People of the Earth (88 page)

 
          
 
She'd seen Brave Man's face as he fought her
to the ground along the
Gray
Deer
River
. His knowing leer had turned into Three
Bulls'—a hideous grimace grunting fetid breath into her face.

 
          
 
The dying shrieks of the White Clay had
sounded again and again as the cold air whistled with darts and war clubs
smacked sickeningly into skulls.

 
          
 
Brave Man stood naked, washed by a hundred
voices Singing praise. He lifted imploring hands to the night sky. Firelight
played wickedly over his muscular flesh dappled by shadow Dancers. As he
turned, gloating, looking down at White Ash with victory in his eyes, her soul
shriveled. In the flickering light, Brave Man's engorged penis throbbed with a
malignant life of its own.

 
          
 
Singing Stones held living fire in his
age-knotted hands, the rapture in his face illuminated by a reddish light. He
stiffened and spoke in a multitude of voices not his own— and he died
whispering * 'Murder . . . "

 
          
 
Corpses leered at her as she fled along a
forest trail. Left Hand huddled before her, a broken man facing the final hope
for a broken people. Her soul twisted as she watched him shuffle wearily
eastward through the aspens.

 
          
 
Sage Ghost peered into her eyes. She said the
words that ended his hope and love: "She's dead."

           
 
Always, the somber Power of the Wolf Bundle
pulsed in the light of the flickering fire. Behind the Bundle, a forest
exploded into flames as warriors screamed and fled. A young man Danced
ecstatically through tongues of flame, a rattlesnake clutched in his hands, as
the mountains burned and people screamed.

 
          
 
She fought desperately to free herself, and
the visions reeled and spun before her.

 
          
 
A young man rose from a rocky, windswept soil.
Snow blew in white streamers around his heavy moccasins. He stood before her,
feet braced, dressed in a long hunting coat that hung to his knees and about
his shoulders rested the hide of a great white bear. His eyes seemed to burn with
an inner fire. He lifted his hand, blowing across his open palm, and from it
sprang a rainbow, arching across the sky, dimming even the colorful bands of
light that the Great Mystery played over the northern heavens.

 
          
 
"Who are you?" White Ash cried.

 
          
 
He smiled at her then, and her soul melted
with the warmth and joy his face imparted. But before she could speak again,
the young man turned, shimmering, and dropped to all fours, arms and legs
multiplying until he'd become a red spider. The beast raced up the rainbow,
slowing near the top. There, it spread its legs, spinning the colors of the
rainbow across the heavens until they wove themselves into a web connecting the
dew drops of stars.

 
          
 
White Ash reached out, only to lose her
footing. She twisted, seeking balance, and tumbled into the strands of the huge
web.

 
          
 
The web stretched and pulled, forming new
visions: Brave Man raising the Wolf Bundle to the sun with one hand, while a
long obsidian knife gleamed in the bright light, the translucent stone spotted
by patches of darkness that dripped onto a square gray altar and burned crimson
on the rock.

 
          
 
A crumpled figure rolled from the waist-high
stone, and she looked into Still Water's sightless eyes. A gaping hole had been
slashed in his chest, and blood leaked from the cavity where his heart had
been.

 
          
 
White Ash tried to scream, but the suffocating
web lifted her above the scene to stare down at people who ran in terror. Power
changed around her. The glow of the Spiral darkened, golden light dulling into
a blood-red.

 
          
 
She shot a frightened glance back at the huge
spider and saw the handsome youth again. He aged, his features hardening into
those of Wolf Dreamer. The white bear hide gleamed and burst into dazzling
light. Wolf Dreamer reached toward her in a gesture that implored, his face
twisted with anguish. About her, suffering pulsed and retreated. A black miasma
grew in the north, moving south, covering the surface of the living earth. The
One changed, pulling back, retreating.

 
          
 
Still Water lay rotting below her, his flesh
swelling. Carrion birds landed on the bones of his chest and perched on the
ridges of his hips to peck maggot-filled meat from his gut.

 
          
 
She cried out. The web drew tighter. In
desperation she clawed at the clinging fibers, snaring herself until she
couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The horror suffocated her. She became one with
the filth.

 
          
 
Strangling, she'd awakened in the cool
crispness of coming dawn. Still Water had sat up in their robes and studied her
through worried eyes. She'd reassured him, holding him close as he drifted off
to sleep again.

 
          
 
Ravens called to greet the morning, and robins
added their chirping song to the rebirth of the light. On a far butte, coyotes
yipped in a final chorus before seeking their dens.

