Winter in Eden e-2 Read online

  “We cannot agree,” Sanone said, turning back to Kerrick. “You are just guessing, you have no proof, we must wait and see.”

  “Must you wait until we have the first deaths here? Can you not see clearly what has been done? Look south, to the beach there, to what appears to be an empty encampment. It does not matter that none of the murgu are there now — it is meant to be empty. Those plants are poisonous and deadly, but they must be grown somewhere so they can be harvested. Why not on the shore here? This is the environment they will have to grow in. They were planted there to grow and flourish — and when they are ripe, their seed will be harvested. And that explains as well the small murgu we killed.”

  “This is just guessing…”

  “Perhaps. But it has the real smell of truth to it. Think of that creature, designed to live among the vines and plants where everything else dies. Why bother breeding such a creature in the first place if the plants are just for protection? No, they have a more terrible significance. They are meant to be spread. Spread here. The little murgu will run and hide, and wherever it goes it will leave those seeds behind. It will run here in Deifoben until our city is filled with death and we will have to leave or die ourselves.”

  “If the little murgu try to come here we will kill them,” one of the manduktos called out and the others murmured agreement. Kerrick fought to keep his anger under control.

  “Will you? You are such a wonderful killer with the bow and the death-stick that you can hunt by night and day, over all this vast place, under every shrub and tree, kill each murgu as it appears? If you think that you are a fool. You are all being foolish. I feel as you do; I don’t want to believe this thing. But I must. We will have to leave here — and as soon as possible.”

  “No, this will not happen.” Sanone was on his feet. “Kadair led us here, he will not desert us now.”

  “Maybe Karognis brought you here instead,” Kerrick said, hearing the horrified gasps around him, hoping that they might be shocked into understanding. “We cannot kill all of the creatures when they begin coming here, we cannot stop the seeds from growing. We must leave before the first deaths happen.”

  “It cannot be,” Sanone said. “They would not do such a thing because it would leave this city useless. What kills us would kill the murgu just as quickly.”

  Kerrick ignored the cries of agreement and shouted louder than they did. “You reason like children. Do you think the murgu would design and grow these plants without knowing how to destroy them just as well? When this city is theirs again all the growing bushes of destruction will be cleared away.”

  “If they can do it — so can we.”

  “No we can’t. We have not the knowledge that they have.”

  Sanone raised his hand and the others were silent. “We get angry and wisdom vanishes. We say things we will regret later. Perhaps everything that Kerrick has said will come to pass. But even if it does — do we have a choice? If they can kill this place, can they not follow and kill our valley, or wherever else we choose to camp? Perhaps Kadair led us here to die, perhaps that is part of his plan. We cannot know. It appears that we have little choice. It will be easier to stay.”

  For the first time Kerrick was silent for he could not answer Sanone’s words. Was that the only choice? Stay here and die, or run away, across the great land. And find death waiting for your arrival. Without another word he wrapped his deerskin cloak around him, stood and went to his sleeping chamber. It had been a long and hard day and he was tired, yet he could not sleep. Lying in the darkness he sought a way out, a path to follow that they had not noticed yet. They would send for Herilak in the spring and he would come with the Tanu. They would launch an attack on the island where the Yilanè were, drive them off. Capture a scientist, make her reveal how the deadly plants could be killed. Kill the lizards when they appeared, dig up the plants when they started to grow. A lot could be done — had to be done…

  The morning was clear, the sun warm, the fears of the night diminished by daylight. Kerrick was peeling an orange when he saw Sanone emerge from the leafy mouth of one of the connecting passageways. His face was twisted with lines of pain, and he shuffled as he walked. Kerrick stood, the fruit, forgotten, dropping to the ground.

  “The first,” Sanone said. “As you said, so it begins. A child, a small girl, playing at the riverbank when a thorn rose out of the sand and drove into her foot and she died. We dug the plant out of the ground with spears, it was as small as my hand, burnt it in the fire. But how could it come there — in the center of the city?”

  “Many ways. They could put seeds in the river upstream. They could be fed to birds to fall with their excrement. They are very wise, the Yilanè who make new things grow. When they do a thing they do it well. Everyone must be warned, precautions taken. Or do we leave?”

  Sanone seemed older than his years at this moment, the lines in his face deeper. “I do not know. We will talk again tonight. Meanwhile there are certain things I must do to understand Kadair’s meaning in all this. It is very hard to know exactly what is the correct thing that must be done.”

  Kerrick went with Sanone to see the remains of the plant, poked at it with a stick. “Very small — but the thorns are just as big as those on the full-size plants. Were there any more?”

  “We searched. Just this one.”

  “Everyone must wear leather around their feet. Strange plants must not be touched. The bigger children must look after the smaller ones. The children must stay in certain areas which will be gone over very carefully every morning.”

  After this Kerrick was hungry and went to the fire where Nenne’s woman, Matili, always made room for him. She baked delicious meat in the ashes, coated it with clay that hardened so the meat was both tender and juicy. With this she had a paste in little dishes, made of fruit that had been mashed with salt and hot chilies, that the meat could be dipped into. It was very good and he was hungry.

