Zadayi Red (30 page)

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?”

“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.”

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.