Helliconia Winter

by neetha Napew

  Uuundaamp, was staked in the middle of the barn, snapping savagely at the end of his leash in a futile attempt to eat the nearest portion of Shokerandit.

  And Uuundaamp. He had heard or seen - for the barn had slit windows - Shokerandit's approach. With the ability of his kind, he had jumped above the lintel of the door, and stood poised there, about to lash out with his whip again. He smiled as he did so, without mirth.

  Shokerandit had his gun in his hand. He knew better than to point it at the Ondod - the gesture would have provoked both Uuundaamp and phagors. Nor would any threat to Moub halt Uuundaamp in his present state of mind.

  Shokerandit pointed the gun at the dog.

  "I kill you dog dead, finish, gumtaa, ishto? You fall down here smart, drop whip. You come here, boy, you Uuundaamp. Else your dog plenty kakool one second quick!"

  As he spoke, Shokerandit rose up, pointing the gun with both hands down the throat of the raging dog.

  The whip fell to the floor. Uuundaamp jumped down. He smiled. He bowed, touched his forehead.

  "My friend, you tumble off sledge in tunnel. No gumtaa. I very worry."

  "You'll have a dead lead dog if you give me that sherb. Untie Toress Lahl. Are you all right, Toress?"

  In a shaky voice, she said, "I have delivered babies before, and here comes another. But I am greatly relieved to see you, Luterin."

  "What was the plan here?"

  "The phagors were going to do something for Uuundaamp. I was the exchange gift. I've been terrified but I'm unharmed. And you?" Her voice trembled.

  The phagors never moved. As he worked at the knots in the cord, Uuundaamp said, "This very nice lady, yaya. Shaggie he much enjoy... give him chance, yaya. No harm." He laughed.

  Shokerandit bit his lip; the creature had to be allowed to save face. Almost penniless, they were forced to rely on him to get them to Kharnabhar.

  When she was free, Toress Lahl said to Uuundaamp, "You very kind. When your baby is born, I buy you and Moub pipes of occhara, ishto?"

  Shokerandit marvelled at her coolness.

  Uuundaamp smiled and whistled through his teeth. "You buy extra pipe for baby too? I smoke three pipe together."

  "Yaya, if you will kick out these shaggy brutes while I perform the delivery." Her face was white as she confronted him, but her voice no longer shook.

  Still Uuundaamp felt that honours had not yet been made equal.

  "You give money now. Moub go buy three pipe occhara now. Better leave Noonat before is darkness."

  "Moub's water broken, give birth directly."

  "Baby no come maybe twenty minutes. She go buy fast. Smoke, give birth." He clapped his eight-fingered hands and laughed again.

  "The baby is almost hanging out of her."

  "That woman lazy bag." He grasped Moub by the arm. She sat up without protest. Toress Lahl and Shokerandit exchanged glances. When he nodded, she produced some sibs and gave them to the woman. Moub wrapped her entire body in the red and yellow blanket and waddled out of the barn without protest.

  "Stay there," Shokerandit said. Toress Lahl sat on the water-stained bench. The lead dog settled down on its haunches, its red tongue lolling. At a gesture from Uuundaamp, the phagors filed out of the far end of the barn, pushing through a broken door. Outside, by the dog cage, stood Uuundaamp's sledge, unharmed.

  "Where your friend grow tail on face?" Uuundaamp asked innocently.

  "I lost him. Your plan did not work well."

  "Ha ha. My plan work fine. You still want go Kharber?"

  "Are you going that way? You've been paid, Uuundaamp."

  Uuundaamp held his hand wide in a gesture of frankness, exposing his sixteen black-gleaming nails.

  "If your friend tell police, no gumtaa. Hard for me. That bad man no understand Ondod like you. He want smrtaa. Better we go fast, ishto, once that bag throw her baby from her bottom-part."

  "Agreed." No point in quarrelling now. He tucked his gun into his pocket. The apparent friendship of the trail could be resumed.

  They remained watching each other, and the asokin waited at the end of its leash. Moub padded back, still swathed in the blanket. She gave two pipes to Uuundaamp and resumed her place on the plank by Toress Lahl, the third pipe in her mouth.

