People of the Wolf (52 page)

lost faith in himself. Would the rest of the clans ever follow? Or would he have to leave them to the death predicted in his Dreams? Sharp laughter drifted up to him, breaking his concentration. Then someone roughly scolded a child.

"Dance," he commanded himself. "Seek . . . seek beyond your self. Lose your mind. Become all—and none."

He shook his head hard, clearing the mental fog of self-pity, and continued chanting, chanting, chanting. . . .

Time stretched, the chant seeped into every corner of his mind until he no longer heard the lilting sounds of his own voice. Chant whirled into Dream. The One beckoned. Absorbed in the flow of his mental dance movements, he found he didn't need the song, that he couldn't stop the motions now; they possessed him, the fluid swaying like a balm on his wounded soul. Only the motions existed, blending with the caress of water around him, until finally he felt himself being lifted high into the air.

He Danced weightlessly in a sea of light. Time vanished, slipping into an eternal now where there never had been a Wolf Dream or a Dancing Fox—only a single moment of. present awareness existed.

The Dance stopped.

He melted into the effulgence like a drop of water in the ocean. Nothing but light existed. Then in a massive and silent explosion, the light burst forth, washing through the universe in a gigantic tidal wave, spreading . . . spreading . . . conquering the darkness.

And he knew at that moment, knew at last what Heron's cryptic words had meant. "You've got to stop Dancing so you can get a good look at the Dancer."

Beneath the motions of the Dance was the Dancer. And beneath the Dancer was the essence of all that existed, the thing that tied the animals and plants to human beings: the One Voice, the One.

There was no Dancer. There never had been.

After an eternity, his body returned to him. He opened his eyes. The glare of the sun made him squint against the pain. Sound reached him as he floated. One by one, his senses tingled to life. With them, depression set in. He'd made another step, but why couldn't he stay in touch with the light?

Until he could hold the connection, he'd never be able to perceive the world around him as mirage. Fire handling and poison would be imposs—

Across the pool, from inside Heron's shelter, a babble of haunting voices called his name.

Cold fear touched his stomach. He turned to look toward them, seeing their black shriveled faces in his memory. An eerie wail rose, the mushroom's impassioned pleas pounding against him like fists.

He sank deeper into the pool, hiding . . . hiding.

His mouth had gone so dry. Fear did that, fear that he. wasn't strong enough. Fear that he'd break down in the Dream. Fear that his denied love for Dancing Fox would rise to cleave him from the One, to leave him as horribly dead as Heron in her love for Bear Hunter.

"Go now, leave me."

He looked back and forth, seeing the nervous trepidation in One Who Cries and Singing Wolf's eyes. They sat silently, awkwardly, unwilling to abandon him in this most critical moment. His heart warmed to their loyalty and concern.

"The time has come for me to Dream for all the People. Don't you see?"

Singing Wolf frowned, stubby teeth sunk in his lower lip. "It killed Heron. And she was practiced."

He silenced him with an uplifted hand, smiling wistfully. "It's my time, Singing Wolf." Filling his lungs, he stilled his anxious heart. "Please, go now. I must prepare. See that no one disturbs me. No one! Not for any reason."

He closed his eyes, seeking to clear his mind, to prepare for what he had to do. Vaguely, he heard the rustle of their clothing as they left, the feeling of their unease heavy in the

air.

Beyond Heron's rock shelter, he could feel the lifeblood of the People coursing through their bodies, their emotions roiling in the air around him. Their voices carried on the wind, calling out to Father Sun, to the spirits of the animals that had given them life this year.

With deliberate fingers, he plucked up the willow stems, dipping them in the water, sprinkling them over the fire. Leaning forward, he bathed his head and shoulders in the cleansing steam.

Beyond the flap, beyond the rock shelter, he could feel the beginnings of the Renewal Dance. The lilting melody of the old songs caressed the depths of his mind.

From beside him, he unwrapped the fox-hide bundle, letting his fingers play over the hard thin slices of the mushroom. Fear began to extend icy fingers into his thoughts; they curled and crept through his soul. Brutally, he forced them away, banishing the lingering remnants of the memory of Heron's eyes—horror-locked in death.

Four times, as Heron had taught him, he passed the willow through the fire, sprinkling the stems onto the glowing coals. ' Leaning forward, he bathed himself in the smoke, cleansing himself. Then, one by one, he lifted the thin slices of mushroom, passing them through the cleansing smoke before placing them on his tongue.

And the bitterness possessed him.

Dancing Fox struggled down the rocky path. Below her, the Renewal spread, the final dance lined out. Crow Caller-it had to be him—cavorted in the center near a smoking fire as the People watched, clapping their hands, bodies swaying to the familiar chants that called the souls of the animals.

"Just a little farther," Dancing Fox panted, feeling her breath burning in her lungs.

"Little farther," Three Falls whispered groggily, fighting against the exhaustion and pain and shock. "Just a ... little ..."

"That's right. We're saved. We're here." Dancing Fox collected herself and shouted, "Hey!" It came out as a garbled bark.

Someone turned. Young Moss, a tall straight youth, poked

Crow Foot, and together they raced up the path. Dancing Fox blinked her fatigue away, her smile a grimace as they took Three Falls from her shaking arms, supporting his weight. The bloody binding on his thigh told it all.

"Others," she whispered gruffly.

"How close?" Moss asked, lifting Three Falls' arm over his shoulder, taking the wounded man's weight.

Dancing Fox puffed, pushing her hair back. "Two days north."

Crow Foot grunted. "We'll have to get a war party together quickly."

"Not for those we met," Dancing Fox added hoarsely, coughing. "Dead. Killed them all. But more will come. More will always come."

