People of the Earth (38 page)

 
          
 
"And you don't want to take me under the
robes? Not even a little?"

 
          
 
He lifted an eyebrow. "I may be peculiar
in my own way, but I'm not dead. At the same time, I'd be afraid to try."

 
          
 
She straightened, watching him warily.
"Why?"

 
          
 
He hated the panicked look he knew covered his
face. "Women aren't interested in me. Face it, I'm a homely man. What
woman would want to touch a man with a shriveled arm? And the only time I tried
to lie with Golden Flax under the robes, she got sick." He shook his head
and threw a pleading look at the stars. "I listen to the other men brag
about what they can do with their women. I might not be good under the
robes—probably wouldn't be, actually. So why find out that what I suspect is
true?" He rubbed his face with a nervous hand. "I embarrass myself
enough as it is."

 
          
 
Her flinty features didn't change. "Then
let's keep it that way."

 
          
 
He nodded, a little relieved. "Maybe
that's why we're together. Maybe I can help you forget what happened with Three
Bulls."

 
          
 
"I'll never forget."

 
          
 
Bad Belly sucked at his lip, staring into the
fire. What could he say now?

 
          
 
She closed her eyes, hands knotted into fists.
"You know, I killed him with a chopper I'd made. He'd gone to sleep. I
picked up the rock and smashed it down on the bridge of his nose and blinded
him first. I think I stunned him with that blow. Then I hammered and hammered
until I'd chopped his face right off." She began to shake, and her voice
quavered. "I just couldn't stop. I ... I kept hacking at him, trying to
kill it all. Like . . . like I could drive what happened out of my soul by
butchering him. I couldn't control myself. I pounded and pounded at him,
hammering that chopper into his body."

 
          
 
Bad Belly cautiously reached his good arm
around her. "
Shhh
. You're all right now."

           
 
"That's why I ran," she mumbled,
sniffling at the tears she wouldn't let him see. "I ran and ran. And now I
wonder if I wasn't just running from myself."

 
          
 
He held her, pressing his cheek to her hair.
"Looking back now, would you have done it any differently?"

 
          
 
"No," she admitted miserably.

 
          
 
"Then you did the right thing."

 
          
 
She sighed, shaking her head, hair sliding
along his cheek. "I just couldn't stand any more. Everything was dead.
Bright Moon died. We were starving, hunted, and killed. I had to look into Sage
Ghost's eyes when I told him that the only woman he'd ever loved was dead. The
man I loved ran off to the Black Point to get himself killed. I found Old
Falcon's body. Brave Man murdered him. I know it. Then the attack came. I just
ran and tried to stay alive. Then to be captured like that and raped, and
beaten, and raped again?" She huddled in on herself, shivering. "And
the Dreams don't leave my any peace. I don't understand the things First Man
says to me."

 
          
 
"What does he say?"

 
          
 
"Things about being reborn." Her
voice sounded lonely, scared. "About leading the People and making a new
way. Strange things about the Sun People and the way they have to be prepared
for something that's going to happen in the future."

 
          
 
"He comes out of fire?"

 
          
 
She shifted to stare up at him. "How do
you know that?"

 
          
 
"I had a Dream once, out in the
Wind
Basin
, when I was traveling with Left Hand. First
Man told me that the Sun People were like a tree, that the right kind of roots
had to be planted so the tree would grow in a certain way. Then he changed from
a man of fire to a wolf to a flaming bird. When the bird flew away, the thunder
was so loud it woke Left Hand out of a sound sleep."

 
          
 
Her mouth dropped open. "Power sent you
to me?"

 
          
 
"I guess." He shrugged. "If
you're the Dreamer. I'm supposed to do something. I don't understand it yet.
Something about a bundle—maybe the one you Dreamed about." Trouble made a
muffled yip. The dog's nose and feet were twitching as he chased rabbits in his
sleep. He whimpered in excitement. "And when Trouble followed a wolf in
the night, I followed him."

 
          
 
"What does it mean?" she whispered
as though shocked.

 
          
 
Bad Belly leaned his head back and exhaled,
watching his breath in the cold night air. "You ask me? Bad Belly? I'm as
lost and alone as you are."

