The Master of Gods Reviews Zadayi Red by Caleb Fox

The deal is, I knew it was cheating, but I couldn’t resist.

     I’d finished my first fantasy novel, Zadayi Red, and the publisher had accepted it. The problem was, my good friends were gone. Sunoya the woman shaman trying to live down a curse. Her spirit animal Su-Li, a buzzard sent from on high to guide her. Dahzi, her adopted son, called to an adventure that would probably kill him. Klandagi, who shape-shifted back and forth from human to panther to guard his mother, Seer of the tribe. Even Thunderbird, Master of Gods, whose sport is shooting lightning bolts to rid the world of fools.

     I’d had fun hanging out with those guys, and even fun living in an America of fifteen centuries or more ago, when technology hadn’t arrived and magic—they prefer to call it Power—still ruled. (I think Power still rules, but modern folk have blinded themselves to it.)

     Anyway, I decided to break all the rules. I knew exactly how the Seer used red lichen tea to send novice shamans to the Land Beyond the Sky Arch. And I’d slipped a little of that
u-tsa-le-ta into my pocket.

     Hey, wouldn’t you? A ticket to the world where the Immortals live? All I had to do was heat up some water, steep the tea…

     Before I opened my eyes, I heard the Seer’s drum—tap-TAP, tap-TAP! She sees everyone who crosses to the world above, so she was hitchhiking along inside my brain and keeping me connected to Earth. She might have a handy word of advice, and she could drum me back to Earth after I’d had my illicit adventure. Good thing—in my excitement I’d forgot about getting home.

     The Immortal world was no surprise—an orange creek lined with pink grass, hills studded with ruby boulders, and a sun that never moved, but was perpetually rising. I’d traveled here in my characters’ minds when they came. This was different. Here I was, Caleb Fox in person

     The Ashen Grove, said the Seer in my head. When she’s camped in there, she talks without using your ears.

     I knew the path and walked it with delight. Though I’d seen these woods in imagination, now I felt the duff underfoot, smelled the flowers, and touched the sun-struck leaves with wondering fingers. I loved the fields of wheat, which is lavender here, and the sunflowers, which are crimson. Everything was blooming or in full flower, and always would be. No plant and no inhabitant can ever die here. That’s why they call it the world of Immortals.

     It’s the opposite for mortals. Not only can you die, if you offend Thunderbird, you will.

     From a distance I spied Su-Li the buzzard and Thunderbird sitting in the small clearing around low flames. This is the sacred fire that is the source of all fire on Earth, but the Immortals don’t use the fire to burn tobacco and offer the smoke as prayers. They are the beings we pray to.

     Stay here, said the Seer. I’ll bring the conversation to you. And you’re going to get luckier than you deserve.

     “How did it go?” said Thunderbird.

     Yes, yes, luck! Thunderbird was giving Su-Li a sort of exit interview on his earthly experience. Well, bookish earthly experience.

     Su-Li said, “You got your full measure of vengeance.”

     Eons ago, Thunderbird, Buzzard, and some others went to Earth for a play day. When they’re on earth, they eat and drink just like all other beings, but they can’t die.

     That day Eagle found the half-rotted corpse of a salmon on a stony beach. All the Immortals joined in on the feast, except Buzzard, who sniffed the decaying flesh and said, “That’s disgusting.”

     Immediately, with his own beak full of stinking salmon, Thunderbird flung a thunderbolt in Buzzard’s direction. It was a small one, and though Thunderbird deliberately missed, it singed the feathers off Buzzard’s head. Even today his face still looks scarred and red.

     When he got his chance some years ago, the Master of Gods sent Buzzard back to the Earth with Sunoya, relishing the thought of the vulture having to eat the carrion he despised.

     Now Thunderbird flashed his eyes at Su-Li and grinned. “You had it coming,” he said, “but that’s done with. You lived a long time with human beings. How did you like them?”

     “They’re as different as planets,” said Su-Li, “each one on its own orbit, good, evil, and everything in between.”

     “I got the impression,” said Thunderbird, “that you developed a soft spot for the young woman you guided—what was her name?—Sunoya.”

     “It was very difficult. She was born with one sign that marked her as a shaman, another that marked her as a demon. The midwife hid the bad sign, so no one ever knew. But she lived all her years feeling she had to justify her existence.”

     “And she succeeded.”

     “She was the best human being I ever met.” Even now I could hear the grief in his voice. He had been bound to Sunoya to her death.

     “You cared for her,” said Thunderbird.

     “Maybe,” admitted Su-Li.

     “Very well, I suspected you were a sentimentalist. Now. What I really want to know,” said Thunderbird, “is what you think of that fellow Caleb Fox who put down our story in words and published them as a book. Did he do us justice?”

     “A human being? Do the Immortals justice? Can we expect that?”

     The Master of Gods turned my way and said, “Excuse me for a moment.”

     He rose and spread his wings, whose feathers writhed like the heads of snakes. But his bolts were far more dangerous than serpents.

     Before I saw him move, I was clutched in his claws and sailing upward.

