Winter in Eden

Yilanè goes," Vaintè said, wondering, for free passage was like the air one breathed, the water one swam in, and she could consider no other possibility.
    "That is true," Lanefenuu said, speaking with immense difficulty for some strong emotion had locked her muscles. "When I first saw you, Vaintè, I sensed one who felt as I did, who trod the same path. What you have told me has only deepened that feeling. I see a future shared, so I now tell you what no others know.
    Yes, Yilanè have come to sea-girt Ikhalmenets, and among them were those who spoke well of the Daughters of Death. All those whom I suspected might be capable of subversion I have had brought to me here in this chamber and they have talked to me and I have listened."
    Lanefenuu paused for a long time, her eyes peering inward, backward in time, seeing events long past that only she knew of.
    "Those who were determined to speak their subversion, despite my requests for them to leave Ikhalmenets, these and only these, I have dealt with here. After we talked I instructed them to be seated, just as I instructed you. But on that other board. If you examine it in the light you will see a shining area in the middle. A living creature that contains one of the glands from the hèsotsan. Do you understand what I am saying? They never left this chamber, Vaintè. Do you know what that means? They are all in there," she gestured toward a small door in the wall. "They nurture the roots of this city with their bodies, not their ideas, and that is as it should be."
    When the import of what Lanefenuu had said penetrated Vaintè's numbed senses she dropped forward in the position of lowest to highest, then spoke with this same relationship.
    "Let me serve you, Lanefenuu, for all my days. For you have the strength that has been denied me, the strength to act as you know best, irrespective of what others may think, the strength to pit yourself against the custom of ages in the defense of your city. I will be your fargi and obey your commands and will serve you always."
    Lanefenuu reached down and touched her thumbs lightly to Vaintè's crest, in the gesture that means shared happiness. When she spoke there were overtones of burdens cast down in what she said.
    "Serve me, strong Vaintè, as I will serve you. We have the same journey to make—it is just that we have taken different paths. But I see that our paths have now been joined. We will journey on together now.
    Neither ustuzou nor Daughters of Death will prevail before us. All will be swept away. Tomorrow's tomorrow will be as yesterday's yesterday—with no memory of these unspeakable creatures in between."
    Winter in Eden - Harry Harrison
    CHAPTER TEN
    Uveigil as nep, as rath at stakkiz—markiz fallar ey to marni.
    Marbak original
    No matter how long and hot the summer—winter always awaits at its end.
    Winter had come again to Deifoben. The rains were heavy this year and a north wind that whistled through the branches of the trees sent dead leaves tumbling before it. This morning Kerrick had been woken in the darkness by the drumming of the rain on the translucent coverings above. He had not fallen asleep again. At the first grayness of dawn he had taken his hèsotsan and fed it, pushing into its tiny mouth the fragments of meat that he had saved from his evening meal the night before. The weapon was at his side most of the time now. He had issued firm orders that anyone going out of the confines of the city must be armed. There were no exceptions—himself included. When it had fed he went out, walking as he did almost every day now, along the paths that led between the fields to the north of the city, to the last grove where the nenitesk tore at the leaves, loudly crunching great mouthfuls. The clinging vines that the Yilanè had planted to block the path still stretched from side to side and he stepped over them carefully. But the poison thorn bushes had been cleared away since they were there to trap humans, not animals. He kept his weapon ready, wary of the many predators that prowled the city's fringes. Looking and listening carefully. But he was alone, the path to the north was open.
    And empty. Kerrick stood there, unaware of the rain that soaked his long hair and beard, dripped from the large and the small metal knives that hung from the collar about his neck, ran in runnels down his skins.
    Empty. He came here most mornings: this was the worst time. Later when the day's work involved him he would