 
          
 
The robe that covered them comforted—a false
security against the world that waited.

 
          
 
Couldn't I just stay here forever? Couldn't I
let the world find its own answer? Let Power deal with Brave Man's new Dream?
What is a single, frightened woman against that?

 
          
 
The eastern horizon pinked, the hidden sun
burning red and orange against the few clouds that hung over the black
silhouette of the land.

 
          
 
Her stomach cramped. Worry. It eats at me,
leaving me sick in the mornings.

 
          
 
She closed her eyes, leaving the world of
illusion for the moment. She traced the path inside, turning inward until she
found the feathery touch of the One. There, it lay in wait, the final escape if
she chose to take it.

 
          
 
Still Water stirred, bringing her back. He
rolled over and yawned. She opened her eyes. The sun had begun to rise in the
eastern sky. Time slipped away when she Dreamed the One. It seemed to flow past
without touching her.

 
          
 
Still Water stretched. "Past time to get
up. Sun's up."

 
          
 
White Ash's heart pounded heavily, as if it
were made of rock. She placed hands over her eyes. I can't do it. I'm not
strong enough to face Brave Man. I couldn’t even fight him when he captured me
in the
Grass
Meadow
Mountains
. I’d given up. A real Dreamer would have
fought.

 
          
 
She lowered her hands and glanced at Still
Water with haunted eyes. The image of the Dream replayed . . . Brave Man
standing over Still Water's lifeless body. Can I save him? Can I save anything?
Or will it happen anyway? Power discards those it can't use. The familiar urge
to vomit choked at the bottom of her throat.

 
          
 
She forced herself to sit up.

 
          
 
Still Water pulled the last of their jerked
meat from the pack, handing her several of the hard, dry slabs. She chewed,
mouth watering, and her stomach twisted and tightened again.

 
          
 
Not this morning. Don’t let me be sick again.
It’s a sign of my weakness. How can a woman who can’t keep her breakfast down
defeat an evil Dreamer?

 
          
 
She forced the food down before standing and
pulling on her clothing. Hating the ill feeling, she walked down to the stream,
slaking her thirst with the water. She made two steps before it all came back
up.

 
          
 
Still Water rushed to her side, supporting her
as he led her back to the camp.

 
          
 
"Every morning." He shook his head.
"Is it just the worry? Or something else? Not some witching? Not a curse
from Brave Man?"

 
          
 
She battled a wave of dizziness and shook her
head. "No, it's just ... I don't know. Once I get it over with, I'm fine.
That wouldn't happen with evil Power. It's worry, or maybe this happens to all
Dreamers. If Singing Stones were here, we could ask him." And as soon as
she said it, she wished she hadn't.

 
          
 
His smile didn't hide his anxiety. Giving her
an understanding look, he produced two thin sticks of jerked meat. "I
saved them. You need your strength."

 
          
 
She fingered the hard pieces. "Maybe I'll
wait until we're on the way and eat them then."

 
          
 
He nodded and went down to the stream to fill
the gut water bag.

 
          
 
White Ash rolled the bedding, tying it to
Still Water's pack. Her hands tingled ominously from the Power of the Wolf
Bundle hidden within. She fought the urge to tremble. Silken filaments of Power
reached out for her. She pulled back. "No. No, not yet."

 
          
 
"I just hope you're not sick." She
hadn't heard Still Water come back. He raised his hand and let it fall. "I
don't know how to cure a sick Dreamer."

 
          
 
He waited, head cocked.

 
          
 
"It's the worry . . . and the Dreams.
Horrible Dreams last night. I—I don't want to talk about them." She smiled
weakly. "We've had enough horrible Dreams."

 
          
 
He nodded, slinging the water-taut gut around
his shoulders before picking up the pack. "Well, it's summer. Lots of
things to eat. Toad flax is looking good. Maybe we'll make a couple of choppers
from quartzite cobbles and use them to dig roots. If not, there's blazing star
on the slopes, and cattail to the south along the creek. I'd really like to
roast some cattail root in the coals when we camp tonight. They're sweet and
rich—just the thing to make you feel better. We'll do fine."

 
          
 
She stood, feeling the fatigue in her legs.
Something had happened to her strength. Too much Dreaming. It sapped the soul.

 
          
 
Still Water pointed. "Those are the
Round
Rock
Mountains
. Larkspur's camp is just on the other
side—if it's still there, that is." A sadness came to his eyes.

 
          
 
She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Maybe
they're still all right."

