by Meredith
Zeya got it—an enemy in the village.
He left the river trail and scrambled through the trees up the mountain. Then he sat on a high overlook and looked down. Not that he could see any enemies from the distance. That was Su-Li’s job.
All the way up the mountain his mind simmered with frustration. He looked forward to getting to the village. He had all the feathers. He had killed two assassins and escaped the third. Now he wanted Awahi to bless the feathers and let him take them to Tsola.
Su-Li squawked.
“All right,” he said, “yes, I want to see Jemel, too.”
Su-Li squawked again.
“Okay, I’m crazy to talk to her. But I can’t.” Those were the terms of his mission. But he could watch her, from a distance.
“So what enemy is here? Another one of Inaj’s assassins?”
Su-Li shook his head no.
“So who?”
The buzzard waited.
“Do I have other enemies in the world?” He steamed. What had he done to deserve this? Then he thought. “You mean Inaj is here? Himself?”
Su-Li nodded his head yes.
Zeya took in this news. Finally, he said, “I need to sleep.” He found a grassy spot and stretched out on one of his hides. He was bone-weary, weary of travel, weary of loneliness, weary of climbing to aeries, weary of fear, weary of killing. He didn’t get any sleep.
Su-Li crouched on the young man’s shoulder. In the middle of the night he didn’t take to the sky—too risky to fly in the darkness.
Zeya had a job, but couldn’t help wondering where Jemel was. What hut did she sleep in? Did she like these relatives? Was she being courted? Was she slipping into the bushes with another man? Or more than one? Jealousy simmered in his gut.
He cursed himself for not concentrating on what needed to be done. After a while he knew where the two village guards were standing, one upriver and one down. He whispered, and Su-Li nodded his head yes.
Zeya decided to go in noisily, scuffling his feet, whapping branches, and calling, “Friend,” in a loud whisper.
“Cusa?” asked a disembodied voice. The guard had taken cover, but he knew the approaching figure was a Galayi.
“Soco,” said Zeya. “I’ve come to see Awahi.”
The guard showed himself, a moving shadow among still shadows cast by the moon.
“Friend!” said Zeya again, walking forward. “I need your help.”
The guard jumped at the sight of Su-Li. Zeya spoke a few words. The man nodded and was gone. Before long, he came back with Awahi himself.
“Is it really you?” said Eagle Voice. “Did you get away from his assassins?”
“By luck.”
Awahi gave him a look that said, ‘Not all luck. Couldn’t be.’
The older man wheezed, “It’s dangerous here,” and started toward his hut.
“It’s dangerous everywhere,” said Zeya, following.
“Yes, but did you know Inaj is right in this village?”
“I know.”
“With his sons Wilu and Zanda.” If possible, the old man seemed skinnier, no more than a few twigs.
Zeya muttered a curse. Su-Li corrected him with a nip on the ear.
Awahi held up a hand for silence. Zeya was afraid the dogs would bark at the buzzard smell, but none did.
Back in his home, Awahi said, “Want to eat?”
Zeya was cold and empty-bellied. He tucked his weapons into a corner and asked for tea and meat.
Awahi rasped, “Inaj has been here for half a moon. He’s pretending to visit his brother, but he’s really waiting for you. He didn’t think you’d live this long. On the other hand, he’s thorough.”
Awahi handed Zeya some dried meat, and Zeya shared it with Su-Li. Zeya hadn’t had meat since the dart stuck him.
“After you left before, he came and asked me questions.” Awahi didn’t sound happy about it.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I told you how to gather feathers in a sacred manner.”
“Anything about Tsola?”
“Nothing.”
But something was bothering the old man.
“He demanded—you know how that beast makes his demands—to know what nests you would go to first. I lied to him.”
“I didn’t go where you told me anyway.”
“Praise to the spirits that you’re alive.”
“I have to sleep,” said Zeya.
Awahi thought and said, “You are an honored guest. To have you in my home is a blessing, and you may stay as long as you like. But I’m frightened for you.” He cast a nervous eye at the spear, club, and blow gun.
