West of Eden

by Harry Harrison

  The land was rich, the game so plentiful that it would have fallen in great numbers before their arrows had they had the time to hunt, while the weather itself became hard to believe. When they had set out on the trek the leaves were beginning to fall from the trees and they had felt the first cold grip of winter in the frosts at night. But now the seasons had been reversed and they seemed to be going back into the warm time. Even the nights were not cold, while during the day they took off their leather garments and walked with their skins exposed just as they did during the summer.

  Then one day they came to the place where the large river that they had been following was joined by an even mightier one. Though it was only just past midday Herilak halted the march and asked Kerrick and the sammadars to join him.

  “This will be a good place for a camp. There is that steep trail down to the river below that can be used for watering the beasts. It will also be at our backs at night and will be easy to guard. Good grazing here for the mastodons, fuel in the woods there for our fires.”

  “It is still early,” Ulfadan said. “Why do we stop now?”

  “That is the reason I called you here. When we began this march we decided only that we should go south. Now we have done that. So the time has come to decide where we will make our winter camp. We must now think about this.”

  “We passed a large herd of the duck-billed murgu today,” Kellimans said. “I would very much like to taste one.”

  “My spear hand twitches,” Ulfadan said, squinting into the distance across the river. “We have not hunted for many days.”

  “Then I say let us stop here.” Herilak looked around and the hunters nodded agreement.

  “I am thinking of the murgu-who-walk-like-men,” Kerrick said. “They must never be forgotten.”

  Ulfadan snorted. “We have seen none of their great birds. They cannot know that we are here.”

  “We can never be sure what they know or do not know. They stalked and killed sammad Amahast and they did not have the birds then. Wherever we are, whatever we do, we must never forget them.”

  “What is your thought then, margalus?” Herilak asked.

  “You are the hunters. We will stay here if that is to your liking. But there must be a guard at this spot, night and day, to watch the river in case of an attack. See how wide the river has become here? It must reach the ocean somewhere south of us. The ocean and the river can be a path for the murgu if they know that this is our camping place.”

  “The margalus is correct,” Herilak said. “We will take this precaution as long as we are here.”

  Ulfadan was looking down the bare slope, frowning at it. “Always before we have camped among the trees. It is too open here.”

  Kerrick remembered the city of Alpèasak which was also on a river, but well guarded.

  “There is a thing that the murgu do. They grow strong trees and thorn bushes to protect their camp. We cannot grow trees, but we could cut thorn bushes and pile them in a line for protection. It will keep the small beasts out—and we can kill anything large enough to break through.”

  “We have never done it before,” Kellimans protested.

  “We have never come this far south before,” Herilak said. “We will do as the margalus tells us.”

  Although they had meant to stay just a night or two at this place, many days passed and still they did not move on. There were fish in the river and the hunting was very good here, better than they had ever known before. The duck-bills were so numerous that many times the far side of their herds could not be seen. They were very fast—but were also very stupid. If a group of hunters appeared suddenly they fled away. If this was done correctly the other hunters would be waiting in hiding ahead of them with spears and bows ready. Not only were the creatures fast and stupid—they also made very tasty eating.

  The hunting was rich, the mastodons grazed well, it was a good place to winter—if indeed this warm weather could be called winter. But there was no escaping the seasons; the days were short and the star groups changed steadily in the night sky. The thorn wall was thickened and, without any positive decision being made, it came about that they stayed on in this place by the union of the two rivers.

  The women were as pleased as the hunters, glad to be finished with the long trek. Walking, unloading, cooking, reloading, walking, it had been nothing but work without time enough for anything else. That was all changed for the better now with the tents firmly in place and everything spread out. There were roots to dig for, as well as a brownish-yellow tuber that they had never seen before. This proved to be deliciously sweet after it had been baked in the ashes.

  There was much to do, much to talk about. At first sammad Har-Havola had kept apart from the others for they spoke a different tongue and knew that they were strangers. But the women of all the sammads met when they were out foraging and found that it was possible for them to talk together after a while, for the other language was like Marbak in many ways. At first the children fought, until the newcomers came to learn Marbak after which their differences were forgotten. Even the single women were pleased for now there were more young hunters to be sought after. There had never been a winter encampment this big. Three entire sammads gathered at one place made life busy and interesting.

  Even Armun found a measure of peace, losing herself in the great numbers of women. She had only been three winters with sammad Ulfadan, and they had all been tragic ones for her. There had been great winter hunger in the sammad they had left, so much so that her mother, Shesil, had been too weak to live through the first winter in the new sammad. This meant that when her father had gone out hunting there was no one to protect her. The boys laughed at her, and she had to be careful not to speak in their presence for the young girls were just as bad. When Brond, her father, had not returned from the hunt during the second winter there was no escape from the others. Since she was strong and a good worker, Merrith, the sammadar’s woman, let her eat at her fire, but made no attempt to protect her from the constant taunts. Merrith even joined in herself when she was angry, shouting “squirrel-face” along with all the others.

