West of Eden

“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 learned 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.