by Meredith
At the third nest he found six feathers, giving him three more than the minimum required. But nearly a dozen of his feathers were scraggly, and the Cape deserved the best he could find.
Besides, something was wrong. Life as he knew it was hard, never pungently sweet and exhilarating, as it seemed today. Something was always hidden behind the facade. The last nest pulled him with a mysterious force.
When he got close, he saw that it was probably the biggest nest he’d seen, wider and longer than two buffalo robes laid side by side. It was in good condition, tight everywhere. The eagles must have used it only last year.
He walked around it gingerly, hands on the sticks for balance. He couldn’t walk around a lot of the nests, because they literally hung over their ledge on three sides, and the fourth was a vertical wall.
His inspection made him smile. At least a dozen feathers were caught in the twigs or bark or moss. This was a big find.
He laid his spear on the lip of the nest, pushed himself high, and raised a heel to clamber up.
Twigs crackled in the center of the nest. A human head poked up.
Dazed, Zeya noticed that the face had a long chin with a knob on the end.
Frozen, Zeya watched the hands lift a stick to the mouth.
Zeya heard a pffft! sound and felt a stabbing pain in his belly.
He looked down and saw a dart hanging there.
The world tilted.
Zeya fell. Limp legs hit the ledge and crumpled. His body toppled backward into the air, and the air was dark.
Su-Li dived.
The assassin stepped awkwardly across the springy nest and peered down at Zeya.
In despair Su-Li saw that the youth wasn’t moving. He’d fallen two or three times his own body height onto a steep, shaley slope.
Su-Li steepened his dive and fired despair into fury.
Knob Chin lowered himself off the nest onto the ledge and started climbing carefully down toward his enemy’s body.
He couldn’t have made a bigger mistake.
At full speed Su-Li raked talons across his face.
The enemy screamed and tumbled head over heels. He hit the slope on one shoulder, and his momentum rolled him over Zeya’s body.
Knob Chin tried in a befuddled way to get to his feet. Su-Li hit him again, a sharp stab of beak to neck.
The victim wailed in terror, looking around frantically.
Su-Li saw that he hadn’t dealt a mortal blow. The neck wound was bleeding freely but not pumping blood.
Su-Li turned in the tightest wheel he could and hurled himself like a spear at Knob Chin’s back. At the last moment he spread his wings, caught air, and plunged his talons into the bastard’s shoulders and neck.
Knob Chin screamed. He clutched at the buzzard’s legs and tried to rip the talons out. Su-Li laughed wildly in his mind.
Suddenly the warrior tried something else—he threw himself downhill and rolled.
Su-Li let go and fluttered up. When Knob Chin stopped and hoisted himself onto his knees, Su-Li swooped at his face. The assassin screeched in horror. He batted at Su-Li’s talons, but the buzzard got both shoulders.
Knob Chin rolled again, a momentary reprieve. Then he did the only thing that could save him. He ran downhill. Ran pell-mell. Fell, rolled, banged himself up, and ran some more.
Su-Li attended to Zeya. The young man was breathing. As far as Su-Li could tell, he hadn’t broken his neck or back, not even his arms or legs.
The dart had fallen out somewhere along the way. The wound barely dribbled blood—it was a deep slit. Su-Li sniffed at the wound, and then he knew the danger was not bleeding or infection.
Luckily, he also knew someone with the knowledge of how to treat poisons.
38
Zeya saw things, he heard things, and none of it made any sense. The Darkening Land, he supposed, didn’t make sense. He floated through enough sounds and pictures to believe that he was being carried. From the mud of his mind a memory grogged into consciousness. The Darkening Land was seven days’ travel to the west. Then everything made sense. You had to be carried on the journey, because the dead couldn’t walk.
Zeya swam up and up and up and at last his face broke through—through water or fog or something else?—into the light.
It was the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Her skin was red-gold, like any human being’s, but her hair was yellow. Her eyes were blue. She was stroking his face with a cool, wet rag.
