People of the Earth (22 page)

 
          
 
"How do you know that's not the way it
is?"

 
          
 
"I don't. But it doesn't feel right to
me. I think you Earth People are changing. I think it's because of the way you
live. Maybe Larkspur is right. Maybe there are separate Spirits— but my soul
knows they're all part of the One."

 
          
 
Bad Belly ran fingers down his numb, shriveled
arm. "Larkspur told me one time that the Spirits would think I was foolish
for asking so many questions. She said that it didn't do any good to watch
things constantly, that Spirits had no use for a man who was always locked in
his head. That a person with responsibility should spend his time making sure
he didn't make the Spirits mad—that otherwise they might take something away,
keep the biscuit root from growing, or make the pine-nut harvest fail, or bring
a drought."

 
          
 
Left Hand scratched at his ear. "I think
that's all part of the One. The Spiral changes, and things change with the
Spiral. Maybe the biscuit root doesn't come up one spring. That's the turning
of the Spiral. It always comes up the next spring, or the one after that,
doesn't it?"

 
          
 
Warm Fire talked about the Spiral.

 
          
 
Bad Belly picked at his leggings, saying
lamely, "Of course it does. That's because we leave gifts for the Spirits
who make the biscuit root grow."

           
 
"You see, that's a major difference
between us. The Wolf People don't have to give things. We just have to be. We
just have to live with the One. We call to the elk or to the mountain sheep and
they share themselves. To repay them, we Sing their souls to the
Starweb
. You think you have to give something first, that
the Spirits are selfish—sort of like people."

 
          
 
"I still don't know that you're
right."

 
          
 
Left Hand studied him. "Then let me ask
you a question. If Spirit Power really worked that way, if you had to appease
Spirit Power, then my people should be starving, right? We don't leave curious
little gifts to keep the Spirit World happy. The biscuit root, the sego lily,
and the shooting star still grow. Elk and deer and mountain sheep still let us
kill them. We don't suffer from hunger."

 
          
 
Bad Belly's face puckered as he thought.
"But our Healers have always done it that way. They'd know, wouldn't they?
They know the ways of Power."

 
          
 
"Singing Stones came to our mountains and
seeks the One."

 
          
 
Singing Stones, the greatest of all the
Healers. Bad Belly had seen him only once since the old man had Sung over his
arm and saved his life. He could still remember the withdrawn look in the
Healer's eyes.

 
          
 
"What about you?" Left Hand asked.
"What are you going to do? Leave, like your friend asked?"

 
          
 
"I wish I could."

 
          
 
"What you wish, you should do."

 
          
 
"These are my people, my clan and
family." He shook his head. "It's hard. Where would I go? What would
I do? I ... oh, I don't know."

 
          
 
"Afraid?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly hesitated. Was that it? "I
suppose so. This is all I know. People take care of me here. I have a warm
place to stay. Plenty of food. If I get hurt, or sicken, someone will take care
of me. My ancestors are buried here—they keep watch. If I left? Well, the only
time I left before, it wasn't good. There are strange people in the world,
dangerous animals like silver bears, and warlike Sun People, and so many things
that could happen to a man."

           
 
"You must find your own Power." Left
Hand sighed. "But think of this. If you wake up someday, many winters from
now, and say to yourself, 'Warm Fire always wanted me to leave. I always wanted
to find out things, watch things, follow the track of the sun across the sky
and see beyond the farthest range of mountains. Why didn't I ever go?' Well,
that would be a terrible thing, wouldn't it? To know that you lived all your
life and never followed your Dreams?"

 
          
 
"But what if something happened? If I
froze to death, or fell and hurt myself? I did that once. People here took care
of me."

 
          
 
Left Hand smiled understandingly. "We
each must live our own life in our own way, Bad Belly. People die all the time,
and it is dangerous out there away from your clan." He paused. "But I
wonder, can a man who asks what the sun burns bear to live in this valley for
his whole life?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly licked his lips, irritated by the
sudden beating of his heart. Warm Fire had told him the Trader was coming.
Larkspur hadn't even let him stay when his friend lay dying. The night seemed
to press down on him, smothering, the air heavy and oppressive. If I don 't go
now, I never will.

 
          
 
"I made a promise."

 
          
 
"I couldn't hear what you said. You
mumbled."

 
          
 
"Which way are you going?" Bad Belly
closed his eyes, desperation tightening like a noose around his throat.

 
          
 
"North."

 
          
 
''North. Find the Dreamer. Promise.”

