The Days of the Deer Read Online Free PDF Page B

journey. In fact, he had left the House of the Stars
with less than half of the treasures he had entered with: a bag full of unusual objects, as well as others he usually carried with him. The Supreme Astronomers had insisted he reduce his load, and
despite showing them why each and every one would be useful to him, he had finally to resign himself to leaving behind a wealth of wonderful things. ‘Remind me to ask for them back when I
return,’ he protested as he left. Although they could see he was carrying enough for a long journey, none of the people who saw him pass by bothered to ask him where he was going or why. He
was always someone who came and went.
    The first part of his journey was back along the way he had come a few days earlier. He crossed the market and the games court. He walked along the street leading to the market, then out past
the orange groves and the outlying dwellings. ‘Farewell, Beleram!’ he said, without looking back. ‘I’ll make use of my long journey to compose a song to you!’
    He crossed the bridge over the river, and went on to Centipede Yellow. From there he climbed towards the Ceremonial Mountains, which he crossed by a steep short cut. At the top, he praised the
countryside around him out loud. ‘I’ve reached the most beautiful valley in the world!’ The valley was called Thirteen Times Seven Thousand Birds. ‘Perfumed like few others,
and more musical than any of all the many I have heard.’ The traveller would have liked to spend several days in the valley, but knew this was impossible. Instead, he continued on his way
towards the sea. One fine day he slid down the sand-dunes of the beach.
    The Astronomers had ordered him to wait on the shore for the arrival of the fish-women. They came at first light, bringing with them a small boat that they left close to the shore. The traveller
had no difficulty reaching it. A wind from behind blew their hair over their faces. When they left at dusk, it streamed out over their shoulders.
    The craft was no different from one any Zitzahay could make out of bundles of reeds and a few secrets. Inside it was a pair of oars and a generous amount of food. The sun shone once more, and
although the wind had died down, the Zitzahay prepared to set off. ‘Farewell, my Remote Realm. I shall be further away from your stars than I have ever been.’
    He sailed across the Mansa Lalafke because the sea there was calm, sheltered between two shores. Crossing the sea saved him many days, because the path along the land here was very long, and
grew steep where it met the foothills of the Maduinas Mountains.
    From the morning when he disembarked, things changed for him. From that moment on, his journey had to become stealthy and silent so that he did not give away his secret. No one was to see a
Zitzahay in this part of the continent. That was why the traveller was so thankful for the boat that had brought him, even though he destroyed every last trace of it.
    Anybody wanting to reach the Ends of the Earth from the north had to cross the country of the Pastors of the Desert. The Astronomers had instructed him to stay close by the shore of the Lalafke.
If he did that, no one would see him, because the Pastors never went near the sea. ‘Of course I did as I was told. I went where the Astronomers said I should, and, as far as I know, not a
single human being laid eyes on me.’
    This was what he said long afterwards, each of the many times he told his story.
    He said ‘human being’ because from the moment he arrived in the Land Without Shadow an eagle circled above him. Occasionally it disappeared – once for a whole day – and
yet it always returned. The man was pleased to see it back, flying high in the sky above his head. ‘It made me happy the way one feels when you see your home again in the middle of a
lightning storm.’ And of course he had reason to be pleased with the bird. Travelling on one’s own through foreign lands it is