West of Eden

by Harry Harrison

  “Naturally.” Vaintè made only the slightest movements when she spoke, conveying the absolute minimum amount of information, instantly settling into immobility when she was through. “They are dead.”

  “You killed them.”

  “The ustuzou killed them.”

  “You sent them against the ustuzou without weapons, they could only die.”

  “I sent them against the ustuzou, as I did all of the others. They chose not to carry weapons.”

  “Why did they do that? You must tell me.” Enge leaned forward with anticipation and dread. Vaintè leaned back away from her.

  “I choose not to tell you,” she said, again with the absolute minimum amount of communication. “Leave me.”

  “Not until you have answered my question. I have thought long about this and have reached the inescapable conclusion that the reason for their actions is vital to our very existence. Peleinè and I differed in our interpretations of Ugunenapsa’s teachings. Peleinè and her followers decided that your cause was a just one so they went with you. Now they are dead. Why?”

  “You will get no answer from me, no words to support or aid your destructive philosophy. Go.”

  There was no crack in Vaintè’s wall of grim immobility—yet Enge was equally as steadfast and determined in her assault.

  “They bore weapons when they left here. They were empty-handed when they died. You have told me that this was their choice. Your choice was merely that of a murderer, a butcher in the abattoir, sending them to their deaths.” Vaintè was not immune to these calculated insults; a shiver trembled her limbs, yet still she did not speak. Enge went on relentlessly.

  “Now I ask you—why did they decide to do that? What happened that made them change their thinking about carrying weapons? Something happened. You know what it was. You will tell me.”

  “Never!”

  “You will!”

  Enge lurched forward and seized Vaintè’s arms tight-clamped between her powerful thumbs, her mouth gaping wide in anger. Then Enge saw the slight movements of joy and she released Vaintè at once, pushing her away and stumbling back.

  “You would like me to use violence, wouldn’t you?” she said, panting with the effort to control her violent emotions. “You would like to see me forget the truth of my beliefs and sink to your level of desperate violence. But I will not debase myself that much no matter how provoked. I will not join you in your despicable animal corruption.”

  Rage swept away all of Vaintè’s reserve, released all of her anger that had been suppressed since her return and fall from favor.

  “You won’t join me—you have joined me! These marks in my flesh where your thumbs bit deep, where your nails drew blood. Your treasured superiority is as hollow and empty as you are. You grow angry as I do—and you will kill as I do.”

  “No,” Enge said, calm again. “That I will never do, that low I will never sink.”

  “Never! You will, you all will. Those who followed Peleinè did. They happily aimed their hèsotsan and killed the verminous ustuzou. For one instant they were true Yilanè and not whining and despicable outcasts.”

  “They killed—and they died,” Enge said, speaking softly.

  “Yes, they died. Like you they could not face the fact that they are no different, no better than the rest of us . . .”

  Then Vaintè stopped, realizing that in her anger she had answered Enge’s questions, satisfied her imbecile beliefs.

  With the realization of the truth all of Enge’s anger had been washed away. “Thank you, efenselè, thank you. You have done me and the Daughters of Life an immense service this day. You have shown us that our feet are on the path and we must walk along it without straying. Only in that way can we reach the truth that Ugunenapsa spoke of. Those who killed, died from that killing. The others saw that and chose not to die in the same manner. That is what happened, is it not?”

  Vaintè spoke with cold anger now. “That is what happened—but not for the reasons that you give. They died not because they were better, because they were in some way superior to the rest of the Yilanè—they died because they are exactly the same. They thought they could escape the death of being cast out from the city, nameless and dead. They were wrong. They died in the same manner. You are no better than the rest of us—if anything you are something far less.”

  In silence, wrapped in thought, Enge turned and left. At the doorway she paused and turned back. “Thank you, efenselè,” she said. “Thank you for revealing this immense truth. I sorrow that so many had to die to reveal it, but perhaps that was the only way it could have become known to us. Perhaps even you, in your search for death, will aid in bringing us life. Thank you.”

  Vaintè hissed with anger and would have torn Enge’s throat open had she not gone at this moment. This on top of her indeterminate status was becoming too much for her to bear. Something must be done. Should she go to the ambesed, go before the Eistaa and speak to her? No, that would not do at all for there might be public humiliation from which she could never recover. Then what? Was there no one she could call upon? Yes, one. One who believed as she did that nothing was more important than the killing of ustuzou. She went out and signaled to a passing fargi and issued her instructions.

  Most of the day passed and still no one came, until Vaintè gradually went from angry pacing to immobile vacuity, settling into a mindless, thoughtless silence. So dark was this somber mood that she had difficulty in rising from it and stirring herself when she finally realized that another stood before her.

  “It is you, Stallan.”

  “You sent for me.”

  “Yes. You did not come to see me of your own will.”

  “No. It would have been seen, Malsas< would have been told. I do not need this kind of attention from the Eistaa.”

  “It was my belief that you served me. Now you value your own scaled hide more?”

  Stallan stood solidly, legs wide-braced, and did not give way. “No, Vaintè, I value my service more. My work is to kill ustuzou. When you lead, I will follow. To the north they crawl like vermin. They need stamping underfoot. When you do not lead, then I wait.”

