People of the Earth (73 page)

 
          
 
"Mama?" Lupine asked in a sleepy
voice.

 
          
 
"Here, baby." Bitterbrush reached
over and patted the girl.

 
          
 
"Are we getting up?"

 
          
 
"No. You sleep. Where's your
brother?"

           
 
"Don't know . . ." Lupine drifted
off to sleep again.

 
          
 
"He's a boy. Almost a man," Larkspur
reminded. "He's off playing, looking at girls. Who knows? It's the
Gathering."

 
          
 
Bitterbrush sighed. "He's not the same. I
think when Warm Fire died, he took a piece of Tuber's soul with him."

 
          
 
"Losing a father is difficult."

 
          
 
"And coming here, I thought I'd have to
take a stick to him more than once. He didn't say more than three words the
whole way."

 
          
 
"What do you expect?" Larkspur
asked. "The boy's father has just been replaced. You can see the anger in
his eyes. He doesn't like Black Hand. He resents him."

 
          
 
Bitterbrush rubbed her eyes. "A woman has
to marry."

 
          
 
"And so will Tuber. Maybe two summers
will pass and he'll find a girl. I'll make him a good deal and send him
off." Larkspur paused. "The People are better for that. A young man
doesn't have to live with the past. He gets to go to another camp and find a
new life. Men were never meant to assume responsibility—it's not in their
nature. They're too frivolous and emotional."

 
          
 
"You sound bitter."

 
          
 
Larkspur cackled. "Me? About what? This
morning I proved I still have what I need to get things done. And tell me, is
Bone Ring still happy with the deal I made for her?"

 
          
 
"She is. She was worried
Badwater
would stand alone if the Sun People came. Knowing
that all she has to do is send a runner and warriors will come to drive off the
Sun People makes her feel better."

 
          
 
In the shadows, Larkspur rubbed her legs as if
to smooth away the aches of age. "Bone Ring has sense. I've always liked
her. More so since she and Green Fire had that falling-out over the marriage
between Little Toe and Gray Needle."

 
          
 
"What about the Sun People?" Bitterbrush
propped her chin on her knees, staring out at the dancing fires. Voices rose
and fell on the night as people laughed and talked. "Bone Ring pointed out
that there are no Traders here from the north. Not even from the Wolf People.
They usually send someone."

           
 
"Don't expect Wolf People. Blessing fell
too close to the Gathering this year. They should have just finished their
Dance by this time. We plan the Gathering by the face of the moon; they plan
Blessing by the path of the sun and the longest day. It always makes me wonder
how they know that."

 
          
 
"The stars are important for them.
Remember that story the Trader Left Hand told us? About how the Wolf People
think that the stars were spun in the sky by a giant red spider? I wonder where
that idea came from."

 
          
 
"Wise Spider? I don't know. Maybe it's
the way the stars look like a dew-shot web in sunlight. But the reason that
Wolf People aren't here is because it's time for Blessing." Larkspur
sniffed loudly and wiped at her nose. "Not because of any Sun People.
Don't worry your mind about Sun People, girl. They're not coming here."

 
          
 
"People are talking about them."
Bitterbrush stared thoughtfully at the shadow figures around the fires. The
Cottonwood
trunks loomed eerily in the dancing light.
A shiver of premonition slipped along her backbone. She hugged herself as if to
draw back into the shelter of Larkspur's dominating presence. Why? What
foreboding lurked in the warm night?

 
          
 
"Let them talk!" Larkspur cried.
"That's what the Gathering is for. Talking about the Sun People gives them
something silly to occupy themselves with—instead of witching. If—and I say if—the
Sun People come south, they'll have to get past the Wolf People first. I
wouldn't wish that on anybody."

 
          
 
"And the Sheep Hunters?"

 
          
 
"Those, too, if the Sun People are
foolish enough to go up into the
Red
Rock
Mountains
—or into the
Geyser
Mountains
, for that matter. You ought to go up there
sometime. The Traders tell about water shooting up everywhere. To hear their
stories, more Spirits live in the
Geyser
Mountains
than anyplace else."

 
          
 
Bitterbrush found her robe and stood. The
night pressed down around her; unease echoed in the rustle of the cottonwood
leaves. "I'm going to go find my husband. You sleep, Grandmother."

 
          
 
"Don't worry yourself about T. He's
probably laughing for the first time since his father died."

 
          
 
“All right."

