People of the Earth (51 page)

 
          
 
"Try?" Bad Belly whispered to
himself. Images from the Dream replayed: warriors rattling darts, people lying
dead and rotting in the sun, the terrible Dancers around the fire, White Ash .
. .

 
          
 
Singing Stones sighed in the darkness.
"You don't think Power comes without risks, do you? To carry the Wolf
Bundle away from the Wolf People, you'll have to gamble with your very life.
You must test yourself, risk all—and possibly die."

 
          
 
A sick sensation pulsed in Bad Belly's gut. He
clamped his eyes shut, but a fungal-green glow filled his memories. Not me.
That can't happen to me.

 
          
 
"Don't do this thing," White Ash
whispered in his ear. "Let's run away. Let's go to those Antelope People
you were talking about. Anything."

 
          
 
The thousand voices of the Dream called out in
shrieking terror as burning snow whirled around them. They rose to a thunderous
roar—then suddenly went silent.

 
          
 
The visions played on the back of his eyelids,
flickering with a reddish glare. He stared out over a camp full of bloating
bodies that reeked in the hot sun. Then a lame warrior dragged White Ash into
the light of the bonfire. The greenish glow widened in her pelvis, spreading,
consuming . . .

 
          
 
"I ... I have to go. I just have to,
that's all."

 
          
 
White Ash walked along the trail that led
uphill from Singing Stones' rock overhang. The unborn sun lit an orange glow behind
the irregular indigo horizon. The sky melted into the colors of sunrise, red
and yellow streaks puncturing the deeper violets and purples of cloud patterns
to the west. Far down on the western horizon, the last of the stars dimmed and
twinkled. Shadows lurked in the valley below her, charcoaling the lines of
sagebrush and juniper.

 
          
 
She sniffed the friable remains of the night
air, filling her nostrils with the scent of frost and dried vegetation. The
pungency of sage, mixed with the rich odor of spring-full juniper, soothed the
nagging disquiet in her soul.

 
          
 
She exhaled slowly so she could watch her
breath rise in twisting spirals and curls. Is this another test? Are you going
to take Bad Belly away from me, too?

 
          
 
She looked back along the narrow, undulating
trail that followed the wedding of sandstone cliff and fanning
colluvial
slope. The buff of the ragged sandstone that
walled the valley reflected the tenuous rose tones of predawn. Sage and
bitter-brush had woven their fibrous roots into the precarious soil, eking out
a living on the sun-washed southern slope. No more than four dart casts behind
her, Singing Stones' shelter blended with the rock, almost invisible—the
perfect abode for an ancient Dreamer.

 
          
 
She'd held Bad Belly after his Power Dream,
worry eating at her. She'd felt his tension in the aftermath of the Power that
had possessed him. When she'd coaxed him to talk about it, to share it with
her, he'd just shaken his head in obstinate refusal and insisted that
"everything will be all right."

 
          
 
After what had seemed like an eternity, he had
finally drifted off to a troubled sleep. He'd mumbled, the words indistinct and
slurred except for the few times he'd mewed her name and whimpered. When she
couldn't stand it any longer, she'd disengaged her arms from him and crawled
silently from under the covers. Only Trouble had noticed as she slipped out
into the chill of the morning.

 
          
 
Now she walked, trying to come to grips with
the fact: Bad Belly was about to sacrifice himself at the whim of Power.

 
          
 
What if it's another trick? She stared up at
the bluing sky and asked, "What if he's meant to die as a means of shaping
my destiny? What if Power wants to discard him now that he's served his purpose
and saved my life?"

 
          
 
The voice from behind startled her.
"You're starting to understand the ways of Power."

 
          
 
She gasped and whirled, fear leaping bright.
Singing Stones sat immobile on a flat slab of sandstone that had sloughed off
the buff
rimrock
. Wrapped in his robe, he blended
with the brown and gray of dawn's light. She'd walked right past him.

 
          
 
"Singing Stones? How did you get here? I
thought you were still asleep in the shelter." She placed a hand to her
chest to quiet her pounding heart.

 
          
 
The old man smiled, the wrinkles curling
around his mouth. He lifted a thin-boned hand to the strengthening morn.

           
 
"I like to come here every so often to
watch the sunrise . . . and to enjoy the One. First light is a good time to
simply sit and let yourself go. At this time of year, the moments before dawn
are the most peaceful. In summer, the insects and birds are making a racket.
But this early in spring, it's quiet, so quiet you can almost hear the grass
grow. That's when it's best to let the illusion slip away and experience the
One."

 
          
 
She shook her head and pinched the bridge of
her nose. "You're talking about the One . . . and Bad Belly's talked
himself into committing suicide on a Wolf People war dart. Doesn't it bother
you that a man like Bad Belly is about to walk off and risk his neck on some
foolish errand for a strange Power Bundle?"