  Armun had been that way since birth, that was what her mother had said. Shesil had always blamed herself, for she had once killed and eaten a squirrel in a time of great hunger, when everyone knew that women were forbidden to hunt. Because of this her daughter had been born with the front teeth of a squirrel, wide apart, and with the cleft upper lip of a squirrel as well. Not only had the lip been split, but there was an opening in the bone in the roof of the mouth behind it. Because of this opening she had not nursed well when she had been a baby, had coughed and cried a lot. Then, when she had begun to talk, what she said had a very funny sound. No wonder the other children had laughed at her.

  They were still laughing, though not when she could reach them. She was a young woman now, long-legged and strong. And she still had the temper that had been her only defense as a child. Even the biggest boys did not make fun of her, except at a distance, for she had a ready fist and knew how to strike. Black eyes and bloody noses were her mark and even the stupidest soon learned to leave this squirrel-faced demon alone.

  She grew up, friendless and apart. When she walked about the encampment she usually held the loose top of her soft leather garment over the bottom half of her face. Her hair was long and many times she held this the same way as well.

  As long as she did not talk, the other women suffered her presence. Armun listened to them, saw the young hunters through their eyes, heard their excited gossip. Farlan had been the oldest of their group, and when Ortnar had joined the sammad she had been quick to go to him, even though she had only known him for a short while. The usual way was to get to know boys from the other sammads when they met each year. That was the usual way. But everything was changing now, and Farlan had been the first to take advantage of that change. Although the other young women said nasty things about her boldness, she was the one who had a tent and a hunter of her own—and they
did not.

  Armun was not jealous of the others, just angry. She knew the plains and the forest better than any of them; her mother had taught her well. She returned from foraging with her basket full where the other young women wailed at the barrenness of the land. She worked hard, cooked well, did all the things that should make her desirable to any young hunter. Yet she stayed far away from them knowing that they would only make fun of her just as everyone else did; her anger surged at the thought. When they saw her face they laughed, when she spoke they laughed. She remained silent and apart.

  At least she tried to. But since she ate at Merrith’s fire she must do as the older woman ordered. She brought wood and cut meat, scorched her hands turning it over on the coals. Merrith saw to it that there was good food waiting each evening when the hunters returned hungry and tired. But Armun did not want them laughing at her so she always found other things to do when they were gathered around the fire.

  Although there was no snow, the rains came in the deepest part of winter. They were uncomfortable but not cold, and this discomfort was infinitely better than frozen forest and deep snow. Hunting patterns changed now, for the great herds of duck-bills had gone somewhere else upon the vast plain. Yet there were still murgu to hunt in the upland forest to the east, so hunting parties pushed farther and farther up into the hills. This was not without its dangers.

  It was well after dark when the hunting party returned. The days were very short now so this was not unusual; some hunters even stayed out overnight when pursuing game. But something was wrong this time for the returning hunters called out loudly when they came into sight of the camp, their ululating cries drawing everyone’s attention. Some of the hunters ran out to aid them when they called for help as well. When they came closer to the fires it could be seen that two of the hunters were being carried on litters made of poles and brushwood. Herilak led the way, grim-faced and tired.

  “We were after the sharp-toed runners. A claw-marag was hidden under the trees. It attacked and did all this before we could kill it.” The first litter was dropped heavily to the ground. “It is Ulfadan. He is dead.”

  Merrith screamed aloud when she heard this and ran forward. When she threw back the furs that lay across Ulfadan’s face she wailed terribly and tore at her hair.

  Herilak looked around until he saw Fraken, then called him over. “We have need of your healing skills. The marag fell on Kerrick and the bone in his leg is broken.”

  “I will need strong sticks, lengths of leather. You will help me.”

  “I will get the wood.” Herilak looked up and saw Armun standing nearby. “Get some soft leather,” he ordered. “Quickly.”

  Kerrick bit his lips but could not keep back the groan when they took him from the litter and placed him on the ground by the fire; the broken ends of bone sawed inside his leg. Fierce pain speared through it again when Fraken poked at the flesh.

  “You will hold his shoulders tight, Herilak, when I pull the leg,” Fraken ordered, then bent and seized Kerrick’s foot. The old man had done this before, pulling and twisting so the broken ends of bone met. The pain of this pushed Kerrick into dark unconsciousness.

  “Now the sticks to keep the bone in place,” Fraken said, tying them securely with lengths of soft leather. The work was quickly done. “Put him into the tent, cover him with furs for he must be kept warm. You, girl, help us.”

  Kerrick blinked back to consciousness with sharp awareness of the throbbing pain in his leg. It hurt still, but far less than it had done. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and in the flickering light of the fire outside saw the lengths of wood bound to his leg. The skin had not broken; this would heal well. Someone moved behind him in the darkness. “Who is there?” he called out.

  “Armun,” she said, reluctantly.

  He dropped back with a sigh. “Get me some water, Armun. A lot of it.”

