Winter in Eden e-2

by Harry Harrison

  “What more can be added to these terrors?” Lanefenuu asked, speaking for the first time.

  “Two things. It is important that I tell you in private of others who left the city, are even now on the shores of Entoban*. This is a most serious yet completely separate matter.”

  “And the second item of importance?”

  “Relevant!” She spoke this loudly with modifiers of great urgency, strength and utmost certainty. “Relevant to all that I have told you. Now I know how to defend a city against the fire. Now I know how to destroy ustuzou in great numbers. Now I know what was done wrong by those who died that we could have that knowledge. Now I know that Yilanè are destined for Gendasi, the empty lands across the sea. This is a thing that must happen. Not since the egg of time have such cold winds blown as th6se that are blowing now, destroying Yilanè cities to the north of us. No one knows where this will stop. There is Eregtpe, with dead leaves the only thing stirring in the streets. There is Soromset with Yilanè bones white in the white dust. There is my city of Inegban that would have died in Entoban* but went instead to Gendasi to live. And now I feel the cold winds blowing through sea-girt Ikhalmenets and I fear for all here. Will the cold come here? That I do not know. But I do know this, strong Lanefenuu. If it does and Ikhalmenets is to live, it must live in Gendasi for there is no other place to go.”

  Lanefenuu looked for some sign of weakness or doubt in Vaintè’s words or stance — but there were none.

  “Can this be done, Vaintè?” Lanefenuu asked.

  “It can be done.”

  “When the cold winds come to Ikhalmenets, can Ikhalmenets go to Gendasi?”

  “The warm world there awaits them. You will take Ikhalmenets there, Lanefenuu, for I see that you have the strength. I ask only to aid you. When we are there I ask only to be permitted to kill the ustuzou that are killing us. Let me serve you.”

  Vaintè and Ukhereb turned away as politeness dictated when Lanefenuu dropped into the immobility of deep thought. But each kept one eye to the rear awaiting any movements she might make. It took a very long time for there was much for Lanefenuu to consider. The clouds opened and the sun moved across the sky, yet all three remained as immobile as though carved of stone, as only Yilanè can.

  When Lanefenuu finally stirred they faced her and waited attentively.

  “There is a decision here that must be made. But it is too important a decision to be made at once. Ukhereb must first tell me more of what the scientists in the north tell her. Vaintè must tell me of this other matter that cannot be spoken of in public. Does it relate to warm Gendasi?”

  “Indirectly it could have the greatest bearing upon it.”

  “Attend me then and we will talk.”

  Lanefenuu walked slowly, the gravity of the decisions that must be made weighing her down. Her sleeping chamber was small and dark and had been designed to be more like the interior of an uruketo. than a room in a city. The light came from phosphorescent patches and there was a round, transparent port in one wall that looked out onto a cunningly lit design of a seascape. Lanefenuu seized up a water-fruit and half drained it, then settled back onto her resting board. There were two other boards for visitors, one against the rear wall, one near the entrance. Lanefenuu signed Vaintè to use the one at the entrance.

  “Speak,” Lanefenuu ordered.

  “I shall. I shall speak of the Daughters of Death. Do you know of them?”

  Lanefenuu’s great sigh was not one of despair but of unhappy awareness. “I know of them. And from what Erafnais told me, I was sure they were her other passengers. And they are now free to spread the poison of their thoughts in warm Yebèisk. What are your feelings about these creatures?”

  This simple question opened the well of hatred that Vaintè kept sealed within her, let loose the flood. She could not stop it or control it. Her body and her limbs writhed with all the shapes of disgust and loathing, while only inarticulate sounds emerged from her throat as her teeth ground together with enfoamed rage. It took long moments to get her body back under control and only when it was still and motionless again did she dare to speak.

  “I find it hard to express my hatred of these creatures in any rational manner. I feel shame at my display of uncontrolled rage. But they are the reason I am here. I have come to tell you of their perversions, to warn you of their danger if you did not know already, to ask you if they and their mind-venom have reached sea-girt Ikhalmenets yet.”

  “They have — and then they haven’t.” Although Lanefenuu sat solid and firm, there was more than a suggestion of dissolution and death in the way she spoke. “I learned of these creatures long ago. I determined then that their sickness would not spread here. Ikhalmenets is called sea-girt with a reason, for our young are born here and stay here and no fargi come from other cities. Our uruketo are our only contact with the world. And what they bring here I know of at once. Some of these Daughters of Death have come and have been returned without touching a foot on land. This can be done with those of no rank.”

  “Yet a Yilanè goes where a Yilanè goes,” Vaintè said, wondering, for free passage was like the air one breathed, the water one swam in, and she could consider no other possibility.

  “That is true,” Lanefenuu said, speaking with immense difficulty for some strong emotion had locked her muscles. “When I first saw you, Vaintè, I sensed one who felt as I did, who trod the same path. What you have told me has only deepened that feeling. I see a future shared, so I now tell you what no others know. Yes, Yilanè have come to sea-girt Ikhalmenets, and among them were those who spoke well of the Daughters of Death. All those whom I suspected might be capable of subversion I have had brought to me here in this chamber and they have talked to me and I have listened.”

