People of the Earth (70 page)

 
          
 
She ran her fingers down Still Water's back,
causing him to stir. The terrible yearning for him battled with the desire for
the One. He shifted, exhaling happily.

 
          
 
"Wake up," she whispered into his
ear.

 
          
 
"What is it? What's wrong?"

 
          
 
"Nothing," she teased, and bit his
ear. "I want you again. That's all."

 
          
 
If only she could believe she had forever.

 
          
 
Shelters had been constructed of poles and
covered with a weaving of sagebrush; they intermingled with the thick band of
green-leafed cottonwood trees on the broad floodplain of the
Spirit
River
. Behind the Gathering, irregular hills of
blue-and-white mudstones rose to merge with the truncated sage flats beyond.
Blue spirals of smoke rose from the many fires to dissipate into the endless
sky. To the west, the mountains lifted in flat gray slabs that gave way to the
cool green of forested slopes and finally to the snow-patched granite of the
highest peaks, jutting arrogantly toward the sky.

 
          
 
Larkspur sighed as she walked down the spine
of the last ridge. As was proper, she led her clan, while
Limbercone
,
Phloxseed
, and Pretty Woman followed in her steps.
Behind them came the families.

 
          
 
Three days of rain had slowed her progress,
and she'd cursed the storm that left her and the others drenched and cold.
She'd doable-cursed the sticky mud that clung to her feet and added more misery
to her tired steps. They'd arrived late because of her. Round Rock could travel
no faster than Larkspur's ancient legs could carry her.

 
          
 
Coupled with weary relief at having arrived at
last came the knowledge that this might well be the last Gathering she would attend.

 
          
 
"See, you didn't miss the Gathering. Your
worries were groundless,"
Limbercone
told her,
gesturing at the peaceful valley.

 
          
 
"It's the first day," Larkspur
growled. "The council is already formed, and people are flapping their
jaws about boundary disputes and who's done what to who."

 
          
 
Limbercone
chuckled.
"And you've missed the opening rounds of gossip."

 
          
 
"It pays to know the gossip, girl. Never
forget that. You know what's about to happen and can act first if you have to.
How do you think I kept Round Rock high in everyone's mind all these
years?"

 
          
 
Children, surrounded by excited, barking dogs,
ran out to greet them, calling out the news, eager to see who the newcomers
were.

 
          
 
Larkspur forced herself to hobble faster,
hating the swelling in her ankles and knees. Her hips burned and her muscles
trembled, but she made it across the open patch to the shade of the trees. Did
the sun always have to burn so cursed hot after a rain?

 
          
 
The
Spirit
River
ran almost bank-full with turbulent, muddy
water that sent a soft shushing through the air. Lodges had been placed here
and there amid the trees, and curls of smoke rose on the
midday
breeze. A throng of people was sitting in
the shade of the cottonwoods.

 
          
 
Larkspur slowed, halting at the edge of the
spectators. No one noticed her arrival; the speaker at the far end held
everyone's attention.

           
 
"Witching is tearing us apart!"
Owlclover
of Three Forks railed at the morning sky with a
clenched fist. "We have paid the price. You know the accusations we've
made in the past. Now the witch has claimed Basket's infant and Green
Fire!"

 
          
 
Uneasy mumbles rose from the people.

 
          
 
"And who is this witch?" Bone Ring
asked sourly. The leader of Bad Water clan sat cross-legged in the shade on a
fine
sheephide
robe, her gray hair pulled into two
thick braids. She stared antagonistically at
Owlclover
before adding, "This talk of witching is meaningless. You'll all sit here
and squawk and fight like strutting grouse while the coyote stalks in the
sagebrush."

 
          
 
"Sun People don't frighten me anywhere
near as bad as a witch!"
Owlclover
crossed her
arms. "What are Sun People? Ragged buffalo hunters from the north, that's
what! We can worry about them all we want, and in the meantime, witches will
walk among us and work their evil. If I had a choice of problems, I'd take Sun
People any day. If they show up in our land, we'll send our warriors to drive
them back. What will scattered buffalo hunters be against our men? But a witch?
A witch sneaks around and works its evil under the flesh—like a worm in the
gut-—until we're weak and dying."

 
          
 
"The Wolf People wiped out a camp of your
'ragged buffalo hunters' just across the mountains from my camp," Bone
Ring asserted. "I haven't seen witching—but I've listened to the Wolf
People talk."

