sighed.
“You will not leave me, Tsantawu?”
If he heard her, he did not answer. She turned to me.
“You will not leave me — Leif?”
“No!” I said . . . and seemed to hear the drums of Khalk’ru beating down the lilting tambours of the Little People like far-away mocking laughter.
The green twilight had deepened into darkness, a luminous darkness, as though a full moon were shining behind a cloud-veiled sky. The golden pygmies had stilled their lilting drums; they were passing into their cliff lairs. From the distant towers came the tap-tap-tap of the drums of the guards, whispering to each other across the thorn-covered slopes. The fire-flies’ lights were like the lanterns of a goblin watch; great moths floated by on luminous silvery wings, like elfin planes.
“Evalie,” Jim spoke. “The Yunwi Tsundsi — the Little People — how long have they dwelt here?”
“Always, Tsantawu — or so they say.”
“And those others — the red-haired women?”
We had asked her of those women before, and she had not answered, had tranquilly ignored the matter, but now she replied without hesitation.
“They are of the Ayjir — it was Lur the Sorceress who wore the wolfskin. She rules the Ayjir with Yodin the High Priest and Tibur–Tibur the Laugher, Tibur the Smith. He is not so tall as you, Leif, but he is broader of shoulder and girth, and he is strong — strong! I will tell you of the Ayjir. Before it was as though a hand were clasped over my lips — or was it my heart? But now the hand is gone.
“The Little People say the Ayjir came riding here long and long and long ago. Then the Rrrllya held the land on each side of the river. There were many of the Ayjir — and many. Far more than now, many men and women where now are mainly women and few men. They came as though in haste from far away, or so the little people say their fathers told them. They were led by a — by a — I have no word! It has a name, but that name I will not speak — no, not even within me! Yet it has a shape . . . I have seen it on the banners that float from the towers of Karak . . . and it is on the breasts of Lur and Tibur when they . . .”
She shivered and was silent. A silver-winged moth dropped upon her hand, lifting and dropping its shining wings; gently she raised it to her lips, wafted it away.
“All this the Rrrllya — whom you call the Little People — did not then know. The Ayjir rested. They began to build Karak, and to cut within the cliff their temple to — to what had led them here. They built quickly at first, as though they feared pursuit; but when none came, they built more slowly. They would have made my little ones their servants, their slaves. The Rrrllya would not have it so. There was war. The Little Ones lay in wait around Karak, and when the Ayjir came forth, they killed them; for the Little Ones know all the — the life of the plants, and so they know how to make their spears and arrows slay at once those whom they only touch. And so, many of the Ayjir died.
“At last a truce was made, and not because the Little People were being beaten, for they were not. But for another reason. The Ayjir were cunning; they laid traps for the little ones, and caught a number. Then this they did — they carried them to the temple and sacrificed them to — to that which had led them here. By sevens they took them to the temple, and one out of each seven they made watch that sacrifice, then released him 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