Return to Eden

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 ca

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 ru

“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 ca

“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.