Return to Eden

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

It was a happy leavetaking because that was the Paramutan way. Everyone knew that if one showed unhappiness before a voyage it would only bring the worst kind of bad luck, blizzards, disaster. Hanath and Morgil were equally happy at the results of their trading, laughing and getting soaked alongside the Paramutan as they helped to push the ikkergak into the sea. The waves were large and broke over them before the craft was floating free. Kalaleq was the last to board, was pulled dripping from the water by strong hands on arms and tail.

“After the winter we will be here again. There will be much to trade. Come back!”

“We will,” Armun called out, shouting to be heard above the crashing of the waves upon the beach. “We will be here.”

“What did the furry one say?” Hanath asked with clattering teeth, blue with cold. He wrapped one of the new furs about him.

“They want us to trade here again.”

“We will! Next time we will come early and make porro. They will like that.”

“Don’t even suggest it,” Kerrick said. “Not until you have spent a winter snowbound with them. They are a very strange people.”

“I like them,” Morgil said. “They know how to enjoy themselves. Now you can tell us what that horrible black muck was that you buried. I can still smell it.

“That is what is going to keep us alive when these die,” Kerrick said, picking up his hèsotsan. “The Paramutan make a powerful poison called takkuuk. It can kill the biggest creature in the sea. It will kill murgu too. Now we know how to make it. I don’t know how but Annun remembers, she made it with Kalaleq. It seems very difficult.”

“Not really,” she said. “It is just entrails and blood made to rot in a special way, then certain roots are added. I know the plant, we were always told to never go near it or touch it. Now I know why.”

“The stink will kill us before it kills a marag,” Hanath said.

“I don’t think so.” Kerrick held up his spear. “When the poison is buried a second time it will be in small leather bags that will be wrapped around the spearpoints. We will bury the spears too, special spears only for killing murgu. Then, when we stab a marag, the spearpoint goes through the bag and into the flesh and the thing dies.”

“We can certainly do that,” Morgil said with great enthusiasm. “We will help you, Armun, make a lot of takkuuk spears. Then we can trade them to the other sammads. We can even trek to the valley of the Sasku, trade with them for cloth.”

“You may never hunt again,” Armun said. “You will trade anything now.”

“Of course. We can hunt too, if we want to. But we like trading.”

There were so many furs and rolls of hide that the two traders had to cut poles for a travois. It was heavy laden and they took turns dragging it when they started south. The nights were cold, the days crisp, the new furs and hides a pleasure to sleep in at night. The stars seemed brighter here than they were on the island, Kerrick thought, lying awake and watching them after Armun had gone to sleep. Perhaps because they were the tharms of hunters, therefore shone more brightly in the north, here where the hunters had died. One day the snows might melt again and they could go back to the mountains. Meanwhile they lived, the sammads grew larger, the murgu would no longer be a threat when the hèsotsan died. Tomorrow’s tomorrow was going to be good. This was a Yilanè phrase that they used very often, and when he thought of this his legs arched and his hands shaped the meaning. Armun moaned in her sleep, disturbed by his movements, and he lay still. Forget Yilanè, it was enough to be Tanu.

It was an easy trek south along the familiar path. Only twice were they attacked by murgu large enough to need killing with the death-sticks. And they ate well. Whichever of the two hunters was not pulling the travois would slip into the forest. Catch up with them later with a freshly killed marag or deer. They built a fire each night and cooked the fresh meat, ate enough to last them through the next day. In this way they moved steadily south.

When they came to the path that branched off to the other sammads there was some discussion of the possibility of stopping. Hanath and Morgil wanted to trade. Kerrick did not care either way, but Armun was firm.

“No. These sammads may have gone south. If they did not you two can always come back to them. We return to our own sammad. I have children there — and I want to see them.” She looked at Kerrick in a very accusing manner.

“I too, yes. We won’t stop. We go directly to the island.”

The days were growing shorter, the distance that could be traveled in daylight growing less as well. Armun was troubled at their slow progress. She made them start out on the trail before it was light, continue after dark.

