Winter in Eden e-2

by Harry Harrison

  The wind was freshening from the east, sending thick rain clouds hurtling before it. Soon the first drops splattered down, grew heavier and heavier. He no longer ran, but head lowered against the storm, trudged slowly through the sand. The boats were still there, just outside the surf, he checked often. It was midday when he stopped to rest and eat some of the meat. The feelings of despair seeped back when he stopped moving. What was the point of it — what was he accomplishing? The boats were there, in the sea, and nothing he might do could effect them in any way. Was there any point to this futile pursuit?

  This time when he raised his head carefully over the crest of the dune he saw that the boats had stopped, were being joined by others who had been fishing on the far side of the narrow channel that separated the beach from the sandy islets beyond. He could see the nets being hauled in, the catch being shared out to the new arrivals. So it was not an attacking force — they were just fishing boats after all. The sea was far rougher now as the wind gathered force; a tropical storm was building. The Yilanè in the boats must have been aware of this as well because on some unheard command they all turned and moved back toward the harbor and the city.

  Kerrick climbed to his feet and watched them leave, slowly vanishing from sight in the driving sheets of rain. He was soaked through himself, his hair and beard plastered across his face, but it was a warm rain and he scarcely noticed it. The hèsotsan he was holding stirred feebly as it felt the water, opening its tiny mouth to suck at a rivulet. Kerrick turned his face to the rain too, drinking it in. Enough. He would leave now. Was there anything else he could do? He could think of nothing.

  There were dark forms in the water where the boats had been, leaping high and splashing back into the sea. The waves were much higher now, breaking across the islets on the other side of the channel. These were really just large sand bars, the waves now washing right over them and surging far up on the beach. These were enteesenat; he recognized them, he had watched them playing about the uruketo often enough. They never ventured out alone — there must be an uruketo near by — yes there it was. Moving solidly along in their wake, waves breaking across its back, surging about its fin. It was going slowly, having trouble in fighting the growing seas. There was no room for the creature to turn, the waves were hitting it broadside, and there was no escape to the open ocean.

  The boats were now out of sight, Kerrick and the enteesenat the only witnesses of the disaster. The uruketo was thrashing its mighty tail — but it was not moving. It was aground. The waves were still higher, breaking over the creature, rolling it up onto the sand. Their force sent it over on its side, dipping the high dorsal fin into the water. There were Yilanè there, holding on, being washed away: a flood of dark water entered the opening on the top. Then the backsurge of the waves straightened it up again and he saw the round, empty eye of the creature well above the water.

  It was beached, injured, half out of the water. The enteesenat were hurrying back and forth just outside the breaking waves, still leaping high in their consternation. They were strong swimmers, they were safe; it was their charge the uruketo that was lost.

  The next time a large wave hit the great dumb beast it was rolled still further over on its side, its fin flat in the water. Nor could it recover. One great flipper stuck straight up, beating feebly, sporadically. Kerrick could see the water surging in and out of the open dorsal fin. When the water drained back down the beach the crew began to emerge. They were battered, dragging themselves out desperately before the next wave washed over them. One of them was just emerging, dragging one of her companions, when the wave hit. They both disappeared in the breaking wall of water. When it rushed on, far up the beach, they had vanished.

  Though the uruketo was doomed, the flailing fin now motionless, the crewmembers were still struggling. The waves were not breaking with the same terrible strength, the tide was on the way out and the wind was dying. Kerrick could see one of them, probably the commander, standing waist-deep in the streaming water, directing the survivors. They emerged from the gaping fin with bundles, dragged them up onto the beach, then went back for more. They did not salvage very much for the opening in the top of the fin was collapsing; they had to drag the last crewmember free.

  There were only five survivors who dropped down wearily next to the little that had been salvaged. Four of them had collapsed onto the sand, but the other one stood stiffly, staring as they all were at the dying creature in the waves.

