Winter in Eden

CHAPTER FIVE

“I have something to show you of great interest,” Kerrick said. The two Yilanè expressed concerned desire for new information, curiosity and gratitude, all without a sound as they chewed on the raw meat that Kerrick had brought them. “But to see it you are going to have to leave the hanalè.”

“Safety and warmth here, cold death there,” Imehei said, shuddering delicately at the same time. He looked at the empty leaf and expressed a small desire-for-more-food which Kerrick ignored. Both males liked to overeat and had a tendency to add weight.

“There is nothing to be afraid of outside, I can assure you of that. Follow me and stay close.”

They followed him just as closely as they could, almost treading on his heels while they looked about them with frightened eyes. They communicated fear and unhappiness at all of the burnt areas, shuddered away in even greater fear from the hunters they passed, as well as showing loneliness at the sight of the empty city. Only when they were inside the place of the models did they begin to feel more secure.

The model of the city of Alpèasak — Kerrick always thought of it by that name, though aloud he called it Deifoben like the others — was a physical description only. All of the groves and fields were clearly marked, but no indication was given as to what they contained. Many of them Kerrick knew from his days in the city, almost all of the nearest ones. While the Sasku explored these, and marveled at their wonders, Kerrick wanted to see the parts of the city that had been grown since his departure. He pointed now to a series of canals and swamps.

“We are going here. Not a long way and the exercise will be good for you.”

Both males lost their fear as they went, reveling in their unaccustomed freedom, looking at parts of the city they had never known existed. Fields of grazing beasts and swamps and walled stands of jungle with even more animals, both native and imported. In the early afternoon they came to a dike-walled swamp that aroused Kerrick’s curiosity. A well-beaten track led along its base, then went up a ramp to the flattened top. From here they could look down into the reed-filled swamp below, on past the reeds to the small lake at the far end. Creatures of some kind stirred the reeds, but they could not make out what they were.

“Emptiness of interest, boredom of watching,” Imehei signed.

“Pleasure of companionship, warmth of sun,” Nadaske said, always the more genial of the pair. Kerrick ignored their communication because they seemed to do it most of the time, unlike the female Yilanè who talked only when there was something important they wanted to say. Yet Imehei was right; there was little of interest here. He turned about to leave when Nadaske called for attention and pointed down at the reeds.

“Movement of interest; some creature there.”

They watched as one of the reptiles emerged cautiously from the swamp’s edge. It was sinuous and snake-like, looking up at them with tiny eyes. Then there was another and still another. They must have been drawn by the forms outlined against the sky. Kerrick looked more closely now and saw the white bones at the swamp’s margin. Perhaps the reptiles were fed at this spot. He still could not identify them. With his heel he pried loose a stone and dropped it into the mud at the water’s edge. There was a wriggle of motion as the nearest animals slithered over to examine it, then retreated back into the shelter of the reeds. They had sinuous green bodies, snake-like except for their tiny legs, with small blunted heads. He was sure that he had never seen them before — yet they were strangely familiar.

“Do you recognize them?” he asked.

“Slimy, crawlies.”

“Not good to eat.”

The males were not of much help. Kerrick was about to leave, but turned about for a last look. Then he knew — without a doubt he knew what they were.

“We go back now,” he ordered, leading the way down the ramp.

After returning the males to the hanalè, Kerrick sought out the others. Sanone was there, and Kerrick hurried to him, cutting into the mandukto’s formal greetings.

“We must get meat at once, we can’t have any deaths. And they have gone many days at least without feeding.”

“I would aid you, Kerrick, if you would tell me what it is you talk about.”

“In my haste I cloud my meaning. I have found a pen, a bit of swamp, that has small murgu in it. We must feed them and look more closely, but I think I know what they are. The shape, the size is right. Immature hèsotsan. Death-sticks.”

Sanone shook his head in bewilderment. “Like much of what I see here in Deifoben, what you speak of is beyond my comprehension.”

“You can understand this. The murgu do not make things, the way we make bows — or looms for cloth. They grow creatures for their needs. The death-sticks are alive, as you must know since you have fed them yourself. But when they are young, they are as I saw them today, small creatures in a swamp. When they grow older they change into the death-sticks that we use.”