“I grow tired,” Hanath said one evening, looking up at the darkening sky. “I think it would be better if we stopped now.”

“I am going on,” she said firmly. “I am tired too — but if we reach the camping place by the stream tonight, then we will be back on the island before dark tomorrow. I will go on by myself if you do not wish to. Give me one of the death-sticks.”

“We go on, we go on,” Hanath muttered leaning his weight against the straps.

It rained during the night but cleared before morning. Armun woke them, laughing at their complaints. But once on the trail they were all eager to return. They did not stop, but instead ate some of the cold meat as they walked. Not drinking anything since they were all able to go without water until dark. Kerrick did not notice the side trail until Morgil pointed it out, pushed newly grown branches aside to turn into it. Before they reached the river crossing they heard shouts ahead and met a hunting party. There were warm greetings and cries of appreciation at the fur and hides. The hunters were happy to help carry these new possessions and they went the faster.

Herilak called a loud greeting as they arrived among the sammads. Malagen came from their tent holding the baby. She laughed and called out to them and Armun seized up Ysel and held her high.

“The Paramutan were there and you traded well,” Herilak said, feeling the softness of the furs.

“Better than you realize, sammadar,” Kerrick said. “There is a thing they make called takkuuk, and we now know how to make it ourselves. It is going to be very important for all the Tanu.”

“Where is Arnwheet?” Armun said, holding the baby tight to her as she looked around at the children who had run up. “Where is he?”

“He is not here — but I know where he is,” one of the boys said. “He goes to the forbidden island by himself and wiggles like this with the marag there.

He shook back and forth, but his laughter turned to a cry of pain as Armun slapped out and sent him sprawling.

“You would not know that if you had not gone there yourself — and that is forbidden. He should not be there alone.” She looked angrily at Kerrick when she said this.

“I will bring him back,” he said, taking up his death-stick. “Walk with me, Herilak, for there are many things to tell you.”

“I will,” he said and went to get his bow and quiver.

“Have we reached the proper place?” Vaintè asked, holding the image sheet in the sunlight, then looking from it over to the nearby shore.

“We have,” Akotolp said, touching it with her finger. “We are here. Close to these small islands on the coast. The one you see out there conceals the larger island inland, where the ustuzou lair is.”

“Will the uruketo take us to it?”

“Unhappily, no. The water between the islands is too shallow.”

“Understood. Now where is the place where the Yilanè is found?”

“There, on that island facing the sea.”

“Then that is where we will land. We will speak with her. The ustuzou creatures are deadly. When we attack them it will be only to kill them. She will be able to help me, tell me if the one I seek is here, aid me in finding him. The others can live or die, it does not matter to me. It is his death that I must have.” She signed brusque instructions to Elem. “Towards that island, go close. Order Enge up here.”

They were just outside the breakers when Enge joined them on top of the fin.

“Swim to the shore,” Vaintè commanded. “Akotolp will go with you. Do not forget that she brings her hèsotsan. I will join you with mine. If Elem has any thoughts of leaving once we are on the beach we will kill you. Is that understood?”

Enge signed understanding of filth, rejection of speaker, then climbed down to the uruketo’s back. She was in the water and swimming towards shore long before the gasping Akotolp could follow. She made no attempt to escape knowing that Vaintè would kill those in the uruketo if she did. Instead she waited on the beach until Akotolp arrived. Vaintè, swimming swiftly, was close behind her. “I go first,” she said. “Stay close behind me.” She climbed slowly up the dune, her sharp claws digging deep. Tough grass was rooted on the summit; she stopped and parted it slowly to see what lay on the other side. Halted, motionless, with only her hand behind her signing sharp communication of silence. Looked down at the two figures below her, listened as they talked.

“Try it again,” Arnwheet said, holding the hardalt by one tentacle, holding it before Nadaske.

“Grardal’,” Nadaske said, holding his hand out at the same time just as Arnwheet was doing.

“Not grardl’,” Arnwheet said. “Hardalt, just hardalt — and don’t hold your arm out like that.”

“You did.”

“Of course I did. But when you talk Marbak you do not move, just make the sound.”