  Yet when he came to the fire Matili looked up at him coldly and made a gesture he had never seen before; with her hand held vertically in front of her nose, between her eyes. When he spoke to her she did not answer, but instead turned away and ran into the room where she and Nenne slept. It was mystifying and Kerrick was about to leave when Nenne appeared.

  “I hope you are not hungry, Kerrick, for there is no meat.” He kept his face averted when he said this, which was not his way.

  “What is wrong with Matili?” Kerrick asked. “And why did she hold her hand like this?”

  He repeated the gesture with his hand. But like a Yilanè he saw the hand gesture as part of a whole that involved the entire body, all of the limbs. So without realizing it he dropped his shoulder, held his hand before his chest in a protective, feminine gesture, even for one instant stood with his legs just as Matili had stood. Nenne saw this writhing movement and did not understand it, like many things he did not understand about Kerrick. He did not like them either, but he kept his feelings to himself. The moment had come to tell Kerrick; it was time that he understood. “Come over here, I will try to explain.”

  They walked under the trees until they could not be overheard. “It was the words you spoke last night. You talked with the manduktos, you shouted and many heard. Matili has been told what you said. What she did with her hand when she saw you, that is what foolish women do to turn Karognis away from them.”

  Kerrick was puzzled. “My words last night — and Karognis? I do not understand.”

  “Karognis is the evil one, as evil as the murgu, his eyes must not rest upon one or harm will befall.”

  “What have I to do with Karognis?”

  “Some say you speak with the tongue of Karognis. You spoke words about Kadair that were overheard. That was not a good thing to do.”

  Kerrick looked at the grim expression on Nenne’s face and knew that although he might deny it, he really felt the same as Matili did. The Sasku listened to the manduktos and understood them when they talked about the living world, how Kad
air had made all of the world, and how all things in the world knew that. In this they were like the Tanu who saw life around them in everything, the animals and the birds, even the rivers and trees. Knowing where this life came from they would never speak of Ermanpadar with other than deepest respect. Kerrick always forgot this, had not grown up with these strong beliefs as the Tanu and the Sasku had done. He tried to make amends.

  “I spoke in anger and fear. Tell Matili that it was not myself talking, what I said I did not mean.”

  “I must return.” Neune turned and walked away without answering. It was obvious now that he really believed as the women did. Kerrick did not display his instant anger and call out after him the words that would only have added to the ill feeling. But he hated their stupidities.

  They are only ustuzou.

  They were, yes, but that was a Yilanè thought that he should not have — would not have. He was ustuzou just as they were, he was not Yilanè at all.

  Yet even while he was thinking this he was walking toward the hanalè, wondering how the two males were faring. He was Tanu — but at this moment he felt like being with the Yilanè.

  “Very boring,” Nadaske said, and added a movement that signified asleep-forever. “We are here all the time, none come to see us. One time in the remote past you would take us around the city in the sunshine and that was pleasure. But you do it no more and we have only each other to talk to and very little to say after all these days. Once we had you to talk to, but of course you have other preoccupations and are rarely here.”

  “You are still alive,” Kerrick said with some anger and bitterness. “That should be some satisfaction.”

  Nadaske turned away, signing female and interrogative as he did. Kerrick smiled at that, the suggestion that he had been acting harsh and insulting. Just like a female. Yet a short while ago it had been a female who had sent him hungry away from her fire. And he still had not eaten. He looked about. The males had fussy appetites and there was still some of the preserved meat left from the previous day. Kerrick peeled off a piece and ate it. Imehei wailed.

  “We will die here, locked away — and we will starve too.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Signing equality of males and foolishness, a confusing thing to do since it was a gesture used only by females. Yet these two assigned him the dominant-female role when he was with them. Quick anger grew; was he accepted nowhere?

  “Vaintè has returned,” he said. “She and many others are close by.”

  He had their attention then and they were apologizing for their bad temper, assuring him of his strength and generosity, begging for information. He stayed some time, happy in their companionship, realizing that he had much in common with them. He could speak of what interested him in the deep and complex manner of Yilanè communication. He cared not for Kadair, Karognis — or Ermanpadar either for that matter. For the moment his many troubles were forgotten. It was midday when he left and he saw to it that he returned before dark, bringing meat with him. They ate together in joined pleasure.

  Yet behind the pleasure lay the dark shadow of the future. Vaintè was close by and death was between her thumbs. The poisonous plants would grow well in the sun and the little lizards would run and spread their deadly seeds. The future was inescapable — and inescapably grim.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When the weather warmed in the spring and the winter storms died away, there was greater activity at sea south of the city. More of the poison plants had been found to the south, though none in the city itself for some undetermined reason. It was as though the Yilanè had made all of their preparations, tested the efficacy of their attack — and were now waiting for some signal to begin. Yet days passed and there was still no sign of it; even Kerrick was beginning to doubt his earlier fears. Not really doubt, just cover up and hide them. He knew that sooner or later the final battle would begin. Vaintè was out there. She would never stop until they were all destroyed. So, despite the complaints, Kerrick saw to it that all of the approaches to the city were watched and guarded, night and day, while armed parties made longer patrols north and south along the shore to look out for any Yilanè activity. Kerrick himself led the sweeps south, he had the certainty that the attack would come from this direction, but other than the ever-growing wall of death there was still no sign of activity on shore. It was a hot afternoon when he returned from one of these scouting expeditions and saw Nenne waiting for him on the trail.