 
          
 
He made an uncertain sound and started out.
"Funny thing ... the last time I came this way, it was with Left Hand.
Going north—to find the Dreamer. I never Dreamed I'd have her with me coming
back. Do you feel well enough to walk that far?"

 
          
 
'I’ll be fine. We'll make it today, Still
Water." The Dream image of his dead body returned to haunt her. By the
One, I hope we will.

 
          
 
The dead mocked her thoughts.

 
          
 
Still Water found Larkspur's body first. The
perching turkey vultures led him to the spot, up in the rocks behind Round Rock
camp. As a child, he'd played in this little hollow. Had he turned his head, he
could have seen the hole where the snake had bitten his arm.

 
          
 
He knelt down next to Larkspur's remains,
noting the way her skull had been crushed. The scavengers hadn't left much.
Maggots crawled among the old woman's bones—the latter streaked white by bird
droppings. The beetles had already begun their work. The stench of rot filled
the air, drowning the sweetness of the sagebrush.

 
          
 
He stood, looking around. No other corpses.
Perhaps the others had lived? Had managed to flee?

 
          
 
"You know her?" White Ash asked,
standing back from the buzzing flies and the odor of decay.

 
          
 
"Larkspur." He stood and lifted his
head to the dome of the sky. "Grandmother, may your soul be free and
unangered
by what was done to you."

 
          
 
Emptiness ached inside him. He stopped by
White Ash and closed his eyes, seeing his grandmother as she'd been: the
tyrannical old ruler of Round Rock. "I should hate her for everything she
did . . . but I can't. She just did what she had to."

           
 
White Ash's face tightened as if she, too,
balanced on the edge of tears.

 
          
 
Still Water led the way down the familiar
trail to the lodges. At first the camp looked the same, although ominously
empty. The hard soil had been stippled with rain that blurred the faint
impressions of tracks. The lodge entrances had been carefully blocked with
large sandstone slabs. The smoke holes, too, had been covered, as had the
ventilator shafts.

 
          
 
Sealed? Against what?

 
          
 
He rolled the slab aside and ducked into
Bitterbrush's lodge. Everything had been stripped. He stopped, studying the
sandstone slabs on the floor. So many storage pits?

 
          
 
White Ash blocked the light from the doorway
as she followed him in.

 
          
 
"They didn't leave much, did they?"
she observed.

 
          
 
"This isn't right." He bent down,
grunting as he lifted one of the heavy slabs. Beneath was a storage pit filled
with dried scurf peas. "This wasn't here. There are five new pits dug into
this floor."

 
          
 
He studied the lodge. "The raiders would
have looked under the slabs. What they didn't take, they'd have left for the
animals. I don't think Round Rock clan dug those pits."

 
          
 
She studied him. "The lodges were sealed.
Someone's planning to come back."

 
          
 
A chill shiver ran up Still Water's spine.

 
          
 
White Ash studied the dried scurf peas.
"This was prepared with skill. Whoever did this knew how to leave a cache.
I remember drying plants when I was a girl. All the moisture has to be out of
them so they don't mold."

 
          
 
He nodded. The pit walls bore the familiar red
stain of a preparation fire. "The pit was fired to harden the walls
against rodents. Would Sun People do that?"

 
          
 
She shook her head. "They know how to
cure meat and keep berries in fat for winter, but not how to dry plants."

 
          
 
Still Water resettled the slab to seal the
cache. "If they're coming back, I don't want them to know anyone was
here."

 
          
 
He ducked outside and squinted in the noonday
light. All familiar—and all different. He studied the camp uneasily, hating the
foreboding that filled him. "Look."

           
 
She followed his pointing finger. One by one,
Still Water pointed out places where lodges had stood. Here and there a peg
remained that had held a lodge cover.

 
          
 
“So many!" He frowned and rubbed his
face. ''There must have been tens of tens of people here. More than that."

 
          
 
White Ash had gone pale. "This isn't just
raiding. An entire clan came through here. That's why all the new storage pits
were dug ... for winter supplies."

 
          
 
"Broken Stones?" Still Water stared
around nervously, aware that someone could be watching even now.

 
          
 
"Who else?" White Ash growled.
"The journey from the land of the Wolf People to here isn't very long. Do
you know of another clan on the move?"

 
          
 
"Let's get out of here. The sooner, the
better." He
reslung
his pack and they took off
at a brisk walk. Trouble followed uneasily, sniffing here and there at his old
haunts.