“Stupid/ugly speech. Fit only for ustuzou.” Nadaske caught the movement from the bank above, looked with one eye — dived forward towards the shelter.

“Instant cessation of motion,” Vaintè ordered, striding down the slope. “If you have a hèsotsan in there touch it only if you wish to die. Emerge — empty of hand!”

Nadaske turned slowly, reluctantly, came into the sunlight again with his hands hanging limply at his sides. Vaintè looked at him closely, leaned forward and sniffed with delight.

“It is a male! One of a familiar aspect.”

“We have met before, Vaintè. You would not remember. I do. You were Eistaa of Alpèasak when you sent me to the birth beaches. I returned.”

Vaintè expressed cold amusement at the obvious and presumptuous anger of a mere male. Signed coarsely that she would be happy to send him to the beaches again, instantly if needed. But her attention was on Arnwheet who stepped back, eyes wide with fear, looking from her to the other murgu that came down the slope. The two of them who held hèsotsan moved with harsh angularity, not at all like Nadaske. He took another step backwards but stopped when the first one signed cessation of movement.

“I heard you speaking to this male. You are yilanè and that is unusual/impossible. But it has happened. Approach me, that is a command. Do you understand?”

Arnwheet shuffled forward, shivering with fear, signed understanding of meaning. Vaintè bent close, he could smell the foulness of her breath, reached out one thumb and touched the metal knife that hung around his neck.

“What does this artifact of metal signify? This one is smaller, but I have held another like this in my hand. And this smaller one, I have held it too, long ago. I was sent the larger one as a sign I should end the war that I was winning. It hung from the neck of the ustuzou of death, Kerrick. Explain instantly.”

Arnwheet understood what this Yilanè was saying, although he did not understand the name she mentioned since the way Vaintè spoke Kerrick was incomprehensible. But the meaning was clear.

“There is only one other knife like this. It hangs about the neck of my… efensele.” This was the nearest he could get, could think of no term for father in Yilanè.

“Then you are efensele of the one I seek. But where is he, why are you here alone? Inform me quickly of the meaning of this, male,” she ordered, looking at Arnwheet with one eye, Nadaske with the other.

Nadaske did not bother to answer. Freedom was ended, life was ended. This was Vaintè, known for her cruelty. She would be immensely displeased at his escaping the hanalè and the death of the city, then living as free as any female. She would see that he suffered in many ways before he died on the beaches. All was ended. There was a movement in the shrubbery and he glanced that way. An animal of some kind, it did not matter, nothing mattered now.

Kerrick and Herilak had just reached the inlet when Dall burst from the bushes on the other side and hurled himself into the water, thrashed across it sobbing and gasping. Herilak pulled him from the water and shook him.

“You were beaten before for coming here. Now you will have a beating…”

“Murgu — out there! They come from the sea, murgu—”

Herilak took him by the jaw and pulled him close. “What kind of murgu? The kind that kill with death-sticks?”

“Yes,” Dall said, then fell whimpering to the ground. Herilak spun about to follow Kerrick who had hurled himself into the water. Caught up with him on the other side, held him with a restraining hand.

“Slowly and silently, do not rush or you rush to your death.” He fitted an arrow to his bow.

Kerrick pushed his hand away, ran on, not hearing his words. There were Yilanè here — and they had Arnwheet. He stumbled through the sand with Herilak close behind him. Ran along the shore and past the dune that shielded Nadaske’s small campsite. Stopped with a cry of horror.

Herilak stopped as well, saw the four murgu, two of them armed, the boy there as well. He pulled the arrow to his chin, released it.

Kerrick pushed his arm aside and the arrow thudded into the dune.

“Don’t! They’ll kill him. Drop your bow. Do this for me, Herilak, do this thing for me.”

He laid his own death-stick on the ground but Herilak stood firm, seeing only the ones he must kill. Seeing one of them aiming at Arnwheet. If this had been his son he would not have hesitated, although it would have meant the child’s death, would have killed them all.