 
          
 
Bitterbrush walked across the trampled grass.
The breeze off the
Spirit
River
carried the rich scent of cool water and
damp earth. Three Forks had picked a good spot for the Gathering. And it had
been a good year. People had come with packs brimful of roots and dried meat. A
welcome summer after a winter of despair.

 
          
 
Warm Fire? Why can’t you be here with me?

 
          
 
Bitterbrush skirted a knot of people who stood
around a crackling fire. They Sang one of the old Songs. She let the sound
carry her soul.

 
          
 
Out in the sagebrush, at the base of the
ridge, a young woman giggled at a young man's gentle words. What would come of
that? A marriage? The Gathering was a time for coupling and new love. Perhaps
new love would be born for her, too.

 
          
 
She stepped into the light of
Sand
Wash
camp's fire. Handsome Woman sat with White Sandstone, while Tall Man
told a story to
Squawapple
, from the
Badwater
clan.

 
          
 
"You're back." Handsome Woman
pointed to the stew. "Eat some more. Golden Flax was at her best when she
made this. You can taste the soul of the antelope."

 
          
 
"If I eat any more tonight, I'll sink
into the ground. Where's Black Hand? Did he leave without me?"

 
          
 
"He's up there," Tall Man said, a
grin on his full, round face. "I guess he ate too much. What goes in . . .
Well, you know."

 
          
 
She laughed with him and listened to the end
of his story. Then she said, "Maybe I'd better go find him. If not, I'll
have to feed him some dock leaves to loosen up his insides."

 
          
 
She found a little trail that wound up through
the rocks. The night insects whizzed and chirred. A Song broke out in
Sand
Wash
camp, only to be taken up by the next camp, and the next, until the
whole valley echoed with the strains. In the Song, Fire Dancer taught the
People the way of harvesting the
ricegrass
before he
brought fire from the sun to warm the lodges in the winter.

 
          
 
She walked a little farther, humming the
melody. A warm wind blew down from the hills, carrying the scent of sage and
dust. The stars shone in abundance. If only Warm Fire . . . No, don't think of
it. He's gone. His spirit has returned to the earth that nourished him.

 
          
 
The trail passed between two worn sandstone
boulders. She placed her hand on one and felt for the trail with her toe. Her
foot touched something soft.

 
          
 
Gasping, she jerked away. "Black
Hand?"

 
          
 
The wind whispered through the sage as the
People's Song traveled the night on owl wings.

 
          
 
She nerved herself and reached down into the
shadow— and started as she touched a body. Had someone fallen?

 
          
 
"Black Hand?" Frightened, she called
out to
Sand
Wash
camp, "Help me! Bring a brand! Someone has fallen!"

 
          
 
Tall Man carried a burning branch up the
trail,
Squawapple
following.

 
          
 
"What did you find? A snake?" Tall
Man asked as he stepped closer.

 
          
 
Bitterbrush stared down in the wavering
light—and into Black Hand's empty eyes. Blood had soaked his head and pooled in
the dust of the trail.

 
          
 
The headache that lanced burning needles
through Brave Man's brain came and went. On this day it was excruciating. He'd
forgotten Pale Raven, who occupied herself in the preparation of the evening
meal. The tanned sides of the lodge cover faded from his awareness. He winced at
the throbbing agony in his head and squeezed his fist around the broken
necklace of thin black stones he'd ripped from the one-armed man that night.
White Ash had escaped him. The one-armed man had barely tapped the side of his
head—and the voices had shrieked in terror. The pain hadn't paralyzed him—he
was used to pain—but the hideous screaming in his mind had blanked his
thoughts, even drowning the festering misery in his knee.

 
          
 
Tower, the voices whispered. The one-armed man
had Power,

 
          
 
Yes, Power. Brave Man glared at the
intricately knotted necklace and the polished triangular stones. The Wolf
Bundle had struck then, all of its might unleashed. He'd been caught unaware,
ambushed by a flood of Power that battered his soul. The bundle had channeled Power
and used it against him. A lesser man would have died, his soul
riven
from his body.

 
          
 
But I was stronger. No matter that I lay flat
on my back for four days, battling to keep my soul, I survived. He closed his
eyes, imagining the Wolf Bundle. Now I am even stronger than before. I have
learned. Next time I will control you. Brave Man
slitted
his eyes as he stared at the necklace. The Wolf People's bundle had revealed
its secrets in that desperate attempt. Other Power had joined it, funneled from
someplace at the edge of the golden haze.