She spoke, and her voice was a soft, sighing wind. “Hello, Ulo-Zeya.”
He drifted into her eyes and beyond them to a place where he could see nothing and was lost and…
He was riding a river and it was liquid fire. He rolled, he swelled up and down, and the hot waves washed over him.
Water splashed onto his hair.
Cool, sweet cool. “Co-oo-ool,” he murmured.
“Yes, Zeya, it’s cool,” said the sighing wind voice. “You need it.”
He so wanted to see her blue eyes that he forced his own eyes open. The world he saw didn’t make sense. It was all water and sky, and the water was falling, not like rain but like rivers. I am lying in a river that runs straight down, he thought foolishly, from the sky to the earth. The Darkening Land is a strange place.
Blue Eyes stood up and reached for something. She was a complete human woman, delicately sculpted, utterly beautiful, and from tip to toe she was knee-high.
She held a cup to his lips. “Drink this,” she said.
He sipped. Inside he laughed. How much fun the Darkening Land will be, he thought, when I can stay awake to see it.
A-a-ark.
A-a-ark.
A-a-ark.
Zeya began to think…
Su-Li?
He blinked himself awake.
Croak.
Su-Li!
Zeya lay flat, and Su-Li perched on a rock an arm’s length above his head.
“Hello,” he said. Speaking felt strange. He craned his neck left and right to make sure he could move it. He stuck an elbow out and propped himself on it. He studied the buzzard. “You’re immortal,” he said. His mind fumbled its way forward. “So this isn’t the Darkening Land. It’s the world of the Immortals.” He couldn’t think of its name.
“Yes,” said a familiar female voice, “we are Immortals. But you are still on the Earth, the in-between realm.”
Zeya gaped at her. Knee-high, that was right. Tiny, perfect features. Yellow hair. A face of amazing beauty.
She sang five notes, middle, high, quick-low-and-high, middle.
Six, ten, twelve human beings walked over to them. All were knee-high and, though most were men, stunningly beautiful.
“The Little People,” he said.
“That’s your name for us. It’s fine.”
“You sang,” he said.
“In here it’s a good way to be heard.”
Then he noticed. Here a bass note underpinned all sound, a low roar. Everywhere—to his left, his right, above—he saw water falling.
He focused his attention. Rock walls honeycombed with rooms. He was sitting near the falling water at the front of one room, which went many paces deep into the wall.
“That’s right,” she said. “We live behind the waterfall. We also live in the rocks on either side of it, and above and below.”
“Who are you?”
She thought for a moment. “Call me Saylo.”
The name rang like musical tones, “say low,” like speak softly.
“Would you tell me what’s going on here, Saylo?”
“Tomorrow. Meanwhile, drink this.”
He drank and slept.
“Tell me.”
Saylo looked at Su-Li, took a deep breath, and launched in.
“Su-Li came and asked us to help you. We know the cure for the poison.”
“Poison?” That was medicine man business. The man who attacked him was a warrior.
“Did you get a good look at the weapon?”
&nbs
p; “Saw a stick, nothing that looked like a weapon.”
“It’s something new Inaj and his men invented. A piece of hollowed-out river cane. They put a wooden dart in the end and glue on thistle to make it fly straight. The wood is whittled very sharp, and the tip dipped in poison.”
“Nasty,” said Zeya.
Su-Li rasped.
“Your friend said, ‘The human talent—instruments of death.’”
Zeya mulled this over. “The bastard shot me with a poisoned dart.”
“Then we brought you here. He got away.”
Su-Li croaked.
“He says your enemy might have come back to finish you off.”
The buzzard croaked again.
“He also says, ‘I got the assassin good.’ The poison would have killed you by nightfall.”
Su-Li spoke again.
“Su-Li says, correctly, that if the poison had been brewed by a powerful herbalist, like Ninyu, it would have killed you before he even chased off your enemy.”
“How far away were you?” asked Zeya.
Saylo pursed her lips and thought. “We Little People are everywhere.”
