West of Eden

But now he remembered, and in remembering he was two people, the ustuzou who spoke like a Yilanè; the boy who was Tanu.

Boy? He stared at his hands, arched his fingers. He was no longer a boy. In those long years his body had grown. He was a man yet knew nothing of being a man. The realization came that his father, the other hunters, so large in memory — why, he must be their size now.

Springing to his feet, Kerrick roared aloud with defiance and anger. What was he? Who was he? What was happening to him? Through the crash of his emotions he was aware of a movement at his neck, a pulling. He turned about, blinking, to discover that Inlènu* was tugging gently at their co

He wanted to kill her, half raised the weapon still clutched in his hand. Marag, he cried, “marag.” But the anger drained away as quickly as it had come and he lowered the weapon shamefacedly. There was no harm in this simple creature, more of a prisoner than he was.

“Be of peace, Inlènu*,” he said. “There is nothing wrong. Be of peace.”

Reassured, Inlènu* sat back on her tail and blinked comfortably in the evening sun. Kerrick looked past her to the glade behind the trees where Herilak waited.

Waited for what? An answer, of course. To a question that Kerrick could not answer, although the question was all too clear.

What was he? Physically he was Tanu, a man with the thoughts of a boy who had never grown as a Tanu. That was clear and obvious when he thought about it. That boy, to stay alive, had become Yilanè. That was obvious too. A Yilanè inside his thoughts, a Tanu for the world to see. That much was clear. What was not clear was what would happen to him next. If he did nothing, his existence would go on very much as it had in the past. His position would remain high, next to the hand of the Eistaa, secure and honored. As a Yilanè.

But was that what he wanted? Was that his future? He had never considered these matters before, had no idea that a conflict such as this might exist. He shrugged his shoulders, struggling to remove an invisible burden. It was too much to consider right now. He needed to puzzle things out slowly. He would do as Vaintè had asked, question the ustuzou. There would be time later to think of these matters; his head was hurting too much now.

When he returned nothing had changed. Herilak was lying bound on the ground, the three fargi standing guard in unquestioning obedience. Kerrick looked down at the hunter, trying to speak, but the words did not come. It was Herilak who broke the silence.

“Do as I said,” he whispered. “Kill the murgu, cut my bonds, escape with me. To the mountains, to the winter snow, the good hunting, the fire in the tent. Come back to your people.”

Though they were whispered the words were echoing in his head like the roll of thunder.

“No!” he shouted aloud. “You will be silent. You will answer my questions only. You will not speak except to answer…”

“You’re lost, boy, lost but not forgotten. They’ve tried to make you one of them but you are not of them. You are Tanu. You can come back to the sammad now, Kerrick.”

Kerrick shouted in anger, ordering Herilak to be silent, but he could not drown out the hunter’s voice or his words. Neither would he give in. It was the fargi, the one who still held the hunter’s spear, who made the decisive move. She did not understand, but she could see that there was disagreement. Remembering the Eistaa’s earlier orders she moved forward to help, hammering the butt of the spear into Herilak’s side, again and again.

“No!” Kerrick roared aloud in Tanu, “you ca

The weapon in his hand snapped almost without volition and the fargi crumpled and died. Still in the grip of his anger he turned and fired at the next one as well; her mouth still gaping with disbelief as she fell. The third one started to raise her own weapon but she crumpled like the others. He kept squeezing and squeezing on the hèsotsan until the fargi corpses bristled with darts. Then it was empty and he threw it down.

“The spear, take it,” Herilak ordered. “Cut me free.”

Inlènu* lurched after Kerrick as he stumbled to the fargi and pulled the spear from her dead grasp. He cut Herilak’s ankles free, then his wrists.

“What is this? What has happened?” Vaintè called out angrily.

Kerrick spun about to see her standing above him, mouth open, teeth shining. And now, for the first time he saw before her in the blur of memory those teeth tearing a girl’s throat out. Saw the rows of teeth above him as she straddled him, roaring with pleasure. Shared pleasure, for he had been moved as well.

Pleasure and hatred now, he felt them both.

She was saying something he could not hear, issuing an order he could not obey, as she turned away and reached for one of the abandoned weapons.

What he did next was so natural, so right that it required no thought or effort. The spear came up, thrust forward, into Vaintè’s side, deep into her body. She clutched at it and it came free. Blood spurted as she crumpled and fell backwards out of sight.

“Run,” Herilak shouted, pulling at Kerrick’s shoulder. “Come with me. You can’t stay here, not after what you have done. You must come with me. That is all that you can do now.”

He took Kerrick by the hand, tugging him towards the dark wall of the forest beyond the glade. Kerrick resisted — then stumbled after him crashing, through the undergrowth, the spear still clutched, forgotten, in his hand, with Inlènu* protesting and stumbling along behind.

Their ru

Quiet as death.

BOOK TWO

CHAPTER ONE

The flock of crows wheeled up in wide circles, cawing loudly before settling back among the trees. There was little wind and the afternoon was close and hot. Under the trees it was cooler, for the leaves were so thick upon the birch and oak trees above that only a dapple of flickering sunlight filtered through to the forest floor below. A moving pattern of light that played over the three figures sprawled on the soft grass.

Even Herilak’s massive strength was spent; his wounds had reopened and blood matted his hair and beard, spread wetly down his side. He lay back, eyes closed, drawing in breath after ragged breath.

Inlènu* lay opposite him, her position an unconscious mockery of his with her jaw gaping wide to cool herself after the unwelcome exertion in the heat.

Kerrick was not as exhausted as they were, so was well aware of what was happening, of where they were. In the foothills close above the shore. They had fled, ru

What had he done?

The question was its own answer. He knew what he had done. He had destroyed himself. He had murdered the Eistaa. Now that the emotion was spent he could not understand what had possessed him to do such an insane thing. With that single thrust of the spear he had cut every bond that held him to the Yilanè, had set every Yilanè hand against him. The life he had known was ended, was as dead as Vaintè herself. Now he could never return to the comforts of Alpèasak, to the easy life he had known there. Ahead of him was only a blankness, an emptiness, with the only certainty that of death itself. Shivering with apprehension he turned and pushed a shrub aside and looked back down the slope. Nothing moved. There was no sign of any pursuit. Not yet — but they would certainly follow. The murderer of the Eistaa would not be allowed to escape unpunished.