West of Eden

Kerrick took two darts from the big hunter’s coverings before they went on. “I know this Yilanè,” Kerrick said, looking down at the third corpse. “She is a hunter, close to Stallan. Stallan will be here, Vaintè as well.” His hands clamped hard on the hèsotsan at the thought of aiming it, firing it at those two.

“We will bring their death-sticks with us when we return,” Herilak said, scouting forward, weapon ready.

When they had climbed up the riverbank to the plain they could see the Yilanè camp, clearly visible on the open ground ahead. There were great numbers of the riding beasts there, as well as mounds of supplies. And fargi, far more than had attacked that day. Kerrick felt a pang of fear at their numbers and forced himself to remember that the attack had been stopped. If they came again — they would be stopped again. If Vaintè wanted all the fargi dead, then the Tanu would do their best to oblige.

More guards had been posted outside the circle but the sun was below the horizon now and they retreated when the two white-clad figures appeared in the growing darkness, entering the circle of defenses through a gap left by the laboring fargi.

“Alarms and traps,” Kerrick said. “See where they have placed them in the grass? Those long-legged creatures behind the barricade must make the light that shone on us that night.”

“They are all inside now and sealing the last gap.”

“Good. Now let us see how close we can get. They won’t come out again, not when it is this dark. I want to see just what defenses they have now.”

Herilak was hesitant about going forward against this great murgu army, the fleet-footed riding beasts that could run many times faster than a hunter. But Kerrick strode ahead, knowing the Yilanè well, knowing they would not emerge from the security of their living-defenses during the night. It was still light enough when they reached the outer circle of vines to see the thorns lifting slowly into the air.

“Poisoned, you can be sure of that,” Kerrick said. “And at this distance darts fired from inside might reach us here. This is close enough.”

“Why don’t they shoot at us?” Herilak asked, pointing to the murgu with death-sticks just on the other side of the barrier. They stood silent, looking stolidly at the two hunters. Behind them other fargi were moving about, eating, lying down, taking no notice of the enemy without.

“They have no orders to fire,” Kerrick said. “The fargi never think for themselves, so they do nothing without being ordered to. I suppose they have been told to shoot when the lights are alarmed. They will obey.” There was a low mound nearby and he pointed towards it. “Now we will discover just what kind of a welcome they have prepared. Even if the darts come this far that mound will give us some protection from them.”

Kerrick kicked at the ground until he had torn free a large lump of soil, the long stems of grass still hanging from it. He seized these and spun it about his head. “Get down,” he called out as he let fly.

The clod flew high and landed among the defenses. The instant that it hit, the twilight vanished in a blaze of light and there was a continuous crackling sound from the circle, the sound of many hèsotsan being fired at once: the air above them rustled with the passage of countless darts. They remained pressed to the ground as more darts were fired and voices called out loudly. This soon stilled, and after a while the lights dimmed and vanished. Not until then did they dare to stand, looking about and blinking, their eyes still dazed by the glare. There was still enough light to see about them — to see the swathes of large darts stuck into the ground.

“Something new,” Kerrick said. “These are bigger than any I have ever seen before — and look how far they have carried. Twice the distance of our death-sticks. They must have bred stronger death-sticks, which have been taught to shoot when the alarm vines are touched. Disturb the vines and the lights shine to the spot and these things fire. Even with the cloths we wear I feel that we would be a good deal safer further away from them.”

They moved quickly back, beyond the fall of the last darts, then turned to look back at the dark and silent mass of the enemy camp. Kerrick was dripping with sweat now and he slowly unwound some of the cloth, breathing deeply of the cool evening air. Looking and thinking hard.

“Tell me, Herilak, you are a strong bowman. Could you reach that camp from here?”

Herilak took the cloth from his head and rubbed his streaming face with it, looking to the mound they had left, then beyond it towards the vines and the spindly light-beasts.

“Not easy. A good pull should send an arrow that far, but it would be hard to hit a particular target at this distance.”

“Aim doesn’t matter, as long as it reaches beyond the defenses. And the Sasku, with their spear-throwers — I believe they could also throw that far.”

“You plan well, margalus,” Herilak said, laughing aloud. “The murgu are packed in there like seeds in a pod. Impossible not to hit something with a spear or arrow.”

“Instead of sleeping soundly I believe that the murgu will have other things to think about this night! Let us mark this place where we stand so we can find it when we return.”

“With bows and spears!”

Herilak had been correct. An arrow pulled full length, and pointed high, went well past the lights and found a target within the camp. There was a thin scream of pain and the hunters roared with laughter, slapping one another across the shoulders. They quieted only when Sanone fitted a spear into his thrower, watched him intently as he leaned far back — then sent it whistling through the darkness. An animal screeched and they knew that his point had found its mark as well. Sudden light dazzled their eyes and they recoiled at the cloud of darts that suddenly appeared. They all fell short. The one-sided nighttime battle was joined.

Despite what Kerrick had told them, the others did not really believe that the enemy would lie silent and die without counterattacking their tormentors: they stood ready to run into the darkness when that occurred. The attack never came. There were only flickering lights of some kind, then movement within the camp as the fargi tried to draw back from the probing spears and arrows.

These were not in unlimited supply and Herilak quickly ordered them to stop. The lights died away, the murgu settled down in their sleep — and the arrows started again.

This continued all night, with fresh hunters coming out to take the place of the tired ones. Kerrick and Herilak slept for a bit, then woke and ordered the hunters back to the stone barricade at the first gray light of dawn.

They stood ready all day waiting for the attack, some guarding while others slept. The morning passed and the attack never came. By afternoon, still without a murgu attack, Herilak was beset by volunteers who wanted to scout the enemy positions. He refused them all. Nothing would be gained by losing more lives. When dusk came — still without any sign of an attack — he and Kerrick had themselves wrapped in cloth once again. They went forward carefully, weapons ready, but there were no defenders lying in wait for them this time. Still as cautiously they crept up the river bank and raised their cloth-wrapped heads above the edge, peering through the slitted fabric.

The plain was empty.

As swiftly as they had come the enemy had vanished, their tracks and animal droppings pointing to the horizon.

“They are gone. We have beaten them!” Herilak roared, shaking his fists victoriously at the sky.

“Not beaten,” Kerrick said, suddenly dizzy with fatigue. He dropped cross-legged to the ground, tearing the suffocating cloth from his face and looking out at the retreating track. ”They have been defeated here, pushed back. But they are like poisonous thorns. We cut them in one place and they only grow stronger in another.”