People of the Fire (35 page)

           
 
"Blood Bear is on his way here with a war
party," Little Dancer explained in the tongue of the People. "This is
Elk Charm's mother. Perhaps we should get back to the camp and see what White
Calf has to say?" He looked up at Three Toes. "You've come for a
visit?"

 
          
 
"To stay," Three Toes supplied
uneasily. "Heavy Beaver . . . well, he's made it impossible for us among
the People. He's become very powerful. White Calf was our only chance."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull's excitement faded like the shadow
of a tiny cloud in an endless summer sky. "The Red Hand are still angry
over the People's raid last year. The souls of the killed are still roaming
unburied."

 
          
 
"I told you Heavy Beaver would haunt
us," Three Toes reminded.

 
          
 
"He'll be worse before he's better,"
Black Crow growled.

 
          
 
In his stilted
Anit'ah
,
Hungry Bull asked Rattling Hooves, "How long until Blood Bear comes
here?"

 
          
 
She lifted an absent shoulder. "He's been
after your friends for three days now. He'll be moving fast. Since I didn't
know your friends' motives, I marked the trail for him in subtle ways."

 
          
 
"Then we'd better go." Little Dancer
bent to pick up his butchering tools.

 
          
 
"What about all this meat?" Hungry
Bull pointed to the half-butchered carcasses. "As warm as it is, it'll
sour if we don't ... The flies will ..."

 
          
 
"And do you think Blood Bear will wait
for us?" Three Toes asked nervously.

 
          
 
"Buffalo Above will understand,"
Little Dancer added. "He knows our hearts." And I told that to my
mother before she died for the sake of meat Chill ate at his soul. "Come
on!" And he led the way down the trail to White Calf's at a trot.

 
          
 
Somehow, Rattling Hooves ended up running
beside him. "Blood Bear will be coming to White Calf's, following the
Short Buffalo People," he said. "He'll find Elk Charm there."

 
          
 
She looked down at him, working her lips. '
'If we get there first, I can have her run. She can hide where he can't find
her." A pause. "Why do you care, young man?"

           
 
The question left him unbalanced. Why did he?
Why had she dominated his thoughts from the moment he'd seen her? "She's
nice."

 
          
 
"Uh-huh?" Rattling Hooves managed to
chuckle softly as she panted for breath. "You know, this is all getting
complicated, Little Dancer. Short Buffalo People and Red Hand, all mixed
up."

 
          
 
"White Calf will know what to do."

 
          
 
"She usually does."

 
          
 
And if she doesn't, what then? Little Dancer
wondered. Together, we '
ve
got four at lads against
how many Red Hand? And if we do fight and they don't wipe us out, what's left?

 
          
 
He swallowed hard and ran with all his might.

 
          
 
What had Rattling Hooves been doing out on the
trail in the first place? What could have possessed her to take a chance like
that, knowing Short Buffalo People lurked in the area ? Blood Bear glared ahead
as he led his warriors down the trail. From the sign, the raiders were no more
than a couple of hours ahead of them. With the children, they'd move more
slowly. He'd have them before sunset.

 
          
 
Rattling Hooves had been headed toward White
Calf's . . . obviously worried about her daughter. Still, a woman her age
should have had more sense than to risk herself over a silly girl like that.
Worse, Rattling Hooves had blithely run into the Short Buffalo People's ambush.
Served her right for not being more careful.

 
          
 
As usual, the raiders didn't know the trail.
They'd wandered around for days, climbing through black timber, struggling up
and down ridges and skirting meadows, taking elk trails that led into the
heaviest of timber and disappeared. Since they'd caught Rattling Hooves, the
woman had led them straight away from the Red Hand—and straight for White
Calf's. Now, what did that mean? White Calf, of course, had originally been
Short Buffalo. She'd married into Red Hand, been a Spirit Woman for years,
healing those who went to her for help.

 
          
 
A prickling lifted the hairs at the nape of
his DC though he didn't believe in Power, White Calf scared him. You couldn't
tell what that crazy old witch might stir up.

           
 
People feared White Calf. If she said
anything, word would get back to the camps and cause him no little bit of
trouble.