  Hèsotsan held ready Kerrick walked slowly toward them. Why not? None of them were armed, they were battered by the sea, would offer no resistance. But they were still able to talk. They would have to speak to him, tell him what had happened in the city. He could hear the blood pounding loudly in his ears as he approached them. Now he would know.

  He could see them clearly as he came close, noted the way the one who was standing was bent forward. A familiar stance. Of course!

  “Erafnais, he called out, and when the commander turned to stare at him in undisguised astonishment he smiled wryly. “You must remember me, commander. How many other ustuzou have you ever talked to?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Erafnais looked at the tall form standing before her, befuddled, shocked. Her head was tired, heavy. She swept the transparent membranes over her eyes to clear away the last of the salt water. “Kerrick?” she said numbly.

  “The same.”

  The crew turned at the sound of voices, registering confusion and concern. “Give them orders,” Kerrick said, using the forms of she-who-is-highest to those-who-are-lowest. “Tell them to do nothing, to obey you. If they do this they will not be hurt. Do you understand?”

  Erafnais seemed numbed and incapable of comprehending what was being said to her. They all were like that, Kerrick realized. Erafnais pointed at the dead, or dying, beast and spoke slowly with fargi-like simplicity.

  “My first command. I was there soon after it was born, fed it fresh caught fish with my own hand. That is what a commander must do. They have some intelligence, not much, but it is there. It knew me. I helped with the training, doing what the instructors taught me. I know the creature is old, fifty-five, almost fifty-six, they don’t live much longer than that, but it was still strong. We should have been at sea, this never would have happened, not in this restricted channel with a storm on its way. But those were the orders.” She turned a hopeless look of despair upon Kerrick. “You sailed in her, I remember. We had a good crossing, rode out a storm, never a problem.

  The crewmembers were on their feet now, listening as he was, for they had lived aboard the uruketo, too. It was their home, their world. One of the crewmembers dropped to the sand again; the movement drew Kerrick’s attention. No, she wasn’t sitting, she was taking something from among the bladders and containers on the beach.

  “Get away from there,” Kerrick ordered, modifiers of urgency and immense danger. She did not listen, was reaching down, sitting up now — with a hèsotsan.

  Kerrick shouted and fired, saw the dart strike one of the containers. The opening of the other weapon swung toward him and he dived to the sand, scrambling into a dip, hearing the other fire. Raising his own weapon to fire again.

  More successfully this time. The dart struck her in the chest and she fell face down in the sand. Kerrick ran forward, before the other crewmembers could react, grabbing up the other hèsotsan with his free hand, spinning about and pointing his own at the crew.

  It had taken only instants — yet everything had changed. Another of the Yilanè was huddled on her side, dead. The dart that had missed him had found her instead. Kerrick pointed at Erafnais and the other two survivors.

  “I warned you, ordered you to stop them. This need not have happened. Now all of you, move back away from these things. Two are dead. That is enough.”

  “Eight others dead in the uruketo,” Erafnais said, speaking so softly he could barely hear the sounds, her limbs scarcely moving with the qualifiers.

  “Tell me of the
city,” Kerrick said, loudly, urgency-of-speech in his sharp movements. “What has happened there? Tell me of Alplèasak.”

  “You were not there?” Erafnais asked as the meaning of his words finally penetrated.

  Kerrick signed a quick negative, glancing quickly at the crewmembers, then back at the commander. “I was very distant. I have just returned. What happened?”

  “Vaintè said there would be no battle, but she was wrong. The eistaa listened, helped her, for the winter winds are blowing toward Ikhalmenets and she wanted to believe. Vaintè told her of this city, sought her aid, came here, promised no battle. The seeds were spread, the ustuzou were to die, then Alpèasak would be Yilanè once again. But they attacked our island base from the sea, the ustuzou, and were beaten off. I carried Vaintè in this uruketo, so I know, at first she was gorgeous in her victory, then when she discovered that it was a ruse her anger was so great fargi died about her.”

  “ Ruse , what ruse?” Kerrick pleaded, movements of explanation, greater clarity requested.

