The green light that filled the Shadowed-land was darkening. As the green forest darkens at dusk. The sun must long since have dipped beneath the peaks circling that illusory floor which was the sky of the Shadowed-land. Yet here the glow faded slowly, as though it were not wholly dependent upon the sun, as though the place had some luminosity of its own.
We sat beside the tent of Evalie. It was pitched on a rounded knoll1 not far from the entrance of her lair2 within the cliff. All along the base of the cliff were the lairs3 of the Little People, tiny openings through which none larger than they could creep into the caves that were their homes, their laboratories, their workshops, their storehouses and granaries, their impregnable fortresses4.
It had been hours since we had followed her over the plain between the watch-tower and her tent. The golden pygmies had swarmed5 from every side, curious as children, chattering6 and trilling, questioning Evalie, twittering her answers to those on the outskirts7 of the crowd. Even now there was a ring of them around the base of the knoll, dozens of little men and little women, staring up at us with their yellow eyes, chirping8 and laughing. In the arms of the women were babies like tiniest dolls, and like larger dolls were the older children who clustered at their knees.
Child-like, their curiosity was soon satisfied; they went back to their occupations and their play. Others, curiosity not yet quenched9, took their places.
I watched them dancing upon the smooth grass. They danced in circling measures to the lilting rhythm of their drums. There were other knolls10 upon the plain, larger and smaller than that on which we were, and all of them as rounded and as symmetrical. Around and over them the golden pygmies danced to the throbbing11 of the little drums.
They had brought us little loaves of bread, and oddly sweet but palatable12 milk and cheese, and unfamiliar13 delicious fruits and melons. I was ashamed of the number of platters I had cleaned. The little people had only watched, and laughed, and urged the women to bring me more. Jim said, laughingly:
“It’s the food of the Yunwi Tsundsi you’re eating. Fairy food, Leif! You can never eat mortal food again.”
I looked at Evalie, and at the wine and amber14 beauty of her. Well, I could believe Evalie had been brought up on something more than mortal food.
I studied the plain for the hundredth time. The slope on which stood the squat15 towers was an immense semi-circle, the ends of whose arcs met the black cliffs. It must enclose, I thought, some twenty square miles. Beyond the thomed vines were the brakes of the giant fern; beyond them, on the other side of the river, I could glimpse the great trees. If there were forests on this side, I could not tell. Nor what else there might be of living things. There was something to be guarded against, certainly, else why the fortification, the defences?
Whatever else it might be, this guarded land of the golden pygmies was a small Paradise, with its stands of grain, its orchards16, its vines and berries and its green fields.
I thought over what Evalie had told us of herself, carefully and slowly tuning17 down the trilling syllables18 of the little people into vocables we could understand. It waa an ancient tongue she spoke19 — one whose roots struck far deeper down in the soil of Time than any I knew, unless it were the archaic20 Uighur itself. Minute by minute I found myself mastering it with ever greater ease, but not so rapidly as Jim. He had even essayed a few trills, to the pygmies’ delight. More than that, however, they had understood him. Each of us could follow Evalie’s thought better than she could ours.
Whence had the Little People come into the Shadowed-land? And where had they learned that ancient tongue? I asked myself that, and answered that as well ask how it came that the Sumerians, whose great city the Bible calls Ur of the Chaldees, spoke a Mongolian language. They, too, were a dwarfish21 race, masters of strange sorceries, students of the stars. And no man knows whence they came into Mesopotamia with their science full-blown. Asia is the Ancient Mother, and to how many races she has given birth and watched blown away in dust none can say.
The transformation23 of the tongue into the bird-like speech of the Little People, I thought I understood. Obviously, the smaller the throat, the higher are the sounds produced. Unless by some freak, one never hears a child with a bass24 voice. The tallest of the Little People was no bigger than a six-year-old child. They could not, perforce, sound the gutturals and deeper tones; so they had to substitute other sounds. The natural thing, when you cannot strike a note in a lower octave, is to strike that same note in a higher. And so they had, and in time this had developed into the overlying pattern of trills and pipings, beneath which, however, the essential structure persisted.