 
          
 
He hugged the Wolf Bundle to his chest. This
time he carried the Power and spirit of his people. Unlike the last time when
his warriors vanished one by one into the night, he'd taken the silly little
talisman that gave them heart and spirit. This time the Wolf Bundle led them,
and his warriors would fight to the death to protect it from the Short Buffalo
People who'd defiled it. With it, he could spur them to greater effort than
they'd give otherwise.

 
          
 
Amazing how much strength can be taken from a
mere trinket! And it's mine . . . all mine! He ignored the sudden throbbing in
his little finger. Angrily he batted it against his muscular thigh, as if to
swat the tingle out of it like that of a pinched nerve.

 
          
 
"Got to catch the raiders and kill them
before they get there. That's the best," he whispered under his breath.

 
          
 
It wouldn't be long now.

 
          
 
As he thought it, the trail turned suddenly,
leading down into a meadow. Ravens rose from the trees, cawing as their black
wings rasped in the air.

 
          
 
Blood Bear pulled up, chest rising and falling
as he caught his breath. Before him, the meadow was littered with
half-butchered buffalo. Muttered conversation broke out behind him.

 
          
 
He walked to one of the carcasses, touching
the exposed meat. "Skinned not more than an hour ago." He grinned at
his warriors. "We've got them!"

 
          
 
“The Spiral shifts," the Wolf Bundle
observed. "We are in serious danger. It can all come apart now. Free will
is in play. So much for the Power of your Wolf Dream! I'm carried to the
destruction of your Dreamer. I see my end. I can kill, save him, perhaps to
renew me. The link is strong, but how will he react? If I wrap my tendrils into
his heart, will he accept me? Or will he turn his back . . . listen to the
voice of his dead mother where it echoes in his mind? I don Y have much
strength left. To kill, I must use all of myself. The boy
doesn
't know the way to Power. The Watcher
isn
't
prepared, yet. We’re not ready. Too soon . . . too soon ..."

 
          
 
The Wolf Dreamer's voice conveyed worry.
"Wait. Perhaps White Calf can save it. If not, we lose everything. If we
act, we 11 prove his mother's words. If we don y t act . . ."

 
          
 
What's going to happen? Three Toes wondered as
they all were seated before White Calf's shelter.

 
          
 
Little Dancer watched. He could feel the
tension, flashes of Dream images disrupting his concentration. Why? Why did he
feel so worried? Thoughts not his own seemed to whisper at the edge of his
consciousness.

 
          
 
The sun continued to beat down, friendly and
warm, despite the anxiety reflected on each face and in the nervous postures
that bespoke unease. A late grasshopper clicked in the still air, its sound
rising and falling to the beat of its yellow and black wings.

 
          
 
White Calf hobbled out, braced on her old
walking stick.

 
          
 
Little Dancer almost winced at the way she
looked, ancient, frail, as if any rapid movement might cause her to snap and
collapse. When had she grown so old? A tingle of guilt ate at his stomach.

 
          
 
"So, Heavy Beaver's driven you out?"
Her scratchy voice wavered.

 
          
 
Old, so old. And if she dies? What then? What
do I do? A sudden uncertainty gripped Little Dancer's heart. Have I been right
to fight her so?

 
          
 
"He's gathering the People," Black
Crow said unsteadily as he stood and faced White Calf. "He's begun a new
way. He's teaching a Dance of Renewal and Blessing. Since he's become leader,
the rains have come back, and with them the buffalo are a little more
plentiful. It seems to the People that the more Power he gets, the better
things are.”

 
          
 
"Fools!" White Calf hissed. “All
young fools. I've watched all my life. You get these spells—a little wetter for
a couple of years, but the world's changed slowly for as long as I ... or the
legends, can remember. Does water run in Monster Bone Springs? Is the Moon
River up to its old banks running so deep a person can't wade?"

 
          
 
"No." Black Crow looked around
uneasily.

 
          
 
"Then the drought's still with us. Some
years it's wetter. Other years it'll be drying. We live in an age of fire, not
water. When you see the water in Moon River run clear, you'll know the age of
fire has passed. Meanwhile, the earth is being washed away. Have you seen any
of the arroyos filling? No? They're still cutting into the earth? I thought so.
People will be starving again soon. They'll be pushing the last of the buffalo
into extinction like they did the monsters. Heavy Beaver's a fool."

