Just thinking about the terrible fact that the okhalakx might be destroyed gave Saagakel a sudden pang of hunger; she sent at once for a haunch of meat. It arrived with great promptness and she tore off a large mouthful, was still grinding the last slivers of flesh from the bone with her back teeth when the small procession entered the ambesed. Ostuku led, while strong guards walked on both sides. Ambalasi was between them, moving slowly and leaning on the broad shoulders of her companion.
“I ordered the presence of Ambalasi alone,” Saagakel said. “Remove the other.”
“Then remove me too,” Ambalasi said, signing indignant irritation. “You condemn me to that wet orchard, to sleep on the ground at my age. Chilled and damp at night so now I lean on this one when I walk. This strong one remains—I will not walk without her.”
Saagakel made a gesture that showed this part of the discussion was beneath her attention, then stressed the importance of what she said next.
“The okhalakx die in the groves. What do you know of that?”
“Do they stiffen and lie helpless? If they do it is the lung disease brought by the wild ones from the forest.”
“But you cured that disease a long time ago. How can it return now?”
“In the forest of ecology there are countless paths.”
“Did you infect them?”
“You can believe that if you wish.” A dubious answer that could be taken two ways. Before Saagakel could order a clarification Ambalasi spoke again. “But no matter how disease reaches the beasts in the field it is a fact that only I can cure it. Do you wish this done?”
“It will be done and I order you to do it.”
“I will accept your desire—but not your order. In return I ask my release from that damp orchard, the release as well of she-I-rest-my-weight-upon. When I decide that my legs are as they should be you can send her back to the orchard.”
And you as well, ancient fool, Saagakel thought in unmoving silence. “Do your work at once,” she ordered aloud, then turned her attention away with movements of distaste and dismissal.
Ambalasi waved the guards back with irritated movements and hobbled from the ambesed, leaning heavily on Elem’s broad shoulders. She did not speak while they went through the city, remained silent until the outside doors of her own buildings had closed behind them. Only then did she straighten up and walk easily to her private laboratory. There was a gulawatsan on the wall here, claws holding tight, mouth clamped to a sapvine. Ambalasi pushed hard on the ganglion in the center of its back and it turned sightless eyes to her, liquid dripping from its lips—then screamed piercingly through its wide-gaped mouth. Elem stepped back, numbed by the volume of the sound. Ambalasi nodded approvingly at the clatter of rapid footsteps as her assistants hurried in.
“You,” she ordered the first arrival. “Get the okhalakx serum from the cold cabinet and administer it to the sick animals. While you, Setèssei, will accompany this Yilanè to her place of studies to obtain charts.”
“I have been forbidden entrance,” Elem said.
“Only the Eistaa stands above me in this city,” Ambalasi said warmly. “Therefore in this city I will be obeyed. Setèssei will speak in my name and will take you there. You will return with all of your navigation charts. Is the order understood?”
As Elem started her gesture of acceptance, Ambalasi turned away and issued rapid instructions to her other assistants. There was much to be done and very little time to do it in. Only the fact that she had been preparing for this move for over a year enabled its completion now. Enge’s arrival was fortuitous and, on impulse, Ambalasi had angered the Eistaa and brought her leaving time forward. It was a minor matter. She had long been dissatisfied with this boring city and had been prepared to move on. Life was certainly going to be more interesting in the near future.
Her only fear was that the Eistaa had cancelled an earlier order putting an uruketo at her disposal. But the order had been issued a long time ago, when there had been need to go upriver for wild specimens, and would hopefully be forgotten until it was too late. As it proved to be.
“The crewmembers obeyed my orders,” Setèssei said when she returned. “They loaded all of the equipment aboard. Have you reached a decision yet about those who aid you?”
“I have. All stay here.”
“Must I stay as well? I who was your fargi and am now your first assistant. Am I to stay behind?”
“Do you wish to?”
“No. I wish only to continue serving Ambalasi of great genius. This city is of no importance to me.”
“Well spoken, faithful Setèssei. Would you then slip away with me—even though your destination is completely unknown?”
“I am your fargi.” Setèssei added qualifiers of loyalty and strength.
“Well said. You join me. Now see to the loading of the rest of my goods.”
When Elem returned with her charts she had them sent to the uruketo with the remaining bundles. Then she signed the navigator to follow her.
“Get two large cloaks for I have had enough of sleeping on the damp ground. All of the others are remaining here—but you are coming with me.” As their course took them through a garden that was open to the sky, she let one eye roll in the direction of the setting sun. “Walk faster, we have very little time.”
Elem’s mouth gaped wide as they hurried through the city, for in addition to the cloaks she was burdened with a heavy cylinder that Ambalasi had pressed upon her. She was dizzy with heat, when they finally stopped, gasping hoarsely to cool herself.
“Move into the shade of those trees—and stay motionless for you are too warm,” Ambalasi ordered, talking the cylinder from her. “I will do what is needed for it must be finished before dark.”
