People of the Earth (79 page)

 
          
 
Singing Stones continued the chant, returning
the embers to the fire. The flames crackled up, casting a brighter light
through the shelter.

 
          
 
He turned his head slowly to look at White Ash
with empty eyes.

 
          
 
“You don't burn!" Still Water gasped.

 
          
 
'The fire is illusion," White Ash
whispered. "He's Dreaming the One."

 
          
 
"Yes." Singing Stones' voice sounded
oddly hollow. “The flesh is illusion. Only the One is." He stared
sightlessly at her and grasped a bone awl from the things beside him. The
polished awl glistened in the firelight. Singing Stones ran it through the
withered flesh of his arm. No hint of pain marred his expression as the skin
rose under the sharpened point and went taut before the keen tip broke through.

 
          
 
Still Water's hoarse breath made a strangled
sound.

 
          
 
The old Dreamer reached around to grasp the
long bone awl with his bony fingers and pull it through his arm. His flesh
showed no wound. Blood should have stained his skin and the sharpened bone
shaft.

 
          
 
“How?" Still Water gasped.

 
          
 
"The bone is illusion," Singing
Stones whispered. “Only the One is real."

 
          
 
The shelter began to throb with Power. It
ripped through the air like a gale in the black timber. White Ash placed palms
to her ears, seeking to shield herself from the onslaught. Desperately she
fought to drive the Wolf Bundle's presence from her soul—to keep secure the
essence of herself.

 
          
 
Suddenly the air went still.

 
          
 
When Singing Stones spoke, the voice might
have come from many tens of throats. "Don't fight us, Mother of the
People. Through us you can Dream the One. Only your strength will save First
Man's Dream. Only your courage can Dream the Spiral. That which is within you
will be the bridge between Peoples. We are old in the manner of men. We live in
this world and Dance the Spiral. We Dream the One. We Sing with the Wolf
Dreamer. Where we Danced with Fire Dancer, so will we Dream the new way with
you."

 
          
 
"Who . . . who are you?" White Ash
whispered.

 
          
 
"Will you fail us, Mother of the People?
Do you have within you what not even the Wolf Dreamer would attempt? Yours is
the strongest Spirit we could find. You are the hope of the Spiral. We have
placed our hope in you. You are the one. There is no time to seek
another." .

 
          
 
"Who are you?" she asked again,
raising her hands as if to fend off the Power.

 
          
 
"All that is . . . and is not. We are the
One, and the many. Dream, Mother of the People. The time is soon. We are the
Power. You are the hope. We will show you the way to the One."

 
          
 
"But I . . ."

 
          
 
Singing Stones toppled backward onto his robes
and groaned softly. White Ash could feel the Power of the Wolf Bundle ebb into
nothingness. Immediately the magpie emitted a terrified squawk, shot through a
hole in the hangings and disappeared into the blackness beyond.

 
          
 
For several heartbeats White Ash sat frozen.
Then she sprang to the old man's side. His breathing rasped as he moaned to
himself. Still Water knelt next to her and lifted Singing Stones' head so the
old man could breathe more
eas-ily
.

 
          
 
The fire had died down to low, smoldering
coals, and in the dim light she met Still Water's awestruck eyes.

 
          
 
Singing Stones started and blinked his eyes.
He swallowed dryly and shook his head weakly. "No," he whispered, and
looked up in horror at White Ash. "Don't let it happen."

 
          
 
"What?" White Ash pleaded.

 
          
 
"Don't let the witch hater murder you,
too."

 
          
 
"Murder?" Still Water asked, color
draining from his face.

 
          
 
"Fading," Stinging Stones whispered.
"The vision is . . . fading."

           
 
"Who is murdering who?" White Ash
demanded. "What's happening?"

 
          
 
"Killing . . . Dreamers. Kills ... the
Mother ... of the ..."

 
          
 
"Singing Stones?" White Ash bent
close. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

 
          
 
The old man smiled serenely. "Falling
into the One. Dreaming. The Wolf Bundle is . . . calling. Golden light. . . all
around." His eyes went blank. "Floating. Wolf Bundle, I hear you.
Coming ..."

 
          
 
"Singing Stones?" she cried in
panic.

 
          
 
His eyes seemed to clear for a moment, and he
looked up at her, wonder in his withered face. "I had to warn you. I never
knew the Power of the Wolf Bundle. Shouldn't have called on its Power . .
."He groaned again, eyes dimming. "Beware . . . Mother of the
..."

 
          
 
"Singing Stones?" Still Water
called.

 
          
 
The old man's body relaxed, sagging in Still
Water's arms.

 
          
 
White Ash gave a strangled cry and placed her
ear above his heart. Silence.

