Free West of Eden by Harry Harrison Page B

and what lay beneath it. Not until they were back among the familiar mountains would he feel safe.
    Although he worked them until they ran with sweat, it still took the entire day to break camp. He shouted at the women and beat the youths when they slowed down. It was no easy thing to leave a summer camp.
    Scattered goods had to be brought together and packed, the tentacles of hardalt from the drying racks loaded into baskets as well. Nor were there enough baskets for all the hardalt and there was wailing and complaining when he ordered that some of the catch be left behind. There was not even time to mourn the dead; that would come later. Now they must leave.
    The sun was dropping behind the hills before they were ready. They would have to travel by night, but they had done that before. The skies were clear, the new moon just a crescent of light, the tharms of warriors were bright above and would guide them on their way. There was much trumpeting and waving of trunks as the mastodons, long unharnessed, bellowed their protests. Yet they permitted the boys to climb up to their backs, and watched with rolling eyes as the great poles were lashed into place. Two to each beast, trailing behind on both sides, making a frame to which the crosspieces were tied, then the tents and stores were loaded on top.
    Kerrick sat on the neck of the great bull, Karu, tired as they all were, but still pleased that the sammad was leaving. He wanted to be away from the ocean as soon as it was possible. He was afraid of the sea and of the creatures in it. Out of the entire sammad he was the only one who had seen the arms rise from the sea to pull Hastila down. Dark arms in the ocean, dark forms in the sea.
    He looked out at the sea and his screams, over and over again, cut through the voices, silencing them, drawing every eye to the ocean where he pointed and screamed and pointed again.
    West of Eden - Harry Harrison
    Out of the evening darkness even darker forms were emerging. Low, black boats that had no oars yet moved more swiftly than any Tanu boat, rushing forward in a line as straight as a breaking wave. Nor did they stop until they were in the surf and rasping on the shore. From them came the murgu, clearly seen despite the failing light.
    Ogatyr was close to the water when they landed, could see them clearly. He knew them for what they were.
    "The ones we killed, on the beach…"
    The nearest marag raised the length of stick and squeezed with both hands. It made a loud crack and pain struck Ogatyr's chest and he fell.
    Other sticks were cracking now and above the sound were the human cries of pain and terror.
    "They flee!" Vaintè shouted, waving the attackers forward. "After them. None shall escape."
    She had been the first ashore, had fired the first hèsotsan, had killed the first ustuzou. Now she wanted to kill more.
    It was not a battle but a massacre. The Yilanè butchered all the living creatures indiscriminately: men, women, children, animals. Their casualties were few. The hunters had no time to find their bows. They had their spears, but while a thrown spear could wound or kill, most of the hunters held their spears as they rushed in and were shot down before they could use them.
    All that the Tanu could do was flee—followed by the killers from the sea. Frightened women and children ran past Karu and the mastodon raised his head high, trumpeting in fear as well. Kerrick seized handfuls of the beast's thick hair so he wouldn't be hurled off, then climbed down the wooden shaft to the ground, running to grab up his spear. A strong hand seized his shoulder and spun him about.
    "Run!" his father ordered. "Escape to the hills!"
    Amahast turned about swiftly as the first of the murgu came around the bulk of the mastodon, jumping over the wooden pole. Before it could aim its weapon Amahast pierced it through with his spear, wrenched it free.
    Vaintè saw the murdered fargi fall and was shaken by the need for vengeance. The blood-dripping