Winter in Eden

by Harry Harrison

  It was going to be all right. It had to be all right. Perhaps this was only a plan born of desperation. That did not matter. He must see it through.

  “What I am going to tell you now is important—to all of us,” he said in Tanu, then turned to the Yilanè.

  “A speaking-of-importance. Attention and obedience.”

  Then he told them all that Armun and he were going away for a time, but they would be back.

  umnuniheikel tsanapsoruud marikekso.

  YILANÈ APOTHEGM

  Good meat cannot be prepared without the death of a beast.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “And what are these,” Vaintè asked, laying the pictures out on the work area before her.

  “Just received—just formed,” Anatempè said, sorting the prints in order in a line, then pointing at the nearby model of the Gendasi* landscape with her thumb. “A high-flying bird which went along this part of the coastline here, almost due west of us. The fleeing ustuzou could be along the shore here.”

  “But nothing is visible!” Vaintè made sharp snapping motions of disgust and annoyance. “There are only clouds in the picture.”

  “Unhappily that is true. But another bird has been dispatched—”

  “And by the time it gets there the ustuzou will be long gone. I want them—not pictures of clouds!” Her hands shook with the violence of her emotions and she dashed all of the pictures to the ground with a sweep of her thumbs.

  “I control the birds, but cannot control the clouds,” Anatempè said, as meekly as she could, yet some of her true feelings penetrated her movements. She no longer enjoyed being the butt of Vaintè’s foul moods. Vaintè saw this and her anger became cold and dangerous.

  “You take issue with my orders? You find them offensive?”

  “I obey your orders implicitly for I have been ordered to do so by Ukhereb who obeys the Eistaa. I seek only to do my duty.” This last spoken with modifiers of eternal-service, obedience.

  Vaintè started to remonstrate, then grew rigid and silent, signing only a curt dismissal to the scientist, letting her displeasure show only when the other had turned away. When she had been eistaa that sort of insult would have carried certain death as its reward. But there was too much truth in what the creature conveyed. Lanefenuu was Eistaa who ordered others and who ordered her. It was a situation she must live with. Turning about with disgust she saw the fargi standing just inside the entrance of the landscape model building. She had stood patiently for some time, waiting to catch Vaintè’s attention.

  “Message for Vaintè highest,” she said, her meaning muffled by her weakness of language. Vaintè controlled her temper: the creature would forget the message or die of despair if she let it know just how she felt.

  “I am Vaintè. Speak, carefully-slowly, I attend you.”

  “Yilanè Naalpè uruketo presence harbor communication requested.”

  It was almost to much to bear, but Vaintè still controlled her temper and wondered at her own patience. “Need for clarification. Are you informing me that Naalpè is now in the harbor aboard her uruketo and wishes to talk with me?”

  “Agreement!” The fargi writhed with pleasure of communication and turned away at Vaintè’s sign of dismissal, therefore she did not see Vaintè’s glare of displeasure at the abominable quality of her speech. As she left her place was taken by a second fargi also signing desire-to-communicate.

  “Do.” Vaintè said curtly. “And strongly-desired superiority of speech over last messenger.”

  Far better indeed, because this one was from the Eistaa and she only used fargi whose speech was yilanè most of the time.

  “Request from highest through lowest to Vaintè of rank. Warm salutations and upon completion of present labors presence desired in the ambesed.”

  “Return pleasure-of-acceptance to Eistaa, soonest arrival.” No matter how politely it was expressed an order from the Eistaa was an order instantly obeyed. As much as she wanted to talk to Naalpè the meeting would have to wait.

  But Vaintè was not going to hurry and arrive breathless and speechless. She moved along shadowed walks in the direction of the ambesed, knowing the messenger would be there first to report her compliance with the order.

  Walking these familiar ways had a bitter-sweet taste for Vaintè. Sweet, in that the city was again Yilanè: bitter in that much of it was still in ruins—and the ustuzou had escaped. That they must never do. They would flee, but they would be found.

