People of the Fire (78 page)

 
          
 
To waste so much wood in the middle of summer
seemed almost profligate, but they'd move camp by the time winter set in. The
few warriors who remained to guard the
cainj
taken a
break from their Dance, silting in the shade of the cottonwoods, laughing and
joking among themselves as they looked to their decorations and repainted their
bodies sweat had run.

 
          
 
For the moment the Singers continued to chant,
thumping the pot drum, voices rising and falling in a Song for the Girl’s
Dance. On a tall pole a buffalo head had been hung and Blessed to watch over
the Dancers. Eagle feathers had been woven into the matted hair to flutter with
the breeze.

 
          
 
A group of girls circled the fire, following
the pattern of the sun, twirling and jumping to the beat and chant of the old
men.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver watched, noting their athletic
grace and boundless energy. For a wistful moment, his memory drifted back to
when he'd been a boy-and never a good Dancer by any means. Boys had their own
Dance that called for exuberant jumping and hopping. Why hadn't he ever had
energy like that? All his life he'd tended toward fat and much preferred lying
in the shade to running and playing.

 
          
 
Because I've always been different, always in
my head. Mother saw that in me. She knew. He shook the sudden melancholy off
and grunted to himself. That terrible Dream had left him irritable these last
few days.

 
          
 
"It's only because you're finally removing
the last of the threats," he reassured himself.

 
          
 
"What was that?" Elk Whistle asked.

 
          
 
"Nothing." He tilted his head back,
chewing thoughtfully and savoring the flavor of the lean meat. "When we're
finally coming to the end of our labors, a man must take time for reflection.
Remember where he's been and what he's accomplished. This Blessing renews our
spirit. At the same time, we pay respects to Buffalo Above and the Wise One for
giving us the strength to do what we've had to."

 
          
 
"We had better hope the rains come,"
Seven Suns reminded him. "There can't be enough buffalo up in the
mountains to support so many people up there. Even the
Anit'ah
had to split when they grew too many. That's when the White Crane moved to the
plains."

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver shot a hard look at the old man.
Would he always be like a thorn in a moccasin sole? "Perhaps you misread
the signs, old friend. The drought came upon us to remind us our work wasn't
done. The
Anit'ah
continue to offend the Spirit World
with their way. When we've broken them forever and taken their mountains, the
drought will break. Just as it did when we cleansed the People and pushed our
enemies away."

 
          
 
Seven Suns said nothing, a pensive look in his
old eyes.

 
          
 
"Look!" One of the warriors pointed
from where he sat in the shade, a horn of pigment in his hand.

 
          
 
All eyes craned to the rising puff of haze
over the mountains.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver squinted into the sun, shading
his eyes with a greasy hand, instantly wishing he'd wiped it. It would be
foolish-looking if it streaked his forehead.

 
          
 
"Clouds," he decided, looking back
at the old men. "You see, as my words mentioned it, so did—"

           
 
“Not clouds," Elk Whistle corrected.
"Smoke

 
          
 
Smoke? Heavy Beaver stared again, seeing what
he'd missed the first time. The yellowish tinges couldn't be mistaken.

 
          
 
“Perhaps some party let their camp fire get
out of control."

 
          
 
“Or it's an
Anit'ah
trick. This woman of theirs, this Tanager, might have found some way—"

 
          
 
"Stop this foolish talk!" Heavy
Beaver clapped his hands to ensure their attention. “No woman outside of my
mother could think up a trick that clever. No, this is a sign. Our warriors
probably started it. It's some way to make an end of the
Anit'ah
.
Do you think the
Anit'ah
would burn their own lands?
Already they've been prevented from collecting food for the winter. When have
they had time to hunt?"

 
          
 
"They eat plants, too," Two Stones
reminded him.

 
          
 
“And plants burn."

 
          
 
"Or they know something about winter up
there that we don't. Maybe the bighorn ranges don't burn like the forests?
They're crafty people, clever," Elk Whistle reminded.

 
          
 
“And you're fools." Heavy Beaver glared
up at the sir. a worry tickling his fears. The Dancing had stopped. Pi stood
around, looking, muttering nervously to each other.

 
          
 
I have to stop this or the silly fools will
all be running in circles crying doom. He struggled to his feet, walking out into
the Dance ground, hands raised.

 
          
 
"My people! Observe the Power of Heavy
Beaver! Already the
Anit'ah
are breaking! Buffalo
Above has sent us an ally in our fight! Look whose lands are burning! See the
justice of Buffalo Above against those who stand in his way! Dance! Everyone
Dance! Feel the Spirit as you Dance and pray! Cry your thanks to Buffalo Above!
This is the turning! This is the way to our victory!”

           
 
The warriors screamed their delight, charging
into the Dance circle and whooping as they jumped and brandished their darts. The
pot drum began booming as the old men raised their voices.