  "Baby now come. Gumtaa," she said. And a small Ondod male was born into the world without further ado. As Toress Lahl lifted it, Uuundaamp nodded and then turned away. He spat into a corner of the barn.

  "Boy. Is good. Not like girl. Boy do much work, soon have biwack, maybe one year."

  Moub sat up and laughed. "You no make good biwack, you fool sherb. This boy belong Fashnalgid."

  They both burst into laughter. He went across and hugged her. They kissed each other over and over.

  This scene so much took everyone's attention that they did not heed whistles of warning from outside. Three police carrying rifles at the ready entered the barn from the road end.

  The leader said coolly, "We have offence orders against you all. Uuundaamp, you and that woman have a number of murders to your name. Luterin Shokerandit, we have followed you from Rivenjk. You are an accomplice in blowing up an army lieutenant, and killing a soldier in the course of his duties. Also guilty of deserting from the army. In consequence of which, you, Toress Lahl, slave, are also guilty of escaping. We have a dispensation to execute you at once here in Noonat."

  "Who these humans people?" asked Uuundaamp, pointing indignantly at Shokerandit and Toress Lahl. "I no see them. They just come here one minute, cause plenty kakool."

  Ignoring him, the police leader said to Shokerandit, "I have orders to shoot you if you try to escape. Throw down any arms you have. Where is your recent companion? We want him too."

  "Who do you mean?"

  "You know who. Harbin Fashnalgid, another deserter."

  "I'm here," said an unexpected voice. "Drop your rifles. I can shoot you and you can't hit me, so don't try. I'll count three and then I shall shoot one of you in the stomach. One. Two."

  The rifles dropped. By then they had seen the revolver poking through one of the slit windows.

  "Grab the guns, then, Luterin, look alive."

  Shokerandit unfroze and did as he was told. Fashnalgid entered by the rear door, setting all the asokins barking.

  "How did you come so providentially?" Toress Lahl asked.

  He scowled. "I imagine the same way these dummies did. By following that unmistakable red-and-yellow striped blanket. Otherwise I had no idea where you were. As you see, I'm going in for disguise."

  They had noticed. Fashnalgid had had his immense moustache shaved off and his hair cut short. He kept his revolver levelled at the police in a professional manner as he spoke.

  "Rifle get much money," Uuundaamp suggested. "Cut these man throat first, ishto?"

  "Never mind that, you little scab-devourer. If your shaggie was here, I'd drop him. Luckily he is not, because this place is swarming with police and soldiers."

  "We'd better leave fast," Shokerandit said. "Excellent timing, Harbin. You'll make an officer yet. Uuundaamp, if we keep these three police quiet, can you and Moub get the dogs harnessed up really quickly?"

  The Ondod became very active. He got the two women to drag the sledge into the barn and grease the runners, which he insisted was necessary. The police were made to stand with their trousers round their ankles and their hands up the wall. Everyone stood back as lead dog Uuundaamp was unleashed and he and the other seven asokins were secured to the traces, each in its appropriate place. As he worked, Uuundaamp cursed each of them in different tones of affection.

  "Please hurry," said Toress Lahl once, betraying her nervousness.

  The Ondod went and sat down on the plank where his wife had recently given birth.

  "Jus' take small rest, ishto?"

  They waited it out, no one moving, until his honour was satisfied. Snow came in through the rear door as he methodically checked over the harness.

  From the direction of the street they could hear
shouts and whistles. The three police had already been missed.

  Uuundaamp picked up his whip.

  "Gumtaa. Get on."

  The rifles were tucked hastily under the sledge straps as they jumped aboard. Uuundaamp called encouragingly to Uuundaamp, and the sledge started to move. The police at once began to shout at the top of their voices. Answering shouts came. The sledge bumped out of the rear door.

  Outside, ravening asokins leaped furiously against the mesh of their cage. Uuundaamp raised himself, twirled his whip, sent its tip flying towards the cage door. The hasp of the cage was secured in position by a thick wooden wedge. The whip end flicked the wedge free as the sledge went by.

  Under the weight of the dogs, the cage door crashed open, and the brutes hurled themselves to freedom in a torrent of fur and fangs. Into and through the barn they rushed. Ghastly cries came up from the police.

