West of Eden

“I wish to talk, efenselè,” Enge said. “I have heard many things said about this last adventure and all of them sadden me.”

“I am not that pleased myself, efenselè. When I left here I was sarn’enoto. Now I sit alone and wait for a summons that never comes — and do not even know if I am the sarn’enoto who commands or something lower than a fargi.”

“I am not here to add to your misery. Although those who swim to the top of the highest wave…”

“Can only sink into the deepest trough. Save your crude philosophies for your comrades. I know all of the stupidities that your founder Farneksei has spoken and reject them in their totality.”

“I will make my stay a brief one. I ask you only to tell me the truth behind the whispered stories…”

Vaintè cut her off with abrupt silencing slashes of her thumbs. “I care nothing about what the stupid fargi tell one another, nor will I discuss their mindless mouthings.”

“Then we will talk only of facts.” Enge’s movements were grim, implacable and inescapable. “There is a fact known to us both. Peleinè divided the ranks of the Daughters with her doubts and her arguments. She convinced many that your cause was a just one, and these misguided ones swelled the ranks of your army. They went with you on your murderous campaign. They did not return.”

“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 ma

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 ma

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.”