People of the Earth (43 page)

 
          
 
Singing Stones nodded, eyes hazy as if he
drifted in his thoughts. "We were One. Talking would have been
pointless."

 
          
 
"One," Bad Belly mused, recalling
the Power Dream he'd had. "But they didn't run away? They sure ran when
that lead cow saw us."

 
          
 
"She knew you were not One."

 
          
 
"What do you mean, One? I thought you
felt the One only in a Dream ... or when you died." White Ash had stepped
closer to Bad Belly.

           
 
Singing Stones smiled again, his expression a
reflection of all that was good and peaceful. "You are blinded by illusion
in your conscious life. I can tell you no more. Not now. The only way to
understand is to be." He motioned. "Come. Let us warm you before the
cold damages your bodies."

 
          
 
He led the way, angling off the saddle,
picking a careful path through the rounded caps of pink granite. Sheer cliffs
dropped away before a vista of the
Wind
Basin
to the south.

 
          
 
White Ash glanced skeptically at Bad Belly.
"He knew we were coming?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly chewed his lip, squinting after the
old man. "He Sang for me when I was little—when the rattlesnake poisoned
my arm. I would have died but for his Power."

 
          
 
"Did you understand what he said? All
those things about illusion and time?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly shivered from the chill in his
limbs. "No. But I think we should go with him."

 
          
 
"I'd rather-"

 
          
 
"There is no place on this earth where
you'd be as safe as in Singing Stones' camp. The Wolf People would rather dart
themselves than confront him."

 
          
 
"Sun People, on the other hand ..."

 
          
 
"Then he'll see them coming first. I
think he sees everything."

 
          
 
"Was he always like this?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly hobbled on the old man's trail, feet
numb
wkh
cold. "No. But that funny feeling you
had on the other side of the mountain, that was his Power. We both felt
it."

 
          
 
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"You're shaking your head."

 
          
 
Bad Belly shrugged. "I can understand why
he wants you. You're going to be a Dreamer. But why me? I did my part. I was
there to save your life. Why can't I go home now?"

 
          
 
She tightened her grip on his hand to reassure
him. "Because I need you with me. I'm frightened. Something's going to
happen . . . and you're part of it."

 
          
 
"How do you know that?" A crawly
feeling worked along his spine.

           
 
"It's in the Dreams, Bad Belly." She
lowered her eyes. "I haven't told you all of them."

 
          
 
Despite the cramps in his muscles and the
frostbite in his feet, a warmth kindled in his gut. He smiled. "I won't
leave you if you need me. But maybe you'd better tell me the rest of these
Dreams soon."

 
          
 
Wind Runner ran, forcing himself to the edge
of endurance. The muscles of his legs rippled in the afternoon sunlight. He
vaulted the sage, fully aware of the risks of running too fast. His starved
lungs fought for air. The back of his throat burned hot and dry, and his tongue
stuck when he tried to swallow. The tremble of fatigue lay just beyond the
threshold of his exertion.

 
          
 
Before him, the buff-colored, sandstone-capped
headlands jutted against the sky as they rose to either side. Long, indigo
shadows played over the tumbled blocks of sandstone and softened the outlines
of sagebrush and
rabbitbrush
.

 
          
 
Wind Runner threw a quick look over his
shoulder; the Broken Stones' warriors had strung out in a ragged line behind.
Now they ran a deadly earnest race as his pursuers pushed themselves to match
his killing stride.

 
          
 
I must have been out of my mind! He reached
the slope, climbing the brush-covered incline in giant leaps while his heart
strained and fear frayed the edges of consciousness.

 
          
 
Wind Runner thought back, remembering with
pride how he'd stepped forward when Fire Rabbit had come panting into camp
calling, "Broken Stones! A party of warriors is coming from the east. I
saw them sneaking along the drainage bottoms. There are at least ten of them working
up the river!"

 
          
 
One Man and Snail Shell had shouted. "Get
your weapons! We can meet them! Keep them from a surprise attack!"

           
 
That was when Wind Runner had stepped into
their midst, asking Fire Rabbit, "How far away are they?"