Arnwheet was Kerrick’s son. Because of Herilak the boy had almost died once already. He could not be permitted to die now even if it meant Herilak’s own death. Slowly, never taking his eyes off of them, he bent and placed the bow on the ground. The ugly marag behind Arnwheet grunted and quivered, its jaw opening to show the sharp, pointed teeth.

“You are correct in obedience,” Vaintè said, her arms arched in triumph, her jaw agape to sign eating-of-victory.

“Let the small one go. I will stay in his place,” Kerrick said.

“You value your efensele ahead of your own life?”

“It could be a matter of great importance to this ustuzou,” Akotolp said. “I have studied these animals. There is live birth without eggs, great attachment among small efenburu…” She grew silent at Vaintè’s sharp command, her victorious speaking.

“It will end here, Kerrick. You have fought me too long, killed too many. This is my victory. I have my own city now. It will grow and prosper. You and these other two ustuzou now die. But die in the knowledge that your deaths are only the first. For I shall return with fargi and creatures of death grown by ever-loyal Akotolp. I will return and pursue your kind across all of Gendasi*. To seek out every stinking lair of your kind and kill every one of you. Think of that as you die. Think of it, slowly and carefully. I give you time so you will die with that knowledge uppermost in your thoughts.”

Vaintè signed triumph in everything as she lifted her weapon. There was silence, the stillness of horror all about her. Enge could not move or act, gripped hard by the conflict of beliefs and affection. Arnwheet was terrified, Nadaske as unmoving as a statue. Only Akotolp signed understanding, perfection of action.

Nadaske shifted and Vaintè let one wary eye look at him, then back to Kerrick when she saw that the helpless male was turning away from her, unable to watch.

Nadaske faced the frightened boy, placed thumbs of sympathy and understanding on his shoulders.

Vaintè raised the hèsotsan, aimed at Herilak. “You shall be last, Kerrick. Watch your efensele die first.”

Nadaske lowered his hands, seized the metal knife where it hung on Arnwheet’s neck, tore it free and turned swiftly about.

Thrust it hard into the side of Vaintè’s neck.

Time stopped. Vaintè’s eyes were wide with pain, she gasped, shuddered, her hands clamped so tight on the hèsotsan that it squirmed in her grip. Nadaske still held the knife tight between strong thumbs. Blood spurted out as he twisted it.

Vaintè crumpled, fell, turning and firing the weapon as she went down. The sharp crack was muffled as Nadaske dropped on top of her.

Akotolp, never a Yilanè of action, simply stared in horror at the two bodies. Even before she thought to raise her own hèsotsan she had it torn from her hands by Enge.

“The killing is over!” Enge cried out, holding the weapon high over her head, throwing it strongly out into the water.

“The killing is over,” Kerrick echoed in Marbak, placing his hand gently on Herilak’s arm as he grabbed up his bow. “That one is my friend. She does not kill.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t — but what of the fat marag?”

“That one dies,” Kerrick said, the cold of winter in his voice. First in Marbak, then speaking in Yilanè. “You die, don’t you Akotolp? You should have died when Alpèasak died, but I see that you have escaped. Now you are a follower of Vaintè. But she is dead. Your city dead, your eistaa dead. Why are you alive? There is no need to kill you, for now you kill yourself. Follow her into death.”

With a great surge of fear Akotolp knew that the ustuzou spoke correctly. It was the end, the end…

Her eyes were glazed as she fell, sprawling hugely on the sand. Still moving: soon dead.

Weeping fiercely Arnwheet ran to his father, grasped him about the legs. Kerrick picked the boy up and held him tightly.

“It is all over,” he said with gentle weariness. “Our friend Nadaske is dead, but he could not have died in a better way. When you are older you will understand. He will never have to go to the beaches. He will always be remembered — for he killed this one who would have killed us all.” He looked at Enge. “Are there others?”

“No — just Daughters of Life. No others like these.”

He looked down at Vaintè, dead at last. The creature of death, dead beneath the one who had killed her. Bitter bile rose in his throat and he felt a terrible sorrow.

