them if they did than from any terror of the approaching slelves.
Certainly Ehomba waited a long time, until the slelves were virtually upon them. Then, swinging his spear in a wide arc to clear a path through the first of the attackers, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Now!” and scrambled down the tree trunk as fast as his clumsy human arms and legs would carry him.
His descent was not nearly as agile as that of his companions, but he still made it before the monkeys at the bottom removed the covers from their fire gourds and tossed the blazing containers against the base of the dead, lightning-hollowed tree. The troop had spent the previous day filling as much of the empty trunk as they could with a loose packing of dry leaves, twigs, flammable tree sap, and anything else that would burn fast and hot. They had done their job well. Converted almost instantly into a giant torch, the dead bole exploded in flame. Yellow-red tongues of fire erupted skyward, temporarily splashing the night with light that was brighter than that of morning.
Arrayed in the surrounding branches and on the ground, grim-faced members of the troop prepared to do battle. Their watering eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden, intense illumination. But if the human was right, the nocturnal slelves would have a much more difficult time handling the abrupt, unexpected flare of brightness. If his assumptions were correct, those attackers flying closest to the unexpected blaze ought to be momentarily but thoroughly blinded. The actual result, however, was different in a fashion quite unforeseen by the meticulous herdsman.
Gomo was gesturing madly with his spear-stick. “See! They are not blinded.”
“No.” Ehomba stood next to the troop leader and watched the tree-torch light up the night sky. “It is worse for them than that.”
The monkeys waited for the fighting to begin. And waited, and stared in amazement.
Reacting like moths, the night-dwelling slelves found themselves irresistibly drawn to the towering blaze. Mesmerized, they darted up and down, in and about the length of the blazing tree. And like moths, an individual would swoop in too close to the conflagration, only to be consumed. One after another the slelves incinerated themselves, erupting one after another in a burst of flaming wings and charred bodies whenever they crossed into the critical zone.
Instead of finding themselves in a desperate fight for survival, the monkeys found themselves with time to cheer, jumping up and down and turning somersaults as they gleefully watched their enemies annihilate themselves in individual bursts of incandescent flame. A few of the slelves managed to resist the lure of the giant torch, but they were as blinded as Ehomba intended they should be. Fluttering dazedly toward the river, they flew into trees and branches, stunning themselves and becoming easy prey for the rancorous, vengeful monkeys.
It was all over within an hour. Near the end, the females and children emerged from the place of hiding where they had been sent for safety to cheer the final vestiges of the jubilant massacre. Ehomba took no part in this sorry business, preferring to stay on the sidelines and let the monkeys take out their frustrations on those who had for too many seasons stolen their children. When the troop was finished, not one slelve who had crossed the river was left alive.
Lingering behind, something barely glimpsed from the corner of his eye caught his attention. No member of the troop saw it, being fully engaged as they were in the slaughter of the surviving slelves. But Ehomba did. He froze, one hand stealing toward the sky-metal blade that hung ready for use against his back.
The bulging teardrop shape was a black smudge against the firelit sky. Two burning red eyes of pure vileness glared back at him above a mouth-slit that reminded him of a sword cut on ebony skin. When it parted slightly, the mouth shape bled malignance. As he watched, it darted through the air and took a bite out of the firelight. Not the fire itself, only the light. Slowly he slid the iron blade halfway from its scabbard, doing his best not to draw the nebulous entity’s attention.
Then, on its own, it whirled and departed. Perhaps the light of the fire was too intense for it, he thought, or the taste not to its liking. In any event, it was not the illumination from the fire it was after but the light of triumph being expressed by the victorious monkeys. That was what its kind would truly delight in consuming. As soon as he was sure it was gone, he let the blade drop back into its sheath.
Something touched him. Turning sharply, he saw Gomo at his side. The troop leader had recoiled in response to the tall human’s reaction. “What’s wrong, friend Ehomba? You had the strangest look on your face just then. I have never seen you so tense, or so rigid.”
Solemnly, the herdsman pointed in the general direction of the blaze. “I saw something by the tree.”
Leaning slightly to his right, the troop leader peered past him. “I was looking in the same direction. I saw nothing.”
“They are very difficult to see, for men as well as monkeys. It takes the eye of an experienced tracker. It was an eromakadi.”
Gomo made a face. “I do not know that animal.”
“It is not an animal. It i
s one of those creatures that lives in the spaces that fill the gaps in the real world. An eater of light. Not the kind of light that comes from the sun, or even from a fire like that.” He pointed again at the flaming tree. “The eromakadi thrive on the light that comes from a new mother’s joy in her babe, or an artist’s delight in a new way of seeing the world around him. When they fixate on quarry, they are relentless. They are responsible for much of the misery in the world. We do not see them a lot in the south, where life is hard and there is little of glowing happiness for them to prey upon. The elders of my village know them, and from infancy all Naumkib children are taught how to recognize and deal with such creatures.”
“I see.” Gomo considered. “From what you tell me, I think I am glad I cannot see them.”
“They are all around, but very sly and unpredictable. Some days they are themselves preyed upon by the eromakasi, the eaters of darkness, but this is uncommon. Unlike the eromakadi, the eromakasi seek to avoid confrontation.” He turned toward the river. “It does not matter. I thought we might have to deal with this one, but it was quite a small specimen of its kind, and it did not stay long. Perhaps it smelled a greater happiness or inspiration elsewhere and went to seek it.”
“I hope so,” Gomo replied with feeling. “I dislike the idea of having to fight something I cannot see.”
“It is very difficult, both for men and for monkeys. The next time you are severely depressed, or extremely unhappy, you can almost be certain that an eromakadi is close by, gnawing at your disposition.”
Even though the night was warm and the heat from the burning tree prickly against his fur, Gomo shivered slightly. For all his disarming simplicity, it seemed that the tall human was in possession of knowledge that was denied to the People of the Trees.
The dead tree torch burned for another hour, and the embers that were its legacy glowed all through the remainder of the night, but as Ehomba had surmised, the surrounding jungle was too green and too damp to do more than smolder at the edges of the fire. The few nearby boles that did catch alight soon burned themselves out, the incipient blazes smothered by humidity, sap, and lingering dew.
Carnivores of Darkness and Light: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 1 Page 4
