Winter in Eden

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 underfoot 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.”

“Yet the murgu you spoke with said they would be followed, attacked,” Armun said, worriedly. “Should we not go to them, warn them.”

“They know well enough.” His words were grim as were his thoughts. What could he do? What could anyone do? Was there never to be an end to the killing? It was Vaintè who did this. Without her there might be an end to the fighting.

But she was far from his spear or arrow, could not be killed.

There was nothing that could be done, that was the answer. Nothing. The sammads would flee — and the Yilanè would follow. That was the repellent yet inescapable truth.