People of the Fire (61 page)

 
          
 
Change the land the People tread.

 
          
 
Find a new way . . . or we’ll all be dead.

 
          
 
Learn the grass, learn the root, the berry.

 
          
 
Time is short, life not merry.

 
          
 
Pound and grind, grind and pound,

 
          
 
While the hot wind blows around.

           
 
"What do you want?"

 
          
 
The dry wind gusted in answer. Blinking
frantically, Little Dancer reached up, ever up, toward the blue inevitability
of the sky.

 
          
 
Not for years had Heavy Beaver seen a summer
coming this hot and dry. Not since the deep cold had any snow fallen, and then
but a wisp that had dried the next day. Only the
Buffalo
Mountains
, from all reports, had received anything
like adequate moisture. As if they understood, the buffalo had taken the trails
up to the high meadows, filling the land of the
Anit'ah
with their wealth. Other herds had dispersed here and there, scattering until
only lone animals could be found in the uplands. Along the rivers, where the
flow fed the riparian grasses, his hunters had ambushed and killed many of the
animals, knowing that they must return to the only water available.

 
          
 
With his main camp, Heavy Beaver walked,
following the trail left by his warriors. The trail wound round about, tied by
necessity to the availability of water. They walked over a scarred
land—rivulets had eaten into the denuded soil, only to fill with blowing dust
and sand. Even the dogs looked miserable, panting and laboring under their
loads as the pads of their tough feet bruised on the deflated pebbles and cut
on angular rock.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver did not lead the only band of the
People. Two Stones came from farther east, and Seven Suns' runners reported
that he traveled south from the mouth of
Mud
River
where it met the
Buffalo
tributary of
Big
River
. From the south, Elk Whistle's tattered
band picked their slow way up from
Sand
River
, reporting that the blowing sand now
blanketed the very sky, leaving the gritty air black. They had already taken to
eating their dogs.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver squinted at the rising parapets
of the
Buffalo
Mountains
. Here his warriors would win him a
victory—or he would face a challenge more terrible than any they faced warring
with the
Anit'ah
.

 
          
 
"The
Anit'ah
eat roots and seeds," Red
Chert
had told him.
"Perhaps that's a way to keep hunger away?"

 
          
 
He'd slapped her, glaring down at her where
she had fallen, a hand pressed to her mouth. "We're men, not diggers in
the dirt like
Anit'ah
. Buffalo Above and the Wise One
placed buffalo here for men to eat. Meat is the food of strength, of Power.
Roots will weaken my warriors." He'd looked to the rising swell of the
Buffalo
Mountains
with their gleaming cap of snow. "No,
we'll go where Buffalo Above leads us. This year, yes, this year we take the
mountains."

 
          
 
But he'd heard others when they thought him far
away. "The
Anit'ah
eat roots—and I don't see
their blood going weak!"

 
          
 
"I'll take your mountains," Heavy
Beaver promised. "On my mother's soul, I swear it. By the very blood in my
veins, I'll not have silly women out gathering roots, gaining power in the
lodges through the food they obtain. No! No man will be held hostage by that.
They won't turn the cleansing of the People back in that manner. I'll have
every last one of us dead by an
Anit'ah
war dart
first!"

 
          
 
He clenched a fist and shook it at the mountain
wall.

 
          
 
"Wolf Bundle? Reach . . . reach for him
now! Fill him with your need. Act. Act now!''

 
          
 
White Calf awoke with the feeling of
premonition. Power had disturbed her sleep, playing with the little corners of
her Dream mind. The last of the Dreams, however, had played as powerfully as
life itself. The images lingered, sharply edged, so real she could practically
reach out and touch them were she to extend her withered arm.

 
          
 
So her time had come at last. She opened her
eyes, focusing on the comfortable interior of her shelter. In the peace of the
morning, she let her vision trace the familiar belongings that hung from the
pegs and rested in the niches. The ancient Spiral pecked into the back wall
seemed to dominate the room this morning. As the morning sun peeked over the
distant mountains, a single sliver of sunlight pierced the hangings and lanced
the Spiral with a brilliant shaft of light.

 
          
 
White Calf pulled her hair back, working her
mouth to rid it of the stale night taste. Her bones crackled and groaned as she
got up from her bedding, walking over to stir the sagebrush ash in the fire.
She dropped tinder on red-eyed coals. Blowing gently, she coaxed a fire and
began heating boiling stones.

