People of the Fire (25 page)

 
          
 
“We've got to take her back," Two Smokes
whispered hoarsely.

 
          
 
The voice in Little Dancer's ears sounded
distant. He didn't feel the
berdaches
arms drop away.
He stared fixedly into eternity. Two Smokes pulled Sage Root's limp body from
the
Cottonwood
, struggling to prop it on the smooth wood
could get a grip on the sagging flesh.

 
          
 
Little Dancer barely noticed the pain
reflected in Smokes' face as his mother's weight fell on his crippled leg.

           
 
The
berdache
hunched
his back and pulled to resettle the dangling burden.

 
          
 
He looked back at the crimson-stained log.
There, behind it, he saw the black wolf. The animal stood motionless, ears
raised, watching. A prickling of Power traced along the nape of Little Dancer's
neck. His eyes locked with the beast's, joining, twining their souls.

 
          
 
No! I don't want this! Mother! Where are you?
Little Dancer tore his eyes away and followed. Like a
hammerstone
on a hollow log, Two Smokes grunted each time his stiff leg took the load. The
path back couldn't have been more than three long dart casts, but Two Smokes
staggered by the time they entered the camp clearing.

 
          
 
A pain pierced Little Dancer's heart as Two
Smokes reeled and let go of his mother. When her body hit the ground, it made a
hollow thud and bounced like a freshly killed carcass dropped heedlessly by the
hunter. Two Smokes collapsed next to her. His teeth sank deeply into his lower
lip as his face contorted in response to the pain in his maimed leg.

 
          
 
Little Dancer stood mutely, eyes locked on his
mother's body while Two Smokes ran anxious hands down his stiff leg. Sweat
droplets caught the morning sun, shining like ice crystals as they traced his
hot cheeks. The
berdache's
hair looked wet and sticky
while sweat stained the finely worked leather of his dress where it clung to
his back.

 
          
 
''Sage Root! She's dead!"

 
          
 
In the haze of his numb mind, Little Dancer
didn't recognize the voice. He only vaguely noted the rushing of people as they
came to stare. A tension began to build inside him as their whispered voices
intruded on his empty mind. The rising murmur irritated him as it grated on his
concentration. Didn't they understand? Couldn't they feel the hurt and grief?

 
          
 
"So the moment has come! Do any of you
doubt me now?" Heavy Beaver pushed his way through the press to stand
above Sage Root's body. The Spirit Dreamer raised his hands to the morning sky.
His moon face flushed hot, alight with triumph.

 
          
 
"Let no one doubt the Power of my
Dreaming. Look! Look before you, my people! See the cleansing of the pollution!

           
 
Look to the skies and see Antelope Above
rejoicing in the justice meted out to the woman who defiled his children!"

 
          
 
Little Dancer stared up at the morning. He
looked again, harder, seeing nothing but emptiness in the air where Heavy
Beaver pointed. A fist clenched and turned in his stomach; wrongness soured the
air around him. He'd heard the antelope, remembered the Oneness of the Dream.
He'd shared the taste of sage in their mouths, frolicked and felt their worry.
Now he felt nothing but the sense of being apart. When he looked at Heavy
Beaver, he saw nothing, felt nothing but unease and a curious sense of being
cheated.

 
          
 
"You lie!" he called out in his
misery. "You see nothing but what's in your head. You don't know the
Oneness. You can't feel the Power around you. You're a deceiver. A thief."

 
          
 
A gasp from the People fanned the spark of
anger kindled in Little Dancer's breast. In the nothingness, it burned
brightly, seeking to strike out, to repay hurt with hurt and terror with
terror.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver wheeled, black eyes gloating as
his lips parted. "From now on, boy, you'll live with me. You've been
tainted by pollution. I can see it hiding in your soul. An evil lies within
you. An evil which must be beaten, burned, and driven out if your soul is to be
saved from
Anit'ah
sorcery."

 
          
 
"No!" Two Smokes cried, raising
himself up slowly, sweat popping from his tortured face. He got a foot under
him, wincing at the pain as he started to stand and face the Spirit Dreamer.
Heavy Beaver turned, kicking out to knock him flat.

 
          
 
"And you,
Anit'ahl
You're a worse pollution than an>« You're a monster! You offend everything
normal in the world. A man who loves men and dresses as a woman? You're a vile
pustule! From this moment, I banish you for the evil you are. Get out! Get away
from the People. Now! Leave us . . . and if you ever come back, it's to receive
the cleansing death you deserve!"

 
          
 
Two Smokes shook his head, pulling his good leg
under him, starting to rise again. "No, you don't understand the---“

 
          
 
He cried out in agony as Heavy Beaver kicked
him in the maimed knee. The cry shivered Little Dancer's soul, loosening his
intestines with the intensity of the suffering it communicated.

 
          
 
Little Dancer's sanity collapsed under a rush
of hatred. Rabid, he flew at Heavy Beaver, clawing, shrieking, kicking with all
the rage broken loose in his little body.

 
          
 
The frightened scream torn from Two Smokes'
lips was for him, yet pain and grief spurred him as he screamed with rage and
desperation. The man's heavy body defied him. A hand caught in his shirt,
lifting, as he battered at invulnerable flesh. The world spun as he was thrown
violently away.

