towards the ocean again to work his way up behind the hunter. It was hot, wet work—and to little avail, for when he finally reached the top of the ridge again Hastila was already there waiting for him.
"You must look carefully each time before you put your foot down," the hunter said. "Then roll it forward and do not stamp. Part the grass and do not force your way through it. Now we try again."
There was little beach here and Hastila went down to the water's edge and splashed his spear into the sea to wash away any remaining trace of the marag's blood. Kerrick once more pushed his way up the slope, stopping for breath on the top. "This time you won't hear me," he called out, shaking his spear in defiance at the big man.
Hastila waved back and leaned forward on his spear.
Something dark surged out of the surf behind him. Kerrick called out a horrified warning and Hastila spun about, spear ready. There was a snapping sound, like the breaking of a stout branch. The hunter dropped his spear and clutched at his midriff and fell face first into the water. Wet arms pulled him under and he vanished among the foam-flecked waves.
Kerrick screamed as he ran back to the encampment, met the others running towards him. He choked out what he had seen as he led them back along the beach, to the spot where the terrifying event had taken place.
The sands were empty, the ocean as well. Amahast bent and picked the hunter's long spear out of the surf, then looked out to sea again.
"You could not see what it looked like?"
"Just the thing's legs, the arms," he said through his chattering teeth. "They reached up out of the sea."
"Their color?"
"I couldn't see. Wet, green perhaps. Could they have been green, father?"
"They could have been anything," Amahast said grimly.
West of Eden - Harry Harrison
"There are murgu of all kinds here. We will stay together now, one will be awake always while the others sleep. As soon as we can we return to the sammad. There is only death in these southern waters."
CHAPTER SIX
Alaktenkèalaktèkan olkeset esetakolesnta* tsuntesnalak tsuntensilak satasat.
What happens now, and next to now, is of no importance as long as tomorrow's-tomorrow is the same as yesterday's-yesterday.
The storm had passed and the rain had stopped; the ground was steaming now in the heat of the fierce sunlight. Vaintè stood in the shade of the dead tree and looked on as the workers carefully planted the seedlings in neat rows. Vanalpè herself had marked the rows in the ground that the others were to follow.
She came up to Vaintè now, moving slowly with her mouth gaping wide in the heat, to stand at her side in the shade.
"Are the seedlings dangerous to handle?" Vaintè asked. Vanalpè, still breathing heavily, signaled a negative.
"Only when the thorns begin to grow, and that is only after eighty days. Some of the animals will still graze them then, but not after the thorns begin to exude the toxins. The taste is bitter to the ruminants, deadly to anything smaller."
"Is this one of your new modifications?" Vaintè asked, moving out into the sun.
"Yes. It was developed in Inegban* so we could bring the seed with us. We are so familiar with the thorn hedges around the city fields, always far higher than our heads, that we might forget that they have not been there since the egg of time. They were planted once, were small before they grew large and spread.
Now the young branches grow over the old to make an impenetrable barrier. But a new hedge in a new city asks for a new answer." She was speaking easier now with her mouth no longer gaping. Cool enough to move until part of her body was in the sun. "This new hedge I have developed is fast growing, short lived—and toxic. But before it dies we will have seeded the usual thorn hedge to grow and eventually take its place."
"And the trees?" Vaintè asked, looking in the direction of the leafless dead trees that stood gauntly about the new field.
"They are already being
"You must look carefully each time before you put your foot down," the hunter said. "Then roll it forward and do not stamp. Part the grass and do not force your way through it. Now we try again."
There was little beach here and Hastila went down to the water's edge and splashed his spear into the sea to wash away any remaining trace of the marag's blood. Kerrick once more pushed his way up the slope, stopping for breath on the top. "This time you won't hear me," he called out, shaking his spear in defiance at the big man.
Hastila waved back and leaned forward on his spear.
Something dark surged out of the surf behind him. Kerrick called out a horrified warning and Hastila spun about, spear ready. There was a snapping sound, like the breaking of a stout branch. The hunter dropped his spear and clutched at his midriff and fell face first into the water. Wet arms pulled him under and he vanished among the foam-flecked waves.
Kerrick screamed as he ran back to the encampment, met the others running towards him. He choked out what he had seen as he led them back along the beach, to the spot where the terrifying event had taken place.
The sands were empty, the ocean as well. Amahast bent and picked the hunter's long spear out of the surf, then looked out to sea again.
"You could not see what it looked like?"
"Just the thing's legs, the arms," he said through his chattering teeth. "They reached up out of the sea."
"Their color?"
"I couldn't see. Wet, green perhaps. Could they have been green, father?"
"They could have been anything," Amahast said grimly.
West of Eden - Harry Harrison
"There are murgu of all kinds here. We will stay together now, one will be awake always while the others sleep. As soon as we can we return to the sammad. There is only death in these southern waters."
CHAPTER SIX
Alaktenkèalaktèkan olkeset esetakolesnta* tsuntesnalak tsuntensilak satasat.
What happens now, and next to now, is of no importance as long as tomorrow's-tomorrow is the same as yesterday's-yesterday.
The storm had passed and the rain had stopped; the ground was steaming now in the heat of the fierce sunlight. Vaintè stood in the shade of the dead tree and looked on as the workers carefully planted the seedlings in neat rows. Vanalpè herself had marked the rows in the ground that the others were to follow.
She came up to Vaintè now, moving slowly with her mouth gaping wide in the heat, to stand at her side in the shade.
"Are the seedlings dangerous to handle?" Vaintè asked. Vanalpè, still breathing heavily, signaled a negative.
"Only when the thorns begin to grow, and that is only after eighty days. Some of the animals will still graze them then, but not after the thorns begin to exude the toxins. The taste is bitter to the ruminants, deadly to anything smaller."
"Is this one of your new modifications?" Vaintè asked, moving out into the sun.
"Yes. It was developed in Inegban* so we could bring the seed with us. We are so familiar with the thorn hedges around the city fields, always far higher than our heads, that we might forget that they have not been there since the egg of time. They were planted once, were small before they grew large and spread.
Now the young branches grow over the old to make an impenetrable barrier. But a new hedge in a new city asks for a new answer." She was speaking easier now with her mouth no longer gaping. Cool enough to move until part of her body was in the sun. "This new hedge I have developed is fast growing, short lived—and toxic. But before it dies we will have seeded the usual thorn hedge to grow and eventually take its place."
"And the trees?" Vaintè asked, looking in the direction of the leafless dead trees that stood gauntly about the new field.
"They are already being
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