 
          
 
Tanager lay covered with hides, a slender arm
projecting from under the covers. Her slim hand lay limp, fingers in a curl.
Here and there wisps of shining black hair poked out from under the protection
of the bedding.

 
          
 
White Calf sucked thin lips in over her gums.
A longing went out to the girl. Curious how Power worked. Tanager, the wild
girl of the forest and hunt, had been drawn up, lifted into the Spiral.

 
          
 
Building a roaring fire, White Calf waited for
the stones to heat while she used a sharp
chert
flake
to shave dried meat into the boiling pouch. After the water floated thick with
chips of meat, she added biscuit root, balsam, and the last of her carefully
preserved onions. What little
ephedra
she had left,
she threw in. Tanager would need it.

 
          
 
After that, she stepped over Tanager and
inspected the stack of things propped against the back wall. She took her
atlatl
and the bundle of darts she'd so carefully crafted.
One by one, she inspected them, checking for cracks in the wood, making sure
the fletching hadn't been ruined by the rodents. The bindings remained tight
where the deadly stone points fastened to the shafts. Good work, some of the
best she'd ever done. The points had been crafted by Three Toes, who— with the
knack of the plains people—created the most wonderful points she'd ever seen.
Now the stone rippled in the morning light. She ran a caressing finger over the
darts, blessing them, lifting them to her lips to blow a bit of her soul into
them. The missiles—along with her
atlatl
—she placed
next to the two darts belonging to Tanager.

 
          
 
She turned back to the fire, using her hearth
sticks to pluck the cobbles from the coals and drop them into the boiling
pouch. At the hiss and sizzle of the water, Tanager jerked and sat up, staring
wild-eyed around the shelter.

 
          
 
"We'll eat in a bit. There's not much
time this morning— but maybe enough."

 
          
 
"You keep saying that." Tanager
combed her thick tangles of hair back with long thin fingers.

 
          
 
"I thought as much last night. This
morning, I know. Dreams were loose on the land."

 
          
 
Tanager nodded, closing her eyes and shaking
her head, as if to rid it of her own apparitions.

 
          
 
White Calf nodded to herself, well imagining
the nightmares Tanager had relived. She took one of her beautifully carved horn
spoons and dipped it in the steaming stew.

 
          
 
"Here, girl, eat. Eat all you can. You're
going to have a hard day."

 
          
 
Tanager winced as she stood, color draining
from her face.

 
          
 
"Here, take this with you. Chew it as you
need." She handed the young woman a small pouch. "It's an extract I
make out of willow bark. You peel it, and boil it, and when you boil the water
away, scrape up the residue. It works on pain for some reason.
Willow
has lots of wonderful properties."

 
          
 
Tanager took a stiff step, trying to keep her
expression neutral. She lowered herself carefully and took up the bowl, sipping
cautiously at the steaming liquid. She glanced up. "You talk like you know
something's going to happen today."

 
          
 
White Calf smiled absently, eyes locked on
eternity. "I Dreamed . . . Dreamed like never before. I don't understand
it all, not yet. But I heard the Wolf Bundle. It whispered in my Dreams."

 
          
 
Tanager studied her from the corner of a
suspicious eye.

 
          
 
"Ah, skepticism. Is that what Blood Bear
has taught you all? No wonder the heart's gone out of the Red Hand. Indeed, the
Wolf Bundle whispered in my sleep. And I Dreamed of the First Man, saw him,
shining and wonderful, smiling and reaching down to me after the Wolf Bundle
had given me its message."

 
          
 
Tanager drained the horn and looked across.
"And what message was this? What does the Wolf Bundle want you to
do?"

 
          
 
White Calf smiled, propping her chin on
gnarled fists. “Not me, girl. It's you the Wolf Bundle wanted to talk to. It
said, tell Tanager to help the Dreamer."

 
          
 
She shook her head, standing up, wincing at
the pain. "You keep saying that. Are there any clothes for me here?"

 
          
 
White Calf sighed, grunting as she got to her
feet. "Before you dress, let me clean those wounds again. Yes, I keep
saying that. It's true. The Dreams have been driving me half-mad for days. I
just didn't know who you were."

 
          
 
She turned, a fire in her flashing black eyes.
"Why me? What is all this nonsense?"