 
          
 
A grim desperation possessed Still Water. He
couldn't forget the way Larkspur's body lay in the sagebrush. How long before
maggots crawled through his flesh and White Ash's? He glanced at her, praying
she could stand up against Brave Man.

 
          
 
"Ask her how far it is to the next
camp." Wind Runner sat at the rear of his lodge, shaded from the hot sun,
as Sage Ghost turned to the Greasewood clan woman who knelt before them with
her head bowed and her hands clasped nervously in her lap. She wore a
sweat-stained deer-hide dress that had been painted once. Now the colors had
faded—along with the hopes of her people. Sage Ghost put the question in the
Earth People tongue.

 
          
 
Aspen
sat on Wind Runner's left, speculative eyes
on the woman. Next to her, Hot Fat rested an arm on a propped knee, his old
face pensive. Black Moon sat to Wind Runner's right, and beyond him, One Man
and Fire Rabbit.

 
          
 
The skirts of the lodge had been rolled up to
allow air to flow through, but even this late in the day, the warm wind
bordered on being uncomfortable.

 
          
 
.Around them, Greasewood camp bustled with
activity. Several of the captive women pounded and ground
ricegrass
seeds. The clack-scrape of their grinding stones carried in the air. Another
woman wailed, mourning the death of her man in the fighting.

 
          
 
Voices rose and fell as the Black Point
discussed yet further triumphs.

 
          
 
Sage Ghost listened to the woman's answer.
"She says Red Earth camp is a day's walk to the west. Antelope camp lies a
little more than a day and a half to the east. Beyond that is Boggy Meadows
camp. Even more camps lie to the south-all the way to what they call the Silver
Snake River. Still more camps lie farther to the west, along the
Sage
Grouse
River
."

 
          
 
Black Moon grunted. "It seems that we
shall never run out of camps." He cradled his chin in the palm of his
hand. "We have enough women—three for every warrior. We're getting too
many women. That could be dangerous."

 
          
 
"And the country we have to cover gets
wider," Fire Rabbit added. "How far apart can we spread
ourselves?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner gave
Aspen
a knowing look. She'd told him the night
before that such a question was being asked.

 
          
 
"I think we've found a wonderful
land," Hot Fat admitted. "But now that we have it, what do we do with
it? We can't stop. If we do, these other camps will raise the alarm, come to
war with us. We have the element of surprise. Each camp has been taken unaware.
How can two tens of warriors stand against the numbers we muster? But from here,
camps lie in all directions. What do we do?"

 
          
 
Black Moon lifted an inquiring eyebrow as he
looked to Wind Runner for the answer.

 
          
 
Wind Runner and
Aspen
had spent the entire night working out a
plan. He ran it through his thoughts one last time, seeking any flaw. Finally
he clapped his hands to his knees and announced, "We have to split
up."

 
          
 
"And lose the advantage of our
numbers?" Fire Rabbit shook his head. "That's crazy!"

 
          
 
Wind Runner smiled. "I don't see any
choice." He paused for a moment, then added, "I think I know a way to
lessen the risks."

 
          
 
One Man laughed and thumped his belly with a
knotted fist. "Why am I not surprised? Let's hear it."

 
          
 
Wind Runner
steepled
his fingers, frowning. "One Man, I think you should take two tens of the
warriors. Sweep west to the
Sage
Grouse
River
. Fire Rabbit, you take two tens and move
south. Coyote Feather can move east. If each of you can surprise the camps, you
can take them. Look at how easily we've conquered them so far. There's been
almost no resistance."

 
          
 
"And how do we handle the women?"
Fire Rabbit wanted to know.

 
          
 
"You don't." Wind Runner grinned
smugly. "The women aren't the problem. Unlike our women, they don't take
part in the fighting. The problem we face is with the men. They could mass and
attack us. I don't want to lose any of our warriors. We may need our strength
this winter if the Hollow Flute come across the
Sideways
Mountains
."

 
          
 
"Kill just the men?" One Man asked.
"And leave the women?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner nodded. "What do you think they'll
do? Leave their camps? Maybe. Who cares? They've got to survive this winter.
Some will run to the closest camp as soon as you've left. You'll have to move
fast, but men can outdistance a woman in a race. As long as we surprise them,
we'll take most of the camps."

 
          
 
"Some of the men will escape," Hot
Fat reminded. "It has to happen. Somewhere, someone will spot our war
parties."

 
          
 
Wind Runner spread his hands. "But if we
can bleed them, weaken them, what choice will those men have? Suppose that four
tens of their warriors do get together and decide to raid us. How will they
fare?"