 
          
 
"Just below where the
caprock
is cut by the river. Not far."

 
          
 
He'd looked at One Man. "If we fight in
the open, some of us will die. More will be wounded."

 
          
 
One Man had cocked his head. "War is like
that, Wind Runner." He'd smiled crookedly. "Or do you plan to take
Hot Fat with you to stop the fight partway through?"

 
          
 
"Neither. But you know where the
caprock
rises to the north? You know the place of the old
buffalo jump? If a lone warrior might appear to stumble upon them and then run,
perhaps he could lead the enemy to that place. If our warriors were on that
caprock
, they could deal the Broken Stones a severe
blow—and not lose a man."

 
          
 
One Man had hesitated, white teeth sunk into
his lip. A deep frown incised his forehead. "And who would act as
bait?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner lifted his hands. "Who can
outrun me?"

 
          
 
One Man paused. "And if it doesn't work?
If you get killed?"

 
          
 
"Then you're no worse off than you would
have been. They might even be more reckless, flushed with a feeling of victory.
But if it works, we'll send them running and make them consider long and hard
before they try us again."

 
          
 
Hot Fat's granddaughter,
Aspen
, had added from the side, "It might
work. Remember what happened to my husband last year? This might be a way to
turn their arrogance against them."

 
          
 
Wind Runner had glanced at her, met her veiled
look. Since that first night when he and Hot Fat had eaten and talked of Power,
she'd watched him, no expression on her heart-shaped face. He still couldn't
tell whether or not she even approved of him.

 
          
 
"She's right," Wind Runner said.
"The Broken Stones are arrogant. It's always been one of their
weaknesses."

 
          
 
One Man had looked up at the sky, watching the
red-tailed hawks sail in the rising currents of spring air. "Let's try it.
Go, Wind Runner. You'll have to spot them first. Be careful. We'll be too far
away to come to your aid. May the Sun and Thunderbird give you strength to mix
with your courage and audacity. Go! Run, my friend. Run like your name. We'll
lay the trap."

 
          
 
W r
ind
Runner had grabbed up his darts and
atlatl
, giving
Aspen
a nod of thanks as he trotted from the
camp. All eyes had been upon him as the other warriors gathered to follow One
Man along the
caprock
.

 
          
 
I was out of my mind!

 
          
 
Loose dirt compacted under Wind Runner's feet
as he flung himself up the slope. He leaped a sagebrush—and turned his foot on
a rock as he landed. He fell, pain shooting up his leg. Behind him, the yells
of his pursuers split the air. They knew they had him now.

 
          
 
Wind Runner gathered up his spilled darts and
limped upward, favoring his ankle. How far? The gap in the headlands seemed so
close—and so very far away. Nothing seemed to be broken, but by dung-filled
curses, it hurt!

 
          
 
Gritting his teeth, he hobbled on, knowing
they would close on him. Grunting against the spearing pain, he continued,
spurred by the whoops and shrieks closing-in. He looked back. No more than a
dart's throw separated him from the nearest of them.

 
          
 
Wind Runner whirled, a dart
nocked
in his
atlatl
. His arm
went back and he cast with all his might. His carefully crafted
atlatl
acted like a springboard to sail the fletched dart
in a high arc.

 
          
 
The pursuing warrior danced to the side as the
deadly missile hissed past him. By that time, Wind Runner had limped his way up
into the rocks under the
caprock
. Jumbled buffalo
bones stuck shattered ends out of the silt that had gathered around them. The
splintered tips and scattered ribs mocked of death. A white-bleached buffalo
skull stared at him from empty orbits, the top bashed in where the brains had
been extracted.

 
          
 
To either side, the rocks rose steeply,
impossible to climb. Brush grew thick in here where snow collected in the
winter and the roots could feed off the rich waste of the buffalo.

           
 
Wind Runner tore into the dense thicket of
serviceberry and currant, a cry choking in his throat.