 
          
 
She leaned her head on his shoulder, fingers
weaving into his. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

 
          
 
"I'll be just on the other side of the
fire. I won't go anywhere—even if another Spirit Wolf tries to lead Trouble
away. I promise."

 
          
 
"Wrapped in your juniper-bark
blanket?"

 
          
 
"I'll be fine. We have enough wood."

 
          
 
"This robe is big enough for both of
us." She looked up at him, searching his eyes. "You said you wouldn't
. . . wouldn't ..."

 
          
 
He smiled down at her, smoothing her hair with
his fingers. "No. I don't need that from you. I'd better sleep over there,
though. I know how it is. Golden Flax used to cry out in the night when I was
next to her. She thought I was her father. You might think—"

 
          
 
"I don’t want to be alone. Just be close
to me tonight. I'm frightened, Bad Belly. If you're there, maybe the Dreams
won't come."

 
          
 
"I don't-"

 
          
 
"Besides, you'll freeze." She smiled
weakly. "It'll be all right. I—I trust you."

 
          
 
Bad Belly sighed and nodded agreement. He
stood and went over to ruffle Trouble's ears, ordering sternly, "No wolves
tonight. If you see any, you're on your own."

 
          
 
He pulled up the corner of the robe and
settled next to White Ash, careful to keep his back to her.

 
          
 
"Bad Belly?"

 
          
 
"Yes."

 
          
 
"How did you come to be called Bad
Belly?"

 
          
 
"I used to throw up every time I got hurt
... or scared."

 
          
 
"What was your real name?"

 
          
 
"Still Water."

           
 
"I know how you feel. All these Dreams
about First Man and Thunderbird that we've been having—they make me want to
throw up, too. I'm scared."

 
          
 
"So am I, White Ash."

 
          
 
Green Fire stood up from her place in the back
of the lodge and took two hobbling steps. She hated the pain in her knees.
Worse, her eyesight had grown dimmer over the last couple of years, making it
difficult to see in the lodge's half-light.

 
          
 
"Witching did that to me." She
sucked at her toothless gums, remembering the pain that had preceded the death
of her last tooth. Then the root had finally rotted and the tooth fell out of
her mouth. Now she ate only soups with chunks of meat small enough to swallow,
and gruel made of finely ground
ricegrass
seeds and
pulped roots.

 
          
 
She stared around the lodge, barely able to
make out the soot-blackened rafters where they braced on the stringers. Her
back had bent with age, leaving the hide bundles that hung from the rafters
beyond her reach. Once she had had her daughters hang them lower, but people
had bumped into them.

 
          
 
She put a withered hand on one of the roof
supports and stepped gingerly around the sandstone slab that acted as a
deflector for the fire pit. She bent down, squinting at the smoldering coals.
Too much ash had built up. Someone would have to clean the hearth out again.

 
          
 
She straightened and inspected the boiling
paunch. Water, boiled meat, and chopped roots. Her stomach growled its longing
for a thick steak or a juicy roast.

 
          
 
"No wonder the witching takes to me. How
can a soul stay strong and fight off such things? A person needs real food,
stuff with substance."

 
          
 
"What's that, Grandmother?" Basket
looked up from her work. She was using a block of wood to cushion her palm as
she pushed a bone awl through a thickness of leather. Her swollen belly
inhibited her movements and restricted her to the lodge. From the looks of it,
White Blood had planted a large child in her granddaughter's womb.

 
          
 
"Nothing. Talking to myself. What's that
you're making?"

 
          
 
"Moccasins for Little Toe."

 
          
 
"Can't his wife do that for him? He's
married to . . . what's her name?"

 
          
 
"Gray Needle."

 
          
 
"That's right. Gray Needle over at
Badwater
camp. She can make his moccasins."

 
          
 
Basket made a suffering face. "I thought
I'd give him these when we see him this summer. He's still my brother. We're
close, he and I."

 
          
 
"Close?" Green Fire grunted under
her breath. "He practically turned his back on us. He didn't trust my
judgment. I could have dickered for access to hunting rights up above that camp
of theirs."

 
          
 
Basket stared at her grandmother. "You
didn't want to deal with Bone Ring. At the time, you accused her of fooling
around with witchcraft. After that big fight you had, you told Little
Toe—"