  Lanefenuu paused for a long time, her eyes peering inward, backward in time, seeing events long past that only she knew of.

  “Those who were determined to speak their subversion, despite my requests for them to leave Ikhalmenets, these and only these, I have dealt with here. After we talked I instructed them to be seated, just as I instructed you. But on that other board. If you examine it in the light you will see a shining area in the middle. A living creature that contains one of the glands from the hèsotsan. Do you understand what I am saying? They never left this chamber, Vaintè. Do you know what that means? They are all in there,” she gestured toward a small door in the wall. “They nurture the roots of this city with their bodies, not their ideas, and that is as it should be.”

  When the import of what Lanefenuu had said penetrated Vaintè’s numbed senses she dropped forward in the position of lowest to highest, then spoke with this same relationship.

  “Let me serve you, Lanefenuu, for all my days. For you have the strength that has been denied me, the strength to act as you know best, irrespective of what others may think, the strength to pit yourself against the custom of ages in the defense of your city. I will be your fargi and obey your commands and will serve you always.”

  Lanefenuu reached down and touched her thumbs lightly to Vaintè’s crest, in the gesture that means shared happiness. When she spoke there were overtones of burdens cast down in what she said.

  “Serve me, strong Vaintè, as I will serve you. We have the same journey to make — it is just that we have taken different paths. But I see that our paths have now been joined. We will journey on together now. Neither ustuzou nor Daughters of Death will prevail before us. All will be swept away. Tomorrow’s tomorrow will be as yesterday’s yesterday — with no memory of these unspeakable creatures in between.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Uveigil as nep, as rath at stakkiz — markiz fallar ey to marni.

  No matter how long and hot the summer — winter always awaits at its end.

  Marbak original

  Winter had come again to Deifoben. The rains were heavy this year and a north wind that whistled through the branches of the trees sent dead leaves tumbling before it. This morning Kerrick had been woken in the
darkness by the drumming of the rain on the translucent coverings above. He had not fallen asleep again. At the first grayness of dawn he had taken his hèsotsan and fed it, pushing into its tiny mouth the fragments of meat that he had saved from his evening meal the night before. The weapon was at his side most of the time now. He had issued firm orders that anyone going out of the confines of the city must be armed. There were no exceptions — himself included. When it had fed he went out, walking as he did almost every day now, along the paths that led between the fields to the north of the city, to the last grove where the nenitesk tore at the leaves, loudly crunching great mouthfuls. The clinging vines that the Yilanè had planted to block the path still stretched from side to side and he stepped over them carefully. But the poison thorn bushes had been cleared away since they were there to trap humans, not animals. He kept his weapon ready, wary of the many predators that prowled the city’s fringes. Looking and listening carefully. But he was alone, the path to the north was open.

  And empty. Kerrick stood there, unaware of the rain that soaked his long hair and beard, dripped from the large and the small metal knives that hung from the collar about his neck, ran in runnels down his skins. Empty. He came here most mornings: this was the worst time. Later when the day’s work involved him he would forget for awhile. Not now, not when he first awoke. Perhaps Herilak would return and bring Armun back, or there would be a hunter with some word of her. Yet he knew, even before he came here that this hope was an empty one. He should have gone himself in the spring, gone north to bring her back. Now it was too late and spring was far away. What made this city so important that he had stayed when all of the others had returned? He was still not sure. But it had been done and could not be undone. He would go after her in the spring and nothing would prevent him this time.

  When he turned away the path was just as empty as it had been when he first came.

  The rain was easing up and patches of blue sky were breaking through above. There were problems awaiting him in the city, decisions to be made. He did not want to face them, to talk to anyone, not yet. The ocean was not far, he could hear the muted thunder of the surf even here: there would be no one on the shore. He would go along the beach and back to the city that way.

  Sun broke through as he emerged from under the trees, shining on the clean sand and the white-capped surf. Alpèasak, the beautiful beaches, the words sprang unbidden to his mind, his right arm and chin-moved at the same time, unknown to him, with the correct modifiers. Head down he scuffed through the sand, the beauty of the beach meaning nothing. The world was a very empty place.

  The docks had been overgrown by scrub, unused for over a year, one of the many changes in the city now that the Yilanè were gone and the Tanu had taken their place. He climbed over a litter of windblown branches and up onto the dock. The guard should be close by. The one thing that he and Sanone agreed upon was that watch should be kept from before dawn until after dark at the sea approaches to the city. The enemy had been driven away; that did not mean that they would never return. There was the guard, sitting with his back against a tree. Kerrick did not want to talk to him so he started toward the track to the city. The Sasku did not move, sat slumped, took no notice of him.

  In sudden fear Kerrick stopped, fell to the ground, looked around him hèsotsan ready. Nothing moved. A bird called out: there were no other sounds. On elbows and knees he crept forward under cover of the brush until he could see the hunter clearly. Slumped down, eyes closed, his fingers resting lightly on his spear. Asleep.

