West of Eden

were wide, her shivering motions expressing worry and fear at his strange actions.
    West of Eden - Harry Harrison
    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 West of Eden - Harry Harrison
    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 cannot do that."
    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