People of the Earth (14 page)

 
          
 
“So." She turned to Black Hand.
"Tell me about this witching business. Is Three Forks serious about it? Do
you want me to find out?"

 
          
 
Black Hand stretched his long body and arched
his back. His expression strained as if pained.

 
          
 
She chuckled dryly. "That old wound still
bothering you?"

 
          
 
"Yes. A man like me should know better
than to turn his back on a trapped buffalo . . . even if he thinks it's
dead." He spread his hands. "I don't know . . . yes, if you would.
See how much of Green Fire's complaint is really serious and how much is simply
anger over the death of her husband. He was an old man—weak in the soul. I
didn't witch anyone."

 
          
 
Larkspur rubbed her forehead and worked her
toothless gums. "Well, I could send Bad Belly to Three Forks."

 
          
 
"Him? Are you sure? I mean, he . . . well
..." Black Hand gave her a glum look.

 
          
 
Larkspur reached over with a
taloned
hand and patted his knee. "He'll do anything I
tell him to. Other than the fact that he'll take orders like a browbeaten
puppy, he's not of much use. He's only half a man with that bad arm of his.
Does as much work as a boy and eats like a man. I don't know what to do with
him. What good is he? Took me almost three years to marry him off and then he
made a mess of it. Got to asking questions and poking into stuff he shouldn't
have. She threw him out."

 
          
 
Black Hand laughed. "Golden Flax isn't
exactly all right, either. She has her own strange quirks and problems."

 
          
 
Larkspur grimaced. "I don't know what
happened. Maybe evil Spirits came around when Bad Belly was born. With all of
his failings, you wouldn't ever guess that Cattail was his father. Bad Belly
always seems to bring rotten luck. He's not bad himself, mind you; he just
never thinks about what he's supposed to be doing. Always locked in his head,
tied up with questions about useless things. You want to know where the biscuit
root is coming up first? Ask him. You want to know where the juncos will build
a nest next spring? He'll show you—and be right about it."

 
          
 
"That's not exactly worthless. That kind
of knowledge could save a clan during hard times." Black Hand cradled his
chin, staring thoughtfully at the fire. "You don't really like him, do
you?"

 
          
 
She narrowed her eyes. "No, I suppose I
don't. He's not . . . well, the way a man ought to be. He's not out hunting and
scouting and building things. You tell him to go fetch a load of primrose
flowers because Pretty Woman is suffering menstrual cramps and he comes back a
half-day later empty-handed—because he forgot what he was after. Ask him about
it, and he'll tell you he got to thinking about where clouds come from. How can
you like someone who acts like that? He doesn't have any sense.”

           
 
“He has a bad arm. You can't expect him to
carry on like he's a whole man."

 
          
 
"That Five Pebbles does over in
Greasewood."

 
          
 
"I amputated his arm." A pause.
"He was one who lived."

 
          
 
"Quit that."

 
          
 
Black Hand vented an exasperated sigh. "I
worry about it. It's as if . . . well, as if my Power is leaving. Sometimes I
almost believe that I've lost the ability to channel Spirit Power. The Dreams
are just as Powerful as ever, but they don't translate to this world."

 
          
 
"If the Power's fading, I don't suppose
you'd want to be my lover again?" She shot him a challenging look.

 
          
 
He laughed. "No. I don't think I could
take the scandal. What were you then? Forty? Fifty?"

 
          
 
"And you were barely twenty! Hah! But I
was damn good, don't you think?"

 
          
 
"No wonder Right Hand died. You wore him
out."

 
          
 
She chuckled, and hated the stitch of pain
that came. Her ribs weren't as flexible anymore. "I'd have liked the
chance to wear you out, too. There's a certain delight to be had in a young
man. I think it's a strength in the blood that keeps him ready and eager. I
feel better when I couple with a young man. As if I draw something from the
seed. You're a Healer. What do you think? Does an older woman gain strength
from a young man? Does he shoot a bit of his robust soul into her womb?"

 
          
 
"I can't tell you."

 
          
 
"Want to try to make me strong
again?"

 
          
 
"A man who may be losing Power doesn't
fool with that sort of thing. If I were to take an interest in a woman again,
it would be Bitterbrush I'd seek."

 
          
 
Larkspur gave him a toothless grin.
"You'd have to get through me first. I still run this camp."

 
          
 
"And if it turns out that my Power is
fading? What if I took an interest in Bitterbrush?"

 
          
 
Her blinking eyelids veiled a pensive look.
"You might talk me into it, provided you could show me where the advantage
is to Round Rock."

           
 
Black Hand stared at the fire absently.
"You know, I'll miss you when you're gone. You have a flair for
leadership. I always admired that in you."