  Kerrick stood up, smiled at his own irrational unease, walked forward and started to call out.

  Then saw the dart in the side of the hunter’s neck and knew that all of his worse fears had been realized.

  The Yilanè had returned!

  He dropped back under cover, looking around wildly. Where were they, where had they gone? Before panic took over he forced himself to think, not react. The Yilanè were here, that was certain. This was no accident — or possible murder by another hunter. They all made their own darts now, took patient care with their construction so they would be more accurate in flight. Yet the one before him that had killed the guard, this one had been grown on a bush. Picked by a fargi — and fired by a Yilanè. They had come from the sea. But how many? He had to give the warning. Where were the nearest Sasku working? As warily as he could he hurried toward the center of the city, making a swing away from the most direct route.

  There were voices ahead — speaking Sasku! He ran toward them, ready to call out when he saw the two warriors among the orange trees. There was a sharp cracking sound and one of them stumbled and fell. The other turned about, startled, kept turning and fell on top of the first hunter.

  The words caught in Kerrick’s throat and he hurled himself to the ground, dropping behind the trunk of a tree, seeing the two Sasku dead before him. Dried leaves crackled in the small grove while he lay motionless, not breathing, staring at the dark form that slowly emerged into the sunlight.

  A Yilanè!

  She stopped, motionless, just her eyes moving, looking about but not seeing him. Her arms were half-lowered in the gesture of fear, the hèsotsan pointed at the ground. She was young, just a fargi he realized. But there would be others with her. He was right, for a moment later he heard an irritated voice say Forward. The fargi writhed with fear and indecision and finally moved. Two others emerged from cover behind her, showing the same overriding fear as the first. Then a fourth figure became visible in the shadows, erect and commanding, familiar. Stepping forward into the light.

  Vaintè.

  Kerrick shook with the wave of fierce sensations that swept over him. Hatred and loathing — and something else, he couldn’t tell what it was, did not want to know. Vaintè had returned, there were invading forces, he had to give the warning.

  He had to kill her, that was all that he knew. Once before he had plunged a spear into her and she had lived. Now, a single bite from his dart, an invisible drop of poison on its tip — and instant death. Yes!

  Raise the weapon slowly, sight along it, a touch of moving air on his cheek, allow for it, she was turning toward him, how well he knew that face…

  Squeeze…

  The weapon cracked loudly in his hand just as one of the fargi stepped forward. To receive the dart in her flesh, stumble and fall.

  “You!” Vaintè said, staring at his face, hatred coloring the word, rippling her flesh with its strength.

  Without conscious thought Kerrick fired again — but she was gone. The two remaining fargi turned to follow her. His weapon snapped again and one of them dropped. Loud footsteps crashed away through the trees.

  They were running, fleeing. It was not the invasion then, perhaps only a scouting party.

  “They are here!” he shouted as loudly as he could, then howled the Tanu war cry. Then shouted in Yilanè “Kill, kill, kill — Vaintè, Vaintè, Vaintè!” in the hope that she would get the meaning.

  There were shouts in the distance and he called out the warning again. Then ran, suddenly heedless of all danger, following the receding footsteps. Crashed after them, panting, wanting to kill some more. Came out of the trees and saw the two figures on the dockside ahead hurling themselves from it into the water.

  Kerrick stood on the scarred wood and fired at the two heads moving away from him in the sea, over and over until the depleted hèsotsan writhed feebly in his grip. His darts had missed; the two swimmers were well out of range. Moving toward the black object far out in the harbor.

  The fin of an uruketo, waiting there for them.

  Only then did Kerrick realize how he was shaking. He lowered the weapon and watched the heads grow smaller until they were lost in the waves. Vaintè here, and he could have killed her. There was the sound of hurrying feet behind him and two hunters ran up.

  “We saw them, two murgu, dead, they killed Keridamas and Simmacho; what is happening?”

  Kerrick pointed, still trembling. “There, the murgu, they
are still alive. They have one of their boat-beasts out there. They came to see the city; they know that we are here now.”

  “Will they be back?”

  “Of course they will be back!” Kerrick screamed, his lips drawn back from his teeth. “She is with them, the leader, the one who keeps alive the battle against us, who wants to kill us all. As long as she is out there — they’ll be back.”

  The hunters stepped away from Kerrick and eyed him uneasily. “This is a thing that Sanone must be told about,” Meskawino said. “We must run and tell him.”

  They started away and Kerrick had to call after them. “One can carry the news. You, Meskawino, stay here.”

  Meskawino hesitated, then obeyed since Kerrick ordered things in the city. Sanone was their mandukto whom the Sasku still looked to for leadership, but he had instructed them to obey Kerrick at all times. Meskawino gripped his mattock and looked around apprehensively. Kerrick saw this and struggled to get himself under control. The time for blind anger was past. He must think coldly now, like a Yilanè, think for all of them. He reached out and touched the hunter’s trembling arm.