 
          
 
"He may be a fool, but he's a powerful
one," Black Crow answered. "When Seven Suns' camp decided to go to
his Blessing, we argued against it. We've had war with the Fire Buffalo People
to the east. The Cut Hair People to the south are warring with Heavy Beaver.
The old peace was broken when Heavy Beaver took warriors to raid the Cut Hair.
Fire At Night and Throws Stones have become great warriors. They've taken
parties of young men as far south as the lands of the Squash Rock People and
killed their men. They've brought back women captives—all carrying their weight
in dried meat, fine robes, and tool stone. Last spring, Throws Stones raided
the White Crane People, killing many and burning one of their camps to the
ground. The women, dogs, and children he brought back carried many wonderful
things."

 
          
 
"And these women? They don't make
trouble?" White Calf wanted to know.

 
          
 
Meadowlark shook her head. "What woman
would make trouble? If they refuse a man's orders, they're beaten. If they beat
a man back, they're killed. Sometimes a woman who objects is Cursed by Heavy
Beaver himself. And if a captive woman tries to escape to her people, she's
hunted down like a wounded buffalo cow, and a dart is driven through her."
Meadowlark lifted futile hands. "What good does it do to fight back?
What's better? To live or to die? That's the choice—and the men believe it.
Women among the Short Buffalo People live in terror."

 
          
 
White Calf nodded thoughtfully in the silence
that stretched. "So that's how he kept the People from vanishing like
smoke. And I'll bet the captured women are kept pregnant? Their children are
the new People?"

 
          
 
"Uh-huh." Makes Fun grimaced.
"And I argued with Chokecherry when she said this could happen. Now, here
I am, chased from my people by something—this madness— that I still can't
believe is real."

 
          
 
"The world's changing." White Calf
wet her lips, spreading her hands wide, palms up to catch the sun. "Heavy
Beaver wanted to make the People strong again. That happens when things go bad.
You always find somebody's getting up dancing and singing about returning to
the old ways, the ways of the fathers ... as if they remembered what the old
ways were really like. Heavy Beaver did that—and blood and spit take you if you
remember different old ways than he does!"

 
          
 
"He's the Dreamer. It's worked."
Three Toes glanced up from where he sat on a flat rock, a haggard look about
him. "Not only that, but the Spirit Dreamers among the Cut Hair and the
Fire Buffalo People are worried that Heavy Beaver's ideas will spread. Already
angry young men are pointing fingers at the Short Buffalo, demanding revenge on
them for the deaths and the stealing of their women. They're claiming that
Heavy Beaver's way is better, more powerful; otherwise they wouldn't be
defeated in battle like they are."

 
          
 
"And it continues to sweep the
plains?" White Calf turned her head, bright eyes on Little Dancer.
"Then it will continue to grow, to wind up more and more peoples like
spring-shed buffalo fur around a turned rosebush stem/'

 
          
 
"But if a war party could raid them back,
defeat them in a battle, maybe—"

 
          
 
"Bah!" White Calf waved her hands at
Hungry Bulls thought. "You're dealing with an idea, not a war party. It's
what Heavy Beaver's teaching that's got to be stopped. You won't win by killing
his young men in a big fight."

 
          
 
"Then how?" Black Crow asked.

 
          
 
"Power." She whispered so softly
they almost didn’t hear. "He's got to be out-Dreamed. This is the Fire
Time. Someone has to Dance with Fire ... to hold the coals and be One with
them. That's where the end comes. A new way has to be taught to everyone. The
buffalo hunters are dying off. The world's changing, just like it did when the
animals we call monsters were vanishing. Men hunted the big beasts to
death—just like we're doing with the buffalo."

 
          
 
White Calf looked around, taking in each face.
"That's right. Heavy Beaver, with his way, will kill them all. His people
will be desperate. Maybe the buffalo have to go after all, huh? Maybe that's
what the Wise One Above has Dreamed for this Fourth World of his." She
smacked her lips, keen eyes on Little Dancer, as if she spoke to him without
regard to the others. "But then, maybe another way can be Dreamed for the
People—a way that gives them other means to survive than to kill off buffalo in
this age of Fire."