  “There is a hunter from the north, a Tanu who has come and says only that he will talk with you. Sanone has gone to him but he will not speak with the mandukto, other than to repeat that his words are only for you.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “He is the sammadar, Herilak.”

  When he spoke the name a chill of apprehension washed over Kerrick. Armun — something had happened to Armun. There was no reason for this fear, but it was there, filling him so full that his hands were shaking.

  “He is alone?” Kerrick asked, not moving.

  “None are with him — though it can be seen that there are other hunters who wait outside the city, among the trees.”

  Alone, others in the forest, what could the reasons be? And Armun, what of her? Nenne stood waiting, half turned away as Kerrick’s body moved with his thoughts, in the Yilanè way with physical echoes. With an effort Kerrick broke the paralysis of inaction and fear. “Take me to him — at once.”

  They trotted through the city, gasping in the hot air, their bodies running with sweat, to the open space of the ambesed where Herilak stood waiting. He was leaning on his spear but straightened up when Kerrick came close, speaking before Kerrick could.

  “I have come with a request. It is our death-sticks that are…”

  “We will talk of them after you tell me of Armun.”

  “She is not with me,” he said, unsmiling and grim.

  “I see that, Herilak. She is well, the baby?”

  “I have no knowledge of that.”

  All Kerrick’s fears had been true. Something had happened to her. He shook his hèsotsan angrily.

  “Speak clearly, sammadar. You took her to your sammad, to protect her, you told me that. Now why do you say you have no knowledge?”

  “Because she is gone. She did that alone, although I ordered her not to, ordered that none should help her. What she has done, she has only herself to blame. Though the hunter, Ortnar, disobeyed me and helped her to leave. It was last year at this time. He is no longer in my sammad. I sent hunters after her but they could not find her. Now we will talk of other matters…”

  “We will talk of Armun. She asked you for aid and you did not give it. Now you tell me that she is gone. Where has she gone?”

  “She went south to join you. She must be here.”

  “She is not — she never arrived.”

  Herilak’s words were as cold as winter. “Then she is dead on the trail. We will talk of other things.”

  In a red haze of anger and hatred Kerrick raised his hèsotsan with shaking hands, aimed it at Herilak who stood unmoving and unafraid, his spear butt on the ground. Herilak shook his head and spoke.

  “Killing me will not bring her back to life. And Tanu does not kill Tanu. There are other women.”

  Other women. These words disarmed Kerrick and he lowered his weapon. There were no other women for him, just Armun. And she was dead. And Herilak was not to blame. It was his fault, his alone. If he had returned to the sammads she would be alive now. It was over. There was nothing else to say about it.

  “You want to talk about the death-sticks,” Kerrick said, all feeling gone from his voice. “What of them?”

  “They are dead, all of them. It was the cold of winter. Even though we tried to keep them warm many died the first winter, the rest were dead before this spring. Now we must go and hunt in the land of the murgu for there is no game to the north. We need more of the death-sticks. The sammads need them to live. You have more here. Will you share them?”
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br />   “I have many here, young ones growing here. Where are the sammads?”

  “North, on the beach with the mastodons, waiting. Half of the hunters stay to guard them, the other half are here waiting in the forest. I came alone. It was my feeling you would kill me and I did not want them to see this happen.”

  “You were right in that. But I give you no death-sticks for hunting on the plains.”

  “You what?” Herilak shook his spear in anger. “You will refuse me, refuse the sammads? You could have had my life if you wished it. I gave you that — for the sammads — and now you refuse me?”

  Without realizing it he half-raised the spear and Kerrick pointed to it, smiling coldly.

  “Tanu does not kill Tanu — yet you raise your spear.” He waited until Herilak had conquered his anger, lowered his spear, before he spoke again. “I said there would be no death-sticks for hunting in the plains. There is danger in this city and hunters are needed to defend it. The Sasku are here. As they once aided the Tanu I now ask you to aid them in turn. Stay and help them here. There are death-sticks for all.”

  “That is not for me to decide. There are other sammadars, and all in the sammads as well.”

  “Bring them here. A decision must be made.”

  Herilak scowled darkly with anger, yet had no choice. In the end he turned on his heel and stamped away, brushing past Sanone without even a sideward glance.

  “There is trouble?” Sanone asked.

  Trouble? Armun dead. Kerrick still could not accept this reality. It took an effort to speak to Sanone.

  “The sammadars of the Tanu are coming here. I have told them if they want death-sticks they must stay in the city. They must bring the sammads here. We will band together to defend each other — there is no other way.”