Dreams That Burn In The Night (7 page)

Somehow, this
sudden change made Blue Snow even angrier, as if someone had stolen his secret place from him. He
had liked the charred trees, the dead brown grass. These things were like the way he felt, like
the black and brown snake he grew in his own belly.

Blue Snow took the
bird out of the basket. He held the hawk up before him, slipping the blanket off the bird's head.
The hawk wriggled in his grasp, wings flapping, beak flashing forward to strike him.

Blue Snow laughed
to see the hawk struggle. He had him firmly by the legs and cruelly twisted one leg until the
hawk cried out in pain.

The bird beat the
air with his wings, futilely trying to escape.

He knew he was in
the presence of a great enemy. His broken wing was almost mended.

"I hate you, bird!"
cried Blue Snow, and the snake in him tasted a meal. Loosing one hand from the bird's legs, he
reached up and yanked savagely on the bird's mending wing. The wing broke.

And the white-head
hawk cried.

"I hate you!" And
he threw the bird upon the ground and killed him with big stones. The bird cried once before the
heavy stones smashed him into the ground.

The black snake in
Blue Snow, the envious curve coiled around his spine, hissed in reptilian pleasure.

Then Blue Snow
ground his foot upon the bird, crushing the helpless body into the hard ground. He spat upon the
hawk. He hated in as dark and black a way as the shaman from the north, Uhlat the eater of flesh,
had hated.

Like Uhlat, Blue
Snow's blood was cold with hate, unwarmed by the sun. He stared down at the dead hawk in triumph,
proud of what he had done.

A hard hand closed
upon his shoulder. Blue Snow jumped, looking up, scared to be found out. There was fear in his
eyes.

The old one, the
demon-touched one, the one who watched the children, towered above him.

"Let me go!" said
Blue Snow fearfully, struggling in the old man's grasp like a snake caught by an
eagle.

The old one looked
at the dead white-head hawk and then he looked around him, at the green life, the eager young
trees and flowers and grasses. All around him he saw goodness, yet as he looked down upon the boy
and the dead bird, he found evil and death.

The old one turned
the boy around, dragging him by his shoul­der until he stared directly into the old one's
eyes.

Blue Snow stared up
at the old one with terror in his eyes and lies in his heart. "I didn't do it!" cried Blue Snow.
"I found him like this."

"I saw you," said
the old one, and his voice was heavy and sad. "It is no use lying to me."

"Let me go." Blue
Snow struggled against the old man's grip, but the one's hands were as strong as a black bear's
jaws.

The old one pushed
Blue Snow ahead of him, forcing him to
walk sideways until they stood over the dead hawk. Without los­ing his grip on Blue
Snow's shoulder, the old one bent down and tenderly lifted the dead bird up.

Blue Snow snarled
and tried to kick at the old one.

The old one paid no
attention to him. The old one smoothed the damaged feathers of the broken wings. He straightened
the broken neck, moved his hand slowly over the crushed body of the bird.

He looked up at
Blue Snow, the dead hawk cradled like a baby in his hand.

"You enjoyed
killing the crippled hawk. This is true," said the old one. "I know it is true, but my heart does
not know why it is true."

"Let me
go."

"Answer me. You
enjoyed this killing!" said the old man, and his voice seemed to ring with thunder. "Say it is
true."

Blue Snow looked
into the old one's eyes. The lies he would have said melted in his fear of the old one. Like the
snake that knows its fate in the claws of the eagle, Blue Snow could not lie.

"Yes. I liked
killing it! I hate it! I hate it!" Blue Snow swung his fists at the old one but could not hit
him. "Let me go!"

"You knew what the
white-head hawk meant to Natina; you understood the magical gift of seeing that this white-head
hawk gave to Elk Dancer. You knew about the good magic, and yet knowing it you did this thing."
The old man looked away, deep into the forest. He seemed to see some place far, far away. "I have
come seeking you. I have been waiting for you, watching for you."

Blue Snow was
frightened at those words. "You better let me go. They'll miss me. They'll come looking for me.
You'll be sorry when they catch up to you. You better let me go."

"The way you are,
the only ones who will miss you, are the ones who do not know you," said the old one. "Have you
no shame in your heart for what you have done, for the darkness you bring into the lives of those
who loved this white-head hawk?"

"I don't care!"
screamed Blue Snow, and he struggled desper­ately now to break free from the old man's grasp. He
was sure the old one was going to kill him. "Let me go!"

If the old one
noticed Blue Snow's attempt to escape, he gave no sign of it. He stared down tenderly at the dead
hawk.

"Such beauty should
not leave this world," said the old one. "We find enough bad things in the world, but good things
are rare and we cannot let them die."

The old one lifted
the dead bird up to the sky and, chanting, raised the hawk once in each of the four directions.
The dead wings covered his hand like a feathery fan.

He lowered the bird
and held him to his chest.

"Hear my heart, and
its dance shall be your dance. I look at the sky and hear the wind your wings have
loved."

The thunder crashed
across the blue sky. The dead wings moved, slowly, ever so slightly until they moved away from
his hand, until they spread out like a bird soaring through the air.

Blue Snow trembled
with fear.

The old one lifted
the bird to his face and gently put the bird's head in his mouth. He blew softly, his breath
ruffling the tiny feathers behind the bird's head.

He took the bird
away from his mouth and held him out to the sky. "With my breath, you will find the wind
again."

The hawk trembled
in the old one's hand, the wings still out­stretched. His eyes opened and his mouth moved and his
legs slowly unbent until they were straight and strong beneath him.

The broken bones
mended and went back into place. New feathers grew to replace some that had been torn out. The
bird seemed to shudder with new life.