 
          
 
"If you choose Bitterbrush over following
Power, you let me know."

 
          
 
He sucked at his lips, a frown deepening on
his face. "I might think about it. But let's go back to the witching.
I'm-"

 
          
 
"You think they'll quit sending for you?
Try to avoid you?"

 
          
 
His smile looked humorless. "Maybe. Maybe
something more."

 
          
 
"Declare you to be an outcast?"

 
          
 
He nodded sourly.

 
          
 
She studied him from the corner of her eye.
He'd grown more handsome over the years, if that were possible. Her heart beat
faster. Pus and maggots, she'd missed having a strong man in her life.

 
          
 
Black Hand
steepled
his fingers. "A Spirit Man shouldn't have to worry about banishment. Why
is this happening? What have I done? I've never witched anyone. I need to be
free to concentrate on the Power, feeling it, seeking it. Maybe that's my
problem. I'm too frightened of harsh talk, too fond of fires and people and
hearing the gossip."

 
          
 
"And too tainted by passion?"

 
          
 
For a moment the old sparkle returned to his
eyes. "Could be. You're still a distraction."

 
          
 
Liar! But to have heard that from him warmed
her. "Have you thought about searching out Singing Stones? He's staying in
a rock shelter on the south end of the
Grass
Meadow
Mountains
—if he's still alive."

 
          
 
"I thought you didn't like him."

 
          
 
Larkspur snorted. "I hate him—and respect
him at the same time. He's one of the few . . . oh, never mind."

 
          
 
"One of the few you couldn't order
around." Black Hand lifted his arms in a defensive gesture. "Don't
give me that look. We've known each other for too long. You've always been a
force to reckon with, and it drove you as mad as a spring calf when Singing
Stones gave you those amused, lost-in-his-head looks."

           
 
She glared at him for a moment and then
relented. "Maybe. But just because I couldn't manipulate him, it doesn't
mean that I don't respect his Power. That's what it is, you know. Power. When
he looks at the world, it's through eyes that see beyond human motives. He
isn't of this world. Power hangs on his shoulders like a white buffalo
robe."

 
          
 
"You didn't like it when he started
talking about Power being available to everyone, as I recall."

 
          
 
"All I know about Power is that it suits
me to have the clan believe that I have a better way with it than the rest of
them do. Keeps them from getting ideas. Singing Stones used to talk about Power
being everywhere. That bothered me." She ran her fingers down the crease
of a fox hide that she used for warming her hands during cold weather.

 
          
 
"Used to? You talk about him as if he
were dead."

 
          
 
Larkspur lifted a shoulder. "He did me a
favor when he went away . . . when Power told him to go up into the mountains.
With him out of my hair, I got more things done my way. Funny why he left.
Something about that bundle Cattail stole. I remember that day at the
Gathering. Singing Stones walked into the council circle and stopped before
that wolf hide they'd laid the bundle on. He picked up the bundle and the
muscles bulged on his arms and the tendons stood out from the backs of his
hands. He shivered all over before he screamed and fell to his knees. Said he
saw a man's form shining where the sun pierced the clouds. Said that the bundle
had to be returned to the Wolf People's Keeper or we'd suffer for it.

 
          
 
"Wasn't more than an hour later that the
Wolf People showed up. We did all right, I guess. Traded the bundle back to
them in exchange for meat and pine nuts for ten winters. And we made peace with
the Wolf People. According to legend, some of our ancestors came from that
clan."

 
          
 
Black Hand exhaled anxiously. "I couldn't
go up to the Grass Meadows. Not to see him."

 
          
 
She cocked her head. "I heard that you
and he had words once."

 
          
 
Black Hand continued to stare into some
distance that only he could see. "We argued over Power. He told me I
didn't know how to seek it, that I worried too much about this world and not
the 'One.' Whatever that is. He just looked at me as if he could see my soul.
Then he grunted to himself and walked off."

 
          
 
"Don't let it worry you. He's gone."

 
          
 
"Maybe, but I'm still here . . . with
whispers of witching running through the camps."

 
          
 
She considered for a moment before coming to a
decision. "Like I said, maybe I'll send Bad Belly over to Three Forks.
People like to talk to him. He can eat their food. He's moping anyway. Never
could understand what Warm Fire saw in him. Warm Fire . . . blood and dung, his
death's a blow. He made a good solid match for Bitterbrush. The man had
sense—even if he did come from that bunch down around
Sand
Wash.
"

 
          
 
Silence stretched. Black Hand broke it when he
sighed and raised his arms in a helpless motion. "Perhaps you're right.
Maybe I do like people too much. I thought that going down to that rock shelter
on the
Dartwood
River
—without any distractions—would let me get
back to my Power."