People of the Earth (52 page)

           
 
“Ah, honesty at last."

 
          
 
She snorted. “I don't understand it. I mean,
why did Power call on us? Bad Belly gets in trouble going out to make water.
Me, I'm ... I'm as strong as a rotten basket."

 
          
 
He rubbed his parchment hands on his skinny
knees. Out over the basin, the shadows retreated behind buff-and-tan ridges.
Distant patches of sagebrush mottled the land. The patterns of the ridges stood
out in a relief of light and dark.

 
          
 
“That's more like it." Singing Stones
paused. “The first thing a Dreamer must do is drop the simplest of illusions.
You must know what you are . . . and what you are not. What you fear . . . and
why. What do these things tell you about yourself? When you shy back, that's
when you must push forward and examine yourself. You must know all of your
weaknesses before you Dream."

 
          
 
“You assume I'll choose to be a Dreamer."

 
          
 
He turned his head, eyes vacant but shining. “Do
you want to Dream? Or do you want to walk away? Answer me honestly."

 
          
 
“I don't want Bad Belly going off to—"

 
          
 
“Is that what I asked you?"

 
          
 
She glanced up at the crystal sky and propped
herself on her elbows. What could she say? How could she answer this question
she didn't even understand? Become a Dreamer? What did that mean? How would it
change the tattered remnants of her life?

 
          
 
“All right." She sighed in defeat. “Honestly,
I don't know. I've had Dreams. Once I Dreamed my mother's death. I felt her . .
. touched the edge of the One. I'd like to feel that again. I just don't know
if I'm the right person. What if I fail? What if I can't do what needs to be
done?" She squinted up at the sun. “What if I can't be this . . . this
Mother of the People you and the Dreams talk about?"

 
          
 
“You know the answer to that already. You were
telling yourself before I interrupted you. Power has its own needs and ways.
Power cares nothing for your feelings or wishes. If you fail, Power will cast
you aside. Just like a warrior discards a broken dart point."

           
 
“Feeling better isn't the point. Power
is." She nodded, heart throbbing miserably in her chest. “So, if I choose
to become a Dreamer, it's forever. Either I succeed, or I'm destroyed?"

 
          
 
He nodded easily, and behind him the glowing
golden ball of the sun rose over the tops of the trees. "That is the way
of Power.''

 
          
 
Wind Runner pulled up and spun on his heel. He
looked quickly around the bare, flat-topped ridge and nodded. What he now
considered meant taking a terrible risk. "Here!" he shouted, forcing
his gasping lungs to work. "Snail Shell! Blue Wind! Here!"

 
          
 
His fleeing comrades heard him. They glanced
at each other and stopped their headlong flight to trot nervously in his direction.

 
          
 
Black basalt capped the high, windblown ridge
they'd just bolted up like frightened mule deer. Sparse grasses grew in cracks
where the rock had split and fractured through the ages. The ridge looked
barren, devoid of all except the sprinkling of irregular boulders and gravel
that had collected in low spots. From here they could look south to the Fat
Beaver River and beyond to the
Great
Bear
Mountains
that thrust against the distant sky.

 
          
 
Behind them, on the northern slope they'd just
climbed, pursuing Hollow Flute warriors forced sweating bodies up the hillside
with the tenacity of coyotes after a wounded antelope fawn.

 
          
 
Wind Runner fought to catch his breath as he
took stock of the situation. The Hollow Flute warriors were closing the
distance, wearing down their prey.

 
          
 
We got to survive. We have to tell Black Moon
what we've seen. If we don't, the disaster could be as great as that which
befell the White Clay.

 
          
 
He took one last look down the long hill and
motioned to the others. He wound his way through the angular boulders of black
basalt, following the line of a grass-filled crack. His jaded companions came
behind, keeping back from the rim lest they be sky-lined.

 
          
 
"What?" Snail Shell panted as he
drew near, deep chest rising and falling.

 
          
 
"They'll get us ... if we don't do
something. There are too . . . many of them," Wind Runner managed through
ragged breaths. He pointed at a crack in the rock. "We need a place like
that . . . only bigger."

 
          
 
"What? Have you lost your mind? That
whole war party will be on top of this ridge in the blink of an eye!" Blue
Wind cried. Sweat had soaked his leather shirt; his face flushed red from
exertion. He glanced back nervously, fingering his darts.

 
          
 
"And where do you think they'll figure we
went? Over the other side, of course. Down into those
buffaloberry
bushes on the north side. Look, it's flat here! No cover."