  Vaintè’s evil humor ameliorated slightly. “Do I detect a hint of admonition there, stout Stallan? The slightest suggestion that my energies would be better disposed of if I had simply acted the butcher and slaughtered the nearest ustuzou? That I should not have mounted my great campaign to track down and kill a single miserable ustuzou?”

  “You have said it, Vaintè. I did not. But it should be known that I also share your desire to open the throat of this one particular ustuzou.”

  “But not enough to pursue him wherever he runs and hides?” Vaintè paced her quarters, back and forth, twisting with anger, her claws ripping into the matting of the floor. “I tell this to you and you alone, Stallan. Perhaps this last attack was a mistake. But none of us knew the outcome when we began, all of us were carried away by the ambition of it. Even she who now will not speak to me.” She spun about and jabbed her thumb at Stallan.

  “So tell me, loyal Stallan. How is it that you avoided my presence all this time—yet now you are here?”

  “The losses are forgotten. After all, most of those killed were just fargi. Now there is talk only of those Yilanè that were murdered in the forest by the ustuzou, the dead males on the beaches. I have seen to it that many of the pictures that the birds bring back are passed about, pictures of the ustuzou for the Yilanè to look at. The Yilanè look and grow angry. They wonder why the killing has stopped.”

  Vaintè crowed with pleasure.

  “Loyal Stallan, I wronged you. While I hid here in dark anger you were doing the one thing that will bring my exile to an end. Reminding them of the ustuzou. Showing them what the ustuzou have done and will do again. There are ustuzou out there badly in need of killing. Soon they will come to me again, Stallan, because they will remember that killing ustuzou is one thing that I am very good at. We have made our mistakes—and we have lea
rned from them. It will be calm, efficient slaughter from now on. As fruit is plucked from a tree to feed the animals, so will we pluck these ustuzou. Until the tree is bare and they are gone and Gendasi will be Yilanè across all its vast expanse.”

  “I will join you in that, Vaintè. I have felt since I saw my first ustuzou that it will be ustuzou or Yilanè. One or the other must die.”

  “That is the truth. That is our destiny and that is what must be done. There will be a day when the skull of the last ustuzou will be hung from the thorns of the Wall of Memory.”

  Stallan spoke quietly and with great sincerity.

  “It will be your hands that hang it there, Vaintè. Yours alone.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It became Vaintè’s custom to visit the Gendasi model every evening just before sunset. By then the builders would have gone, their work for the day completed, and she could have the vast, dim-lit expanse to herself. There she would study any changes of the day, discover if the birds had brought back any pictures of interest. It was summer now and the animals were on the move, the packs of ustuzou stirring as well. She saw the packs come together, then break apart until they could not be told one from the other. Because she had no authority now she could not order flights, so had to accept without question whatever information the pictures revealed.

  Stallan came one evening when she was there, bringing newly arrived pictures that she wanted to compare with the physical record. Vaintè seized the pictures eagerly, examining them as well as she could in the failing light. Though there was never any spoken agreement, once Stallan had discovered that Vaintè was there at this time of day, she herself came most days bringing new pictures of the ustuzou movements. In this way Vaintè knew as much as any other in the city about the creatures she had sworn to destroy.

  Whenever there were new pictures of the valley ustuzou in the south she examined them closely; she was not surprised when one day the skin shelters and large beasts were gone. Kerrick was not waiting for her return. He was gone. But he would appear again, she was sure of that.

  All that long summer she studied the model, kept to herself—and waited. She followed the movements of the various packs, saw that one of the larger packs of ustuzou was moving steadily east. When this ustuzou pack actually left the shelter of the mountains and approached the ocean shore, she waited and said nothing. When they stopped, well within reach of attack from the sea, she still waited. Her patience must be the greater. Stallan reported worried talk among the Yilanè, with the ustuzou this close, anger as well that they were not attacked. Malsas< would hear this talk as well, would see the pictures, would have to do something. The pressure was upon her now, not Vaintè, and this fact enabled Vaintè to control her impatience. It was still a very hard thing to do. But she had everything to gain and little to lose. When the fargi came for her she concealed her elation in unmoving stolidity.

  “A message, Vaintè, from the Eistaa.”

  “Speak.”

  “Your presence is needed at once in the ambesed.”

  “Return. I come.”

  Vaintè had given much thought to this moment, considered how long an interval to leave between the message and her departure. Not long; there was no need to anger Malsas< without reason. She had considered applying formal arm designs, but then had rejected the idea. There must be no obvious display. She simply took a few drops of scented oil on her palms, rubbed some into her crest so that it shone slightly, used the rest on her forearms and the backs of her hands. With that she was done. She left then and did not hurry, but she did take the shortest route to the ambesed. There, in the heart of the city, she had once sat as Eistaa. She returned now—as what? Penitent, supplicant? No, not those, she would die before she asked a favor. She went prepared to accept commands, to serve Alpèasak, nothing more. This decision was in every movement of her body as she walked.

