People of the Earth (34 page)

 
          
 
How could he get her there? His mind went
blank.

 
          
 
Use the robe for a sled. The words echoed in
his ears.

           
 
He rolled her limp body onto the robe and set
out. His feet pained and goaded him. He blinked against the fatigue. Warmth.
Blessed, wonderful warmth, not so far ahead.

 
          
 
He grunted and wheezed as he willed himself
onward, forcing rebellious muscles to function—forgetting why he was working so
hard. Reason seemed like a slippery fish. Why was he doing this? Who was this
woman he towed? Where was he, anyway? He stared at the unfamiliar country and
lost his purpose.

 
          
 
“Pull the woman to the hot springs. Pull Bad
Belly, Pull '' The words sounded around him, spinning out of the glacial air.

 
          
 
Pull her to the
hot springs
. The world weaved and bobbed. His fingers
cramped where they locked in the hide. The landscape blanked out for whole
moments as he slid her along. He made his way step by step, keeping the river
on his left as he fought his way over the rough terrain.

 
          
 
He was still fighting, concentration knotted
around his goal, when the robe stopped sliding.

 
          
 
He stared stupidly at the rock that had appeared
underfoot. He shivered and panted for breath, perplexed by the problem. Cursed
bad Spirits, why wouldn't the robe slide? It had slid so well this far.

 
          
 
Trouble barked and bounded ahead to the
accompaniment of splashing. Bad Belly swiveled his oddly loose head and gaped
at Trouble where he snorted at the biting sulfur odor in the steam that rose
from a warm, turquoise pool.

 
          
 
Warm? No snow?

 
          
 
Bad Belly gazed at the rock he stood on. Rock,
not snow. He'd dragged the woman and the robe onto bare ground. He'd made it to
the
hot
springs
!
He pulled with all his might, tugging the resisting robe over the mineralized
stone to the edge of the pool.

 
          
 
In a daze, he splashed into the water,
shocking his flesh for a second time that day. Wonderful heat rose along his
skin, to tingle like a thousand stinging needles piercing his flesh. He sucked
lungs full of the steaming sulfur air and splashed in delight . . . until his
glance happened to fall on the unconscious woman.

           
 
Perplexed, he stared, wondering where she'd
come from. He sloshed out and pulled the woman off the robe. He tugged the coat
off of her and got his good arm under her shoulder, lifting, splashing into the
water with her. He settled her into the pool and gasped at the heat that soaked
into his own shivering body.

 
          
 
He kept her nose up, enjoying the sensation of
her hair streaming around him. He tried to think and gave up. Killing cold did
that, shut off the mind. For the moment, he would simply sit and let the heat
in the aqua water drive the cold from his limbs.

 
          
 
Hours later the sun had sunk low against the
high bluffs to the west. Bad Belly's thoughts remained disjointed, his head
muddled with fuzz like cattail down.

 
          
 
She stirred in his arms, mumbling to herself.

 
          
 
"Are you all right?" Bad Belly
asked.

 
          
 
She lashed out in panic, striking at the
water.

 
          
 
"Here, easy, you're safe," he said.
"Safe."

 
          
 
She turned in his arms, looking up at him with
vacant eyes. Then she did the most incredible thing. She began to cry as she
dropped back into unconsciousness.

 
          
 
"It's all right," he assured her
soothingly as he held her closer. "You're safe now."

           
 
White Ash drifted in warmth, her thoughts
broken and confused. A pungent odor—that of sulfur and noxious minerals—clogged
her nostrils.

 
          
 
The nightmare played itself out again. She
screamed as Three Bulls choked her into submission, his hot breath on her
cheek. She relived the pain as he penetrated her. Ghostly images of the Wolf
People's raid on the White Clay lingered in the background as she sobbed in
despair.

           
 
"Nothing is left," she whimpered to
herself. "All the beauty is gone from the world. Only suffering remains.
Suffering, and hunger, and cold."

 
          
 
"To live, you must be reborn," a
deep voice whispered in her mind.

 
          
 
Her soul quaked in fear. Fragments of her
dreams whirled away, no more than curls of smoke on a windy day. Golden light
filtered in bars through a gray haze. The warm-honey sensation of the One
wrapped around her. A face formed in the golden glow. The handsome young man
smiled at her, and a path opened to her heart.