“I do not want to hear of death again, think of it, see it.” He turned to Herilak and gently pulled Arnwheet’s hands free, gave him to the big hunter. “Take the boy to his mother. Dall will have raised the alarm. Stop the hunters, send them back, there is nothing for them here. Tell Armun what has happened, tell her I will be there soon.”

Herilak took the boy, nodded agreement. “It shall be as you say, sammadar. I saw those two kill each other, saw that one just lie down and die. What has happened?”

“When I return I will tell you. For now it is enough to know that this one that lies there in her own blood, this was the one who led the murgu against us. With her death the war against us is ended. The battle is over.”

“Then — we have won?”

“I cannot answer that. Can the battle we have fought ever be won or lost? Enough. It is over.”

He watched as Herilak walked slowly away with his son. Then turned back to Enge who had been standing rigid in silence ever since she had disarmed Akotolp.

“I have just told my people that the battle between us is over. Is that true, teacher?”

Enge signed agreement and triumph. “Ended indeed, my student. Walk with me to the beach for I want to forget the violence here. My companions on the uruketo must know at once that their fear is ended as well. There is much I must tell you. When you were small I spoke to you of the Daughters of Life, but I do not think that you understood very much then. But you will understand now that there are many of us. We do not kill, we have a city of our own, and it is a city of peace.

“Perhaps all cities will be cities like that now. We want nothing from the Yilanè except to live in peace — as you do.”

They came out on the top of the dune above the sea; an uruketo lay quietly in the ocean nearby, small waves running across its back. Enge signed attention and swim-this-way in the simplest of fargi language. She did it again, then again, until a Yilanè signed comprehension and climbed down from the fin and slid into the sea. Only then did she turn to Kerrick and express hope and doubt conjoined.

“I think that the Yilanè cities will leave your kind in peace, since every eistaa now knows what fearful death your fellow creatures bring. But will your kind leave the cities in peace?”

“Of course. I will tell them what has happened, they will stay away from Alpèasak.”

“Forever? You will die one day, Kerrick. And what will they do when you are gone and they see Alpèasak so rich and so close? And so helpless against your kind.”

“That day will never come.”

“May you be correct in what you say. Though I see peace now, in your lifetime and my lifetime, I think of tomorrow’s tomorrow. I see your kind, many of them, coming to my city of peace and taking it from the Daughters of Life who will be there.”

“It will not happen.”

Kerrick watched as the Yilanè from the uruketo came ashore, stood rigid with pleasure as Enge signed end of conflict/end of killing. He realized that she had not answered him.

But, yes, he had to admit that there was the possibility. The Yilanè would never change, could not change. But Tanu learned new things and changed all of the time. If a conflict between the two ever came about — could there be doubt about the final outcome?

“There are things I wish to tell you, but we must leave,” Enge said.

“Much to say, no time to say it in. Will we meet again, Enge?”

“It is my hope that we can, my belief that we cannot.”

“Mine as well. My friend Nadaske is dead. You are the only other Yilanè I can call friend. I will remember that friendship. But after today, seeing Vaintè dead at last, it is my feeling that I want to forget all Yilanè. I was taken among them by force, lived with violence, ended with death. It is enough, Enge. I am Tanu. I remain Tanu.”

Enge thought to speak to him of Ugunenapsa and of the Spirit of Life that joined them, saw the coldness of his body, thought better of it.

“You are as you are. I am as I am.”

She turned, slid into the water, swam away. He watched as the other joined her and the two of them clambered aboard the waiting uruketo. When it stood out to sea he turned and climbed the dune once again. The three dead Yilanè were as he had left them, although the flies had found them now. He bent and pulled the metal knife from Vaintè’s neck, plunged it into the sand to clean it. The corpses must be buried. And this last embrace of death was not acceptable. He pulled Nadaske’s body from atop Vaintè, closed his sightless eyes and straightened his body out upon the sand. As he turned to leave he remembered the nenitesk.

It was on a little ledge to the rear of Nadaske’s shelter. The metal of the sculpture cool on his fingers, the polished stones gleaming in the sunlight when he held it up.

The sculpture in one hand, his son’s knife in the other, he turned his back on the Yilanè and trudged off to join the Tanu.