Zeya focused as much on the movement of her lips as on the words she said. He still felt woozy.
“It took a long time to get the poison out of me?”
“No, we took care of that immediately, while you were still on the mountain. Since then, I’ve just been treating your fever.”
“Fever?”
“From the wound.”
“Where are we?” He would have said anything to keep her talking, she was so lovely.
“We’re in one of the big waterfalls that make the Galayi land so beautiful. Where exactly is it? Let’s just say that if you left here today, walked half a day away, turned around and walked half a day back, we wouldn’t be here. The waterfall wouldn’t be here. Everything you see or hear or touch here would be gone. Or invisible to you.”
Zeya swallowed. “That’s hard to take in.”
“I know you’re trying to keep me talking. I like you, too.”
He reached out, picked her up, and tried to kiss her.
She stuck a finger in his eye.
“Ouch!” He set her down, shamefaced.
She glared at him.
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
She stuck a finger in his other eye and—blink!—disappeared.
Su-Li shook his head.
“Yeah,” grumbled Zeya, “if you could talk, you’d say, ‘How dumb can you be?’”
Zeya slept for a long time. Twice he woke up for a moment, realized his eyes were sore, and went back to sleep. When he heard someone clearing his throat with a tiny sound, he sat up and paid attention. A very old man, a Little Person, stood next to him.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d lie down,” said the old man. “I don’t like your head higher than mine.”
Zeya laid down and knit his hands behind his head.
“My name is Ralo.” He spoke in a deep voice. “You won’t be seeing Saylo again.”
Zeya nodded his acceptance. He was held by the sound of Ralo’s voice, soft as fern hair and very low, a contrast to Saylo’s birdlike tones.
“Please don’t think we’re prudes. We know you think Saylo is pretty, and she likes that. The Little People love beauty of every kind.” Ralo wore a glistening white robe with lilac trim.
“We even know you’re feeling disloyal to Jemel because you felt desire for Saylo. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.
“It’s just that, we Little People are immortal. We don’t do the thing human beings do to reproduce—we have no need to make more of our own kind. Understand?”
Zeya nodded.
“Also, what you see here is like shadows made by your hands and fingers on a rock. It isn’t really here. I’m not really an old man, or young woman, or girl, or any age or gender.
“When you’re here, you see beauty. Because beauty is the purpose of our existence. It’s natural and right to be attracted to beauty.
“I hope I haven’t confused you. Now I’m afraid I must bid you good-bye—we all must bid you good-bye.”
“I like it here.”
“But you can’t stay. No one can. Or I should say, those who stay become Little People.”
“Become Little People?”
“Anyone who eats our food becomes one of us. You haven’t eaten anything since you’ve been here, except for some broth made from meat that Su-Li brought in. Broth made from flesh.” The old man shuddered. “Our food is celestial. If you ate it, you would be one of us.”
Zeya looked around. He had never even imagined a place so lovely—water spilling silver through the air, light softened by the spray, and everywhere the beautiful Little People themselves. “That doesn’t seem so bad.”
“Your mission is important. To you. It’s who you are, and this is who we are.”
The old man cocked his head, winked, and turned away.
“Ralo!” said Zeya. Ralo looked back. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thank you for taking care of me, Saylo.”
“You’re catching on,” Ralo piped in Saylo’s voice. “And you’re a smart aleck. A very likable one.” In a deep, male voice he added, “When you go, take that nasty weapon with you.”
39
“I’m sick of this,” Inaj said to Wilu and Zanda. “Let’s go do some flaking.”
Boredom, boredom, boredom. The sons could read their father’s face the way a dog could read pee. Inaj was tired of sitting around with his brother Vaj and family. He’d rather spend the afternoon up the creek. This morning Vaj had told them about a place there with some flint. He could see the boredom, too.
To Inaj his brother lived an incomprehensible life. Almost no hunting, a few snares to set, a lot of lounging around while the women harvested and gathered, or sewed, way too much fussing over his grandchildren, and worst of all, talking interminably—Vaj and his women did nothing else. It irked Inaj.