  The large ambesed was quite empty, for only the advance forces had arrived from across the sea. The city must be repaired and regrown and further preparations made before Ikhalmenets came to Alpèasak. Its defenses strengthened, that was the first priority. No ustuzou must set foot in this city ever again. Lanefenuu was sprawled back in the warm sunlight in the place of honor against the far wall. There nobly dead Malsas< had sat, there Vaintè herself had sat and ruled once long ago when the city had been young. It was strange to see another there—and Vaintè instantly wiped away the feeling of jealousy that came to the fore. Never! She was no longer an eistaa nor did she want to rule ever again. Lanefenuu was an eistaa of power, one to respect and obey. In her generosity to Vaintè she had permitted her to prepare armed forces and enlist the genius of science to recapture this city. To kill ustuzou. Lanefenuu was an eistaa of two cities, a leader among leaders.

  Lanefenuu saw these expressions clearly when Vaintè approached and accepted them as was her due. Her advisers drew back to make room for Vaintè in the attendant circle.

  “An uruketo has arrived with reports and questions,” Lanefenuu said. “The thought of it stirs me and I feel the need to once more breathe the air of sea-girt Ikhalmenets. I have been too long here and my nose-flaps close at the stench of ustuzou and smoke that drenches this city.”

  “It will be cleansed, Eistaa, just as you cleansed the city of the ustuzou who befouled it.”

  “Gracefully said and appreciated. Ukhereb will remain here and will oversee that process. It is a scientific one and not a political one so it will be her responsibility. Yours will be to watch and guard and preserve the city for the Yilanè. Is there clarity of meaning here?”

  “With certainty, Eistaa. We shall not rule together but work together, one to build, one to guard. There is only one ruler here.”

  “Agreed. Now tell me of the ustuzou.”

  “Those that fled north are all dead. Though we are on constant guard, keeping watch in all directions always in case some are in hiding, for they are as deadly as serpents when concealed by the forest.”

  Lanefenuu signed agreement and understanding, with more than a trace of unhappiness.

  “How well I am aware of that. Far too many Yilanè are dead who should have lived to see this city theirs again.”

  “Good meat cannot be prepared without the death of a beast.” Vaintè offered this, with overtones of understanding, in an attempt at solace. But Lanefenuu’s temper was short this day.

  “There were just a few too many deaths, far more than you led me to believe. But that is in the past—though I still grieve for Erafnais who was close to me. There is a gap in my existence that she and that great uruketo filled.”

  The way the Eistaa shaded her meaning it seemed almost as if the loss of the uruketo, not the commander, was the more important. The listening circle stood motionless and obedient. As she reminded them, quite often, Lanefenuu had commanded an uruketo herself, before her elevation to Eistaa, so her feelings could be appreciated. When Lanefenuu silently touched thumb to arm in cognition of sadness-loss they echoed the motion sympathetically. But the Eistaa was too much a Yilanè of action to brood long. She looked at Vaintè with a query.

  “Your ustuzou then, they are all gone?”

  “Fleeing in fear and despair. We watch them at all times.”

  “None are close?”

  “None. To the north, death. To the west—death follows and retribution waits.”

  “And you are sure of their de
stination?”

  “I know where they go for I have been there before, seen it for myself. Their city will be their trap, their death. They shall not escape.”

  “They did last time,” Lanefenuu said with brutal frankness.

  Vaintè moved with remorse and acknowledgment of truth, hoping that her signs were strong enough to conceal her more than slight feelings of anger at this reminder. “I know this and accept the Eistaa’s rebuke. If there is any value in past defeat it is preparation for future victory. This time the attack will be more subtle and more prolonged. The vines of death will grow about their city, throttle and kill it. There will be only corpses.”

  “That is acceptable—as long as they are ustuzou corpses. You were profligate with fargi on your last visit there. It will take an efenburu of males at the birth-beaches to replenish them.”