Moss looked over Three Falls where his head wobbled unsteadily. "Nice work, warrior. I, for one, take back the things I said about your courage."

Glassy eyes met his. "Not . . . me." Three Falls smiled weakly. "First dart . . . got me . . . good. Fox ... Fox killed all five. They didn't take her seriously. Bad . . . mistake."

Crow Foot looked over his shoulder to where Fox followed. "You?
You killed five?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Quit gawking and see to this man. Where's Wolf Dreamer?"

Moss's expression soured, his voice derisive. "In the witch's hole."

"Hey?" Crow Foot called. "Looks like you stopped a dart, too. You're limping."

She glared at him. "If Three Falls dies, I'll get you next."

Something in the way she said it—in the hot anger reddening her face—stopped his surly reply. They nodded, bearing Three Falls away.

Dancing Fox stopped at the side of the hot pool, barely aware of the curious eyes as she wove through knots of people. In the center of the ring, she could hear Crow Caller's high-pitched voice exhorting.

False Dreams.
She smiled wryly.

Bending to the warm water, she washed her face of grime and stale sweat. Heedless of the whispers hissing behind her,

she shucked off her parkas, bathing her upper body. Sponging the water from her flesh, she flapped her skins over her shoulder and walked toward Heron's shelter. Life seeped into her with the chill of the breeze over her wet skin. The gooseflesh seemed to energize her.

One Who Cries stood there, arms crossed, talking nervously to Singing Wolf. He shot a quick glance her way and nodded as Singing Wolf continued talking. Then he started, head swiveling, mouth falling open.

"So I'm supposed to be on the other side of the ice," she grunted, already in foul humor.

They both rushed at her.

"What're you doing here?" Singing Wolf demanded frantically, trying to keep his voice down.

She glared at him from between slitted eyes, voice a low growl. "Trying to save the People. Something wrong with that?"

"Get her away," Singing Wolf pleaded. "Go, now, we may not have much time."

One Who Cries grabbed her arm, whirling her so fast she , almost fell. "What the ..."

"Hush!"
One Who Cries appealed frantically. "He's Dreaming! Don't you understand? You know what that means?''

She snarled and ripped her arm away. "No, I don't."

"Heron," he gritted. "If he sees you . . . breaks the Dream . . . If he or the People mean anything to you, you've got to go. Anyplace. Just so he doesn't see you. You'll
kill
him!"

Through the haze of exhaustion and anger, it began to penetrate. "Where?" she asked listlessly.

"This way. Hurry." One Who Cries took her by the arm again, steering her through the crowd as the dancers took up the chant, circling.

"I thought my brother would have left his hole by now." Raven Hunter propped hands on his hips as he stopped before Singing Wolf. The man guarded the entrance as though his life depended on it.

"Renewal is almost over." Four Teeth met Raven Hunter's triumphant eyes. "Runs In Light won't leave the darkness? .

He won't show himself to Father Sun? There are whisperings that he's a witch. When will he come out so we can see him?"

Singing Wolf cocked his head, studying Raven Hunter through narrowed eyes. "When he's finished Dreaming."

Raven Hunter chuckled to himself, looking around, watching the line of dancers circling the birch and willow fire. "One Who Cries went to stick himself into Dancing Fox? I have another rival?"

"Shut up."

Raven Hunter's face twitched. The time had long passed when a man could speak to him like that. He smiled threateningly. "I hear she killed five Others on the way here. Then she saved Three Falls' life. Practically carried him. Quite the woman, isn't she? And you hustle her away from my brother? Afraid he'll be diluted if his manhood throbs and erupts?"

"You don't understand," Singing Wolf said through clenched jaws. "I've seen him. I have some idea about what he's doing. There's a—"

"Quit stalling!" He gestured around. "You've heard the talk. The People think he's afraid—unwilling to meet Crow Caller face-to-face. Now here you stand, guarding his hole."

Singing Wolf shook his head slowly, a smoky haze of anger in his eyes. "You don't know what he's risking in there. You, you're his brother! And you don't understand what he's doing? He's Dreaming, even as we speak."

"He's hiding," Four Teeth grumbled. "His credibility's gone, Singing Wolf. Gone. Three days now since you told us he'd begun to Dream. Three days! And where is he? Huh? Where? I took your word."

''You don't understand the Power of the—"

' 'Bah!'' Four Teeth spat to accent his disgust. ' 'He's buried in those rocks there! Locked away. Under the ground. His soul's trapped. That's what he's done. Trapped himself."

Singing Wolf's face tightened, a pain in his eyes.

Raven Hunter took the opportunity. "Grandfather, don't chasten this hunter and warrior. He shouldn't suffer for my brother's delusions. Runs In Light is calculating, capable of twisting truths and men's loyalties. Singing Wolf isn't. ..."

The hanging moved aside. He stood there, arms raised to

the sun, eyes closed as his lips moved in a wordless chant. He walked on unsteady legs, eyes opening.

Raven Hunter met those eyes—and unconsciously stepped backward, a cold chill tracing his backbone. His brother seemed someone else completely, eyes wide and gleaming. Wolf Dreamer passed him, passed him as if he didn't exist. Shooting a quick look at Singing Wolf, he caught the worship, the absorbing devotion.

A rustle disturbed the fringes of the spectators watching the dance. Mutters and whispers grew on the air as people shuffled, clearing an avenue. Those who met the Dreamer's eyes hushed, awed.

Raven Hunter heard Singing Wolf whisper, "Wolf Dreamer," and chafed at the adoration in his voice.

Raven Hunter flexed his muscles, calming himself. "There's still Crow Caller," he reminded as he followed in the wake of his tottering brother. "And if Crow Caller hesitates—I'll be there."