Sanone understood now and struck his fists together with pleasure. “Wise-beyond-your-years, Kerrick, you will be our salvation. These creatures you speak of will be fed, will grow and we will have all the weapons we will ever need to live in this murgu-filled world. Now we will bring them food and examine them more closely.”

It was obvious when the reptiles slithered out onto the mud to snap up the gobbets of meat that they were immature hèsotsan. Now Kerrick felt that this city that had provided their enemies would now provide them in turn. Sanone agreed with him in this, and with each new discovery they made after that he saw the future inscribed more clearly.

The hunters had found shelter from the rain in one of the unburnt structures. After a hault of days the rains died away, though the nights remained cool. Sanone spent much of his time in deep thought, and went often to examine the city model, as well as the larger one of the landscape stretching west from the ocean. He eventually reached certain conclusions, after which he conferred at great length with the other manduktos. When they were all in agreement they sent for Kerrick.

“A decision has been reached,” Sanone said. “We have labored hard to understand Kadair’s path and at last all has become clear. We understand now that when Kadair took the form of the mastodon and shaped the world, when he stamped hard upon the ground and marked his track deep into the solid rock, he left a path that we could follow had we but the wisdom. We are his children and we are learning to follow his way. He led you to us and you brought the mastodon to remind us where we came from — and where we are destined to go. Karognis sent the murgu to destroy us, but Kadair then sent the mastodon to guide us over the ice mountains to this place to wreak his vengeance upon them. And they are destroyed while this place has been burnt. But only the evil has been burnt and what remains has been left by his design for our use. I know now that our valley was just a stop along the track while we waited for Kadair to stamp out his path for us. The future lies here. We will meet this evening and drink porro and Kadair will come to us. Then at dawn the first hunters will find the track that leads from here in Deifoben along the ocean to the west, the track that goes to the south of the ice mountains, the track that the murgu followed when they attacked us. Once this way is known our people will come here and this will be our home.”

Kerrick drank the fermented porro with the others that night and once again felt himself invaded by strange forces, and knew that the manduktos who did this were strong indeed and what they were doing had to be right. He wanted to tell them this, and in the end he did, standing and swaying, his voice raised in a hoarse shout.

“This city will be born again and you will be here and I will be here and you will be here and I will be Tanu and Yilanè, and this city will be the same.”

The manduktos approved of this and the manner in which he moved and spoke, though of course they did not understand since he spoke in Yilanè. But the alien language made his speaking it that much more impressive.

The next morning Kerrick lay asleep late, his head throbbing when he moved. So he kept his eyes shut — and for the first time since the hunters had gone north without him he thought of Armun. He must bring her here to join him. But the year was late already — if he left now he would have to journey through the worst part of the winter before he reached the encampment. He did not want to be trapped there by the snow; it was better here in the warmth. Nor could Armun travel in the cold. And the baby, he had forgotten about the child, it must stay in the security of the tent until winter’s end. So there was nothing that could be done now. When the days began lengthening again he would make plans. Right now he needed some cold water to wash over his head.

Armun had planned her escape in the greatest detail. She knew that Herilak would send swift hunters after her, and knew also that there was no way that she could stay ahead of them or escape them. Therefore she would have to outsmart them, escape in a way that they would never consider. No one paid attention to her comings and goings so she was able to carry what she needed away from the encampment, a little at a time, with Harl’s help. When this had been done and all of her plans were completed it was time to leave. She sealed the flaps at dusk, put out the fire and saw to it that they all retired early in the empty tent.

The morning star was just on the horizon when she rose, took up the still-sleeping baby, gave Harl the furs to carry, and led the way out into the night. By the light of the stars they went silently between the black tents of the sleeping sammads, staying on well-trampled paths, past the dark shadows of the mastodons to the rocky hills that lay beyond, to the north. Everything that they needed had been concealed there, in the deep crevasse under a shelf of overhanging rock.

And there they stayed for three days and three nights. There was dried meat and ekkotaz, sealed bladders of murgu meat, as well as all the water they needed from the stream close by. During the day, well-hidden from sight, she cut the long poles into shape and made a travois which she packed with their supplies. On the fourth day they again were up before dawn. Arnwheet crowed happily when he was secured into the seat on the travois. Harl took up his bow and arrows: Armun lifted up the poles of the travois and the long walk began. They worked their way south through the forest, making a wide circle around the encampment, and by midafternoon had crossed the track the sammads had made when they had come north to their encampment. New grass grew in the ruts but could not conceal the deep-cut tracks of the travois poles and prints of the mastodons. Harl scouted ahead for deer as Armun leaned into the poles and started east. Rocked by the steady motion the baby fell asleep.

