People of the Wolf (29 page)

Ice Fire shook his head. "We'll kill you. It's now a matter of honor. Mine are a fierce people. Yours are soft, bleating like wounded caribou calves. My warriors won't let you run any longer, they'll hunt you down for this."

"See the way you have made, Father. Your son, born of blood, comes. Your son, born of light, leaves. Which will you choose?"

"Choose? What do you mean? Wolf Dreamer, what is your message?" He stood, leaning forward. "What?"

"Death ... or life. Is there any other message, Father?" And the flames crackled, a shower of sparks spiraling into the night in a crimson swirl.

"Wolf Dreamer?
Wolf Dreamer?"
Only the flames flickered, the slender branches of willow hissing, their sacred smoke rolling over him like a blanket.

Ice Fire looked about, blinking, the Power of the vision fading from his taut body.

"Old friend?" Red Flint's voice sounded uneasy, hesitant in the silence.

Ice Fire rubbed his masklike face, feeling the warm hand of the Singer on his shoulder. He turned to look, seeing the dancers where they watched, casting wary glances at him and each other.

"What . . . what happened?"

Red Flint met his gaze, deep worry behind his brown eyes. "You stood, shouting into the fire. Like you were talking to someone there. I came quickly, and saw nothing but glowing coals in the fire pit."

Ice Fire shivered suddenly, the image of the dead hunters in the back of his mind, the very humming of the flies roaring in his ears. "Death. He said death was coming. My son is coming. And he was born of blood."

Slowly Ice Fire walked through the still dancers, hardly aware that they stared at him, faces ashen.

Bonfires made from piles of alder and willow crackled high, sending wreaths of sparks to glow orange-red against the mauve heavens. The people danced, singing praise to the souls of the animals who had sustained them through the year, finishing the last of the four-day ceremony that brought each of the seasons. With all their hearts, they danced the Renewal of the world, calling their joy to the Blessed Star People. Now they would feast, the huge fires flaring in order that the spirits above might see their rejoicing and bounty and bring them more in the coming year.

In the reddish glow of the midnight sun, shelters of mammoth hide, caribou, and musk ox cast eerie shadows onto the trampled tussock grass. Wind Woman, her breath muted by the Long Light, played lightly across the camps of the clans, bearing the odors of roasting meat and the sounds of laughter and joy at another season passed.

"So few," Raven Hunter whispered, anger rearing.

"Not in memory has a Long Dark called so many," Strikes Lightning reminded him. "Nor has a summer been this warm. Not in any man's memory."

The warriors threaded their way, passing shelters, aloof, eyes ahead as they approached the main fire.

Together—a knot of resistance—they waited while the Sacred Dance slowed, ending in a final shout to reach the Blessed Star People above.

Crow Caller appeared out of the gathering, fire flickering over his withered face. Dressed in summer hides, he strode haughtily, hands raised. "The People live!" he called.

The songs quieted gradually, eyes turning to the old shaman.

Crow Caller smiled. "We offer thanks to the Blessed Star People. The souls of the animals hear us and rejoice. Their strength lives within us. We are made whole by their sacrifice. From above, they look down and see our joy, our thanks."

A shout rose from the People, half-thankful, half-hopeful. Now was the time to feast! They began to disperse toward the cooking fires, voices increasing in volume again.

"There is more!" Raven Hunter strode into the eerie crimson firelight, sensing the reticence of his followers, feeling them come forward despite their reservations.

Crow Caller turned, his blind white eye oddly lit in the flames.

"While you danced," Raven Hunter began, "I went away. Four went with me." He stared from face to face, watching the wide curious eyes. "We return victorious!"

Only the hiss of the fire broke the stillness as he held up the dart he'd torn from the Other's chest. People cocked their heads, waiting.

Raising his hands, Raven Hunter displayed the deadly pro-

jectile, black with dried blood. "Here, my people, is victory."

Crow Caller eased forward, black eye sharp. "You killed an animal! You know no one kills during the ceremony of Thanks. How could you—"

"Not one of our four-legged brothers." Raven Hunter smiled cynically. "I commit no sacrilege."

From the uneasy crowd, a voice called, "Then what?" Whispers of disdain and curiosity rose.

"Together"—Raven Hunter gestured to his group—"we, men of the People, have killed Others." In the sudden babble, he roared, "Others who killed the People of Geyser's band. Killed our relatives as they pushed them from the land of our ancestors—pushed them from the big herds!"

"No!" an old man cried, stepping forward. "We don't kill! It's not our way. We're peace—"

"We can't run anymore!" Raven Hunter bellowed, shaking his bloody dart. "This land is ours.
Ours!
Where else can we go? Into the Big Ice? Into the salt water? We're cornered!"

"They'll come to kill us!" The old man turned to the brooding crowd. "This is not the way of the People. We do not kill men! It is Raven Hunter who has brought their wrath down on us. What will we—"

Strikes Lightning pushed forward. "They killed my father. Geyser. I . . . I ran from them last season! You hear, Grandfather? I'm tired of running. Listen, all of you. They can be beaten, pushed back to the place they came from! Hear Raven Hunter, he has found a way."

"This isn't our way!"

"Cowards!" Raven Hunter accused, stilling the old man's words in his throat. "Have we no right to keep our land? To protect our women and children?"

"But the Others—"

"You think they'll leave us alone if we leave them alone'?"

"Why not?" the old man challenged. "We don't threaten them."

Raven Hunter clenched his teeth, rage stirring his voice to boom over the assembly. "Did they leave Geyser's people alone? Huh?" His arm shot out to the tall man beside him. "Ask Strikes Lightning.
They murdered his entire family."

