People of the Earth (86 page)

           
 
Bitterbrush wept as she caved in the sand
around Lupine's little body. To her surprise, Sage Ghost had carried the girl
and had placed a handful of sand on the corpse, as was the Earth People custom.
And when he'd done so, a tear had streaked down one side of his stern face.

 
          
 
Tuber, choking on his grief, viciously pushed
the mounded sand into the hole, as if by doing so, he could exhaust the hurt
within.

 
          
 
"I share your sorrow," Sage Ghost
told Bitterbrush softly, and he stroked her head with a kind hand. His speech
had improved over the past moon as they had slowly moved south.

 
          
 
Tiber
's
frantic fingers stopped clawing at the sand. He huddled, weeping. Sage Ghost
knelt beside him. He placed callused hands on her son's shoulders and said, “Warriors
do not cry. Death is part of life. Look at me, Tuber." Then he pointed up
toward the sky. "Thunderbird watches all of us for the Sun. He weighs your
soul, seeing every action. Are you strong enough for Thunderbird, Tuber? Will
you send your soul to him, to be judged worthy to be carried to the Camp of the
Dead?"

 
          
 
"But my sister ..."

 
          
 
"We all die. Even Sage Ghost . . . and,
one day, you. That doesn't make the grief any less, but that's just the way it
is. Accept the pain you feel, and live with it. That takes courage."

 
          
 
Tuber sniffled his runny nose.

 
          
 
"Come," Sage Ghost added soberly.
"We have buried her in the way of your people. Now it is time for new
life."

 
          
 
Bitterbrush took a last look at the grave,
struggling to understand what had happened. She'd only turned her back for a
moment, but in that time, Lupine had climbed up on the rocks.

 
          
 
"Look at me, Momma! I can see everything
from here!" The words would live forever in Bitterbrush's soul.

 
          
 
She'd straightened from where she'd been
plucking flowering paintbrush and stared in horror. "No! Get down!"
And she had rushed forward.

 
          
 
Lupine's eyes had grown round, and in her
hurry to obey, she'd slipped—almost caught her balance—and fallen.

           
 
The sound of her little Lupine's body smacking
the hard rocks would echo in her ears for an eternity.

 
          
 
She'd rushed back to camp, carrying the limp
burden of her daughter in her arms. Desperately she'd turned to the only person
who might help: Hot Fat. The Black Point Healer.

 
          
 
Thad heard her fearful cries. He'd crowded in
behind her, a horror in his black eyes.

 
          
 
Hot Fat had listened to Lupine's chest and
felt about her stomach. Then he'd prayed, sprinkling powders around and
imploring the Sun. Lupine's chest had ceased its labored breathing. Hot Fat had
looked at her, and shaken his head.

 
          
 
What do I have left? Only Tuber. Bitterbrush
stumbled now, eyes blinded by tears.

 
          
 
Sage Ghost's arm settled on her shoulder as he
led the way back to the lodge. She walked in numb misery, her soul drained of
purpose. The only solace lay in the reassuring arm of the alien man who had
claimed her.

 
          
 
"Tuber," Sage Ghost said,
"where are you going?"

 
          
 
"My sister is dead. I want to be by
myself."

 
          
 
Bitterbrush cringed at the surly tone in her
son's voice.

 
          
 
"Do not go far. The warriors might not
understand. We don't want to bury you, too. Not as the result of a silly
mistake."

 
          
 
Tuber nodded respectfully and walked toward a
low knoll at the edge of camp.

 
          
 
Sage Ghost led Bitterbrush into his lodge.
He'd tried living in the earthen shelters of her people, but couldn't bear
having dirt all around him. Then he'd built a small conical lodge of buffalo
hide and seasoned lodge poles on the western edge of the camp. Today the skirts
were rolled up from the peeled poles and tied to allow the breeze to blow
through. A splash of sunlight slanted from the smoke hole, landing on a
par-fleche painted in yellow and red.

 
          
 
Sage Ghost shot Bitterbrush a measuring glance
and used a buffalo-horn spoon to dip tea made from scurf-pea seeds. She took
the bittersweet brew and sipped it gratefully.

 
          
 
"Why?" she asked. "Why did it
happen? Will everything of mine be taken away?"

           
 
He settled next to her, resting an arm on his
propped knee. His broad lips pressed tightly together. The five black circles
on his forehead seemed to stand out, as if his skin had paled. "Sometimes
Power does that. I don't understand it."

 
          
 
She noted the sorrow in his face. "After
all that's happened, I should hate you."

 
          
 
He chuckled humorlessly. "I don't see
hate in your eyes when you look at me. Only endurance."