  The ambesed was larger now, with all of Inegban* come to swell the ranks of the city’s Yilanè. They stood in groups, talking, or milled about slowly from group to group. They were aware of her presence, moved casually to let her pass, but none caught her eye or gave her greetings. She was there—but not there until she had spoken with Malsas<.

  The group around the Eistaa opened a path for her as she approached, not appearing to see her, but stepping aside as though by chance. She ignored these half-insults, walking stolidly forward to stand before Malsas<. Stallan was at the Eistaa’s side. The hunter looked at Vaintè and her palms colored in recognition. Vaintè returned the greeting, vowing silently to herself to remember the bravery of this simple act of recognition, when all the others had turned away. She stopped before Malsas<, waiting silently until one eye moved in her direction.

  “I am here, Eistaa.”

  “Yes you are, Vaintè.” There was a blank neutrality in the statement, neither welcome or rejection. When Vaintè stayed in expectant silence Malsas< went on.

  “There are ustuzou to the north, bold enough to approach the shore where they may be found and slain.”

  “I know of this, Eistaa.”

  “Do you also know that I have ordered Stallan to go there, to kill them?”

  “I did not know that. But I do know that Stallan is the first killer of ustuzou and still the best.”

  “I am pleased to hear you say that. But Stallan does not agree with you. She feels she is too unskilled to lead and be sarn’enoto in the pursuit of the ustuzou. Do you agree?”

  The answer had to be phrased with exactitude. There was great danger here and no latitude for mistakes. When Vaintè began speaking there was sincerity in her movements, followed by firmness of intent.

  “Stallan has great skill in the killing of ustuzou and we all learn from her. As to her ability to be sarn’enoto—that is not mine to judge. Only the Eistaa can raise a sarn’enoto up, only the Eistaa can set a sarn’enoto down.”

  There, it was said. No rebellion, no attempt at argument or flattery, just a simple statement of fact. As always the decisions had to be made by the Eistaa. Others might advise; only she could decide.

  Malsas< looked from one to the other while all those present watched in silence. Stallan stood solid as a tree as always, ready to obey the orders she was given. No one who saw her could believe she could ever disagree with the Eistaa. If she said she had not the ability to serve as sarn’enoto it was simply because she believed this to be true.

  Nor was Vaintè rebelling against orders. She was here to receive them. Malsas< looked at them both and made her decision.

  “The ustuzou must be destroyed. I am the Eistaa and I named Vaintè as sarn’enoto to bring about that destruction. How will you go about accomplishing that, sarn’enoto?”

  Vaintè put all thoughts of victory from her, forced herself not to feel the jubilation rising up. Instead she signed simple acceptance of duty, then began to speak.

  “All of the ustuzou now avoid the coast where others of their kind have been killed. But once a pack of them came and laid a trap for us. When I see this new pack on the shore I see this same trap again. This means that two things must be done. The trap avoided, the ustuzou trapped instead.”

  “How will you go about this?”

  “We will leave the city in two groups. Stallan will command the first which will proceed north in boats to attack the ustuzou in the same manner that we have done in the past. Her group will spend the night on the shore before the morning of the attack. I will take the second group in fast uruketo out to sea, out of sight of the shore. We will land to the north of the ustuzou and strike suddenly before they are aware of our presence.”

  Malsas< signed understanding—but puzzlement as well. “That will rid us of the ustuzou pack, but what is to prevent other ustuzou, who may be in hiding, from attacking and killing Stallan and her fargi during the night, while they sleep on the beaches?”

  “The Eistaa shows her wisdom in that most important question. When the ustuzou watch Stallan’s landing on the shore they will see only meat and
water unloaded. Not until after dark will these supplies be opened to reveal our new night weapons. After this has been done, the Yilanè who are proficient in this operation will board the night-trained boats. If the attack comes the boats will leave; only death will remain on the beach.”

  Malsas< thought about this, then signed her agreement. “Do it that way. It is a well-considered plan. I see that you have given much thought to this, Vaintè.”

  There was a note of mild admonition in this, that Vaintè while still in doubt about her status, had already been making plans. But it was a very small comment, and a deserved one, and Vaintè did not object. She was sarn’enoto again—that was all that mattered. Still keeping her elation under control, she spoke as calmly as she could.

  “There is something else about the force under Stallan’s command that I must tell you about. When we were developing the night weapons we found that there were only a few Yilanè who could operate in the dark, even with lights. It is these specialists who will release the weapons, then follow the light-markers to the boats. The rest of the fargi will have to remain on the shore. If there is an attack there is the strong possibility that all of them will be killed.”

  “That is not good,” Malsas< said. “Too many fargi are already dead.”

  “I know that, Eistaa, I of all people know that. Therefore it is my strong desire to see no more fargi deaths. So I suggest, since they will not be expected to fight, that we replace the fargi with the Daughters of Death. Surely these parasites on the resources of our city should be good for something.”

  Malsas< was gracious in her show of appreciation for this suggestion, the color of her palms yellow-hued with pleasure. “You are sarn’enoto, Vaintè, because you produce ideas of this nature. Do it, do it at once.”

  “The arrangements will be completed this day, the supplies loaded. Both forces will leave at dawn.”