 
          
 
"The Bundle waits for you, Mother of the
People. Prepare yourself Find yourself That which was, like all of life, is no
more. To know, you must learn. To feel, you must experience. To Dream, you must
hope. All else is fantasy and imagination . . . illusion. The way must come
from the knowledge of the past, the pain of the present, and the hope of the
future. What seems real, is not. All about you is illusion. As a dart is
crafted from rough wood, stone, feather and gut, so is a leader of the People
fashioned. The Power of the Dreamer comes from strength. Like a dart shaft
hardened in the fire, you can become more than you were . . . and less. ''

 
          
 
"You talk in contradictions."

 
          
 
The sun gleamed from his eyes while the golden
glow deepened. The One pulsed around her. "Contrasts, good and evil, light
and dark, are the source of life . . . and illusion. Only the One has no
contrasts. Only the One is real. All that is and is not. Prepare yourself and
seek the Bundle. Through it, you will experience the One. You must prepare the
way. The seeds of the future will be planted by your words, your actions,
Mother of the People. Only you can renew the Dream."

 
          
 
"Who are you?"

 
          
 
He laughed, fiery rays shooting forth like
darts to illuminate a golden forest swathed in flames that danced from bough to
bough. The image of the burning forest melted into a curiously warm vision of a
blizzard-scoured land of snow and ice. A young man lifted a wolf heart to the frigid
air, greedily sucking the warm blood from the steaming muscle.

           
 
Wolf Dream! an old woman's voice echoed eerily
from the swirling snow.

 
          
 
The vision spun, storm fading into golden
mist. A young man knelt in a clearing surrounded by jutting bastions of rock.
Before him lay the carcass of a black wolf. The man extended his hands and
lifted the heart from the body while a shimmering illumination grew around him.

 
          
 
White Ash could feel Power renewed, as if a
multitude of souls cried out in jubilation. The heart the young man held up to
the night sky grew bright like a star and rose in a gleaming haze.

 
          
 
She felt herself lifted, borne aloft by the
Power of the glowing man of light. Like an eagle, she looked down on the world
below. Despite the darkness, she could see herself floating in a hot spring as
she rose through the billows of steam. She flew like a bird, grasped in his
warm, reassuring arms.

 
          
 
"Mother of the People, all that was, is
no more. You are renewed by the waters, born again as is the seed cast upon the
Earth Mother and given life by water from above,"

 
          
 
She turned her head, catching the beat of
flaming wings. "Thunderbird," she whispered, “I am truly dead."

 
          
 
"Reborn,' ' Thunderbird whispered back as
they sailed out over the snow-shrouded basin. The
Gray
Deer
River
glinted silver in the light of the stars.

 
          
 
An old woman's reedy voice crowed in the air:

 
          
 
Come the Brothers! Born of Sun,

 
          
 
One is slain. Here by the long trail, his
corpse is laid.

 
          
 
Blood is spread, from the head. Black one goes
, , , aye, he's dead.

 
          
 
He who loves is lost and gone. Render of the
fair heart's song.

 
          
 
Woman weep, for not you know. South, ever
south we go , , . find an end to the blowing snow.

 
          
 
On mighty wings Thunderbird dove from the
dizzying heights. White Ash choked a cry of fear as she felt herself falling,
whirling and weightless. The earth below blurred into a gray haze.

 
          
 
Her cry echoed in the sudden emptiness of her
soul. The peaceful floating returned, warmth massaging her flesh.

 
          
 
Am I dead? Is that what this feeling of warm
peace is? She blinked her eyes and came awake to the feel of water lapping
around her body. She filled her lungs, sucking in all the cool air she could
hold. Her heart beat strongly in her chest, blood rushing in her veins.

 
          
 
"I'm alive," she whispered to
herself.

 
          
 
Stars poked through shadowy patches of
night-shaded clouds. A light breeze blew foggy steam past her face. The air
around her felt warm despite the snow that lay deep on the surrounding buttes.