“I’ll stay inside all day tomorrow.”
“Inaj, Wilu, Zanda, and the third assassin, the one Su-Li attacked but didn’t kill, they watch this hut all the time. They’ve probably also asked the guards to keep an eye out, adding gifts to win loyalty. They may already know you’re here.”
Zeya and Su-Li looked at each other.
“Also, in the daytime you could stay inside, but even you have to go out to pee.”
“Then I’d better get the blessing and go,” said Zeya.
“It will be a privilege to bless the feathers. Did you get enough?”
“Plenty.”
“Good. I’ll bless them, and you can rest until the Hunchback constellation says first light is near, then slip away.”
“Okay.”
“Remember, nothing can happen to you in this village. The peace chiefs don’t kill—they do worse.” Awahi chuckled.
Zeya knew the penalty, banishment, living completely alone the rest of your life. And it was rigorously enforced by all bands. He thought, You end up crazy as Paya.
Then Awahi said, “Something important. One of Inaj’s sons may kill you tomorrow. But if you kill him…” And Awahi told him what had to be done.
Su-Li flapped up to Awahi’s smoke hole. The buzzard ratcheted his head in several directions and saw nothing. “Fly away at the first hint of light,” said the old man.
To Zeya, Awahi said, “A man walking with a buzzard on his shoulder is a little conspicuous.”
Zeya slipped away in the last of the darkness and met Su-Li where the guard had stood.
“No guard here,” said Zeya. Both of them wondered whether the guard had left his post to tell Inaj and get some kind of reward.
Zeya had thought his plan through out loud back in the hut, Su-Li nodding approval or disapproval and Awahi pitching in with an occasional bit of advice. Zeya was eager to get it done.
He sprinted along the trail downriver. The two sacks over his shoulders, one full of feathers and one with a little dried meat, bounced clumsily. The spear and the war club were awkward in Zeya’s hands, and the blow gun rubbed against his butt. But he needed distance. He wanted to get downriver, the direction away from the Emerald Cavern. He wondered if they would suspect. If no one followed him, he would circle the long way around to Tsola.
Just as the sun came up, he found a rocky outcropping where his tracks wouldn’t show and slipped off the trail. He hid his club and spear under a log. A little way off, he stored his feathers and meat in a pine tree. Then he walked into the river.
Easily, quietly, he floated along. Within a hundred paces he saw a hiding place, a dead cedar that had fallen into the river during the spring flood and now, at low water, was stranded on a sand bar.
He lay in the water, his eyes raised just over the trunk, his face hidden by branches. He could see fifty paces of trail with no obstructions, and he had glimpses of more than that. It was very unlikely that anyone would see him. If his pursuer was watching with care, his eyes would go up the hill.
Zeya could see Su-Li, and that was essential. The spirit buzzard was making tight circles above the river. He hovered, facing Zeya, showing that he knew where his comrade was and was doing his part.
Now Su-Li straightened from his circle and wing-flapped straight down the riverbank. When he got to Zeya, he turned
in a tight arc and flapped back up the river.
The signal from the first learning session. An enemy on my trail, Zeya said to himself. No surprise. Now tell me where and how many.
Su-Li lowered one wing for an instant, then flapped again.
Zeya’s breath stuck in his neck like a stone. Close! Just a few hundred strides up the river. If he’s been coming carefully, he was after me from the first moment.
The sprint had saved Zeya.
He had a nasty thought—he ought to go back and kill the guard. But he wouldn’t.
Su-Li made a tight turn and flew back toward Zeya. As he passed the spot where he’d lowered a wing the first time, he made a clean glide, wings straight out.
One enemy. Zeya wondered whether it was Inaj, Wilu, or Zanda.
Su-Li began circling again.
Within moments a figure came into sight, trotting. Zanda. He was a man on the make, younger and stronger than Inaj, and even colder of heart. Everyone talked about Zanda being the bloodiest warrior in the tribe, to impress his father.
