People of the Earth (40 page)

 
          
 
Despite the wretched pain, he'd crawled
forward and swung the club underhanded, catching Hawks Beard in the crotch. The
warrior had collapsed as he'd screamed and grabbed his crushed testicles.

 
          
 
The voices had driven Brave Man on, urging him
to crawl over to Hawks Beard. Blood had run between the man's fingers, while
tears leaked down his face.

 
          
 
An insane rage had overpowered the pain as
Brave Man discarded his club and gouged the man's eyes out, disorienting his
victim with pain and horror.

 
          
 
Buffalo Tail had tried to stop the battle
then, as had Sun Feathers, the Broken Stones' Soul Flier. Spurred by the voices
in his head, Brave Man had ignored the elders—as was the right of the
challenger.

 
          
 
Brave Man used Hawks Beard's club to smash the
man's jaw, then grasped the bleeding wreckage with furious hands. Muscles
straining, he'd jerked the broken jawbone this way and that while animal
shrieks ripped from Hawks Beard's throat. Only after Hawks Beard lost
consciousness did Brave Man lift the club and crush the warrior's throat.

 
          
 
At last he'd fallen, panting, vomiting the
blood he'd swallowed onto the dry winter grass. In a Dream state, he'd drifted
off toward the gray mist, searching for the Power. In the mist, he'd heard
voices. One, he knew, belonged to Power—and the other to White Ash. Yes, she
was tied to the Power. Find White Ash and he'd find the key, the way to enter
that golden haze that had rebuffed him.

 
          
 
The voices in his head hissed approbation.

 
          
 
Lying in the lodge, he asked through a dry
throat, "Who are you?"

 
          
 
"Pale Raven." She reached behind her
and produced a water bag. "Open your mouth. That's enough. I'll trickle a
little water."

 
          
 
He did as she instructed, grateful for the
drops she dribbled past his swollen gums.

 
          
 
"And this lodge? This is your lodge? Or
my cousin's?"

 
          
 
"This is Hawks Beard's lodge."

 
          
 
Brave Man tried to think. "You were his
wife?"

 
          
 
She smiled sourly, resettling herself. Her
voice carried a wry irony as she said, "I'm no man's wife. The man you
killed, Hawks Beard, made me a promise once. At the time, I was married to
another man. As happens sometimes, we— Hawks Beard and I—were caught locked
together like two camp dogs. He blamed it all on me. Who would the People
believe? Their greatest warrior? Or a woman who'd transgressed before? My
husband divorced me. No other man would have me. I'd bring dishonor, you
see."

           
 
"Why are you taking care of me?"

 
          
 
"Let's call it a twisted form of justice.
Hawks Beard's wife has moved her things back to her parents' lodge and taken
the children. You don't need to worry about her. She'll be married again within
a couple of months. She's too much of a pampered prize for the men to leave
running loose for long. Meanwhile, as is custom, you've won everything else
that belonged to Hawks Beard. His lodge, weapons, and other possessions."

 
          
 
"And you?"

 
          
 
She studied him, mocking challenge in her sultry
gaze. "I've told you about myself. Why would you want me?"

 
          
 
He started to smile, and winced. "You're
a beautiful woman. You're practical and cunning." He tried to shift his
position and managed despite the pain. "I think you're a strong woman. I
could use you for a while."

 
          
 
"A while?" Wry amusement lay in the
set of her lips.

 
          
 
He reached up to wipe the sweat from his
forehead. "I must go south. There is a White Clay woman who was taken by
the Wolf People when they destroyed the White Clay. She's Powerful—a link to
making a new way."

 
          
 
Pale Raven
steepled
her fingers, frowning. "Taking me might lower your status among the Broken
Stones. A new man seeking to earn a—"

 
          
 
"I bring my own Power, woman. I need no
one's approval." He stared up at the clouds scudding past the smoke hole.
"Power is stirring. It brought me here for a reason. You need only to
clear your senses . . . feel the Spirit World. Do that and you will know that
something important is about to happen. The woman, White Ash, is the key. He
who possesses her will make a new way. I will be that man."

 
          
 
She ran long fingers through her shining hair.
"Either the Power of the Sun has truly touched you ... or you're a raving
fool."

 
          
 
He studied her with burning eyes. "A fool
doesn't kill the most powerful warrior among the Broken Stones."

 
          
 
She laughed. "And how are you going to go
after this White Ash? How do you plan to wrest her from the Wolf People? In
battle?"

           
 
He squinted up at the soot-stained lodge
poles. "I will crush the Wolf People like a brittle rabbit bone. The
Broken Stones now have a more powerful warrior than Hawks Beard. I am the
one."

 
          
 
She said dryly, "You're quite a man. I'll
be interested to see just how you go about crushing the Wolf People. Sun
Feathers isn't sure you'll ever walk again."