 
          
 
Around him, the People began to Sing and
Dance, hands raised to the pall of smoke over the
Buffalo
Mountains
.

 
          
 
The sheer Power of it leapt like tire in Heavy
Beaver’s breast. Yes, this was the Way! This was the Dream. They Danced for
him, raising their arms over their heads in time with his, screaming and
cheering. He stepped back, watching, joy about to burst in his chest. They
Danced for him!

 
          
 
Elk Charm carried a basketful of infant-soiled
juniper bark up the trail, knowing the way by feel now. She reached the cap
rock and walked over to cast the litter onto the rock. By the next morning, the
breezes would have carried it away.

 
          
 
That's when her gaze caught the glow high on
the mountain. She stopped, frozen, staring up. The intervening ridges stood
starkly outlined in the reddish tinge. Where the smoke rose high, gaudy flames
lit the whole of the eastern sky. Never had she seen a fire like this.

 
          
 
An age of Fire. The words whispered through
her mind. And Little Dancer is up there!

 
          
 
"Elk Charm?"

 
          
 
She jumped, clutching one hand to her chest.
"Cricket? You frightened me."

 
          
 
Her friend materialized out of the night,
standing by her to stare up at the mountain wall. "Snaps Horn is up there,
fighting the enemy.''

 
          
 
"And so is Little Dancer. Gone to find
his Dream." How much more of this could she stand?

 
          
 
"Let him be safe." Cricket shook her
head. "I should have stayed. I should have fought with him."

 
          
 
"And who would have cared for your
baby?"

 
          
 
"I could have left him. I could have
brought him down and left him, My grandmother is here. Perhaps Rattling Hooves or
you would have taken him. Then I could have gone back. With a lighter dart, I'm
just as deadly as a man when I cast. Just have to be closer is all."

 
          
 
Elk Charm bit her lip. "I couldn't have
done anything for Little Dancer. A wife can fight, can use a club, a dart, but
I can't Dream for him."

 
          
 
Cricket's arm went around her shoulders.
"Won't this ever end? Maybe Tanager's as Powerful as they say. She always
saw things differently. Maybe she's the one. Maybe she can save them. She knows
the timber better than anyone. She should have been a man."

           
 
Without thinking, Elk Charm supplied,
"Maybe it t both. Little Dancer's Power and . . . hers." And a part
of her whimpered, Why
couldn
't I be the one to help
him?

 
          
 
"Black Rock came today. He says that
Tanager has become a powerful warrior. That no one can touch her in a fight,
that she has Power she got from White Calf."

 
          
 
Elk Charm's gaze remained riveted to the
blaze. "He supposed to Dance with Fire." She swallowed, falling to her
knees, arms lifted to the night sky. "Take him if you will, but give him
strength! Hear me! Help him Dance the Fire. Even if I never see him again, you
must help him!" She blinked at the tears. "For all of us."

 
          
 
She glanced again at the raging inferno on the
top of the mountain. Could even a Dreamer Dance with that 1

 
          
 
"Anything, take anything from me. But
help him."

 
          
 
Fire Dancer awoke, blinking, staring up into
the night. He lay exposed on his back, the stagnant air too hot for covers.
Above him, the
Starweb
looked fuzzy, shrouded by the
smoke, while over the mountains, the night glared en; Tanager slept to one
side, barely distinguishable as a dark lump. Two Smokes lay on the other side.

 
          
 
Dreams had haunted him, scattered images refusing
to come together as a whole. Troubled Dreams for troubled sleep. He'd walked
again through the burning forest. Now in the reality raged above him.

 
          
 
Have I missed it? Was that trial only a
warning in case I might have failed?

 
          
 
He stood quietly, missing the ghostly presence
Always aloof, the animal had nevertheless become a companion in loneliness.
What choice had there been? Wolf knew. His soul had been in tune with the need,
become part of the Wolf Bundle. It had taken wolf to restore the power, make it
new.

 
          
 
Wolf and man, their paths had turned from the
distant past. Brothers, predators, who ate not only buffalo, elk, and deer, but
berries and rodents and mice. Like men, wolves lived in their own societies.
Like men, they sang to they stars and loved and raised their families. But,
unlike most men, they shared souls with the One, perhaps less
distacted
by illusion.

           
 
He climbed up on one of the boulders, eyes to
the reddened sky. "Fire Dancer."

 
          
 
They'd come down a tributary of
Clear
River
along the northern end of the Red Wall.
Less than a day's walk to the south lay Heavy Beaver's camp. This time
tomorrow, he would have Danced Fire with Heavy Beaver—or he'd be lying dead
somewhere, his soul drifting back to the One. Memories of the sensations of
death, of the settling of the soul, clung like tufts of marten fur in the back
of his mind.