My uncle the killer, Zeya thought. It was head-spinning to see that one of his uncles was hunting him, that an uncle planned to cut off his head and give it to his grandfather.
As Zanda passed, Zeya saw the spear and club in his hands, the blow gun stuck into his belt at the back. So he’ll use a sneak attack if he can, Zeya said to himself.
He waded softly around the tree, crouching and making no splashes, and eased into a swimming position in the water.
Immediately he saw that Zanda’s trot was faster than his float. He frog-kicked his legs gently. He needed to keep up. If Zanda looks back, I’ll turn into a beaver.
The first time the trail cornered to the right, so that Zanda couldn’t see around it, Zeya’s uncle walked softly up the hill a way and looked ahead with care.
Zeya floated past him. Now he knew it might work.
He was in position. It hadn’t been easy. He’d floated past two right-hand curves before he saw good cover. Just around the bend a small creek flowed into the river, and above that a big eddy. In the eddy stood a batch of cattails, straight and tall.
He went into the cattails on hands and knees. Zanda would leave the trail before he got to the cattails, and come back just below them, his attention downriver.
It would be an easy shot. Zeya had practiced with the blow gun every day of the journey from the waterfall of the Little People to the Cusa village. He had gathered the herbs Ninyu taught him and made a poison, which he thought he’d never do. He was ready.
Part of him didn’t like it. A dart from behind, a poison instead of a mortal blow with the hand, face-to-face. But his grandfather had tried to kill Zeya in every way.
Zeya had to end it. His job was to get the feathers to Tsola. He was doing that for the people. He would kill his uncle the surest way he could.
It was taking too long. Zeya’s eyes focused on each part of the forest, from the corner to the creek. Back and forth, slowly, he inspected every nook and cranny. He wanted to be able to spot a still man, a creeping man, a man hiding behind trees.
No matter how careful Zanda is, this is taking too long. Doubt pinged in Zeya’s chest. Had he figured wrong?
Overhead Su-Li wing-flapped fast, straight downriver, pivoted, and flew straight back up.
Yes, yes, an enemy coming from upriver, I know about Zanda.
Su-Li did it again. Zeya wondered why.
He needed to see a little better. He crouched, his eyes at water level. The cattails were thick here. Gradually, gently, he raised up. First a hand span. Then another. Soon he was out of the water to his neck, then his shoulder blades. Now he was half visible, but he could see better. Zanda wouldn’t be looking for an attack from the river.
Pain raged through his back and left shoulder. He yelled and tumbled backwards, letting his blow gun fall.
He heard a wild thrashing through the river shallows.
Live or die!
He glimpsed a spear floating on the water, blood-tipped.
As he struggled to his feet, he saw something whirl toward him. He flung himself sideways.
The war club whacked the water where he had been.
He dived. Though the water was only thigh-deep, it cushioned the second blow to a mild thump on his leg.
Zeya pulled his blow gun out. Then he cursed himself for an idiot. How do you blow a dart underwater?
Zanda grabbed him around the torso and heaved him out of the water like a hooked fish.
Zeya kicked and hollered. He bit Zanda’s ear.
Zanda dropped him.
Zeya found his feet and faced his enemy.
Zanda stepped inside the length of cane. He laughed the hearty laugh of the triumphant. A war club against a flimsy piece of wood. He reached out, grabbed one end of the cane, and started bending it.
Crack! Splinter!
Zeya was holding a twig. He started to toss it away.
Zanda leapt, grabbed Zeya by the throat, and crushed him to the bottom.
Zeya looked at his murderer through the distortion of water. He could see big scars caused by the pox. He could see a madman’s eyes. He couldn’t breathe.
He kicked, but the water took the force out of his blow.
He wriggled and writhed, but Zanda was too strong.
He looked at Zanda’s face. Darkness was creeping in from the edges of his vision.
Idea. One last idea.
Zeya had a shard of wood in his hand.
He slipped the tip of the broken cane toward Zanda’s neck, right at the small hollow just above the collarbone. When it was almost touching, with all the strength he had left, he rammed it into the flesh.