 
          
 
White Calf found her medicines and looked up
at the tall young woman. "Because, girl, if you choose to help the
Dreamer, you'll become the leader of the Red Hand."

 
          
 
"Leader of the Red Hand?"

 
          
 
"And a way to restore the Spiral.
Balance, you see. What the universe always tries to maintain—and never can. But
you have to take that chance. Right now, you don't care for anything but your
anger. In the Dream, the Wolf Bundle showed me how it would be. If . . . and I
say if, you choose to support the Dreamer, you'll destroy the Short Buffalo
invaders. If you don't, well, who knows? Maybe Fire Dancer and Two Smokes can
pull something out in the end."

 
          
 
"Two Smokes? The
berdache
?"

 
          
 
White Calf nodded as she began working on
Tanager's wounds. "I told you Power was mixed up in all this."

 
          
 
"And these weapons lying beside
mine?"

 
          
 
"You'll need them in a short time. That's
why I'd suggest you take that willow-bark extract. It'll make your pains—"

 
          
 
"What do you mean, I'll need them?"

 
          
 
White Calf tended the last of the bites and
abrasions before producing a sheep-hide dress, an example of Two Smokes' talent
in tanning and sewing. Even Tanager hesitated, taking a moment to run her
fingers over the finely tanned leather A radiant glow suffused her eyes as she
slipped it over her head. The incredibly soft leather wouldn't aggravate her
abused flesh.

           
 
"Don't know about your feet, but my
moccasins look about your size. If not, you can make do with winter
outers."

 
          
 
"You said I'll need the weapons?"
Tanager looked up as she pulled footgear over her battered feet.

 
          
 
"You will. The Short Buffalo People who
captured you are on the way."

 
          
 
"What?" Tanager's icy composure
crumbled.

 
          
 
White Calf grinned wickedly. "Of course.
I Dreamed them, you see. It's a deal with the Wolf Bundle. I've brought them to
you. But one has to escape ... to take the story back."

 
          
 
"What?"

 
          
 
White Calf sighed heavily. "How else will
you believe what I say, that the Wolf Bundle needs you ... the Dreamer needs
you."

 
          
 
"But here?" Tanager's panic spread.

 
          
 
White Calf glared at her. "You would be
leader of the Red Hand? Hah! Then you'd better start to prove it, girl. You've
got four men to kill."

 
          
 
"There's five!"

 
          
 
"One has to live."

 
          
 
"One?"

 
          
 
White Calf dropped her eyes. "Let's say
that's my price."

 
          
 
Straight Wood followed behind, watching while
Left Hand worked out the trail. Just luck, that's all it had been. After they
had lost the
Anit'ah
woman completely, a single track
in the dust had pointed the way. By then the woman had to have believed she'd
lost them. The tracks had to be hers. How many women would be walking around
barefoot? And from the scuffs, she'd been near exhaustion and limping slightly.

 
          
 
Left Hand continued at a trot now, pointing
here and there at a faint mark along the way. They worked up from the
Clear
Water
River
, following a well-used trail. Ahead, a
grayish-white limestone cliff rose up to a high peak above the dark green
tangle of trees.

 
          
 
"Look!" Firm Dart pointed.
"Someone's gathered firewood in here."

 
          
 
Straight Wood could see the places where the
branches had been broken off. So they might have an
Anit'ah
camp here? He let himself fall slightly behind. Five of them? To attack a Red
Hand camp?

 
          
 
"I don't know if this is such a good
idea. With only five of us, what happens if we run into—"

 
          
 
"She killed Two Blue Moons and Tiny
Ant," Left Hand insisted, trying to keep his voice down.

 
          
 
Firm Dart raised his hand for silence.
"She killed our people—one of our greatest warriors. Most of their camps
are small, with few men—and those old. I say we hit them hard, In the
confusion, we kill the woman, and who knows, maybe we rout them all. The heart
is gone out of the
Anit'ah
anyway. ''

 
          
 
Left Hand nodded curtly, taking to the trail
again.

 
          
 
Straight Wood gritted his teeth, again taking
the last position. Left Hand pulled up before the trees thinned to a large
meadow. From where he stood, Straight Wood could see tan hides covering what
looked like an overhang in the cliff. No other sign of a camp, no barking of
dogs, no calls could be heard on the still air. The old woman sat in the sun,
legs folded under her, face lifted to the morning.