 
          
 
His eyelids narrowed as he gave her a sideways
look. "For a woman who would be a Dreamer, you have interesting ideas
about one of the most Powerful objects in the world. It's a human thing, I
guess, to value your life more than you value the earth, the animals, the air,
or the people. You have a long way to go to find the One, girl."

 
          
 
She crossed her arms, scuffing the frozen dust
of the trail with a
moccasined
foot. Bad Belly's
moccasin, the one she'd been caught trying to put on that day at the
hot springs
. "You told me I had a choice to make.
I may decide not to find the One."

 
          
 
His lips twitched as he studied her; the black
eyes burned with an inner fire. "You may choose not to if you wish."
He paused. "But if that were to be your decision, I would have to wonder
what you are doing out here in the cold—and so preoccupied with what Power will
do to Still Water. A woman who would turn her back on Power—and the
future—wouldn't bother to worry about an insignificant crippled man who Dreams
of helping the Wolf Bundle."

 
          
 
She shot him her best scathing glare—and got
no response. He watched her through veiled eyes that could have stripped the
flesh from her soul. "I owe him, that's all."

 
          
 
He nodded with the slow deliberation of an
elder who has discovered truth. "Ah, now I understand. Obligations lead us
to strange actions. To study the trail of obligation through all of its twists
and turns is like tracing a bee's path through a field of wild flowers.''

 
          
 
He stopped, a delighted grin on his face, and
looked up in time to catch the first shining rays of the sun to clear the ridge
tops.

 
          
 
She followed his gaze, enjoying the respite
from his irritating words.

 
          
 
Only when the sun had finally cleared the
ridge and sent its golden light streaming into the canyon did Singing Stones
sigh and smack his lips. "Life is for moments like that." He glanced
at her. "And as for young women who would be Dreamers, the first lesson
they must learn is how to be honest with themselves."

 
          
 
She turned on him, leaning close. "I am
honest with myself."

 
          
 
His beneficent smile spread the wrinkles wide.
"Are you?"

 
          
 
"Of course. I live with myself. I know
what I want and why. I'm the person inside this body and soul. How could I be
dishonest with myself? That's like—"

 
          
 
"By failing to admit truth to
yourself," he interrupted.

 
          
 
"I admit truth."

 
          
 
"Do you? Then tell me, what frightens you
the most—Still Water going after the Wolf Bundle, or the fact that you might be
alone again if he's killed?"

 
          
 
She stopped, words half-formed in her throat.
She lifted her hands, letting them slap at her sides. "Singing Stones,
talk to him. Please. We can't let him go. He almost walked off the cliff the
other day. He's not a warrior. He doesn't have the cunning and daring a warrior
needs to sneak into an enemy camp and steal a sacred object like the Wolf
Bundle. He'll . . . he'll knock over a boiling paunch full of stew, or trip
over a lodge pole, or wake up the dogs. You know Bad Belly. He doesn't think
like a warrior. He's too . . . too vulnerable."

 
          
 
He remained impassive, head tilted back to
expose his face to the sun. "It would seem Power has more faith in Still
Water than you do."

 
          
 
"He's got a bad arm! Blood and guts, he
can't even throw two darts in a row! He'll get himself killed up there. I was
captured by one of the Wolf People. I know what they're like." She lowered
her voice. "I just can't let that sort of thing happen to Bad Belly."

 
          
 
“And you?"

 
          
 
She started. “Me? Bad Belly's the one going up
to—"

 
          
 
“If they captured him, what would it do to
you? Why are you so worried about him? I thought you didn't like men."

 
          
 
“Bad Belly's different."

 
          
 
“Oh? He's not a man?"

 
          
 
“That's not what I meant."

 
          
 
He smiled again, amusement twinkling in his
eyes. “I wonder what would happen if you ever told yourself the truth."

 
          
 
“How many times do I have to tell you? I know
myself better than you ever could."

 
          
 
He cocked his head. "Then you know the
reason you're worried sick is that you can't talk yourself into going with
Still Water to take the Bundle from the Wolf People. You're afraid of going up
on that mountain and putting yourself at risk."

 
          
 
“That's . . . that's totally wrong!"

 
          
 
“Is it? You know you're going to force
yourself to go with him. You have to, because another thing you refuse to admit
to yourself is that you've come to love and depend on Still Water. He has
become your security, the only person you can trust. You know you won't be able
to talk him out of going after the Wolf Bundle. You know he'll agonize over it
. . . and then answer the call. It's in his soul. That's his nature."

 
          
 
Her resistance flagged. “I suppose."

 
          
 
“Suppose? Is this another trick to hide from
yourself?"

 
          
 
She lowered herself to sit next to him on the
rock. "I'm still not convinced he's the right one for this." She
grabbed her thick hair and twisted it nervously. "And maybe I'm not the
right one either. Going up there ... the thought scares me to death. If
anything happened—if he got caught—I'm not sure I could force myself to go in
after him. I might just lie there in the brush and sob my fool head off when I
should be thinking, or acting."