People of the Earth (49 page)

 
          
 
She stood and helped him to his feet. "I
don't know what I'd do without you, Bad Belly."

 
          
 
She caught the barest glimpse of his
expression before he turned to pick up his drill and black stone teeth. He'd
looked like a man about to be gutted.

           
 
Hot Fat removed the thick wrap of soft leather
he'd bound around Wind Runner's ankle. The swelling had gone down and the
bruise had healed. Wind Runner tensed as Hot Fat poked and prodded, but the
pain didn't spear him to the soul.

 
          
 
"There." Hot Fat gestured. "Go
walk on it. Make it strong again. Just don't hurt it for a while and you'll be
fine."

 
          
 
"You do good work," Wind Runner told
the old man as he wiggled his foot this way and that. Then he pulled his
moccasin on.

 
          
 
"Go on, go walk." Hot Fat waved him
away.

 
          
 
Wind Runner ducked out of the Soul Flier's
lodge and into the quiet evening. He could smell spring in the air.

 
          
 
The Black Point camp stood in the cottonwoods
on the north bank of the Fat Beaver River. Overhead, the leaves had started to
bud out, greening the tips of the branches and showering the camp with the bud
casings.

 
          
 
Wind Runner walked among the lodges, smelling
the evening cook fires, nodding and calling to people he'd met. He gave a
special greeting to others who had demonstrated their friendship by sharing
food and bringing small gifts. Somewhere a man and a woman screamed at each
other in a domestic battle. The camp went suddenly silent as people stopped their
talk to listen, heads cocked. Someone shushed the children in order to hear
better.

 
          
 
It all brought a smile to his lips as he
headed toward the edge of camp, happy to walk unencumbered again. He
experienced only a faint discomfort, a tenderness deep in the bone. Hot Fat had
done very well—possibly even better than Old Falcon might have done.

 
          
 
He stopped long enough to pat one of the dogs
that stepped out to greet him, then strolled on, past the edge of the camp.

 
          
 
To the west, the sun had just dipped below the
lavender shadows of the
Geyser
Mountains
. The snowfields on the highest peaks of the
Great Bear Mountains gleamed
redly
as they caught the
dying light. A meadowlark trilled out in the grassy floodplain, and his soul
warmed. The first one I've heard this season. Spring.

 
          
 
He chose a nearby rise for a destination and
wound his way toward it through the gray, wrinkled boles of the cotton-woods.
The grass whispered pleasantly against his moccasins.

 
          
 
He stepped up the cobble-cluttered side of the
knoll and filled his lungs with the evening scents, rich with river smells, new
grass and the living musk of the earth.

 
          
 
He caught sight of the woman at the same time
she saw him.

 
          
 
“I'm sorry, Aspen," he said. “I didn't
mean to disturb you."

 
          
 
She smiled—a neutral smile of courtesy—and
rose from the spot where she'd been sitting with her arms around her knees. “That's
all right. I didn't hear you coming. How's the ankle?"

 
          
 
“Your grandfather did a wonderful job with
it." He stepped over beside her and stood watching the colors play through
the sunset sky. “A peaceful evening."

 
          
 
“It is, isn't it?" She closed her eyes,
as if living in another place and time.

 
          
 
"You look wistful," he told her.

 
          
 
She crossed her arms, hugging herself. The
thick mass of her hair hung over her shoulders like a cape and fell in streams
to her waist. Unbraided, as it was now, it framed her delicate
heartshaped
face, augmenting her large, dark eyes. Her
straight nose and firm chin added to her beauty.

 
          
 
She exhaled wearily. “I suppose. I was
thinking about my husband. Sometimes I do that . . . walk out to be alone with
my memories. And you? You, too, have looked wistful recently."

 
          
 
He clasped his hands behind his back, eyes on
the distant horizon. 44 The woman I love is in the south. She's White Clay. Her
name is White Ash. Sometime soon I have to go search for her.''