They camped at dark, ate cold food because she dared not risk a fire, fell asleep rolled in their furs.

It was not easy, but she had never thought that it would be an easy thing to do. If the track had not taken the flattest route she would never have made it at all. Some days, when the path led uphill, no matter how hard she labored between the poles she still could only manage a small portion of a day’s march that the sammad might have achieved. She did not let this bother her, nor did she let her fatigue come between her and what must be done. Each evening Harl gathered wood and they had a fire, warm cooked food. She would play with the baby and tell him stories that Harl listened to with close attention. The children were not afraid of the darkness that began just beyond the light of the fire, that stretched out forever, and she would not permit herself any fear as well. The fire burned all night and she slept with the spear in her hand.

There were many days of sunshine — then heavy summer rain. This went on for a long time until the muddy track became impassable for the travois. In the end she built a shelter of leafy branches and they crawled into it. She needed the rest, but despaired of the wasted time. Summer was too short as it was. Harl went out to hunt each day — and one evening returned with a rabbit. She skinned and cooked it at once and the fresh meat was delicious. The rain eventually stopped and the ground dried enough for them to start on again. But the next night, just before dawn, there was a frost that left the blades of grass tufted with white. Winter was drawing near again. With this realization there came the bitter knowledge that she would never make the long trek south along the shore before winter closed in. When she went to pack the travois she saw that she had been struck another unkindness. The death-stick was dead, the tiny mouth gaping open, killed by the frost. It was a creature of the south and could not live in the cold. It was a portent of the future.

That night, long after the two boys were well asleep, she still lay awake in her furs staring up at the twinkling lights of the stars. The moon had set and the stars stretched above her in an immense bowl, the River of the Tharms running across it from horizon to horizon. Each star was the tharm of a dead-hunter, held up there in a glitter of cold light. Yet none of them could help her now. Had she been a fool to come on this helpless trek, to risk not only her own life but the lives of the two children? Perhaps, but it was too late to begin questioning. It was done. She was here. Now she had to decide what would come next. Had she any choice? Ortnar had told her she could wait on the shore for Kerrick, but he had been speaking stupidity, just to give himself an excuse for not going with her. She did not have enough supplies to last the winter on the shore, no tent, nothing to keep the winter at bay. So it was a choice then of camping and freezing — or starting south and freezing. There seemed little chance now that she could move south faster than the winter did. For the first time since she had left the encampment she felt tears in her eyes and was furious at herself for the weakness, wiped them away, rolled over and slept because she would need all of her strength for the next day’s walking.

The following night the first snow arrived and she shook it from the furs in the morning, packed them away and pressed on. That night, as they were eating, she found Harl looking at her across the fire.

“Eat it,” she said. “I like the murgu meat as little as you do, but it keeps us strong.”

“It is not the meat,” he said, “but the snow. When do we get to the place you have told us about, where Kerrick is waiting?”

“I wish I knew…” She reached over and brushed his fine blond hair, noticing the drawn lines about his eyes. He was eleven years old, a strong boy, but they had been walking steadily for far too long. “Sleep now, we want to be fresh when we start in the morning.”

There was no snow that night, but the last fall still lay unmelted on the ground. The day was clear yet there was little warmth in the sun. The track lay along the river valley now and she was sure that she recognized this place. The sammads had camped here before, not far from the ocean. Armun even thought that she could smell salt in the air — she moved along strongly with the wind in her face.

Yes there it was, white breakers rolling up onto the sand, the shore just beyond the bluff. She had her head down, pulling on the poles with steady endurance, following the track. She stopped only when she heard Harl’s warning cry.

There was a turf hut ahead, built into the base of the bluff and sheltered by it, with a fur-clad hunter standing before it. Motionless, apparently just as startled by her arrival as she was. She started to raise her voice and call to him — then the words choked in her throat.

He wasn’t Tanu, what he wore was not right. And his face…

It was covered with fur. Not just a beard on the lower part of his face — but there was fur, soft brown fur over all of his face.