West of Eden. Book two. Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
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, running until Inlènu* could run no more, and when she had staggered to a halt Herilak had fallen as well. While they had been running Kerrick’s panic had slowly ebbed away—but had been replaced by a heart-stopping fear.
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.
He could not return. Not after what he had done. The past was dead. He was an exile now, a Yilanè among ustuzou. More alone than he had ever been before. The voice cut across his thoughts and it was long moments before he could understand the words.
“You did it well, Kerrick, a good clean thrust. Killed the one in command.”
Kerrick’s voice was numb with loss. “More than just the one in command. Leader, head of the city, sammadar of the city.”
“Even better.”
“Better? Her death will bring about my death!”
“Her? That ugly marag was female? It’s hard to believe.”
“They are all female. The males are kept locked away.”
Herilak struggled up onto his elbows and looked coldly at Inlènu*. “That one too, a female?” he asked.
“All of them.”
“Give me the spear. Then there will be one less.”
“No!” Kerrick pulled the spear back before Herilak’s groping fingers could find it. “Not Inlènu*. She’s harmless, as much a prisoner as I am. You’ll not kill her.”
“Why not? Was it not her kind cut down my sammad, killed them all, every one? Give me the spear. I’ll kill her and then you will be free. How far do you think you will be able to go bound to her like that?”
“You will not harm her, do you understand?” Kerrick was surprised at the warmth of his feeling towards Inlènu*. She had meant nothing to him before this. He had been aware of her only as a hindrance to his movements. But now her presence was somehow reassuring.
“If you won’t kill her then use the edge of the spearhead. Cut yourself loose from the thing.”
“This lead cannot be cut. See, the stone edge won’t even scratch it.” He sawed at the smooth, hard surface to no effect. “Some of your sammad escaped.” Talk of this might make Herilak forget Inlènu* for the moment. “I was told this. I was also told that they were being followed.”