 
          
 
"Let them worry! They won't give up the
Gray
Deer
Basin
to Sun People! Let their warriors keep the
Sun People to the north."
Owlclover
turned,
lifting her hands as she searched the faces around her. "We can't be
concerned about what's happening in the north. That's a long way from here. We
must worry about now! About the evil that stalks in our midst."

 
          
 
"Very well," Bone Ring called.
"Tell us who. Name this witch. We've heard your stories about shadow
figures in the sagebrush. So you've seen tracks in the snow? What of it? Snow
takes tracks well. I don't care what Green Fire cried when she died. People see
things when they die that may or may not be there. Tell me who these witches
are."

           
 
Owlclover
took a
deep breath and responded, "We think Black Hand has turned to evil. We
think he's the witch."

 
          
 
The listeners' mutters grew. Larkspur elbowed
her way forward. She stepped into the open and cocked her head, staring at
Owlclover
. "An interesting accusation. You name Black
Hand? You think he's a witch?"

 
          
 
Owlclover's
eyes
narrowed. "You should know. Who was present when your Warm Fire died?
Think! Look back! How many people did Black Hand Sing for who died? Count
them." She held up her hands, pointing to her fingertips as she named
names.

 
          
 
People shuffled nervously, nodding.

 
          
 
Larkspur laughed out loud. "I had thought
better of Three Forks. I sorrowed the day I heard of Green Fire's death. Did
she teach you no wisdom, girl?"

 
          
 
A strained silence settled on the council.

 
          
 
"What are you after, Larkspur? What's
your stake in this? Trying to protect him? Even after all these years? Does
your heart blind your soul? Where is he? Where has he been? Why isn't he here
to face the people? A witch hides, steals through the night and makes his evil.
Have you seen Black Hand since Warm Fire's death?"

 
          
 
"Oh, I've seen him."

 
          
 
"Then you're the only one! No one else
has."

 
          
 
The hiss of whispering voices grew louder.

 
          
 
Larkspur cocked her head. "Tell me,
leader of Three Forks, what does a witch most desire? What is the one thing a
witch will never give up?"

 
          
 
"The Power of the evil Spirits that he
controls. Don't play games with me."

 
          
 
Larkspur nodded, the giddy feeling of victory
in her veins. "And don't play games with me, either. A witch must seek
Power, must seek its use. The craving becomes overwhelming. Every moment of his
life is spent Dreaming the ways of the Spirits who help him with his evil. The
craving feeds on itself, grows like a fungus until it fills his soul. He can
think of nothing else but using his tainted Spirit Power. That y s what it is
to be a witch!"

           
 
"That's the way it is,"
Owlclover
agreed, jerking her chin in a defiant nod.

 
          
 
“Good," Larkspur said reasonably.
"Then leave my son-in-law's name out of witching."

 
          
 
The whispering broke out again. Larkspur
experienced a swelling of pride. Look at the shocked faces! Best entertainment
they've had in ten tens of seasons!

 
          
 
"Son-in-law?"
Owlclover
glanced about, knowing the ground had turned to slush under her feet, but
unsure of why.

 
          
 
Larkspur turned and called, "Bitterbrush!
Black Hand! Come here." As the two stepped through the ring of people, all
eyes centered on them. Black Hand gave the leader of Three Forks a disdainful
stare.

 
          
 
Larkspur lifted a shaky arm to the crowd.
"You noticed that no one had seen Black Hand? A man who is courting
doesn't spend time socializing with others. He's been falling in love with
Bitterbrush. A witch, you say?" Larkspur chuckled. "Maybe he is. He's
been doing a lot of things I don't know about in his wife's robes."

 
          
 
"Grandmother!" Bitterbrush's dusky
features brightened with a scarlet flush.

 
          
 
A chuckle bubbled up from the crowd.

 
          
 
"What witch gives up his evil Power for a
woman? Hmm? Tell me that, leader of Three Forks."

 
          
 
Owlclover
glared at her;
the muscles of her face bunched as she ground her jaws. Both hands had clenched
into fists, the veins standing out. "I know your tricks, Larkspur. It's
not over."

 
          
 
At that, the leader of Three Forks turned on
her heel, beckoning angrily to her clan. Starwort and Shadblow rose and
followed. Basket hesitated for a moment, an eerie black look marring her face,
before she, too, stalked off.