  Vaintè, like the others, stated only motionless acceptance. The Eistaa could be as vulgar as a low crew member when she wanted to be—but she was still Eistaa and could do just as she wished.

  “After I leave you will command Yilanè and fargi of my city—and I hold each one of them dear.”

  “Their existence respected,” Vaintè said, “guarded with my own life. My gratitude is great that you will permit me to pursue and kill these creatures before they can return and attack again. I will do this as I have been bid, filled with awareness of the preciousness of all Ikhalmenets lives to you.”

  There was no more to be said on the subject and when Vaintè asked for respectful withdrawal a motion of the Eistaa’s thumb released her. She left the ambesed without unseemly haste, but once out of sight she moved faster in the gathering dusk. It was almost nightfall and she was most anxious to hear what Naalpè had to report.

  The uruketo had been secured to the wharf where its cargo was still being unloaded. Its commander stood to one side, but when she saw Vaintè approach she signed one of her officers to take command and went to meet her.

  “Greetings, Vaintè,” signs of greatest respect. “Information to be conveyed, privacy important.”

  They moved out of sight of any watchers before Naalpè spoke again.

  “As requested I stopped at Yebèisk upon our return voyage from Ikhalmenets. I spoke with many there and it was easy to learn of the one whose name you gave me because none talk of any other matter.”

  “Clarification of meaning requested.” Vaintè was polite and concealed her growing impatience.

  “This Enge, the Daughter of Death of whom you spoke, she went boldly to the eistaa and told of her beliefs, and for this she was imprisoned with others of her kind . . .”

  “Excellent, most excellent and warming information, kind Naalpè—” She broke off as she saw the commander’s signs of agitation and alarm.

  “Not like that, not at all. How it happened does not seem to be clear, the details confused by time-elapsed and many opinions. What did happen I can vouch for with sincerity, because I myself talked to the commander of the uruketo. She spoke to me as she would to no other since ours is the same labor, told me what happened.”

  “But—what did happen?”

  “The Enge you inquired after, she and all of the others, the others being all of the Daughters of Death in the city of Yebèisk, they boarded the uruketo and left. They could not be followed. No one knows where they have gone.”

  Vaintè froze, incapable of speech, her thoughts racing in circles of unknowingness. What could it mean? How had they done it? Who had aided her? How many were they? Gone where?

  She spoke this last aloud but there was none to answer her.

  “Gone . . . but where!?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  This land in the river delta was low-lying and half swamp. But a cypress tree had taken root on the southern tip, grown high and wide, its leafy branches creating a welcome pool of shade and relief from the blistering sun. Most of the Daughters were assembled here now, luxuriating in close study of Ugunenapsa’s words. The circle of intent students sitting rigid with the effort of concentration, following Enge’s every gesture and sound. When she had finished her explanation there was only silence as each looked inside herself, seeing if Ugunenapsa’s words were hers as well.

  “Questions?” Enge said.

  Long moments passed before one of the students, a young, slim Yilanè, a recent convert, tentatively made a motion of attention. Enge signed authority-for-speaking. The student sought for clarity of expression, then spoke.

  “Before Ugunenapsa recorded her thoughts, made this momentous discovery, were there others who, perhaps, contribution-of-effort . . .” She stumbled over her question and Enge came to her rescue.

  “Are you asking if Ugunenapsa, our teacher was first in everything—or did she learn from earlier teachers and thinkers?” The student expressed grateful agreement. “If you study Ugunenapsa’s works closely you will find her discussing just this question. She did seek guidance from all the Yilanè thinkers who were concerned with the questions of life and death, but found none to aid her, no prior reference to the problem of its possible solution. When she sought for an explanation of this, for she was humble and would not think that she alone had been graced with singular knowledge, she reached a certain conclusion. What lives and what dies? she asked herself. A Yilanè may die, but a Yilanè city lives forever. Yet at just this time a Yilanè city had died, the first one ever recorded for she searched and searched and found no mention of any other. Yet a city had died of the cold. Then she turned the question over and asked it from the other side. If a city can live and not die—why cannot a Yilanè live and not die? A city had died, just as a Yilanè dies. She was humble and did not believe that the city had died just to lead her to her discoveries. But grateful also in that from death she had discovered life . . .”