 
          
 
He glared at her.

 
          
 
Pale Raven met his stare with one equally
assured. "Hawks Beard left his mark on you, Brave Man. I watched as Sun
Feathers splinted your leg. I heard the bones grating, listened to you
whimpering although unconscious. I know a lot about bones and how they work.
Anyone who butchers at a buffalo jump does. Hawks Beard crushed your
knee—crippled you for life."

 
          
 
His fists clenched at his sides. "Power
didn't bring me this far for no reason. The voices will tell me what to do. The
Dreams will come. And when I know the way, I'll lead the Broken Stones south to
find White Ash. On that day the Wolf People will feel the Power of the Broken
Stones. On the souls of the dead, I swear it!"

 
          
 
Basket sat across from her aunt,
Owlclover
, and her mother, Starwort.
Owlclover
had been Green Fire's eldest daughter; she now became the camp's leader. In the
event of
Owlclover's
death, the camp would go to
Starwort since
Owlclover
had no other female heirs,
except the vanished White Ash. Then, finally, it would go to Basket upon
Starwort's
death.

 
          
 
Basket studied the interior of the lodge. She
had always equated this place with Green Fire's power, but now the lodge looked
different, felt different. Green Fire's possessions were gone; they had all
been burned lest the witching have left some malevolent presence in the
articles. The niches dug into the bench that ran around the inside of the lodge
gaped empty.
Owlclover
would place her own bundles in
them as soon as she had time.

 
          
 
Burned lest the witching still be present. How
does a clan leader fight witching? How do you purify a camp? The child shifted
inside, and Basket rubbed her swollen belly uneasily. The baby would come soon
now. Maybe another daughter to strengthen her line.

 
          
 
Basket thought of these things while the two
older women engaged in an animated discussion. A mistake in planning could lead
to starvation. Spring had begun to show its warming face. Grass greened the
hills with a faint tinge on the southern slopes. The time had arrived to begin
considering which areas had the best potential for providing food. If the same
root grounds were exploited year after year, the Spirits would be angered and
grow no more roots there. Instead, the activities of the People had to be
spread over a large area to allow the Spirits of the soil and rocks to tend
their plants.

 
          
 
Now the responsibility for placating those
Spirits fell to
Owlclover
. Basket noted the strained
lines that had formed on her aunt's face.
Owlclover's
problems were compounded by witchcraft and the coming Gathering, which Green
Fire had roped the clan into.

 
          
 
The lodge fire crackled and spit, the wreath
of smoke rising toward the smoke hole overhead. Dirt showed between some of the
rafters. One day soon the lodge would have to be stripped of its overlying
earth and new willow-and-grass matting woven to replace the old before the
lodge was recovered. Green Fire hadn't allowed the work, believing it would
change the Power of the lodge, lessen it somehow.

 
          
 
Basket bit her lip, frowning. Green Fire's
presence hung like river mist at the top of the lodge. Ghostly echoes of her
cackling, cranky voice still reverberated from the closely spaced rafters.

 
          
 
Witching! Why did it have to happen here? To Green
Fire, who had been the strength of Three Forks? Basket shivered.

           
 
If a witch could kill Powerful Green Fire, how
can the rest of us resist?

 
          
 
Owlclover
had
wrapped the antelope-hide cape of leadership over her broad shoulders. For the
first time, she sat on the furs at the back of the lodge in the place reserved
for leadership. She listened to Starwort, a hand in front of her mouth. She sat
stiffly—as if she wasn't ready for the burdens, or the responsibilities, Green
Fire had wielded so artfully.

 
          
 
Starwort idly fingered her braids. Her joints
had thickened with the burning swelling that came of old age, and white had
begun to show in her hair. A bad fall had stiffened her elbow, and she
complained about her teeth as they loosened and fell out.

 
          
 
One day I will sit at the back of the lodge.
The responsibility will be mine. How will that feel? Will I have the same
hesitation
Owlclover
seems to have?

 
          
 
Once White Ash would have been in line—but
White Ash had disappeared, witched away by the evil Spirits, or, as others
said, drowned in the river. The clan had searched the banks for a day's walk
and found nothing, not even a piece of clothing. Still another rumor said she'd
been stolen by the Sun People. The report had come from a Trader who passed through
years ago. He'd told of a girl stolen from the Earth People. The time would
have been about the same as White Ash's disappearance.

 
          
 
Which do I want to believe? Witching? Or
stolen by people from the far north ? If she really was captured, why
didn
7 she ever send word? Basket shook her head, irritated
by the thoughts. Witched . . . that's what I believe. Witched . . . like so
many of us at Three Forks.