 
          
 
Bad Belly rubbed his fingers together; Warm
Fire's fevered grip clung in ghostly fashion to his flesh.

 
          
 
"Would you ... I mean . . . could I go
with you? North? At least for a while?"

 
          
 
Left Hand studied him in the darkness.
"After trying so hard to talk yourself out of it? Why?"

 
          
 
"Because of the promise I made to Warm
Fire. The one Larkspur would give so-much to know about."

           
 
Wind Runner forced himself to walk, when all
he wanted to do was sleep. Despite his weariness, a curious ecstasy filled him.
Two separate parties of hostile warriors had chased him—and he'd lost them
both! No matter that his very bones and muscles ached, he'd foxed both
groups—outwitted them all—and escaped while leading the pursuit away from his
people. Honor lay in that . . . along with a pulsing euphoria of triumph. He'd
lived when others would have killed him.

 
          
 
"So, what's the smile for? You look about
ready to fall over."

 
          
 
He grinned at White Ash. "Just thinking
about things."

 
          
 
"Things?"

 
          
 
"About how I kept alive while I was being
hunted like a rabbit."

 
          
 
She nodded and glanced back at the string of
dogs that followed in their tracks. The travois poles dragged hollowly on the
ground. She and Wind Runner walked in front since he knew the location of the
kill site. The sixty or so remaining people of the White Clay followed in
single file, Flying Squirrel and the young boy, Drummer, bringing up the rear.
They couldn't hide this trail, but if they moved fast enough, they might avoid
pursuit until they could find a place that could be defended. Perhaps the
buffalo would give them strength to continue their flight farther south.

 
          
 
"It seems almost like the end of the
White Clay." Wind Runner shook his head and sighed wearily.

 
          
 
White Ash squinted up at the sun that beat
down now, warm, bright. The snow had begun to turn to mush and the soil had
started to thaw into mud. Travel in the spring always caused problems. Tonight
moccasins would be wet, as would the rest of their clothing—and darkness would
bring renewed cold.

 
          
 
"Maybe it is. Flying Squirrel and I have
talked about that. Why don't you go join the Black Point? You have relatives
there. They'd take you in ... as long as you renounced all ties to the White
Clay."

 
          
 
Wind Runner lifted a shoulder absently.
"I suppose. My mother's sister, Two Antelopes, married Stone Fist, a Black
Point warrior. They would speak for me. I would have to declare my clan dead. I
suppose all of us could go. We'd be like . . . well, not like real people, not
part of the clan even if we lived with them. No one would listen to us in
council. We wouldn't have any say about where we were going or what we were
doing. We'd be strangers among them."

 
          
 
"There are ways. You've heard of Buffalo
Tail. He's one of the most respected elders on the Broken Stones' council. He
was Black Point originally. He earned his rights by duel."

 
          
 
"I just outran two war parties of Wolf
People. I wouldn't want to have to fight to make a place for myself." Or
did he? He'd survived when by rights he should have been killed. Power honored
men of courage who dared to try themselves.

 
          
 
Listlessly, she said, "It might not be
all that bad. You could at least find a woman to marry. Maybe a pretty young
woman, one who would bear you many children." When she saw his expression,
she made a gesture as if to toss her words away. "I'm sorry. Forgive me
for saying that. I didn't mean to hurt you. I think maybe I wanted to hurt
myself. I'm still missing Bright Moon, feeling grief over her death." She
paused. "Hating the thought of having to tell Sage Ghost."

 
          
 
"It'll break his heart." He let the
subject change, wanting to talk more about his love for her—afraid to at the
same time. Why continue to torture yourself? A smart man would try to ignore
her, keep her at a distance. He growled under his breath. I'm just not smart,
that's all.

 
          
 
They walked in silence. He stole a glance at
her, seeing the thoughts reflected in her face as she considered how to
approach Sage Ghost.

 
          
 
For a long moment he admired her beauty,
longing to reach out and touch her. The sway of her hips captivated him. Her
sorrow tortured his soul. I can't love her, no matter how much I want to. She is
my uncle's daughter. Among the White Clay, I must call her sister. However, if
I were to leave, to go among the Black Point and win my place there, I could
marry her. My clan would be renounced—dead. I would have no relatives. The idea
stunned him as he turned it over in his mind, looking at all sides. There would
be risks, of course. He'd have to fight for a place among the Black Point.
Could he do it? Could he win?

 
          
 
Far to the west, barely visible against the
rising foothills of the mountains, a flight of geese was winging north . . .
north . .