Zanda grabbed his throat with both hands. He stood up, and Zeya went right with him, gasping for breath. Zanda tried to yell, but it came out as a gargle.
Zeya whacked the butt of the cane with his palm. It sank in.
Zanda uttered an awful sound that blended coughing and vomiting.
Zeya whacked the cane one more time.
Zanda spasmed and collapsed.
Zeya’s mind ran riot. You’re a warrior, part of him said.
You’re a lucky moron, said another.
How did he figure it out? called another voice.
Who gives a damn? called another.
Su-Li rasped.
Zeya put his hands on his hips and caught his breath. “Yes, I know,” he said, “you were trying to tell me Zanda hadn’t gone into the woods, he was coming right along the river. In the river.” He looked back along the trail and at the cattails. “I don’t see how he figured it out.” He shrugged. “I never will.”
Su-Li hopped forward, awkward as ever on the ground, and tapped Zanda’s neck with one wing.
Zeya pulled the splintered cane out. He inspected the tip. Very little blood for the end of a human life.
Su-Li tapped the neck again.
Zeya looked at the small puncture wound, nothing dramatic, but enough.
He snapped his mind back to Su-Li. “I don’t want to do it.”
Su-Li touched the neck.
Awahi had told Zeya last night, “Whichever of the sons follows you, if you kill him, cut off his head.”
Su-Li agreed—he’d nodded yes.
“That’s repulsive!”
Awahi grabbed Zeya’s shoulders with both stringy arms. “You need to show Inaj you’re a worthy adversary.”
Su-Li nodded a more vigorous yes.
“This won’t be over until Inaj is dead. No one has ever intimidated him. No one has ever made him quake inside. If you kill Wilu or Zanda, that’s your chance. Do it. Make him know. You are to be reckoned with.”
“All right,” Zeya had said.
But now, standing over the mortal remains, he said, “It’s gruesome, I can’t.”
Su-Li tapped the neck.
“All right, all right,” he said. He went to work with his knife.
The village tittered with reports and rumors. Jemel meant to get the r
eal story. She strode up to Awahi’s fire. On such a hot day the old man had cooked outside and was sitting in the shade of his house eating his supper. He lived off the gifts of people still young enough to hunt, to plant, to snare, to gather. He was Eagle Voice—he’d devoted his life to something worthwhile. Jemel respected him. But right now she was mad.
“They say Zeya came here to see you.” Her lover’s reputation had spread village to village, and everyone knew the boy called Dahzi was now the man called Zeya.
The old man looked across his spoon at her, bewildered. After a moment he said, “Sit down, my dear, I’ll get you a bowl.”
“I don’t need anything to eat. I want to know what’s going on.”
Out of courtesy he set his bowl down. “I know it’s hard. You got whisked off to live here when your folks threw a fit about Zeya. You feel like a castoff.”
“A prisoner,” she corrected.
“You’re an admirable young woman. What do you want from me?”
“They say Zeya was here last night, stayed over with you. I want to know why. Where is he now? What’s he doing?”
“And why didn’t he come to see you?”
“Why didn’t he take me out of here?”
Awahi nodded to himself. He had lived long enough to learn that telling the simple truth is easiest for everyone.
“Zeya came here to get me to bless some eagle feathers. He’s on a big mission for the Seer.”
“What?”
“He’s gathering eagle feathers for a gift to the Immortals. I’d best not say more.”
Jemel decided not to pressure the old fellow. After all, she was holding something back, too.
“He’s a special man, your Zeya.”
She looked daggers at him. “Don’t flatter me. Tell me what’s going on.”
“You know Inaj is here.”
“And his sons.” Her voice was like an astringent medicine. “Including the one who is now Red Chief.”
“Inaj sent some men out to kill Zeya.” He moistened his lips with his tongue. “Zeya killed them instead.”
He saw something move behind her eyes, like fish in a stream, but then the daggers came back.
“Why didn’t he take me away?”
“The Seer ordered him not to make any contact with you or his mother, not until he’s performed this mission.”