 
          
 
Even if the rumor of stealing had a seed of
truth to it, White Ash had no doubt adopted the ways of the hideous Sun People.
She, too, probably wandered around half-starved and eating raw meat. That, or
she had become the cowed victim of a brutish warrior and had already borne
several filth-encrusted children to the savage.

 
          
 
Beyond the lodge, the wind whistled eerily, as
if Green Fire's ghost howled mockingly at the smoke hole. A heavy gust battered
the lodge and a trickle of dirt seeped down between the rafters.
Owlclover
and Starwort went silent, gazes going to the
rafters.

 
          
 
"Just the wind," Starwort whispered
to reassure herself. "I think we should look for shooting star up by the
Spirit hole where the river runs into the mountain."

 
          
 
Owlclover
didn't
lower her eyes. As if she hadn't heard, she said, "A night for witches and
curses."

 
          
 
Starwort rubbed her forehead. "You're
still worried about what Green Fire said?"

 
          
 
Owlclover
nodded.
"She knew witching. That's what she died saying. 'I've been witched . . .
witched . . .' "

 
          
 
Basket cradled her swollen belly with her
arms, as if to protect herself and the vulnerable infant. Talk of witching
frightened her, especially with the child so close to birth. How many stories
had Green Fire told of malignancy entering a woman's vagina during pregnancy
and killing the child, or seeping through a woman's womb and rotting her soul?
Ever since they'd buried Green Fire, they'd all looked over their shoulders,
jumping at little sounds, frightened by sudden stitches of muscle pain they
would have ignored weeks ago. A black mantle had descended like ash from a forest
fire. She could feel it in the air. People shifted nervously, and the spark had
gone out of their conversations.

 
          
 
"Maybe we should move the camp. Go down
into
Red
Canyon
. Maybe it's this place."
Owlclover
tugged at her braid, lips pursed.

 
          
 
Basket shook her head. "
Red
Canyon
is colder. The snow—"

 
          
 
"Hush, girl."
Owlclover
continued to stare up at the roof.

 
          
 
"You were saying about the biscuit
root?" Starwort said in a weak attempt to change the conversation.

 
          
 
Owlclover
remained
silent as she studied the smoke hole. Then she said, "Let's go up by
Monster Rock. We haven't dug roots up there for five seasons."

 
          
 
A voice called from outside, "It's Wolf
berry. Can I come in? I need to see
Owlclover
."
He sounded tense—but didn't they all these days?

 
          
 
"Come in, Wolf berry."
Owlclover's
gaze shifted to the door flap.

           
 
Basket's husband ducked through, and Basket
stiffened at the expression on his face. She'd seen that look before. Perhaps
their marriage had been special; she knew him like she knew herself. A
deep-seated fear ate at him.

 
          
 
Owlclover
caught his
unease as if it carried on the very air. "Is something wrong?"

 
          
 
He crouched at Basket's side, elbows braced on
his knees. "Someone is out there. In the night."

 
          
 
Owlclover
tensed,
gaze darting around the secure walls, then up to the smoke hole again. "A
man?"

 
          
 
Wolf berry spread his hands. "I don't
know. I saw tracks a couple of days ago—definitely those of a man."

 
          
 
"A couple of days ago? The same day Green
Fire died?" Color had drained from
Owlclover's
face.

 
          
 
Wolf berry nodded. "It didn't seem
important. I was going to tell Green Fire. I never got the chance. She ... it
was too late."

 
          
 
Owlclover
had closed
her eyes. "You think there's a man out there now? What did you see?"

 
          
 
Wolf berry shot a quick glance at Basket.
"A shadow moving through the sage. I took my darts and went to look."

 
          
 
"It could have been an animal,"
Basket interjected, seeking a light tone. Her hands went protectively to her
belly, and she had to stop herself from reaching down to protect her vagina—as
if a hand could keep an evil Spirit from slipping in there.

 
          
 
Why is this happening to us? What did we do?
Evil, take yourself and go away!

 
          
 
"What man would skulk around in the sage?
It must have been an animal. Maybe a badger, or a bobcat," Starwort
agreed. "If it was a person, he'd come in. Ask to be fed and tell the
stories."

 
          
 
"Maybe it was Cattail coming back,"
Basket offered helpfully. "Maybe he left something? Lost something in the
brush and-"

 
          
 
"He'd have come in and spent the
night,"
Owlclover
interrupted, as if forcing
speech through a strangled throat. "Wolfberry, you say you saw tracks the
day Green Fire died?"

 
          
 
He nodded. 'The marks were scuffed,
indistinct. The stride looked right. The person—if that's what it was—avoided
places where the soil or snow would take tracks."

 
          
 
"Like a witch," Basket whispered
under her breath. My baby is so close to coming. Please, Creator, don’t let
anything happen. I couldn’t stand it. Her soul seemed to sicken at the thought.