 
          
 
The ground rose, whirling. When he smacked and
bounced, lights blasted through his brain. His breath burst from heaving lungs.
Pain—pulsing physical pain—seared his nerves. Fright strangled his breath in
fevered lungs as his vision spun and little sparks played behind his eyes. A
ringing filled his ears.

 
          
 
Two Smokes cried out again like a wounded
rabbit twisted on a sharp stick.

 
          
 
"See? See what this pollution has done?
See how he's turned that poor little boy into an animal? This is the evil we've
inflicted on ourselves! We allowed the evil into our midst. And you ask why
rain doesn't fall? Why the grass doesn't grow thick and green for buffalo? How
could any worthy Spirit send game to a people who harbor an offense like
this?"

 
          
 
A voice of assent rose from the People.

 
          
 
"Curse you, Heavy Beaver!"
Chokecherry's old voice pierced the air. "Haven't you done enough? Now
you'll add torture to—"

 
          
 
"Silence, old woman! You're part of this.
Someone remove her. Take her away before she angers the Spirit Powers!"

 
          
 
Chokecherry cried out over a scuffling of
feet.

 
          
 
As breath rushed back into his starved lungs,
Little Dancer's vision clouded with unrestrained tears. He sobbed at the pain,
at the futility and hurt. He sobbed at the injustice and violation. Most of
all, he sobbed at his helplessness. Blood ran from his nose. Heavy Beaver had
thrown him down so hard that everything hurt.

 
          
 
"So, you haven't left,
berdache
?" Heavy Beaver's voice penetrated Little
Dancer's mind like oil soaking into dry leather. 'Then you've made your choice.
Your evil ends here. Someone bring me a club. Today we'll all Sing the end of
the pollution. Together, we'll Dance the lingering taint of the
berdache
away. With our voices united, we'll call the
Spirit Powers to see how we've cleansed the People! Then the rains will come. Then
the buffalo will return."

 
          
 
''Cleansed with my blood?" Two Smokes
cried. "By murder?"

 
          
 
Little Dancer's heart froze. He swallowed his
sobs, dragging his sleeve across his eyes to clear the swollen tears. Heavy
Beaver loomed over Two Smokes, a flush of excitement reddening his flat
features. Two Smokes huddled on the ground, slowly shaking his head in
disbelief. His hands had raised, empty, beseeching.

 
          
 
Little Dancer pulled himself forward on abused
muscles until he reached the entrance to his lodge. There, inside, the old
familiar furnishings brought no solace.

 
          
 
Grinning and whooping, Fire At Night pushed
through the crowd. In his right hand he waved a hafted maul back and forth like
a trophy. The heavy hammer consisted of a pecked and shaped stone head. A
thumb-thick green willow stick had been doubled over the head to act as a
handle. Green rawhide had then been sewn over the whole and allowed to shrink
tight to hold it all together.

 
          
 
Two Smokes began to shiver, eyes horror-locked
on the maul Heavy Beaver took from Fire At Night. "No," he whispered.
"Don't do this thing."

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver lifted the hammer high, offering
it to the sky. "Today, Wise One Above, we cleanse ourselves to be worthy
of your truth! See this act of humility! See the People once again turn their
faces toward you and your path of light! Watch, Father Sun, as we drive this
filth from among us!"

 
          
 
Two Smokes swallowed hard, looking for an
escape. People ringed him, eyes bright as they pressed forward.

 
          
 
A whimper caught in Little Dancer's throat.
Panicked, he looked around, seeing only the hides and cold fire pit and the
empty space where the Wolf Bundle had once re-There to the side lay Two Smokes'
grass collection in its hide and . . .

           
 
"I call on you, Spirits Above! I call on
you to watch!"

 
          
 
"No!" Two Smokes screamed,
scrambling backward as Heavy Beaver charged forward, the hammer lifted high. A
snarl of vindicated rage twisted the shaman's broad face.

 
          
 
Little Dancer reached with fear-charged
fingers, closing them on the wood. He turned, screaming his fear, and rushed
forward in one final desperate attempt.

 
          
 
Someone cried a warning. Heavy Beaver stopped,
staring wide-eyed. He jumped back, feet tangling in his retreat. He started to
fall just as Little Dancer drove Blood Bear's dart into his body.

 
          
 
The cry saved him serious injury. Heavy Beaver
felt his feet snag. Arms flailing, he fell as the boy drove the dart at him.

 
          
 
By instinct, Heavy Beaver twisted away.
Instead of slicing through his belly, the point bunched the leather of his
shirt, ripping through as he pulled away. The razor edge of the stone slipped
along under his clothing, stinging as it went.

 
          
 
"Get him! He's trying to kill me!"
he screamed as he rolled away. The dart caught in the folds on his shirt. The
shaft wrenched from the boy's grasp and tumbled him.

 
          
 
Fire At Night jumped forward, plucking the boy
from the ground, shouting angrily as the child kicked him hard on the kneecap.
A flailing fist caught the older boy on the cheek.

           
 
Snarling, Fire At Night slapped Little Dancer
across the face. As the boy blinked, Fire At Night doubled a fist and punched
him the belly. Little Dancer whimpered miserably and desisted.