 
          
 
She groaned and moved, feeling the body under
hers shift. Afterimages of the wondrous Dream burst like ruptured bladders.
Three Bulls leered out from her haunted memories and grinned through the
hideous wreckage of his face. Panic seized her.

 
          
 
"Are you feeling better now?" a kind
voice asked.

 
          
 
She readied herself to strike out. "Don't
hurt me. Please. Just . . . just don't hurt me."

 
          
 
"Easy. You're safe—at least for the
moment. You almost drowned."

 
          
 
"Drowned?" She sought sense among
the jumbled thoughts.

 
          
 
"In the river. You tried to cross and
lost your footing."

 
          
 
Memories came rushing back: killing Three
Bulls, the terrible flight from the rock shelter, the lurking dread dogging her
footsteps, futility and fear.

 
          
 
She nerved herself to ask, "Who . . . who
are you?"

 
          
 
"I am Bad Belly, a man of the Round Rock
clan."

 
          
 
"Round Rock? The Earth People? Then ...
I've crossed the
Sideways
Mountains
?" Had she? She should have remembered
that. How much of myself have I lost?

 
          
 
"No. You're still north of the mountains.
You see, it was all Trouble's fault. He followed a wolf up the mountain in the
middle of the storm. I . . . well, I got lost when I went to find him. The snow
was blowing terribly, you see. The only way I knew to go was down. Left Hand
must think I'm a real idiot."

 
          
 
Trouble? He? Another man she might have to
fight off? White Ash steeled herself. "Trouble?"

 
          
 
"My dog. There he is, over by the rocks
there." Bad Belly pointed.

 
          
 
She made out the shape of a black-and-white
dog who watched them with cocked ears. Her fear slackened. He didn't look like
much of a dog—but the light was poor. She shook her head, confused. "I
don't understand."

 
          
 
"I don't either." He hesitated.
"I think it's because of Power. Are you the Dreamer?"

 
          
 
"Dreamer?"

 
          
 
She could feel him nod.

 
          
 
"The Dreamer." He paused—as if
reluctant. "A friend of mine, Warm Fire, said that I was supposed to leave
Larkspur's camp and go north to save the Dreamer. I guess I don't really
believe it—despite the Power Dream I had. You see, generally, in the legends
anyway, Power sends a hero to rescue people like Dreamers. I'm not, well . . .
very heroic."

 
          
 
She closed her eyes. "I'm no
Dreamer."

 
          
 
A long silence stretched while she waited for
him to move, prepared to strike back when he reached for her. She should flee,
leap from the water and dash away into the darkness. But dash where? Running
quick hands over her body, she realized that she lay naked. Wet and naked, how
long would she last out in the snow?

 
          
 
"You're not the Dreamer?" He sounded
miserable.

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
His frustrated sigh carried no element of
threat. "Then I made a mess of things again. I was hoping you were the
Dreamer and I might be able to go home. That is, if Trouble and I can find the
way."

 
          
 
Her mind began to function again. Killing this
man might not be so difficult. Then she could make her way . . . where?
"What are you going to do with me?"

 
          
 
He started. "Do with you?"

 
          
 
"Are you going to rape me, too?"

 
          
 
"Rape you?" He sounded genuinely
confused. Then:

           
 
“Oh. Is that what happened? I—I saw the
bruises when I pulled you out of my coat. I mean I . . ." She could feel
him shake his head. "Who'd do that sort of thing? I mean, what sort of man
... Is that who you were running from? Maybe we should get away and . . . No,
we'd better not. All my clothes are wet."

 
          
 
"I killed him," she growled. Blood
and guts, what had she said? He'd be on guard now. I'm not thinking clearly. Be
careful, White Ash. You need all your wits. You have to use your head or you
'11 never kill him and get away.

 
          
 
She bunched her fists, ready to attack, but he
only sat up to stare at her. In the darkness his image was nothing more than a
shadow. What had he done to her while she lay helpless? The thought of it
sickened her.

 
          
 
“He beat you, too, didn't he? That's where the
bruises came from—and the marks on your breasts and face."

 
          
 
When he gestured, he did so with only one
hand. Where was the other? Holding some weapon? She got her feet under her,
ready to spring should he attack.

 
          
 
"Can I do anything to help?" He
sounded sincere.