The old man opened
his hand, and the bird stood proudly in the center of his hand, his strong claws wrapped around
the old one's fingers. The hawk's wings were whole and beautiful.

"My heart rises to
see your beauty back in this world," said the old one. "Go. Do not wait. Natina cries for you,
and Elk Dancer stumbles in the darkness your leaving has caused."

The bird turned his
head and glared at Blue Snow, just for a second, and then like lightning, wings flashing golden
in the sun, he was gone, flying straight as an arrow back to the village.

The old one watched
the hawk fly with joy in his heart that did not melt until he turned to look down at Blue
Snow.

Blue Snow cowered
before him, shaking with fear, certain he was going to be killed.

The old one
squeezed Blue Snow's shoulder tightly. But he was not angry. He was never angry. His heart lived
in a place between worlds, and anger did not live in that place.

"Come." He jerked
the boy toward him, but behind his roughness he was as gentle as a leaf in the wind and sad like
the end of summer.

"You hate me!
You're like all the others! They hate me! They all hate me! I hate you. I hate you!"

"Walk," said the
old one, pushing the boy, kicking and strug­gling, in front of him. "We will talk later when we
are where we must go."

"Where are you
taking me?" cried the boy as the old man led him through the forest toward the mountains, away
from the vil­lage.

The old one did not
answer. They walked until the darkness closed about them. The boy, ever fighting to be free,
resisted every step of the way, but the old one was strong beyond his years and held him
firmly.

As they left the
forest and began moving up into the moun­tains, the boy said, "You are strong, old one. Your
magic is strong. I am only a little boy. You do not want me. I can't hurt you. Let me go back to
the village."

The old one said
nothing. On and on they marched.

"I am tired. I want
to rest. I want to go home. I can't walk anymore," cried Blue Snow.

"I cannot stop,"
said the old one. "It is not my power that moves me. Keep walking. You cannot escape."

As the way became
dark for the going, the old one led, drag­ging the boy behind him. He neither turned aside nor
hesitated. It was as if the old one saw as well in the dark as in the day.

All night they
traveled and far into the next day. The boy grew hungry and tired, but the old one was unmoved by
his pleas and seemed to grow neither tired nor hungry himself.

They reached the
valley of the Aomi when the sun was at its highest in the sky.

Blue Snow looked
upon the valley with dark fears growing through his shoulders and legs. A sickness and a chill
came upon him, and his teeth touched ice in his mouth. A cold wind and the smell of old things in
the ground blew in his face.

"What is this
place?" asked Blue Snow.

"This is the valley
of Aomi. And there, coming alive in the rocks, is Aomi." The old one pointed, and a bright but
dull thing rattled upon the rocks. It rose and it slithered and it rolled and its
shape changed. It grew and it went little and
it was a small ani­mal and it was part of the ground and the wind across the grass and the
insects whirring up in summer.

It flew like a bird
and it went whipping along like a black snake and it did not move at all and it got closer and
stayed where it lay, a demon trapped in the rocks.

Suddenly it became
a rabbit and hopped across Blue Snow's feet, dragging a lame leg.

"Catch it and kill
it!" suddenly cried the old one, with a strange, terrible voice that commanded, that could not be
denied.

And forgetting
everything, Blue Snow chased the crippled one across the ground. He forgot who he was. His fears
and aches and pains and tiredness were forgotten in the run of the chase as he smashed at the
rabbit with a rock. His face was hot with a fever and a wildness. And he struck again and again,
and his muscles raced with the good feelings that swam in his blood.

The rabbit, its
head smashed into jelly, boiled over and became a small bird fluttering across the ground with a
broken wing. "Kill it!" commanded the old one.

Again Blue Snow
gave chase, battering the bird down, crushing its frail body in his hands. The bird poured out of
his hands and became a fawn without eyes, and Blue Snow sank his teeth into the fawn's neck,
seeking the jugular, loving the blood taste of the hunt and the animal heat. And the old man
stood and watched, and Aomi died many times.

And the valley of
Aomi filled with the excited hunger of the chase and the quick snap of torment and death.
Finally, ex­hausted with blood and hate, Blue Snow lay on his back.

The old one stood
above him, not smiling. His face was grim and filled with the wisdom of one who asks questions
that are not mysteries.

"You cannot leave
here now. You must stay." Blue Snow sat up, his breath coming in gasps. "I will leave anytime I
like."

The old one shook
his head. "There is no way out for you until there is no hate left in you. If you do not believe
me, try to walk away."

Blue Snow got to
his feet slowly. He looked at the old one and then back at the valley where Aomi waited. He took
one step in the direction from which they had come. The old one made no move to stop him. Aomi
rested quietly on the rocks.

Blue Snow took
another cautious step. Nothing happened. With a cry of triumph, he began running, speeding past
the old one into the forest.

As he came to the
forest, there was a flash of light, and he felt the earth move beneath his feet. Blue Snow
stumbled, his eyes on the ground, but he regained his balance and lifted his head. He was still
running but not toward the forest.

The old man stood
in the valley, a sad smile on his face as Blue Snow ran toward him.

Blue Snow stopped
running, confusion and terror on his face. He looked back at the forest, so near and yet so far
away. The old one motioned for him to come forward, and reluctantly Blue Snow walked back to the
old man.

"Will that happen
every time?" asked Blue Snow.

The old one nodded.
"You will not leave until your hate dies. At the edge of the forest, every step away from the
valley is two steps back into the valley."

"I don't
understand. I want to go home," said Blue Snow.

"You use empty
words. You are home. Aomi, the demon, is your home."