Elem looked on with total incomprehension as Ambalasi twisted the end of the cylinder so that a fine spray of liquid emerged. Holding it at arm’s length she used it to moisten the barrier of vines and plants that stretched between the row of trees. They were in a region of the city that she had never visited before so she did not realize that the trees were part of the living wall of the orchard where they had been imprisoned. When Ambalasi discarded the empty cylinder and made her way slowly back through the growing dusk, Elem was already cool enough to drape the cloak loosely about herself. Ambalasi took the other cloak and placed it on the ground, signing great annoyance as she stretched out upon it.
“This is the last time that I ever intend to sleep upon the ground. We must awaken at first light, before the city stirs.” She said this with motions of utmost importance and great urgency. Elem signed acceptance of commands then closed her eyes and slept.
Bird calls awakened her and she knew that dawn was close. She pulled the warm cloak closer about her and looked up through the branches above. When the sky grew light between them she rose and called out respectfully to the old scientist.
“Light . . . orders . . . goes . . .”
Her meaning was unclear because of the darkness but the sound of her voice had the desired affect. Ambalasi rose and discarded the cloak, walked stiffly over to the wall of plants. There was enough light now to see that there was a marked difference in the vegetation where she had sprayed: the leaves were wilted and yellow. She signed pleasure of accomplishment as she reached out and tugged at a thick vine. It broke in her hand, crumbling into dust.
“Forward,” she ordered Elem. “With nostrils closed, membranes over eyes, force your way through this.”
A cloud of dust and fragments boiled out as Elem flailed with her arms. In a moment she had broken through the thick barrier and found herself staring down at two of the Daughters of Life—as startled at her presence as she was at theirs.
“Don’t gape like fargi,” Ambalasi ordered, with accompanying gestures of silence and speed of movement. “Wake everyone, command them to join me here. They must come quickly and in absolute silence.”
The first of the Daughters appeared in the growing light and Ambalasi ordered them forward. “You,
” she said to the first arrival, “stand by this opening and sign all that come to follow those before her. When all are through follow them yourself. You others follow me.”
She turned and led the way through the wakening city, all of the Daughters following her in silent progression. The few Yilanè they passed ignored them; lacking all curiosity. Only the fargi took interest and many of them joined the procession, eager to see and learn new things. The sun was well above the horizon when Ambalasi halted the march at the waterfront, behind the rounded warehouses, and passed on the order to send Enge to her.
“Come with me and do not speak,” she responded to Enge’s interrogative, then led the way out of the shadows toward the high fin of the nearest uruketo. A crewmember had just appeared above, eyes slitted in the morning sun, and Ambalasi called out to her.
“Commander’s presence before me ordered immediately.”
The crewmember vanished from sight and a few moments later the commander climbed down and jumped from the back of the gently rocking uruketo to the rough wood of the dock.
“Orders to be obeyed at once,” Ambalasi said, with modifiers of urgency. “Go to the Eistaa.”
The commander signalled assent as she hurried away. When she was out of sight Ambalasi spoke to the curious crewmembers on top of the fin above. “Onto the dock, everyone aboard. There are others coming and I do not want you in the way.” She turned to Enge as the first of them began climbing down. “Now—bring them all at once. But stop the fargi—there is no room for them. When the eistaa questions the commander she will know at once that something is wrong. We must be gone by then.”
Ambalasi, never known for her patience, prowled the dock as the Daughters hurried by. She signed the curious crewmembers to move back, then signalled presence-needed, first to Enge, then to Elem.
“We leave as soon as the last one is aboard. And we leave without the crew. You will be commander, Elem, since you informed me that you served on an uruketo.” She cut off the other’s protest with a sharp command. “I have watched the commander work. It is not a skilled occupation. You will teach others what they must know.”
“There is risk in this,” Enge said.
“There is no alternative. Where we are going we must not be found. We want no witnesses who might return and inform the Eistaa where we are.”
“Where do we go?”
Ambalasi answered only with silence—and the gesture that meant end of communication.
The shocked crewmembers cried out fearful questions and milled about in confusion when the dock-bindings were cast loose and the uruketo moved out into the river behind the sporting enteesenat. They wailed unhappily when the first waves broke over its back as it grew smaller in the distance.
They were still standing there, staring out toward the flocks of estekel* fishing at the river’s mouth, when the first gape-mouthed messengers of the Eistaa stumbled up. They answered the mumbled enquiries with forceful negatives.
The sea was empty, the uruketo gone.
Mer sensta.
TANU DEATH-CRY
We die.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As they moved steadily northward Kerrick was filled with an elation that made him want to shout loudly—even though he knew that a hunter was always silent on the trail. With each forward step he left a little more responsibility behind, walked that much more easily.
He had done what he could to save the city; it was now up to the others to carry on where he had left off. It was no longer his burden to carry. Ortnar’s broad back, running with sweat, moved steadily along before him. Mosquitoes hummed around the hunter’s head and he brushed them away with his free hand. Kerrick felt a sudden affection for him, for they had come a long way together, ever since Ortnar had killed his leashed Yilanè, Inlènu<, and Kerrick had tried hard to kill him in return. There was a bond between them now that could never be broken. That was the reality, that and the forest around him. The city and all of its problems grew distant as they moved steadily north. By nightfall he was very tired and more than ready to stop, but did not want to be the first to order a halt. It was Ortnar who stopped when they came to the grassy hollow by the stream. He pointed at the gray remains of an ancient campfire.
