to carry to the Rrrllya the tale of what he had seen.
“The first they would not believe, so dreadful was bffi story of that sacrifice — but then came the second and third and fourth with the same story. And a great dread and loathing and horror fell upon the Little People. They made a covenant. They would dwell upon this side of the river; the Ayjir should have the other. In return the Ayjir swore by what had led them that never more should one of the Little People be given in sacrifice to it. If one were caught in Ayjirland, he would be killed — but not by the Sacrifice. And if any of the Ayjir should flee Karak, seek refuge among the Rrrllya, they must kill that fugitive. To all of this, because of that great horror, the Little People agreed. Nansur was broken, so none could cross — Nansur, that spanned Nanbu, the white river, was broken. All boats both of the Ayjir and the Rrrllya were destroyed, and it was agreed no more should be built. Then, as further guard, the Little People took the dalan’usa and set them in Nanbu, so none could cross by its waters. And so it has been — for long and long and long.”
“Dalan’usa, Evalie — you mean the serpents?”
“Tlanu’se — the leech,” said Jim.
“The serpents — they are harmless. I think you would not have stopped to talk to Lur had you seen one of the dalan’usa, Leif,” said Evalie, half-maliciously.
I filed that enigma for further reference.
“Those two we found beneath the death flowers. They had broken the truce?”
“Not broken it. They knew what to expect if found, and were ready to pay. There are plants that grow on the farther side of white Nanbu — and other things the Little Ones need, and they are not to be found on this side. And so they swim Nanbu to get them — the dalan’usa are their friends — and not often are they caught there. But this day Lur was hunting a runaway who was trying to make her way to Sirk, and she crossed their trail and ran them down, and laid them beneath the Death Flowers.”
“But what had the girl done — she was one of them?”
“She had been set apart for the Sacrifice. Did you not see — she was taluli . . . with child . . . ripening for . . . for . . .”
Her voice trailed into silence. A chill touched me.
“But, of course, you know nothing of that,” she said. “Nor will I speak of it — now. If Sri and Sra had found the girl before they, themselves, had been discovered, they would have guided her past the dalan’usa — as they guided you; and here she would have dwelt until the time came that she must pass-out of herself. She would have passed in sleep, in peace, without pain . . . and when she awakened it would have been far from here . . . perhaps with no memory of it . . . free. So it is that the Little People who love life send forth those who must-be sent.”
She said it tranquilly, with clear eyes, untroubled.
“And are many-sent forth so?”
“Not many, since few may pass the dalan’usa — yet many try.”
“Both men and women, Evalie?”
“Can men bear children?”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked, roughly enough; there had been something in the question that somehow touched me in the raw.
“Not now,” she answered. “Besides, men are few in Karak, as I told you. Of children born, not one in twenty is a man child. Do not ask me why, for I do not know.”
She arose, stood looking at us dreamily.
“Enough for to-night. You shall sleep in my tent. On the morrow you shall have one of your own, and the Little People will cut you a lair in the cliff next mine. And you shall look on Karak, standing on broken Nansur — and you shall see Tibur the Laugher, since he always comes to Nansur’s other side when I am there. You shall see it all . . . on the morrow . . . or the morrow after . . . or on another morrow. What does it matter, since every morrow shall be ours, together. Is it not so?”
And again Jim made no answer.
“It is so, Evalie,” I said.
She smiled at us, sleepily. She turned from us and floated toward the darker shadow on the cliff which was the door to her cave. She merged into the shadow, and was gone.
CHAPTER X.
IF A MAN COULD USE ALL HIS BRAIN
The drums of the sentinel dwarfs beat on softly, talking to one another along the miles of circling scarp. And suddenly I had a desperate longing for the Gobi. I don’t know why, but its barren and burning, wind-swept and sand-swept body was more desirable than any woman’s. It was like strong homesickness. I found it hard to shake it off. I spoke at last in sheer desperation. “You’ve been acting damned queer, Indian.” “Tsi Tsa’lagi — I told you — I’m all Cherokee.” “Tsantawu — It is I, Degata, who speaks to you now.” I had dropped into the Cherokee; he answered:
“What is it my brother desires to know?”
“What it was the voices of the dead whispered that night we slept beneath the spruces? What it was you knew to be truth by the three signs they gave you. I did not hear the voices, brother — yet by the blood rite they are my ancestors as they are yours; and I have the right to know their words.”
He said: “Is it not better to let the future unroll itself without giving heed to the thin voices of the dead? Who can tell whether the voices of ghosts speak truth?”
“Tsantawu points his arrow in one direction while his eyes look the other. Once he called me dog slinking behind the heels of the hunter. Since it is plain he still thinks me that . . .”
“No, no, Lief,” he broke in, dropping the tribal tongue. “I only mean I don’t know whether it’s truth. I know what Barr would call it — natural apprehensions put subconsciously in terms of racial superstitions. The voices — we’ll call them that, anyway — said great danger lay north. The Spirit that was north would destroy them for ever and for ever if I fell in its hands. They and I would be ‘as though we never had been’. There was some enormous difference between ordinary death and this peculiar death that I couldn’t understand. But the voices did. I would know by three signs that they spoke truth, by Ataga’hi, by Usunhi’yi and by the Yunwi Tsundi. I could meet the first two and still go back. But if I went on to the third — it would be too late. They begged me not to — this was peculiarly interesting, Leif — not to let them be — dissolved.”
“Dissolved!” I exclaimed. “But — that’s the same word I used. And it was hours after!”
“Yes, that’s why I felt creepy when I heard you. You can’t blame me for being a little preoccupied when we came across the stony flat that was like Ataga’hi, and more so when we struck the coincidence of the Shadowed-land, which is pretty much the same as Usunhi’yi, the Darkening-land. It’s why I said if we ran across the third, the Yunwi Tsundi, I’d take your interpretation rather than Barr’s. We did strike it. And if you think all those things aren’t a good reason for acting damned queer, as you put it, well — what would you think a good one?”
Jim