     Seer?! I screamed in my mind.

     You knew it was dangerous, she said.

     We shot up like a rocket. In Thunderbird’s grip I couldn’t breathe. At the moment of asphyxiation he dropped me.

     Plummet is a puny word for what it feels like to drop 50,000 feet like an anvil. If Seer spoke, I couldn’t hear her over the shriek of the wind. The moisture in my mouth and nose turned to ice. My eyes froze in place. And unfortunately, they fixed on my certain destination—the flames directly in front of Buzzard. Death in the sacred fire—I was doomed to fry.

     Within spitting distance of the ground, Thunderbird caught me on a wing and set me down gently as a leaf falls. He was full of self-delight—his eyes beamed like lighthouses.

     “You spy on us?”

     “Actually, sir, I wanted to talk to you.” As soon as I spoke, I realized these words were true.

     “Proceed.”

     “What do you think of my book ZADAYI RED?”

     “I think the Master of Gods has too small a role,” he said. After a moment he added, “And you don’t make me scary enough. But let me ask you a question. Why did you write about the Power.”

     “Sir, I’m trying to tell the truth.”

     “About the Power?”

     “Yes.”

     “Why bother?” said Thunderbird. “They don’t believe in it. They call it magic. They think it’s child’s stuff.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     He turned his voice to spine-tingling thunder. “The Power!”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “And you, you permitted your book to be a called fantasy. ME, FANTASY?”

     “Yes, sir. I had to, sir, to get it published.”

     “But you know better.” He took on a sly look. “I have observed you a little, from afar, and you know better.”

     “I’ll try to improve, sir.”

     “Meaning?”

     “This is the first book of a series, sir. Called Spirit Flight.”

     “Do you remember what I did to that young adventurer in your last book?”

     “Yes, sir, you killed him and ate him.”

     “AND WHY DO YOU NOT DESERVE THE SAME?”

     “I intend to let the world know the truth about you, sir. And the other Immortals.”

     “Very dubious,” Thunderbird said, “very dubious.”

     His wings began to flicker with hints of lightning. “What do you think, Buzzard?”

     Su-Li said, “He’s harmless, sir. He might even do a little good.”

     “Hummph.” Thunderbird’s imperious eyes fixed on me. “All right, I’ll make you a deal. TELL MORE OF THE TRUTH IN YOUR NEXT BOOK.”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Until then you are on probation. I warn you, I have very little patience.”

     I said to the Seer in my head, Help!

     Her drum rat-a-tatted, whammed louder and louder, and ended with a BANG!

     I found myself sprawled in front of the Seer. Home.

     “Thank you.”

     “What makes you think you’re home free?” she said. “You stole something from me.”

     I hung my head. “I did. For fun.”

     “FUN? The u-tsa-le-ta is sacred.”

     “I’m sorry.”

     “So I’m offering you a way to make it up to me.” She reached out a hand filled with the red lichen.

     “You’re giving me more?”

     “This time use it right. Journey. See. Understand. Speak the truth. You’re on probation with me too.”

———————————————————————————————————————————-

_{Caleb Fox’s Zadayi Red was published by Tor Books this month.}

Caleb Fox was born on the edge of what was once called Indian Territory. When he was a teenager, his aunts revealed to him that he was part Cherokee, or “redneck on one side of the mountain, redskin on the other.” They told him that no one in the family would ever discuss this fact with him again.

Though Caleb needed to take care of college, grad school, and learning to make a living, he finally gave in to his curiosity about who his ancestors were and why they hid their red blood. The search brought him to many Native people of a number of tribes, to thousands of stories both mythic and modern, hundreds of sacred ceremonies, and to his own commitment to walking the red road.

Since that time he has lived near or among Native people, gathering their wisdom and sharing their laughter at life. His joys are writing and playing music. This fantasy novel, his first, comes from his research into the People of the Caves.

You can visit him at his Website.

    
Synopsis of Zadayi Red:

A compelling new voice in fantasy brings us a tale like no other in the genre.

A young Shaman of the Galayi people has had a powerful and frightening vision: it is of the Eagle Feather Cape, the gift of the Thunderbird, which is worn by the Seer of the People to see the future and gain the guidance of the gods. The cape is torn and bloody, and it will no longer bring visions to the Seer. But the shaman’s vision also tells her of the cure: a child will be born to the People, a hero who will restore the cape and return the goodwill of the gods to the People.

Dahzi may be that hero, if he can survive the hatred of his grandfather. He was born after his mother’s death, as she fled from her father’s anger. But Dahzi carries the hope of all of his People, along with the power to become a great Chief. He will be tested–by his family, by his people, and by the Gods.

Zadayi Red is a magnificent retelling of a Cherokee legend. It brings to life an ancient people and a time of magic in a warm and intimate storyteller’s voice.

About BSCreview Guest

Guests are handpicked awesome that the BSC Empire brings in for your advanced online pleasure. More often than not they are people (most of them) more talented than the owners of the site, thus their opinions are their own. We claim their conquests only.