 
          
 
"Uh-huh. Flat. No cover. That's what
worries me," Snail Shell grunted. "And we could be running like
flying darts while you're stalling up here."

 
          
 
"And they'll get us before long,"
Wind Runner told him bluntly. "They can use relays to catch us. Track us
down if nothing else. I just need the right . . . Here! Blue Wind, lie down in
this crack."

 
          
 
Blue Wind glanced back at the rim—figuring the
distance of the closing Hollow Flute warriors—and settled himself into the
chest-wide fissure. "This had better work."

 
          
 
Wind Runner lifted a head-sized rock and
placed it on Blue Wind's chest, then propped another over his thighs. Snail
Shell added another couple of stones and stepped back to study the effect.

 
          
 
"Don't you think we need more
rocks?" he asked, skepticism in his eyes.

 
          
 
"No. Just enough to break up his outline,
make him blend in and appear natural. Otherwise, he'll look like a cairn . . .
draw attention."

 
          
 
"That rock on my chest is heavy,"
Blue Wind protested. "I can hardly breathe."

 
          
 
"You'd breathe less with a dart through
your lungs. Stay still, don't move. Don't look at them. Clear your mind. Think
like the very rock."

 
          
 
"Sure," Blue Wind muttered.
"I'm dead already. It's too late to run now. Think like the rock, he
says."

 
          
 
"That's right," Wind Runner agreed,
licking his lips and hurrying on. "Here, this crack's about right for you,
Snail Shell. Get down. Tuck your darts close."

 
          
 
Rapidly, he piled rocks over Snail Shell. The
ruse would never stand close inspection—but who'd believe that warriors would
heap stones atop themselves to hide? Besides, the ridge top looked too flat to
hide a jackrabbit, let alone three Black Point warriors.

 
          
 
Wind Runner carried a few of the loose stones
over and threw himself into another of the fissures, wiggling down into the
washed-out crack in the basalt. He rolled a couple of rocks onto his legs, then
placed a big one over his stomach and chest. All he could do was to hope the
Hollow Flute warriors would follow their path straight across the ridge. The
bare
caprock
wouldn't hold a moccasin track.

 
          
 
"Hide in the enemy's mind," Wind
Runner whispered to himself. "Thunderbird ... for the sake of the Black
Point, make this work!" How do I get myself into these messes?

 
          
 
The fire in the sky had started it. From the
moment the burning green star had arced across the eastern horizon toward the
south, he'd been on edge. An uneasy feeling had plagued his soul, leaving him
irritable and jumpy. Strange Dreams had caused him no little discomfort,
startling him from sleep to sweat and pant in the darkness. Premonition hung
over him like morning smoke in a winter camp.

 
          
 
To stifle the anxiety, he'd volunteered to go
north with Snail Shell and Blue Wind to scout the country for buffalo. Camp
meat had been dwindling, and the time had come when the cows would be splitting
off into smaller herds to calve. At this time of year, they couldn't hope to
find big herds, but if any concentrations were close, Black Moon would want to
organize a hunt. So the three of them had left camp, traveling light as they
trotted north, singing the old songs as they musically rattled
atlatls
against dart shafts.

 
          
 
None of them would have expected the hornet's
nest of

           
 
Hollow Flute trouble they stumbled into.
They'd threaded their way through the advance scouting parties, blessed with
blissful ignorance and unsurpassed luck. When they first spotted Hollow Flute,
they'd had no idea that the entire clan was pressing south. Now they knew—and
they ran for their lives.

 
          
 
He closed his eyes, willing himself to be one
with the rock as the gasping war chant of the Hollow Flute rose in the air.
Within moments he could hear them panting as they topped the ridge. Their
moccasined
feet whispered and pattered on the rock. Wind
Runner stilled his thoughts, concentrating on the panicked cadence of his heart
where it beat fear into his chest.

 
          
 
"You see them?" a voice called.

 
          
 
"No. But look at that brush down
there."

 
          
 
"Maybe they turned," another called.
"Split off and went another way. Tried to flank us."

 
          
 
"Where? It's all bare grass to either
side. Come on, let's go beat them out of the bushes like silly sage grouse.
That's the only place they can be."

 
          
 
"How'd they get that far?"

 
          
 
"Fear of a quick death!" another
called. "Run, Black Point! Run before we kill you all."

 
          
 
"The sooner we get them, the sooner we
can rest. Spread out. Some of you cut off their escape from the bottom of that draw
down there. Break A Leg, you and Grouse cover the sides."