Gregory Maguire_Wicked Years_02 by Son of a Witch Page A

“These are perfectly respectable clothes for traveling in.”
    “Depends on where you want to get to,” intoned the Water Buffalo.
    “Look, we can evangelize like the best of them, if that’s what it’s going to take—”
    “Sorry, sorry!” said the Water Buffalo. “I’ll be good. What’s your game?”
    They told him. He knew nothing of the attacks on the young maunts and their scrapings, nor had he ever heard of Liir or his misadventure. But he had seen airborne battalions of trained creatures flying so high that he couldn’t make them out. “Something’s amiss,” he said. “I know there’s been an attempt to call a Congress of Birds out in the west, but lately I’ve seen few Birds brave enough to fly at anything like a decent height.”
    “We can’t patrol the skies right now,” said Sister Doctor. “It’s the Scrow or the Yunamata we need to find.”
    “The Scrow rarely venture this far east. However, you may come across a small band of Yunamata, if they haven’t moved off yet. They’re down from Kumbricia’s Pass. I came across them bathing this morning. We all minded our own business. They don’t have anything to do with the Unnamed God, so they don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them. They rinsed their totems and washed their hair, and one of them gave birth to a baby underwater. They’re rather froggy folk when it comes to birthing. They circulated a birth pipe around, passed out in the sun for an hour or so, and then gathered their things and left. They seemed to be heading southwest. Several dozen of them, no more.”
    “If you see them, tell them we’re coming,” said Sister Doctor.
    “Jubilation, they’ll be over the moon,” drawled the Water Buffalo. “If you want to meet up with them, better not tell them you’re coming, honeys.”
    The sisters moved on, but before they had lost sight of the Water Buffalo, Sister Apothecaire thought to turn and call, “We forgot to ask your name!”
    “Only the chattering classes of Animal have names!” the Water Buffalo replied cheerily. “And there hasn’t been a professional Animal the length and breadth of Oz for thirty years. If I don’t have a name, I can’t be targeted as a potential convert, can I?”
    A moment later, when he was out of sight, his voice rang toward them thinly: “Though if you had to locate me, I suppose I’d answer to Buff…”
    “Weird creature,” said Sister Apothecaire a while later.
    “He’d survived, a talking Animal in the wild,” Sister Doctor reminded her. “It can’t have been easy. After the Wizard’s banishment, the Animals didn’t rush for reassimilation. Who could blame them, with all they’d been through.”
    “Sounds as if the creature’s been dogged by zealots, though.”
    “Indeed. Well, the Emperor is a devout man, and wants all his subjects to enjoy the benefits of faith, I suppose.”
     
    A NOTHER NIGHT, and the wolves howled more fiercely than ever. The dawn seemed full of its own arcane purpose, a pale light leaching through grey cloud-hemp. The maunts ventured out across the Disappointments. Then, easy as playing at knackers, they came upon a group of Yunamata doing winter rush-work.
    “Hail,” said Sister Apothecaire in Yumish, “or have I said hell by mistake? Hello? Yoo hoo Yunamata? We come in peace.”
    “What are you saying?” said Sister Doctor. “They look mystified.”
    “I’m addressing their tribal gods,” said Sister Apothecaire, and in Yumish, “I. Good. Good one. Good human person woman being. I. Good thing. Where is the library?” In her anxiety it was all she could remember.
    “They look amused,” said Sister Doctor.
    “That’s respect,” said Sister Apothecaire. But amusement was better than hostility, so she began to relax, and more of the plain tongue began to return to her.
    The Yunamata were known for keeping to themselves. Nomadic, but not a horse culture like the Scrow, this Vinkus tribe was fleet of foot and economical of