The old man shuffled his feet nervously. "I'm sorry for the boy, but Geyser must have done something to the Others to make them angry enough to kill—"

"Nothing!" Strikes Lightning insisted bitterly. "We did nothing!"

Raven Hunter let the silence hang heavy for a moment before shouting, "Nothing except compete for the herds!"

"Then we must teach them we mean them no harm. We'll share the animals."

"You'd have us open our arms to murderers? Accept them? Teach them of Father Sun and the Blessed Star People? Show them how to live like people?" Raven Hunter paused, running his grimy sleeve across his mouth as he stared into the somber, silent gathering. "They want nothing from us but our blood!"

His charge echoed across the grassy plain.

Several of the young men grunted affirmation. The old ones muttered uneasily under their breaths. An old woman covered her face with a fox hide, rocking back and forth, moaning.

Mouse pushed her way through the crowd, coming to stand by Strikes Lightning, her husband. "My boy is dead," she called unsteadily. "What use is the Other who killed him? He's not of the People ... or the People's way! I am
proud
that my husband killed this Other! Hear me! How many must weep? How many of you will fall to their darts this coming year? Think on that before you mutter behind your hands."

"She's right!" Raven Hunter roared, a knotted fist to the sky. "Did Father Sun put us here for the sport of these Others? You've seen Grandfather Brown Bear play with a salmon, fling it around for his enjoyment, toss it, pounce upon it, and leave it to rot because his belly was full. I for one, will not be toyed with by the Others.

"From now on, be it known, I
will fight and kill to keep the land of my fathers!'"
He thrust the dart deeply into the ground, a blood-black totem. Angrily, he crossed his arms, staring back at them, feet braced. The light of the bonfire flickered over his angry features, glinting in his black eyes.

The young men nodded, a growing murmur of voices in the crowd. Their tones rang with righteous anger. The young women looked to them, teeth flashing proudly in the firelight.

Only the older people glanced nervously back and forth, whispering hesitantly.

Crow Caller raised callused hands, palms out to still them. Face tight, he looked around. "This . . . this I would not have had happen." He turned, meeting Raven Hunter's eyes. "But something must be done."

"Not war with the Others," the old man in the crowd wailed. "What next? More raids? No, this is not the way!"

"Neither is death!" Raven Hunter lifted his chin, calling out powerfully as he extended a finger, "There lies the Big Ice, just to the east of us. More ice chokes the high mountains. No game in the ice, Grandfather—only starvation. And we know that to the south lie hills, piled rocks, dry land, and finally more ice! Think of what we've let the Others take from us! The bounty of the salt water—the game of the grassy plains. Only by driving the Others back can we find a way to live in peace."

Singing Wolf walked out from the line of the dancers. "Runs In Light said there was a way through the Big Ice to a land bursting with game and—"

"And you're here," Raven Hunter pointed out smugly. "So much for the Wolf Dream."

Singing Wolf shook his head, sighing. "I. . .1 don't know. We didn't die." He turned, gaining courage. "You hear?.We didn't die!"

"And where is my brother?"

"He stayed with old Heron." Singing Wolf's mouth hardened in the silence.

"Stayed with a witch." Raven Hunter laughed derisively. "He's probably conjuring evil spirits to kill us all for shunning him and his false Dreams!"

Singing Wolf's brows lowered. "He's a good boy! He'd never—"

"Then why isn't he here telling us of the way through the ice?"

' 'I don't know,'' Singing Wolf murmured humbly.

"Our fate is in our own hands, the hands of young men with straight darts!"

"And the Others?" another old man demanded, gesturing. "You think they'll just let us kill them? You think they won't kill us back?"

Raven Hunter shook his head. "Jumping Hare? How many of us died yesterday?"

Jumping Hare shifted, clearly bothered. "None."

"How many darts were loosed at us?"

"None."

"Oh, someone may die," Raven Hunter continued. "I may die!" He paced slowly back and forth before his bloody dart. "But I won't die like a trapped caribou, to be clubbed to death at will. Have the People lost their honor?"

Strikes Lightning sidled up beside Raven Hunter, narrow face gleaming orange in the firelight. "If we just sit by and let the Others kill us, there'll be no one left to sing our souls to the Blessed Star People! Father Sun will force our souls to spiral downward in darkness."

"Eternal darkness, because we were cowards," Raven Hunter added ominously.

A ripple of assent stirred the People. The old people, and some of the mothers with children in tow, looked uneasily back and forth. The children watched, wide-eyed, the tots sucking thumbs while they held to the hands of their brothers and sisters.

At the fringes, Raven Hunter could see Dancing Fox, her beautiful face somber. Even in this moment of greatest peril, he smiled at her, seeing her lower her eyes.
So, she'd returned. Later. . .

"That's the future, my People." Raven Hunter stroked the blood-encrusted dart. "We must save ourselves. For four days, I will fast. Then, on the fifth, I will go and drive more of the Others from our lands. I'll take any who will go with me." He surveyed the faces of the young men. "But if no one else has the courage, I'll go alone!"

He caught sight of Dancing Fox as she slipped carefully to the rear, winding quickly away.

He turned, following slowly into the darkness. Behind him a babble of voices erupted. Like a man gambling with caribou toe-bone dice, he'd made his best cast.

"It's not good, this." Green Water shook her head, ducking into the blackness of her tent. "Raven Hunter's done it this time."

"I just want to hunt," One Who Cries protested, ducking to follow her. "That's not so much to ask, eh?"

"And the Others? They're . . . Hey! There's a foot in my robes!"