Zadayi Red (32 page)

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 real 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.”

“And then?”