 
          
 
Aspen
studied him from the corner of her eye. “From
the tone in your voice, you love her a great deal. I find it curious that a man
would leave his clan—and the woman he loves— to make a place in another
clan."

 
          
 
He caught an undercurrent in her voice. What
was it? Distrust? "As a White Clay, I couldn't marry her. The man who was
my father's brother had adopted her. She's no blood relation, but the rules of
the People are strict. I love her too much to have people whisper and make
jokes."

 
          
 
Aspen
nodded slowly, tension in the set of her
mouth. "I see."

 
          
 
"Do you?"

 
          
 
She lifted a graceful shoulder in a shrug.
"Love does funny things to people—men and women alike."

 
          
 
He grinned at her carefully chosen words.
"Listen, perhaps I should be going. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

 
          
 
She glanced up at him, head slightly tilted.
"You haven't bothered me."

 
          
 
"Well, I get the feeling you really don't
like me. I don't want to intrude. I wouldn't have stopped to talk if I didn't
spend so much time in your grandfather's lodge. I thought I'd simply thank you
for the wonderful meals you've prepared and tell you how much I have come to
respect your grandfather. Have an enjoyable evening."

 
          
 
He had taken several steps back the way he'd
come before she called out, "Wait."

 
          
 
He stopped and turned.

 
          
 
She walked up to him, arms still crossed,
frowning at the ground. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Grandfather
likes you a great deal." She gazed into his eyes as if searching the
nature of his soul. "You're welcome to share our meals at any time. I
appreciate what you do for Grandfather. He needs the company and enjoys the
chance to talk to younger people about the old days." She smiled
wistfully. "It's I who should apologize. Some people say I think too
much."

 
          
 
He nodded. "That's better than thinking
too little. I—"

 
          
 
The flash overhead distracted him. A garish
green fire swept through the sky, streaking from north to south.

 
          
 
"Blessed Thunderbird!"
Aspen
whispered. "What happened?"

           
 
Wind Runner swallowed hard and shook his head.
"I don't know." But it burned its way south toward . . . White Ash!

 
          
 
Larkspur stared at the streak of green light
that glared across the sky. "Witching light," she mumbled under her
breath.

 
          
 
Bitterbrush and Tuber stopped what they were
doing and stood beside her, staring soberly up into the night sky. Bitterbrush
said nervously, "I'll bet they go crazy about it over at Three Forks. Cattail
says that
Owlclover
is already making claims that
Black Hand witched Green Fire."

 
          
 
Larkspur tapped her shrunken chin with a bony
finger and thoughtfully studied the sky. "Green Fire? That thing burned
greenish. Did you see that?" She shook her head. "I think it's a
sign. No good will come of it, I tell you that. No good at all. Witching light.
Witching is loose—black, evil witching."

 
          
 
Where he stood next to his mother, Tuber
narrowed his eyes. Then he backed away and fled into the night on silent feet.

 
          
 
Wolfberry stripped long lengths of bark from a
choke-cherry limb with a hafted side scraper. The work kept his mind off the
worry that ate at him and at everyone in Three Forks camp. He heard the soft
scuff of moccasins and glanced up as Starwort ducked through the flap into the
lodge he shared with Basket. At the look on her face, his heart skipped.
"What's happened?'

 
          
 
"She lost the baby."

 
          
 
Wolfberry's work clattered from nerveless
fingers. He dropped his head into his hands as he stared at the packed clay
beneath his feet. "Oh, Blessed Creator. And . . . Basket?"

           
 
"The bleeding's stopped. She's going to
live. But—" Wolf berry looked up, his soul shriveling. "But?"
Starwort's
jaw muscles jumped under her broad cheeks.
"The pains started just after that witch light burned across the sky.
She's . . . well, I don't know how strong her mind is. She says she felt the
witching, that a witch killed her baby."

 
          
 
Wolfberry's hands twisted into fists as he
lurched unsteadily to his feet. "I'll find Black Hand! I swear it!"