Yesterday had been a particular trial. The women were picking corn, and Inaj wanted to do something. It wasn’t hunting season yet. Normally Inaj would have instructed the young men in war arts, but they were lackadaisical about such skills in the Cusa village. Inaj suggested the men could gather cane for more blow darts—anything but sit around.
Vaj, a jovial man with a big belly, agreed. But he kept finding reasons to stay home. It was clear that he liked sitting outside the hut enjoying the sun more than anything else. All afternoon he told Wilu and Zanda stories about adventures he and Inaj had as boys. In the evening he started a game with his grandchildren. They watched the fireflies and identified or imagined patterns. Sometimes one would see a rabbit flicker for a moment, or a raccoon. When the twelve-year-old grandson saw the Hunchback constellation, which the Galayi used to mark the North Star, Vaj picked the boy up, gave him a bear hug, and acted like the youngster was the smartest thing on earth. Inaj was disgusted.
Wilu understood this family better than his father did. He found a life of pleasure tempting. Sometimes he wondered about his father’s love of killing and his thirst for power. But Wilu had no intention of taking the Vaj path. He wanted to be Red Chief one day. Zanda had won the election last time, but another would come and his legendary father would swing votes. Inaj demanded total dedication.
The three carried their weapons—even that was questionable behavior in this village—and started up the river. “Good to be away from these vain Cusas for an afternoon,” said Inaj. He could never forgive them their pride in being peaceful.
A hundred paces beyond the last hut a creek ran into the river, and the knapping site was above the head of the creek. Maybe the noise of the two streams was why Wilu and Zanda didn’t hear the footfalls. But their father did.
Knob Chin was walking like an old man. He had big scabs and one wound still open on his neck and shoulders. He gazed dully at Inaj and murmured, “Chief.”
“Fool!” said Inaj.
They had some trouble getting Knob Chin to the site, but Inaj tongue-lashed him upward. This man, one of Inaj’s most trusted warriors, chosen to be the first to use the blow dart in battle, now padded along like an invalid. When they found the flint, he lay flat on a boulder while Inaj, Wilu, and Zanda worked.
Inaj’s questions were merciless.
Knob Chin threw words back. “I am sure he’s dead, damn well sure.”
“You—”
Knob Chin was testy enough to interrupt the Chief. “The poison, it went into him deep.”
Inaj didn’t bother to look up from the spear tip he was flaking. “So you say. I keep reading the story in all those scabs. Maybe a story more truthful than the one your tongue tells.”
He held the spear tip up to the best light. Making a fine one was skilled work, and he liked it.
From the corner of his eye he saw that Knob Chin’s eyes were pleading. That was good. Humiliation was an effective tool, one of Inaj’s favorites.
“I would feel a lot better if you had brought me his head. That was your assignment.”
“I told you—”
Inaj interrupted. “Yes, the bird.” The word came off his tongue dripping with contempt.
“The buzzard. You see what he did to me.”
Inaj saw. “He tried to take your head off.” The Chief gave Knob Chin a smile that suited a warrior who had been defeated in battle by a bird.
“Zanda, it’s interesting, isn’t it? Who would think Sunoya would give up her spirit animal, even for a short time?”
Zanda made a grunt of assent and kept his eyes on his work.
Inaj gave Knob Chin a big grin. “Now we know why your predecessors didn’t come back.”
“Well, I’m back.”
Inaj took a last look at his handiwork and said, “This is a fine point.” He stood up. “Let’s get you to the village for some sanctuary.” He mouthed the word ironically. “You need it.”
Knob Chin watched the Chief start down the creek, rubbing the edge of his point with his thumb. No doubt it was a sharp edge. Knob Chin was glad it wasn’t meant for his flesh.
Su-Li flew straight at Zeya, made a sharp pivot, and flew straight back toward the Cusa village. Then, so Zeya would be sure, he repeated the signal.