She remembered, Evalie had told us, a great stone house. She thought she remembered a great water. She remembered a land of trees which had become “white and cold”. There had been a man and a woman . . . then there was only the man . . . and it was all like mist. All she truly remembered was the Little People . . . she had forgotten there had ever been anything else . . . until we had come. She remembered when she had been no bigger than the Little People . . . and how frightened she was when she began to be bigger than they. The Little People, the Rrrllya — it is the closest I can come to the trill — loved her; they did as she told them to do. They had fed and clothed and taught her, especially the mother of Sri, whose life I had saved from the Death Flower. Taught her what? She looked at us oddly, and only repeated —“taught me”. Sometimes she danced with the Little People and sometimes she danced for them — again the oddly secretive, half-amused glance. That was all. How long ago had she been as small as the Little People? She did not know — long and long ago. Who had named her Evalie? She did not know.
I studied her, covertly25. There was not one thing about her to give a clue to her race. Foundling, I knew, she must have been, the vague man and woman her father and mother. But what had they been — of what country? No more than could her lips, did her eyes or hair, colouring or body hint at answer.
She was more changeling than I. A changeling of the mirage26! Nurtured27 on food from Goblin Market!
I wondered whether she would change back again into everyday woman if I carried her out of the Shadowed-land.
I felt the ring touch my breast with the touch of ice.
Carry her away! There was Khalk’ru to meet first — and the Witch-woman!
The green twilight28 deepened; great fire-flies began to flash lanterns of pale topaz through the flowering trees; a little breeze stole over the fern brakes, laden29 with the fragrances30 of the far forest. Evalie 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 luminous31 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 moths32 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 tranquilly33 ignored the matter, but now she replied without hesitation34.
“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 moth22 dropped upon her hand, lifting and dropping its shining wings; gently she raised it to her lips, wafted35 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 forth36, 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 slay37 at once those whom they only touch. And so, many of the Ayjir died.
“At last a truce38 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 dread39 and loathing40 and horror fell upon the Little People. They made a covenant41. 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 fugitive42. 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 enigma43 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 runaway44 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 . . . ripening45 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 awakened46 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, standing47 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 merged48 into the shadow, and was gone.
收听单词发音 |
1
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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lair
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| n.野兽的巢穴；躲藏处 | |
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lairs
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| n.（野兽的）巢穴，窝( lair的名词复数 )；（人的）藏身处 | |
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fortresses
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| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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swarmed
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| 密集( swarm的过去式和过去分词 )； 云集； 成群地移动； 蜜蜂或其他飞行昆虫成群地飞来飞去 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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7
outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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chirping
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的现在分词 ) | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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knolls
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| n.小圆丘，小土墩( knoll的名词复数 ) | |
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throbbing
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| a. 跳动的,悸动的 | |
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palatable
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| adj.可口的，美味的；惬意的 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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tuning
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| n.调谐，调整，调音v.调音( tune的现在分词 )；调整；（给收音机、电视等）调谐；使协调 | |
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syllables
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| n.音节( syllable的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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archaic
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| adj.(语言、词汇等)古代的，已不通用的 | |
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dwarfish
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| a.像侏儒的，矮小的 | |
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moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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covertly
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| adv.偷偷摸摸地 | |
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mirage
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| n.海市蜃楼，幻景 | |
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nurtured
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| 养育( nurture的过去式和过去分词 )； 培育； 滋长； 助长 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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fragrances
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| n.芳香，香味( fragrance的名词复数 )；香水 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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moths
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| n.蛾( moth的名词复数 ) | |
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tranquilly
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| adv. 宁静地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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truce
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| n.休战，(争执，烦恼等的)缓和；v.以停战结束 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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loathing
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| n.厌恶，憎恨v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的现在分词)；极不喜欢 | |
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covenant
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| n.盟约，契约；v.订盟约 | |
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fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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runaway
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| n.逃走的人，逃亡，亡命者；adj.逃亡的，逃走的 | |
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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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46
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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48
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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