  The sledge gathered speed, bumping across rough ground, swinging round. Uuundaamp shouted commands, plying his whip expertly, licking each dog with it in turn, arms tireless. The passengers hung on. The barking and sounds of pain from behind died as they went over the hillside and jarred down onto the northward road.

  Shokerandit looked back. No one was following. Faintly through the snow, sounds of growling still reached his ears. Then the road turned. Toress Lahl clutched him. Under one arm, wrapped in a bundle of dirty rag, she sheltered the newborn babe. It looked up at her and grinned, showing sharp baby teeth.

  A mile along the trail, Uuundaamp slowed and turned.

  He pointed the handle of the whip at Fashnalgid.

  "You, kakool man. You jump off. No want."

  Fashnalgid said nothing. He looked at Shokerandit, grimaced. Then he jumped.

  Within a few yards, his figure was concealed in a whirl of snow. His last words reached them faintly - the terrible oath: "Abro Hakmo Astab!"

  Uuundaamp turned to scan the trail ahead.

  "Kharber!" he cried.

  Avoiding Noonat, Fashnalgid met up with a group of Bribahrese pilgrims, returning from Kharnabhar and Noonat and making their way home, down the winding trails to the western valleys. He had shaved off his moustache in order to avoid identification and had every intention of disappearing from human ken.

  Hardly had he been with the pilgrims for twenty-five hours when the group met another party climbing up from Bribahr. The latter had such a tale of disaster to tell that Fashnalgid became convinced that he was heading in the wrong direction. Perhaps right directions did not exist anymore.

  According to the refugees, the Oligarch's Tenth Guard had descended on the Great Rift Valley of Bribahr, with orders to take possession of or destroy the two great cities of Braijth and Rattagon.

  Most of the rift valley was filled by the cobalt blue waters of Lake Braijth. In the lake was an island on which stood an immense old fortress. This was the city of Rattagon. There was no way of attacking the fortress except by boat. Whenever an enemy attempted to cross, it was sunk by the batteries of the frowning castle walls.

  Bribahr was the great grain-producing land of Sibornal. Its fertile plains reached down into the tropical zones. In the north, before the ice sheets began, there stretched the tundra barrier, skirted by mile upon mile of caspiarn trees, which could withstand even the onslaught of Weyr-Winter.

  The inhabitants of Bribahr were mainly peasant farmers. But a warrior elite, based in the two cities of Braijth and Rattagon, had recklessly threatened Kharnabhar, the Holy City. Braijth would have liked a greater share of Sibornal's prosperity. Bribahr farmers sent grain to Uskutoshk for little return; to put pressure on the Oligarchy, they had made a tentative move against Holy Kharnabhar, capable of being approached from their plains.

  In return for their threats, Askitosh had sent an army. Braijth had already fallen.

  Now the Tenth sat on the shores of Lake Braijth, looked towards Rattagon, and waited. And starved. And shivered.

  The frosts of the brief autumn had come. The lake also began to freeze.

  There would be a time, and the Rattagonese knew it, when the ice would be firm enough to permit an enemy force to cross, walking. But that time was not yet. So far, nothing heavier than a wolf could get across. It might take a tenner before the ice would bear a platoon of soldiers. By then, the enemy on the banks would have starved and crawled away home. The Rattagonese knew the habits of their lake.

  They did not entirely starve behind their battlements. The ancient rift valley had numerous faults. There was a tunnel below the lake to the northwestern shore. It was a wet way to travel, the water in it always knee-deep. But food could pass by that route; the defenders of Rattagon could afford to wait, as they had done before in times of crisis.

  One night, when Freyr was lost behind dense gales of snow blowing from the north, the Tenth put a desperate plan into action.

  The ice was strong enough to bear wolves. It would also bear men with kites flying above them, supporting much of their weight, making them no heavier than wolves, and as ferocious.

  The officers encouraged their men by telling them tales of the voluptuous women of Rattagon who stayed by their men in the fortress, keeping their beds warm.

