Winter in Eden Read Free

others."
    "They will die on our spears," Herilak said. "And quickly before they escape in the darkness."
    "It is not their way to move about at night, you know that. Nor is there another door leading out of this place. Let us now stop the killing and all the talk of killing and rest here until morning. Eat and drink and sleep."
    None argued with this. Kerrick found water-fruit on an unburnt tree and showed them how to drink from them. Their food was gone but fatigue was greater than hunger and they were asleep almost at once.
    Not so Kerrick. He was as tired as the others but the whirl of his thoughts kept him awake. Above him the last clouds blew away and the stars came out. Then he slept, unknowing, and when he looked again dawn was clearing the sky.
    There was movement behind him and in the growing light he saw Herilak, knife in hand, walking silently toward the entrance to the hanalè.
    "Herilak," he called out as he rose stiffly to his feet. The big hunter spun about, his face grim with anger, hesitated—then pushed the knife into its sling, turned and stalked away. There was nothing that Kerrick could say that would ease the pain that tore at him. Instead of diminishing Herilak's anger and hatred the killings seemed only to have intensified his emotions. Perhaps this would pass soon. Perhaps. Kerrick's thoughts were troubled as he slaked his thirst from one of the water-fruit. There was much still to be done. But first he had to find out if there really were any Yilanè still alive in the hanalè. He looked down wearily at his spear. Was it still needed? There might be females alive inside who did not know of the city's destruction. He took up the weapon and held it before him as he pushed through the burned and warped door.
    There was blackened ruin here. Fire had swept along the hall and through the transparent panels overhead. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke—and of burnt flesh. Spear ready he walked the length of the hall, the only part of the hanalè he had ever seen, and on to the turning at the end. A scorched doorway led to a large chamber—where the smell of charred flesh was overpowering. More than enough light filtered down through the burnt ceiling above to reveal the dreadful contents of the Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
    room.
    Almost at his feet, burned and dead with her mouth gaping wide, was Ikemend, the keeper of the hanalè.
    Behind her were the huddled shapes of her charges. The room was packed with them, now burnt and as dead as their keeper. Kerrick turned away, shuddering, and made his way deeper into the structure.
    It was a maze of connecting rooms and passages, for the most part charred and destroyed. Yet further on the wood was greener, this section recently grown, and scarcely touched by the fire. At the last turning he entered a chamber with ornate hangings on the walls, soft cushions on the floor. Huddled against the far wall, their eyes bulging and their jaws dropped in juvenile fear, were two young males. They moaned when they saw him.
    "It is death," they said and closed their eyes.
    "No!" Kerrick called out loudly. "Correction of statement. Foolishness of males—attention to a superior speaking."
    Their eyes flew open with astonishment at this.
    "Speak," he ordered. "Are there others?"
    "The creature that talks points the sharp tooth that kills," one of them moaned.
    Kerrick dropped his spear onto the matting and moved away from it. "The killing is over. Are you two alone?"
    "Alone!" they wailed in unison and their hands flashed the colors of juvenile terror and pain. Kerrick fought to keep his temper with the stupid creatures.
    "Listen to me and be silent," he ordered. "I am Kerrick strong-and-important who sits at the Eistaa's side.
    You have heard of me." They signed agreement: perhaps knowledge of his flight had not penetrated their isolation. Or, more simply, they had forgotten. "Now you will answer my questions. How many of you are here?"
    "We hid," the younger one