People of the Fire (38 page)

 
          
 
"Late for thunder.”

           
 
"Scared you?" Two Smokes asked as he
hobbled down from the elk trail and settled himself. Behind him, Elk Charm
moved like a shadow. "Power's loose tonight. You can feel it. You know,
like that silent calm before a violent storm."

 
          
 
His heart continued to beat like a pot drum.

 
          
 
"You all right?"

 
          
 
"The wolf, the Watcher ... did you see
it? Huge . . . black. . ."

 
          
 
Two Smokes cocked his head. "No wolf ran
by us. But Power's been around. Skin prickles. When you sniff, you smell the
scent of it."

 
          
 
Little Dancer dropped his head onto his knees,
breathing hard. A sudden trembling took control of his quivering muscles.

 
          
 
Two Smokes talked on, feigning unconcern.
"White Calf wanted us to come find you. I'm supposed to lead Three Toes
and his people to a camp I know. You can go or stay here. The decision is
yours. It's been a busy day for everyone. Hungry Bull is going. I think he
wants some time with his friends, time to be with his people."

 
          
 
Little Dancer tried to still the racing of his
heart.

 
          
 
"I'm betting Rattling Hooves will go with
him," Two Smokes continued. "I guess she doesn't have much to go back
to among the Red Hand for the time being. Blood Bear would make her miserable.
White Calf thinks it would be a good thing if she went to tell the People how
the Red Hand live."

 
          
 
Little Dancer chewed the inside of his cheeks.
"I won't stay here."

 
          
 
Two Smokes nodded, expression hidden by the
shadows. "I think she expects as much."

 
          
 
He peered uneasily at his old friend. "She
didn't order me to stay?"

 
          
 
Two Smokes slowly shook his head. "I
don't understand it, but she almost insisted that you . . . and Elk Charm, go.
She just smiled, rocking back and forth, looking . . . well, I'd call it
satisfied."

 
          
 
Little Dancer frowned into the night. His
nerves bunched like those of a ground squirrel when a hawk's shadow passed
through the grass. Too much had happened too quickly. In the roil of his mind,
nothing made sense. He couldn't think. Life twisted around him in a rush, out of
control, tumbling head over heels before he could think about it.

 
          
 
"And she didn't even argue for me to
stay? Demand I talk to her about Dreams?"

 
          
 
"No. She says you're in other hands than
hers now. She says your way has been set."

 
          
 
Little Dancer plucked at a stem of grass,
twirling it in his fingers. "You've known her for a long time, Two Smokes.
What do you think she's after?"

 
          
 
The
berdache
shrugged. "She thought she could teach you things that might make a
difference when you finally meet Heavy Beaver. She thought she could—"

 
          
 
"I'm not going to meet Heavy Beaver. I'm
not her Dreamer."

 
          
 
Two Smokes paused for a moment. When he spoke,
it was with great deliberation. "I think, my friend, that she knows that.
I think that whatever happened today, she saw that you're not her Dreamer.''

 
          
 
"Oh?"

 
          
 
Two Smokes swallowed, the sound loud in the
silence of the night. "I think ..."

 
          
 
"Go on. We've been together for too many
years for you to try and wiggle out of it like a snake from a pouch

 
          
 
Two Smokes laughed under his breath, the
expression without humor. "I suppose so. Then maybe you should know that
she whispered something to herself." He hesitated, expression pensive.
"The words she whispered when she thought no one could hear were, 'He's
not mine. Fool that I am. He's always belonged to Wolf.' "

 
          
 
Stricken, he looked back at the clouds.
Fingers like ice played along his spine.

 
          
 
"We have him. " The thousand souls
of the Wolf Bundle stirred wearily, worry alleviated.

 
          
 
"For the moment," Wolf Dreamer
agreed. "He's torn. Drawn at the same time he’s repulsed. He still denies.”

 
          
 
"This is the chance. Renew me. Let me add
my Power. Let me adjust the Spirals—''

 
          
 
"Not yet," the Wolf Dreamer rebuked
through the golden haze of the illuminated Spirals, "You live in the Now.
Look beyond. What we have gained with Little Dancer we have lost with Heavy
Beaver. He plans to move on the Red Hand. As his authority consolidates, he
looks to the mountains.''

            
"You gambled that the rains
would lessen his need!"

            
"I
didn
't understand his driving hunger for domination."

            
"What else have you
misjudged? Things become more precarious. Another mistake ..."

 
          
 
Packs lay ready in the pink morning light.
Blue wreaths of smoke rose from the shelter hangings to trace up the irregular
gray wall of the limestone cliff. Chill lay heavy on the ground, breath
condensing as people attended to last-minute preparations.