“A good place for the night.”
The words were in Marbak and the thought was a Tanu one. There was no need now for Kerrick to speak Yilanè—or Sesek for that matter—and follow the complicated arguments of the manduktos. Sky and forest, these were reality. While at the end of their march Armun would be waiting. He felt the relief at laying down a burden—one he had not even known that he was carrying. He was twenty-four years of age and had traveled a great distance, through many different worlds, in the sixteen years since his capture by the Yilanè. That night he slept more soundly and more deeply than he had in a very long time.
There was a thin mist above the stream when he awoke in the morning. Ortnar touched his shoulder and motioned him to silence as he slowly lifted and aimed his hèsotsan. The small buck, knee-deep in the water, raised its head at some sudden warning—but fell forward when the dart imbedded itself in his side.
The rich flesh was a change from the preserved murgu meat and they ate their fill, drying and preserving the rest in the ashes.
“Tell me of the Paramutan,” Kerrick said, muffled through a mouthful of meat. “I know only the name, that they live in the north.”
“I saw one once, our sammad traded with him. He had fur all over his face, not a real beard like ours, but all covered with hair like a longtooth. And he was short, only a little taller than I was and I was still young. I have heard that they live on the shore far to the north where the sea ice never melts. They fish in the sea. They have boats.”
“How will we find them? Do they have different sammads?”
Ortnar patted his cheeks in the gesture meaning he did not know. “If they do, I was never told. But I listened when they spoke and they are too stupid to talk Marbak. A hunter in our sammad had a few of their words and they talked. I think that all we can do is go north, stay on the shore, look for their tracks.”
“It will be winter before we get there.”
“It is always winter there. We have furs, we will bring dried meat. If we stay on this path we will meet the sammads on their way south. We will get ekkotaz from them. That is what we must do.”
“Dried hardalt as well—they will surely have some.”
Many days later they smelt smoke under the trees, carried to them by the rain-filled wind. They followed it to the meadow where the dark tents of the sammad of Sorli were staked out, half-seen in the downpour. The mastodon trumpeted as they passed and they were grateful for the welcome and the chance to eat until they could eat no more, then sleep dry and out of the rain. They went their separate ways in the morning: these were the last Tanu that they met.
They walked north, out of summer and into the colors of autumn. Drifted leaves lay heavy across the trail and the rabbit that Kerrick shot—with his bow, his aim was improving steadily—was already showing white in its fur.
“Very early winter,” Ortnar said, his face grim.
“The winters are all early now, we know that. All we can do is keep on, keep moving north as fast as we can.”
The sky was gray and they could smell snow in the air when they reached the camping place by the river. Kerrick recognized it at once as he stood on the rise above the beach, standing among the few bits of ancient leather and crumbled bones that was all that was left of his father’s sammad. Herilak had found Amahast’s knife of sky metal here, among his father’s bones. He touched it where it hung about his neck. The Yilanè had come out of the ocean there, had destroyed the sammad here. It had been very long ago and he had only memories of memories now. His sammad was now to the north with Armun—and that is where they must go. He turned away at Ortnar’s call and they moved west along the riverbank.
It wasn’t until late the next day that they found a dead tree caught on the riverbank, on
e large enough to support them both, yet still not so big they could not cut it free from the tangled undergrowth. They worked it clear that night, finishing well after dark.
The water was as freezing as fresh-melted snow when they waded out into it in the morning—calling out loudly in protest. With their packs and weapons tied securely to the projecting roots they pushed the tree free of the shore, hung onto it and kicked out, slowly working the clumsy bulk of the thing across the fast-flowing river. By the time they had reached the far bank they were numb, blue with cold, their teeth chattering uncontrollably. While Kerrick dragged their possessions ashore Ortnar built a roaring blaze. They stayed only as long as it took to dry themselves and warm their clothing through, pulled the still-wet skins on and went north again. They would not get chilled again if they kept walking fast; there was little or no time to spare—for the first flakes of snow were already drifting down under the trees.
The days were growing shorter now and they were up before dawn every morning, walking in the dark under the pale illumination of the stars until the pallid sun rose. They were strong and fit. And beginning to be afraid.
“There is not much meat left,” Ortnar said. “What do we do when it is gone?”
“We will find the Paramutan before then.”
“And if we do not?”
They looked at each other in silence for they both knew the answer to that question. Though neither wished to speak it aloud. They built the fire higher and stayed close to it, soaking in its warmth.
The endless forest of giant firs came right down to the coast, to the sandy beaches at the shore. At times as they walked they had to cut inland when the beach gave way to high cliffs with the waves breaking against them. The forest was silent and trackless, the snowdrifts beneath the trees were very deep and made the passage slow and tiring. Each time they worked their way back to the shore they looked eagerly in both directions, for some sign of habitation. Nothing. Just the barren coast and empty sea.
Winter in Eden Page 15