  “Attention, information of importance.”

  There was a murmur and movement of horror as Ambalasi blocked their view of Enge, interrupting her while she was speaking. Only Enge remained undisturbed by the discourteous act.

  “How may we be of aid to Ambalasi, she who saved us.” Reminding them all that the scientist deserved respect above all others.

  “I wait patiently for your talking to finish, but finally observe it is endless. Therefore interruption. There is work that needs doing before dark. I need strong thumbs to help me.”

  “Request for assistance, eager to help.” Enge looked around at her audience. “Which of you shall be first in the hurry to assist Ambalasi?”

  If Enge was eager to help, her cooperative mood was not shared by the Sisters. They had obviously not relished the interruption and had no desire to substitute heavy labor for heady philosophizing. None moved, though one briefly communicated importance-of-teaching. Enge was embarrassed, not angered, by their reluctance.

  “I have failed you as a teacher,” she said. “Ugunenapsa has taught us that all life is equal, so all Yilanè are equal, and a request for aid is to be honored as if it were a request for life.” She turned to Ambalasi and signed humility-of-submission. “I shall be the first to hurry to assist you.”

  At this the students forgot their pique and pushed forward to show their understanding and compassion.

  “Without Enge’s guidance you are stupid as fargi,” said Ambalasi unappreciatively. “I need five of you to carry and assist in planting.” She looked them up and down critically for many were thin and cerebral; selected the ones who looked the strongest and sent them off with her assistant for the supplies.

  “You must excuse them,” Enge said. “In their excitement of seeking knowledge they forget the labors of the day.”

  “Time-wasters, the lot. Walk with me, there are things we must discuss.”

  “Pleasure in obedience to desires.”

  “That is true, you sincerely feel that way. But you alone, Enge, you alone. I have never tried to work with creatures as resistant to orders as your Daughters of Lassitude.”

  Enge signed understanding and apologies. “There is a reason for this—a
s there is for everything. Pleasures of association and mutual discovery, without persecution for beliefs, is a strong mixture. It is hard to descend from the heights of cerebration to the depths of manual labor.”

  “Perhaps. But it must be done. To eat we must work; I wish you would tell them that with strength-of-argument. Did not Ugunenapsa once say that?”

  “Never!”

  “Better for all of us if she had. Now come to the shore here and look outward. Can you see the peninsula over there?”

  “Not too clearly,” Enge said, peering across the muddy rush of the river. This island was low and flat, as were all the islands of the estuary. Ambalasi made gestures of distaste then indicated the uruketo nearby.

  “We can see better from the top of the fin.”

  Since there was no dock on this ready shore, the uruketo had been encouraged, by tempting it with fresh fish, to push channel into the mud with its toothed beak. Now that it was well fed it kept its head wedged into the opening it had made. They stepped carefully onto its slippery, muddy hide and clambered toward the dorsal fin above. The uruketo’s round, bone-reinforced eye moved slightly when they passed, but this was the creature’s only response. They hooked thumbs and toe-claws into the rough skin and climbed. Enge going very slow to match the efforts of the elderly scientist.

  “At times . . . I am that sorry I ever decided to leave Yebèisk . . .” Ambalasi said, gasping with the effort. “But no sacrifice is too great to advance knowledge. You and I know that, but this intelligence is lost upon your followers.”

  Enge made no response, other than signing agreement, respecting Ambalasi’s age and intelligence—and knowing from experience that if anything were to be accomplished, other than interminable arguments, it was better to agree with her most of the time. Ambalasi gaped in air, looked about and registered displeasure, finally recovered enough breath to enable her to talk clearly.