 
          
 
Little Dancer stood to one side, watching,
curiously detached. Sleep hadn't come. Mostly he'd lain awake, tortured by
fragments of Dreams when he did doze off. Once more his world had changed—and
he didn't know how, or why.

 
          
 
White Calf ducked out of the flap and walked
painfully across to where he stood. She seemed to huddle over her walking
stick, eyes on the dirt before him.

 
          
 
She worked her toothless gums and looked up,
meeting his eyes. The previous day seemed to have aged her even more.

 
          
 
"I was wrong," she said gently.
"I thought you were my responsibility." She shook her head slightly,
eyes never leaving his. "I knew you had so much to learn. I didn't think I
had much time left. You see? I thought I might die before I could teach
you."

 
          
 
Of everything she could say, he hadn't
expected this. Words wouldn't come.

 
          
 
She looked up at the
Starweb
above and laughed. "He's the one, the Sun Man, the Wolf Dreamer. He'll
train you, Little Dancer.'' She laughed
brittlely
,
half turning away to glance at the others. "Foolish of me, boy. But then,
that's the way of humans. We tend toward pride, toward thinking we're more than
we are. No wonder we messed up the
First World
."

 
          
 
"I don't understand."

 
          
 
She sniffed in the cool air. "I didn't
either. I thought my part was greater than it was. Huh! Took seeing the vision
yesterday. It all came clear. Oh, I had my part, all right. I was the key to
your conception and safety. You know your real mother was Clear Water—my
daughter. I bore Hungry Bull's father, to spawn him, to marry Sage Root, to
care for you. I was called to take you from Heavy Beaver at just the right
moment. I was here to provide a safe haven for you to grow in. I have another
couple of things to do, but they'll come in time."

 
          
 
He reached out for her, surprised at the ache
in his heart. “I’ll be back."

 
          
 
She nodded. "Oh, we'll see each other
again. I think by the time winter's about over, you'll appear at my hearth.
We're still tied, boy. But remember this. It's the Spirals that are the most
important of all—more important than those you love, or even yourself. He'll
guide you to them. They're the places of Power where his Dreams are
strongest."

 
          
 
"I don't understand what you mean. The
spirals?"

 
          
 
She pointed to her shelter. "Like the one
back of the fire pit in the shelter. The ones pecked into the rock. The old
ones in the high places."

 
          
 
"Circles within Circles."

 
          
 
"That's the world, boy. That's all of the
Wise One
Above's
creation."

 
          
 
"Will you be all right here? I mean Blood
Bear might come back."

 
          
 
She waved it away. "I'll be fine. Oh,
I've seen a bit of the future. Blood Bear won't bother me. I've got enough food
laid in and there's firewood aplenty around here." She cocked her head,
sighing. "It was always the Power, you see. That's what you've got to
remember about White Calf. I left Big Fox and my son, Seven Foxes, to chase the
Power to the high places. Then, when I established myself here, I met Cut
Feather. Power brought us together—in more ways than one.”

           
 
She scratched back of her ear, and he could
see the memories spinning in her head. "We lost ourselves for a while. He
and I, that is. Something about love and coupling under the robes that lessens
the way Power works within you. Lessens the thirst for Dreaming. Ah, he was
good! One passion to weaken another. Coupling does that, rushes your head with
delight and leaves you floating like a dream. But human love weakens the Power.
I bore him Clear Water, and another child. That one was stillborn. Maybe I
should have understood then, but it took a while longer. Cut Feather
understood. He let me go . . . took care of your mother.

 
          
 
"It was always the high places." She
clucked to herself. "Power's stronger there. Like firelight will draw a
moth to its death, so the Power drew me. It sucks you up, possesses you, and
you lose yourself in the wonder of touching that other place."

 
          
 
She hesitated, lost in some private vision in
her mind.

 
          
 
"I think they're about ready." He
pointed to where Two Smokes had picked up the bulky pack and his net. Now the
berdache
waited. The others stood around, talking in the
quiet manner of people about to embark into the unknown.

 
          
 
She didn't seem to hear, still sailing like an
eagle on the currents of her mind.

 
          
 
"I guess I just didn't understand. I wish
I could have done better for you. I wish I could have been your Dreamer."

 
          
 
She didn't seem lucid, those ancient eyes
still unfocused as she whispered, "... No, not a Dreamer. A Dancer. Fire
Dancer."

 
          
 
His muscles tightened. The Cloud Man had
called him that. What did it mean? "Take care. We'll be back to see you
soon."