 
          
 
She lowered her gaze to the tea, as if the
reflections in it could explain the suffering to her. He'd been kind, treated
her like a wife instead of a captive. She hadn't fought when he mounted her
that first time. He'd been gentle, as if he cherished her. Would I feel that
way if he d murdered my husband the way Pretty Woman's captor did?

 
          
 
She shook her head and drew a tired breath.

 
          
 
"My heart aches for you and Lupine."
The lines in his face deepened. "I wish I could bring her back."

 
          
 
"Why? What is one little girl to
you?"

 
          
 
His brown eyes mirrored his soul. "All of
the children Bright Moon and I had died when they were young. Bright Moon
wasted, and Power sent me south to find another child for her. I stole a girl
from the camp you call Three Forks— and she became our daughter. Now she, too,
has vanished. Probably killed by the Wolf People. Life has not been kind to me
... or to my children." He smiled wistfully. "I loved each one of
them with all my soul. I had begun to love Lupine."

 
          
 
"Is that why you played with her? Worked
so hard to teach her the Sun People language?" Bitterbrush tugged at the
fringes on her dress. The action rattled the bone beads sewn in chevron
patterns on the front.

 
          
 
"Yes. A man should leave someone to
remember his name. Someone to look up at the stars, at the Camp of the Dead,
and say, 'Sage Ghost is up there.' "

 
          
 
"Is that why you took me? Because I'm
still young enough to bear another daughter?"

 
          
 
He placed a hand on her knee. "I took you
because I saw the sorrow in your face. It touched my soul. All of my people,
the White Clay, are dead. Your people will soon be the same way. The Black
Point broke the White Clay—and the Wolf People killed what was left."

 
          
 
"Doesn't that anger you? Doesn't
traveling with them sicken you inside?"

 
          
 
He shook his head. "No. Who is Sage Ghost
to question the way Power works, or what its purposes are? The time of the
White Clay had passed, that's all. The Black Point did what the Black Point had
to. Had it been turned around, the White Clay would have done the same to them.
The time of the Earth People has passed, too. If the Black Point hadn't taken your
camp, killed your men and old women, the Broken Stones would have. Or the
Hollow Flute. Someone."

 
          
 
The time of the Earth People has passed? She
closed her eyes, seeing the last Gathering, the expressions on people's faces
as they hurried away. Perhaps they'd known that deep in their souls. Bone Ring
had been the only one to see the truth, and even she had failed to see all of
it. Larkspur's casual dismissal of the Sun People had been the doom of all of
them—and Larkspur lay unburied in the sagebrush back of Round Rock, food for
the ravens, maggots, and coyotes.

 
          
 
"I worry about Tuber." Sage Ghost
tapped his thick fingers on the hides. "He could become a great warrior
... or destroy himself."

 
          
 
She glanced at him. "He's been different
since his father died. Give the boy a chance. Everything he had has been taken
away from him."

 
          
 
Sage Ghost nodded. "I spoke for his life
when most wanted to kill him."

 
          
 
"You've been taking him with you to
hunt."

 
          
 
"His heart is in the hunt. He doesn't say
much, spending his time in his head. But he has a natural way, great strength
for his age, and he moves with the stealth of a ghost."

 
          
 
"Warm Fire taught him." Warm Fire,
Lupine . . . Bitter-brush lowered her head, hair spilling around to hide her
from the world.

 
          
 
Sage Ghost shifted, putting his arms around
her. In his embrace, she cried herself dry.

 
          
 
Still Water walked quietly beside a frowning
White Ash. Underfoot, the soft sand shifted and dimpled with his tracks. Around
them, hills of buff-colored sand had stabilized under a mat of grass,
sagebrush, and greasewood.
Rabbitbrush
and
hopsage
littered the slopes, as did dock and—to his
discomfort—vast patches of prickly pear cactus. Trouble followed obediently
behind.

 
          
 
The wind sawed back and forth between a light
breeze and a moderate blow. Bluebirds, meadowlarks, and thrashers filled the
air with song. Overhead, an eagle drifted against the high-piled thunderheads
to the south.

 
          
 
He led the way through the hollows and flats
between the dunes. This was a trick used by hunters to avoid the keen-sighted
antelope, who could see ten times as well as a man. If hunters could screen
their movements thus, then perhaps he and White Ash could avoid the vigilant
eyes of the Sun People scouts. When they had to expose themselves by climbing
long dunes, they hurried.

 
          
 
Here and there, fuzzy-looking stands of
ricegrass
had gone to full seed and now the stalks browned
in the late-summer sun. The giant wild rye bent under its load of seeds. This
year the land bore a bountiful harvest.