  She hurried out, a dark figure quickly gone. Armun? He did not know the name. Had he met her before? It didn’t matter. The leg had settled down to a steady throb of pain like a bad tooth. His throat was so dry that it made him cough. Water was what he needed, a long deep drink of cool water.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kerrick slept fitfully until dawn, when the throbbing of the leg woke him yet another time. When he turned his head he saw the bowl of water close by. He pushed his hand out from under the furs, seized it and drank deep, drank again and drained it. The girl came from behind him and picked it up. He could not tell who she was, her hair fell over her face. What was her name? She had told him.

  “Armun?”

  “Yes. Do you want more water?”

  “Water. And something to eat.”

  He had not eaten last night, had no desire to. But he was hungry now. The girl hurried out, her back turned. He hadn’t been able to see her face, he couldn’t place her at all. But she had a nice voice. The way she talked through her nose like that was familiar. How the leg hurt when he tried to get comfortable! Familiar? Why? This nagged a bit until he realized it was one of the sounds you used in Yilanè. Armun. He said it aloud, with the same nasal quality, then repeated it to himself. He had not spoken Yilanè in such a long time that when he did so now memories of Alpèasak pushed in, unbidden.

  When she returned with the water she also brought some smoked meat on a basketwork tray, bending to place them both beside him. With her hands full she could not cover her face and he looked closely at her when she bent down. His eyes caught hers and she turned away as quickly as she could, her fists clenched waiting for the laughter that never came. Armun could not understand this. She looked on in puzzled silence as he chewed hungrily at the meat. If she could have known what he was thinking she would not have believed it.

  No, Kerrick thought, I haven’t seen her before. I wonder why? I would certainly have remembered her. I wonder if she knows what her voice sounds like? I had better not tell her, she would only get angry being compared to a marag. But her voice does have Yilanè sounds to it. Not only that, her mouth is in some ways Yilanè. Perhaps the way the upper lip is separated. A familiar face. Inlènu*’s face had looked a bit like that, but wider of course, and fatter.

  Armun sat behind Kerrick and wondered. The pain must be tearing at him or he would have laughed by now, or asked questions about her face. The boys had always been curious, never letting her alone. Once five of them had seized her among the trees when she had been by herself. She had fought and kicked but they had held her down. Poked at her lip and nose and laughed until they had her in tears. There was no pain, just a great shame. She was so different from the other girls. They hadn’t even pulled up her clothes to look at her the way they did with the other young girls when they caught them alone. Just poked at her face. She had been just like a funny animal to them. Her thoughts were so far away and so bitter that it was a moment before she realized that Kerrick had rolled onto his side and was looking back at her. She quickly pulled her hair across her face.

  “That is why I did not recognize you,” he said with satisfaction. “You pull your hair like that all the time, I’ve seen you do it.”

  She tensed, waiting for the laughter. Instead he grunted as he struggled to a sitting position, then wrapped the furs around him again because the morning was damp and foggy. “Are you Ulfadan’s daughter? I’ve seen you at his fire.”

  “No. My father and mother are dead. Merrith lets me help her.”

  “The marag landed on Ulfadan, knocked him to the ground. We speared it but it was too late. His neck was broken. It was a big one. One swipe with the tail broke my leg. We should have had more death-sticks with us. It was the only thing that stopped the ugly thing.”

  He couldn’t blame himself. In fact it was his order that every hunting party have a hunter with a death-stick to prevent something like this happening. But one wasn’t enough among the trees. From now on hunting parties would have at least two hèsotsan with them.

  But all thoughts of hunting and murgu were banished in an instant
when Armun came close. Her hair brushed his face as she bent to pick up the empty water bowl; he could smell the sweet woman smell of her. He had never been this close to a girl before and the excitement of it stirred him. Unbid, the memory appeared, Vaintè above him, close to him. It was unwanted, disgusting, and he pushed all thoughts of that away.

  But the memory lingered, tantalizing, for the feelings he had felt then had been very much like those he was experiencing now; the same excitement. When Armun bent again to pick up the tray he put his hand on her bare arm. It was warm, not cool. Soft.

  Armun stopped, trembling, feeling his hand on her flesh, not knowing what to do. Without thinking she turned to look at him, his face close to hers. He did not laugh or turn away. Then the voices outside, coming closer, penetrated the silence.

  “How is Kerrick?” It was Herilak who spoke.

  “I go there now,” Fraken answered.

  The strange moment ended. Kerrick dropped his hand and Armun hurried away with the tray. Fraken pushed his way into the tent, his old eyes blinking in the darkness, Herilak close behind him. Fraken pulled at the leather straps that held Kerrick’s leg tight to the wooden frame and nodded happily.

  “All as it should be. The leg will heal straight. If these straps hurt you must pad them with dry grass. I go now to sing about Ulfadan.”

  Kerrick would have liked to have been there when the old man sang. The more hunters who chanted the happier Ulfadan’s tharm would be. When the singing was finished Ulfadan’s empty body would be wrapped in soft leather and tied high in a tree to dry in the wind. The body did not matter any more, once the tharm of the hunter had gone. Still, it would not have been proper to leave it where the carrion eaters could find it.

  “I would be with you,” Kerrick said.