 
          
 
She raised herself, desperation filling her.
Still Water already knew. He reached for wood and dropped several pieces on the
smoldering embers. As the flames crackled up again, he stared uneasily at the
Spiral painted on the back of the shelter. The curls of red glowed in an eerie
manner.

 
          
 
"How do I find the way now?" White
Ash ground her teeth against the whirling sensation of loss. "How, Still
Water?"

 
          
 
He tried to mask his misery. "I don't
know." Then his face blanched and he turned to stare at the pack that held
the Wolf Bundle.

 
          
 
Her belly muscles knotted and cramped.
"No," she choked. "It just killed Singing Stones—and he was
skilled, Powerful. Myself, I can't even ..."

 
          
 
It might have been the wind beyond the
hangings, but tens of tens of voices whispered in the night breezes: We are the
way.

 
          
 
The rough surface of the heavy stone he
carried ate into Still Water's fingers as he climbed the loose soil at the
bottom of the cliff. He paused to study Singing Stones' last resting place: a
narrow fissure in the sandstone wall of the canyon. He and White Ash had nearly
finished rocking up the niche. Now he fitted his stone into place.

 
          
 
White Ash labored up the loose
scree
and grunted as she reached to seal the burial with a
final stone.

 
          
 
Still Water turned and looked out over the
canyon. "He'll like it here. The view is wonderful. Look, you can see an
eagle flying over the pines down there."

 
          
 
Beyond the far ridge, the
Wind
Basin
lay sere in the scorching midsummer sun.
Wind whispered about the rock and sighed through the limber pine and juniper,
bearing with it the dry odors of dust and the pungency of bitterbrush, sage,
aster, and primrose. A band of mountain sheep leaped nimbly among the buff-colored
rocks and kept a careful eye on them.

 
          
 
White Ash bit her lip and looked up at the
cloud-patched dome of sky. "This is where he wanted to be. He's with the
One now."

 
          
 
Still Water found a place to sit on one of the
grainy slabs of sandstone that had toppled from the cliff. He braced his legs
and rubbed the back of his sweaty neck before glancing up the slope at the
burial. "There was so much I wanted to ask him."

 
          
 
A hollow look had come to White Ash's eyes.
"I know."

 
          
 
She stood beside his slab and placed a hand on
his shoulder.
Wistftilly
, Still Water reached up and
clasped her hand, enjoying the warmth of her touch.

 
          
 
Images of the Dream played through his mind.
Sun People warred in his homeland. His People had come to the end of their
time. Like Singing Stones, they, too, would be dead soon, passed from the
earth. He'd seen that so clearly. The visions of the future haunted him. He and
White Ash had so little time to act—and the stakes grew with each beat of the
heart.

 
          
 
"What do we do now, Still Water?"

 
          
 
He leaned his head against her hip, lost in
memories of the lodge at Round Rock. Warm Fire's voice rose and fell as he told
some story that drew laughter from Bitterbrush and Cattail. The children
watched wide-eyed from their robes.

 
          
 
There would be no more nights like that among
the Earth People.

 
          
 
“We seek the Dream." He patted her hand.
"That's all we can do. It's up to us now."

 
          
 
“He held the coals and they didn't burn. He
pierced his flesh and it left no wound," she whispered humbly. “We both
saw that."

 
          
 
“And it wasn't his voice that spoke to
us." Still Water winced. “You could feel the Power. It was the Wolf
Bundle— and more." A shiver ran through him as he looked over at his pack.

 
          
 
“It killed him," she said in a hushed
tone. 44 What are we involved with?"

 
          
 
“Power. The Spiral. Things I don't
understand."

 
          
 
“And murder? Who is killing Dreamers? Brave
Man? I know that he killed Old Falcon."

 
          
 
He exhaled loudly. “I don't know. Could Brave
Man send some Power through the Wolf Bundle to kill Singing Stones?"

 
          
 
“I’ll never touch it to find out." She
glanced about. “Maybe we should leave it with Singing Stones."

 
          
 
“I don't think so. That doesn't . . . feel
right. You know what I mean? I know its Power. The Bundle isn't evil."

 
          
 
“Ask Left Hand what he thinks. I say we should
rock it up with Singing Stones."

 
          
 
Still Water frowned, struggling with the idea.
It made sense, but then, what was illusion and what was truth? Here was a
puzzle he wished they didn't have to solve. 4 'Power. That's the thing we have
to understand." He cocked his head. "Singing Stones said Power is
everywhere but it doesn't interfere with the things of this world. Healers,
like Black Hand, use Power, direct it. Change it. Witches use it for different
things. No, it's not the Bundle. Burying it with Singing Stones would be a
mistake."