 
          
 
"You can't live like the Red Hand in the
plains," Hungry Bull insisted. "Sego lily, biscuit root,
serviceberry, and things like that don't grow there. It's just grass and
occasional buffalo berry along the drainages. And besides, the People wouldn't
want to eat things like roots. They're buffalo people. They eat meat."

 
          
 
"That's what has to be Dreamed."
White Calf
steepled
her fingers. "And the only
way it will change will be for a powerful Dreamer to go down there and change
it."

 
          
 
Little Dancer's throat went dry. No! Oh, no
you don't. Not this again. You can't make me. I 'm not the one! On my mother's
dead soul, I'm not the one. Power's wrong, it hurts people.

 
          
 
And his mother's words echoed in his memory:
"I don't want my son to ever make anyone feel the way I do now."

 
          
 
Slowly, he got to his feet, shaking his head,
realizing that everyone was looking at him. He backed away, aware that his
father had dropped his eyes and was fumbling at the dirt with a stick, drawing
little lines and crossing them.

 
          
 
The Dream image of the rocky ridge shimmered
in his mind, his father turning to stone below him. Like all the others, he’ll
fail me in the end, leave me to plunge into the abyss.

 
          
 
Little Dancer turned to run . . . and froze.
Coming down the trail, Blood Bear led his band of
Anit'ah
warriors.

 
          
 
And worse, Elk Charm walked ashen-faced before
him.

           
 
* * *

 
          
 
As Blood Bear broke into the clearing,
Rattling Hooves jumped to her feet. She'd missed most of the conversation
chattered back and forth in the Short Buffalo tongue. This she could
understand. Blood Bear had captured her daughter.

 
          
 
She started forward only to end up on the
point of Blood Bear's war dart. The keen-edged stone dimpled the hollow of her
throat as she looked up into his smoldering eyes.

 
          
 
“What have you done, woman? Led Short Buffalo
People through the lands of the Red Hand? Is this how you treat your
people?"

 
          
 
“Let go of my daughter." She forced the
words, aware that all he had to do was move his hand to slit her throat wide.

 
          
 
Elk Charm thrashed in his powerful grip.
Behind, the warriors watched warily as the Short Buffalo People clustered
behind White Calf.

 
          
 
"She's a woman now—and I have her. First,
I think we'll kill these raiders . . . and keep their women as they kept ours
last year. Then you and your daughter will come and live with me."

 
          
 
"Never!" Rattling Hooves managed
through gritted teeth.

 
          
 
The anger in Blood Bear's eyes began to shine.
"You're a beautiful woman, Rattling Hooves. Even at your age, you've
managed to snare my interest. Normally, a man doesn't marry a women as well as
her daughter.''

 
          
 
"You wouldn't!" White Calf limped
forward, leaning on her stick. "Among the Red Hand, that's incest! You'd
be her father!"

 
          
 
"I make my own rules and Power. As I control
the Wolf Bundle, I control the Red Hand."

 
          
 
"Stupid, ignorant fool! Not even the Wolf
Bundle allows you to take the ways of the Red Hand into your . . . Yah!"
White Calf's eyes went big as she started to raise her hands to protect
herself.

 
          
 
Moving like lightning, Blood Bear shifted, his
arm a blur as he pulled the dart back, pivoting on his heel. He thrust Elk
Charm violently away. His
atlatl
whipped back, for
that brief instant before the cast Rattling Hooves gasped a cry, aware even as
she moved that she'd acted too late. She lurched forward, off balance,
desperately clawing for him. Blood Bear threw his weight behind the cast.

 
          
 
She had trouble sorting it out later. Blood
Bear had whooped in triumph as he released the dart. A shout. A clacking sound.
And Hungry Bull leapt in from the side. The hunter stood braced, his
atlatl
gripped like a club. White Calf remained propped on
her walking stick, eyes wide. She stared, first at the broken dart Hungry Bull
had batted out of the air, and then at Blood Bear, where he fumbled for
footing, trying to nock another dart.