 
          
 
She stood, staring fixedly at the infinite
point in her mind only she could see.

 
          
 
Awkward, not knowing what else to do, he
walked past her, finding his pack next to the shelter where he'd left it.

 
          
 
"Is she all right?" Elk Charm asked,
coming to stand beside him.

 
          
 
"I . . . I think so."

 
          
 
"She's fine. I've seen her like this
before." Two Smokes turned on his good heel. "Maybe she wants it this
way. Wants us to leave while she's in a vision."

           
 
Hobbling along, Two Smokes started down the
trail.

 
          
 
Little Dancer looked back, catching one last
glimpse of the old woman, still propped on her walking stick like a patient
heron, infinity in her clouded old eyes.

 
          
 
Little Dancer sat on an outcrop of sandstone
where it rose like a monster's backbone above the ridge. From the vantage
point, he could look out to the east and the coming of the night. The land lay
mottled, shadowed in lavender and buff where broken ridges extended their
lengths to the north and south. Timbered patches looked somber, bluish green in
the failing light. Yellow stripes of mudstone
interbedded
with gray and white
shales
. Beyond, the tan of the
grasslands humped and rolled into the cloud-shadowed vastness of the plains,
drifting away, leading the eye into an endless horizon of charcoal and blue
until it merged with the indistinct haze of the cloud-packed sky.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver waited out there, somewhere, his
flat features knowing and powerful. That superior smile—so familiar to Little
Dancer's memory—lay lazily on those full lips. The scar from the
Anit'ah
war dart dimpled his broad forehead. Those smoky
eyes looked placid, hiding the intent of the wicked heart and mind within.

 
          
 
Little Dancer clamped his eyes shut and shook
his head slowly. "They don't need a boy with bad dreams. They need a
hero—like the First Man."

 
          
 
Below him, the ridge dropped off in a steep
slope spotted with sage and
rabbitbrush
, yellow
flowers still fading on the latter. Angular blocks of sandstone broken from the
rim scattered the slope. Gray-capped rosy finches flitted through the sage on
agile wings. An insect chirred in the silence. The dried grasses rustled
uneasily under the promise of the cool wind.

 
          
 
The autumn of the soul stretched before him.

 
          
 
Gravel crunched under a hesitant foot. He
turned, watching Elk Charm climb gracefully up the dun-colored rock, easing to
sit next to him where she could share the view.

 
          
 
“Lost in your head again?"

 
          
 
He smiled nervously, looking down at where his
callused hands gripped the gritty sandstone. "I guess.”

           
 
She shifted, wrapping long legs under her, and
propped herself with a bracing arm. The western breeze teased the rich raven
tones of her long hair. "Two Smokes says it's the Power in you. Do you
feel it? The Power, I mean?"

 
          
 
He tried to make an answer that wouldn't
betray too much— and failed to find the words. "I don't know. I guess. I .
. . I don't know."

 
          
 
"What's it like?"

 
          
 
He shot her a quick look, noting the concern
in her eyes. "Scary."

 
          
 
"You're very brave."

 
          
 
"I don't feel that way."

 
          
 
She shrugged, dress rasping as she sought a
more comfortable position. "I guess it's because people do what they have
to do to stay alive. I wonder about me. A handful of days ago I was happy,
playing with Cricket and Tanager and full of laughter and games. Now I'm here
because the world changed. I became a woman and Blood Bear wanted me. Now I'm
mixed up in the middle of it."

 
          
 
"Are you afraid because of that?"

 
          
 
She raised her head, meeting his searching
gaze. "Yes." A ghost of a smile hovered at the edge of her lips.
"But I'll take my chances. I guess I don't . . . well, I don't wonder
about Power the way you do. I think it just happens and I accept it."

 
          
 
"I wish it was that easy."

 
          
 
She cocked her head. "Maybe you make it
hard?"

 
          
 
"Maybe."

 
          
 
A silence stretched while he enjoyed the
closeness. How long since he'd had anyone he could simply talk to? If the Dream
of the ridge top repeated itself, would Elk Charm turn into rock and try to
topple him into the chasm below?

 
          
 
"I think my mother and Hungry Bull are
going to sleep together."

 
          
 
Her simple statement shocked him. He turned to
stare, suddenly adrift again, seeking some secure footing from which to deal
with this new revelation.

 
          
 
"But he . . ." Mother? Could he
forget Sage Root? Just like that?

 
          
 
As if she understood, she asked, "How
long has he been alone? Almost five years, isn't it? He looks like he's a very
lonely man."