  The wind blew, strong and steady. The kites tugged and lifted the shoulders of the men. Bravely they ran onto the thin ice. Bravely they permitted themselves to be carried across the ice, right up to the grey walls of the fortress.

  Inside the fortress walls, even the sentries slept, huddled in any warm nook to shelter from the storm. They died with hardly a cry.

  The volunteers of the Tenth cut away their kite cords and ran to the central keep. They slew the commander of the garrison in mid-snore.

  Next day, the flag of the Oligarchy flew over fallen Rattagon.

  This dreadful story, related with great drama over camp fires, persuaded Harbin Fashnalgid that there was wisdom in returning to Noonat and seeking a way southwards.

  It's always painful to become involved in history, he told himself, and accepted a bottle that was making the rounds of the pilgrims.

  XIII

  "AN OLD ANTAGONISM"

  The night was alive. So thickly was the snow falling that, brushing against a human face in its descent, it resembled the fur of a great beast. The fur was less cold than suffocating: it occupied space normally taken up by air and sound. But when the sledge stopped, the staid brazen tongue of a bell could be distantly heard.

  Luterin Shokerandit helped Toress Lahl down from the sledge. The churn of snow-flakes had confused her. She stood with bowed shoulder, sheltering her eyes.

  "Where are we?"

  "Home."

  She saw nothing, only the animal dark, rolling, rolling towards her. Dimly, she made out Shokerandit, a bear walking, as he staggered towards the front of the sledge. There he embraced both Uuundaamp and the Ondod mother, clutching her infant into the coloured blanket.

  Uuundaamp lifed his whip in farewell and flashed his unreliable smile. Came the jar-jar of his warning bell, the slice of his whip over the team, and the outfit was swallowed immediately by the whirling murk.

  Bent almost double, Shokerandit and Toress Lahl made their way to a gate beyond which a dim light burned. He pulled a metal bell handle. They leaned exhaustedly against the stone pillar of the gate until a muffled military figure appeared from a shelter somewhere beyond the bars. The gate swung open.

  They sheltered, panting, saying nothing to each other, until the guard returned after securing the gate and scrutinised them under his lantern.

  The guard's lineaments were those of an old soldier. His mouth was tight, his gaze evaded other eyes, his expression gave nothing away. He stood his ground and asked, "What do you want?"

  "You're speaking to a Shokerandit, man. Where are your wits?"

  The challenging tone made the guard look more closely. With no change of expression, he said finally, "You wouldn't be Luterin Shokerandit?"

  "Have I been away that long, you fool? Will you stand there and have me freeze?"
<
br />   The man allowed his glance to take in Luterin's metamorphosed bulk in one mute, insulting glare. "A cab to take you up the drive, sir."

  As he turned away, Luterin, still nettled at not being recognised, said, "Is my father in residence?"

  "At present not, sir."

  The guard put his free hand to the side of his mouth and bawled to a slave lurking at the rear of the guardhouse. In a short while, the cabriolet appeared through the blizzard, drawn by two yelk already encrusted in snow.

  It was a mile from the gate to the ancient house, through land still known as the Vineyard. Now it was rough pasturage, where a local strain of yelk was bred.

  Shokerandit alighted. The snow whirled round the comer of the house as if personally interested in turning them to ice. The woman closed her eyes and clutched Shokerandit's skins. Following ghostly materialisations of the structure, they climbed steps to the iron-banded front door. Above them sounded the dismal tolling bell, long drawn out, like a sound heard underwater. Other bells, drowning farther off, added their tongues.

  The door opened. Dim guardian figures showed, helping the two new arrivals inside. The snow ceased, the roaring and clanging ceased, as bolts were shot home behind them.

  In an echoing darkened hall, Shokerandit exchanged words with a servant unseen. A lamp glittered high on a marble wall, not yielding its illumination beyond the frosty surface which reflected it. They padded upstairs, each step with its own protesting noise. A heavy curtain was drawn back as if to abet the powers of darkness and stealth. They entered. While the woman stood, the servant lit a light and quit the room, bowing.

  The room smelt dead. Shokerandit turned up the wick of his lamp.

  An impression of space, a low ceiling, shutters ineffectively barring out the night, a bed... They struggled out of their filthy garments.