 
          
 
Be up there, One Man. By the Sun and
Thunderbird, be there for me ... or I'll die here in this canyon. His ankle had
begun to throb until it blanked his senses. He couldn't stop, couldn't take the
time to pick his steps. A dart whistled past him, cutting its way into the
thick brush.

 
          
 
Wind Runner dove headfirst into the dense
growth, crawling like an awkward snake along the bottom of the drainage. The
musky scent of the earth—rich with the rot of buffalo-clung in his nostrils.
Where the water had cut a channel, he could crawl more easily. Warriors
screamed behind him— irritated, no doubt, by the loss of their target.

 
          
 
Wind Runner scrambled along while rocks
bruised and scraped his elbows, knees, and belly. Screened as he was by the
brush, his pursuers couldn't target him with their deadly darts, but his
progress seemed so slow now.

 
          
 
Behind him, brush crackled as yelling warriors
pounded closer. They sounded right on top of him. What had happened to One Man
and the rest? He'd lost one of his darts, snagged in the twisted stems of the
brush.

 
          
 
The drainage sloped up, and now tumbled rock
choked the bottom. Driven by panic, he barely felt the angular stones that his
limbs battered against. Branches scratched at his face and hair and left angry
weals
along his bare arms and legs.

 
          
 
A dart lanced down beside him, rattling in the
service-berry stems. Had they seen him? Or just gotten lucky? He wiggled
forward, blood pulsing in his ears. A runny fear tickled his guts; the skin on
his back tightened to the anticipated impact of a stone-tipped dart.

 
          
 
He slithered beneath an undercut root and came
up against a blank wall of rock. He searched—and could find no way up without
exposing himself to the razor-pointed darts of the Broken Stones.

 
          
 
I'll die here! He squirmed around a thick
growth of wild plum and sought to fit a dart into his
atlatl
.
Only two darts left? He stared at the long shafts he clutched. What had
happened to the others?

           
 
Brush cracked and shivered behind him.
"Come out, little Black Point! Come out and die!" a happy warrior
called.

 
          
 
"Find him! He'll warn the others, make
the Dream come true!" a man shouted from down below. "Find him!"

 
          
 
Yet another voice answered, "You come up
here and look, Flying Hawk! He's got darts! Poking around in here is like
reaching under rocks for a rattlesnake. You can get bit!"

 
          
 
The first complained, "Why are Flying
Hawk and the rest hanging back? If it was that trap the White Clay Dreamed
about, the Black Point would have already shown up to fight us—unless their
courage is as weak as winter urine."

 
          
 
Wind Runner cocked his head. White Clay? Who?

 
          
 
"Flute? Look up there at the head of the
canyon. He can't climb out without taking enough darts to look like porcupine's
big brother."

 
          
 
"Be careful! He's got a good arm. We have
to see him first."

 
          
 
"Hey! Black Point! You hiding in there
like a woman? Is that how you crotch-bleeding girls fight? Crawling around in
the bushes?"

 
          
 
"Black Point like bushes! That's where
they go to warm their manhood in their mother's mouths!"

 
          
 
Raucous laughter broke out. Wind Runner ground
his teeth. Broken Stones bastards never changed. Filthy, skulking maggots!

 
          
 
"You mean their father's mouths,"
yet another jeered. "Or do they bend their fathers over and poke
themselves into the anus? You hear that, Black Point? You squirt yourself into
your father's anus!"

 
          
 
"That's why they call themselves Black
Point! A good joke, eh?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner stared up through the web of branches
that veiled his hiding place. One Man hadn't made it—or had let him down after
all.

 
          
 
"Hey, Black Point! Do you do it with
dogs, too?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner ran a nervous hand over his face.
That was it. He'd take no more.

 
          
 
He rose slowly to his feet, peering out over
the bud-thick tops of the chokecherry.

           
 
A voice sang out, "There he is!"

 
          
 
A dart hissed and cut the side of Wind
Runner's war shirt. Wind Runner didn't miss a heartbeat in the reconsideration
of his courage. He promptly dropped flat on his belly, heedless of the dart the
branches ripped out of his hand. He wiggled with the speed of brother weasel,
trying to crawl quietly and quickly.