Their trail wound down the precipitous slope to the grasslands below. Where a forested canyon crossed the trail they stopped to eat a noon meal beside a chattering stream and trees which half hid themselves in a haze of spring green. The leaves wereino larger than a mouse’s ear. Thewson and Jasmine wandered away from the others, up the stream, smelling fresh herbs and the fragrance of flowers. Suddenly he laid his huge hand upon her arm, directing her gaze toward the base of a gnarled tree. There, set about with leaves and tendrils, a woebegone face peered at them from beneath the roots, so nearly the color of the tree that it might have grown there through the seasons. They did not expect it to speak. When it did so, in accents of civilized reproach, both were startled.
‘A great noise you are making, large ones. A fine noise, some might say, all militant and furious with clopping horses and creaking leather and the tick, tick, tick of your spear on the branches above. Still, there are those who must sleep when the sun is up in order to live when the sun is down. It would be a kindness to walk softly in green silences. Alas, a kindness is seldom encountered in these latter days.’
Thewson merely stared, dumb with astonishment, but Jasmine went forward curiously. ‘What strange thing is this? A talking turnip?’
‘Oh, that is unkind.’ The small creature disentangled itself from among the leaves to stand forward, miniature and yet unmistakably human, clad in tatters of brown and grey which blended with the bark of the tree as might the skin of a lizard or the wing of a moth. ‘You might have said “rose,” or “lily.” Something graceful. Why “turnip”?’
‘What is this?’ wondered Thewson. ‘Is this uno-li, little man? Or ulum-li, little god, spirit of this place?’
‘Oh, my dear sir, we are the freakery of Yenner-po-tau which is downriver. We are the oddities of Po-Bau, beneath you on the plain. We are the cast outs, the cast offs, the Separated ones, one might say. When the Gahlians came, not long since, pounding on their great gongs and making their horrid noise, it was to one purpose – the casting out of those unlike the others. Can one doubt we are unlike? It was a thing generally understood, indeed, enjoyed by many. I like your word, uno-li. Yes. Little men. Little women, too, of course.’
‘There are more of you?’ asked Jasmine.
‘Not as many as one would wish,’ the little man said sadly. ‘Five persons do not make a society, no matter how fond they are of one another. There are five, myself, who am named Po-Bee, and there is Doh-ti, who is my friend. Then there is Barstable Gumsuch, for he insists upon keeping that name which he was given first in the cacaloquious purlieus about the River Wayle, far to the north. Then luckily, there are Mum-lil and Hanna-lil, womenfolk of our kind.’
‘All one family?’ Jasmine said, puzzled.
‘Oh, no. Rather the offspring of ordinary folk, gathered together by Gaffer Gumsuch for comfort and mutual companionship. There have always been little people born from time to time along the River Nils. We had families of big folk. I was very fond of mine.’ He fell into sad and musing silence.
‘The Gahlians did not try to kill you?’ asked Thewson. ‘We know that they sometimes kill those cast out.’
‘Oh, they might have got to it, in time,’ said Po-Bee. ‘Though they would have had trouble finding us. We had some warning. Even our families do not know where we are, lest they be forced to say. We are small, hidden, difficult to see unless we wish it. Still, we must have food, and if we plant fields, the Gahlians could find them. We have not had to face that yet. Our kin still leave food along the edge of the forest for us. And we have met others … who might help us in a pinch.’
‘You have not been here long.’
‘Some days. I fear we have lost count. Something won-drously mighty must have happened in the world, for the Gahlians began to swarm like ants. When? Midwinter time. Yenner-po-tau fell first, so we brought the Gaffer, Doh-ti, and Mum-lil from there. Then, only a little time later, they came to Pau-bee, but by that time we had searched out our refuge. Such as it is, and if the bear that owned it does not return untimely. We came away of our own will, hot wanting harm to come to our kin. Some others were sent out less willingly.’
‘Then you have not met a full winter yet,’ said Thewson. ‘Not a full winter.’
‘No, great sir. Nor do we consider that eventuality with pleasure. Still, it is warm at the roots of the trees, and there are furry brothers of the wood who manage one way or another.’
They remained in confrontation, the tiny man with his head cocked, regarding them in friendly caution, the mighty warrior leaning on his spear, considering the other with wonder and respect. Finally, Thewson grunted, ‘Will you take food with us?’
‘I assume that the invitation, though extended in brief and laconic terms, is intended to include those others of my people who might wish to accept your kindness?’
Thewson did not follow this at all, but Jasmine laughed. ‘Indeed, Master Po-Bee. To you and all your kind, welcome.’
If the others of the company were shocked or surprised, they hid it well. Only a flaring of nostrils betrayed Lain-achor, a brief widening of eyes the others, as Thewson entered their clearing followed by five small people, Jasmine close behind them. Po-Bee came first, with Hanna-lil on his arm, dusting a rock with his kerchief before seating her ceremoniously. Doh-ti and Mum-lil came hand in hand, nervously, keeping a