  “Only a small force attacked the island. It is believed that all of them died. But while this was happening, all of the others in the city escaped, fled, could be traced, not caught. And it does not end.” Erafnais turned to face Kerrick, drawing herself up as straight as she could with her twisted back, spoke with feeling.

  “Why does she do it, Kerrick ustuzou? You know her. What hatred drives her? The city is Yilanè again, that is why we came here, why so many died. Yet she talks to the eistaa, has convinced her that the ustuzou will return, talked to her on the fin of my uruketo, so I know. And the eistaa agreed with her and they plan to follow and attack. And more Yilanè will die.”

  “Ustuzou will die as well, Erafnais,” Kerrick said, lowering the hèsotsan. “It is not my wish either that this go on.”

  Erafnais seemed to have forgotten his presence. She was looking out to sea, past the dead bulk of the uruketo. “The enteesenat are upset — see how they jump high. But they are intelligent creatures and will not stay here. They will return to the harbor, they can be trained to follow and feed another uruketo. We must go too. We must report what has happened…”

  “No,” Kerrick said, pointing the weapon again. “You cannot do that. You cannot tell Vaintè of my existence. And you will have to tell her, won’t you?”

  Erafnais signed agreement and lack of understanding. “When we report what happened your presence will be noted.”

  “I know. Even if you could lie you would not.”

  “The expression ‘lie’, I do not know it. Clarification requested.”

  “It is a term that Vaintè invented to describe a certain ustuzou concept unknown to Yilanè. It is not relevant. What is relevant is that I cannot permit your return. She would be after me, the birds would fly, we would be found. I suppose the males would live — but not for long. I know how they would pay for their attempt at freedom. The beaches, as many times as was needed. I am sorry, you cannot return.”

  “We will take my charts,” Erafnais said, picking them up. “They should not be left here. The rest can remain; others will come and retrieve anything of value…”

  “Stop!” Kerrick ordered. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking my charts,” Erafnais said, her arms full so that her meaning was muffled. “They are very singular and precious.”

  “Where do you think you are taking them?”

  “To Alpèasak.”

  “You cannot.” The hèsotsan was leveled. “You have been a friend, have never injured me. But the lives of others come first. If you attempt to leave you will be shot. Is that clear?”

  “But my uruketo is dead. There is just the city now.”

  “No.”

  Kerrick spun about at the sharp cry. One of the crew-members was running down the beach. He aimed and fired and she fell. He turned quickly toward the other in case she should try to flee as well. But he was too late for she had already escaped — fled from him and from life itself. She lay on her side on the sand, her mouth gaping open, her eyes already glazing.

  “You understand,” Erafnais said. “The uruketo is dead. She would have been all right if she could have returned to the city. But you have stopped her — so she dies as though she had been rejected by the eistaa.” She turned her troubled eyes to Kerrick. “Nor shall I command ever again.”

  “No!” Kerrick cried out, “don’t.”

  Erafnais turned away from him and sat down heavily. He ran to her side, he did not want her to die, as well, but she toppled over onto the wet sand before he reached her. He looked down at her, turned and saw the other dead and dying Yilanè, felt their loss. He had not wanted them to die — yet there was no way he could have prevented it. It was just waste, terrible waste.

  Out to sea the enteesenat were moving off, swimming swiftly toward the city. They knew the uruketo was dead, knew that there was nothing for them here.

  Kerrick watched the enteesenat leave — and realized that there was danger. When they returned alone there would be alarm, for it was unknown for them to ever abandon their uruketo. A search would be made, boats would be sent out, possibly another uruketo would come this way. He looked up at the sky. There was still daylight, they might even be here before dark. Panic started to rise and he forced it down. He must plan, there was no urgency, he had the rest of the day, all the time he needed. First and most obvious — he must leave no traces of his presence here, none at all.

  With this thought he turned and looked back up the beach, at the clear line of his footprints stretching down from the dunes. The rain was lighter now, it might wash them away, but he could not be sure. He laid the hèsotsan aside and walked carefully back in his own tracks to the place where they emerged from the coarse grass. Far enough. Then he bent over, moving backward, and smoothed the tracks with his hands as he went. The rain would obscure these signs quickly enough.

  Now the dead. He plucked the darts from the two bodies and buried the deadly missiles in the sand. Then, one by one, he dragged the heavy Yilanè corpses down to the water’s edge and out into the surging waves. Erafnais was the last and her grip, even in death, was strong; he had to pry her clasped thumbs open before he could free the charts, drop them onto the sand.

  He poked through the salvaged bundles but there was nothing that he could use. Food and water, better to leave it. He would take the other hèsotsan, of course. He laid it beside his, then dragged the supplies into the ocean to join the bodies there. They might be washed ashore now, it didn’t matter. He would smooth out all the marks on the sand, then walk north in the water’s edge. As long as his presence was not suspected it would appear to be only a natural tragedy. The uruketo beached in a storm, its crew drowned trying to salvage what they could. All signs of his presence had to be destroyed.

  What about the charts? He was about to throw them into the ocean as well — then changed his mind. Could the charts tell him anything about the new eistaa? All the Yilanè were from Ikhalmenets, that is what Erafnais had said. He remembered the name but did not know where the city was. Not that it made any difference: it just seemed wrong to discard them without an examination — and there was no time now. He would take them, along with the weapons. He stood up to his knees in the surf taking a long last look at the sand. It would do. He moved deeper into the bubbling waves and walked north. Walked with a lighter step as memory came flooding back. He had been so busy on the beach that he had forgotten for the moment.

  They were alive! Some had escaped before the city fell, that is what Erafnais had said, perhaps most of them. They would have gone back to the valley of the Sasku, all of the survivors, and the Tanu would have gone with them. Vaintè had sworn to follow, had not done it yet. They were still alive.

  It rained again during the night but stopped soon after dawn. Kerrick wanted to go faster but it was too hot and damp here under the trees. The sun was out, bright fingers of light piercing the green canopy above, but water still dripped from the leaves. The moss and grass und
erfoot made it easy to walk quietly as long as he took care. His hèsotsan was ready in his hands, the other one slung across his back with the maps, for there were predators here. Game as well, though he did not want to take the time to hunt. He wanted to return to the camping place by the lake as soon as possible.

  “I heard you coming,” Harl said from behind the tree. “Thought you were a murgu.”

  Kerrick turned, startled, then smiled at the boy. Harl was a Tanu raised in the forest; Kerrick knew that he would never be as good a tracker or hunter. “Tell me of the camp,” he said.

  “I killed a deer yesterday, a buck; it had seven points on its horns.”

  “We will all eat well. Other than that, has there been… any trouble?”

  “The murgu you mean? They stay far away from us; we never see them.” The boy’s eyes never rested as they moved through the forest, searching on all sides. Though he apparently did not look where he was walking he never made a sound; a twig hidden by the grass cracked when Kerrick stepped on it. “I’ll go ahead, tell them that you are coming,” Harl said.

  “Do that.” To carry the good news — or to get away from his mastodon tread? Kerrick smiled as the boy swiftly moved out of sight.

  They were all waiting for him when he came to the camp, Arnwheet running out shrieking with happiness, to be swung high into the air. Armun smiling, Ortnar leaning heavily on his crutch, looking grim as always. Kerrick told them at once what he had discovered.

  “The sammads are no longer in Deifoben — but they are alive. And I have another death-stick and these maps. There is more — but water first, I’ve come a long way.”

  He sluiced it over his head, gasping, drank great mouthfuls. Then sat and told them what he had seen, what had happened.

  “But you cannot know where the sammads are,” Ortnar said when he had done.

  “There is only one place to go — back to the valley. The Sasku know the trail very well. They have many death-sticks. The murgu will find them hard to kill.”