People of the Fire (79 page)

 
          
 
With a pang, he realized the finality of it.
Elk Charm would be left behind along with the daughters he'd never see grow to
adulthood. He'd never know their joys and sorrows, see the expressions of
delight on their faces, or dry their tears.

 
          
 
"Why?" he asked the night sky.
"Why did you ever allow me to love? It hurts so much to give it up."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull would grow old, hair shot with
white as his face lined. He'd die without his son to care for him, to Sing him
to the
Starweb
where he could find Sage Root.

 
          
 
"Did you have to pick me?" A
stirring resentment rose. Like a hoop in a child's game, he'd been rolled about
this way and that. Callous spirits, like the children in the game, had cast
their darts at him, some striking, others quivering as they landed in the dirt
in his path. While they laughed and gamboled, none had cared about the bruises
and cuts the hoop of his life had endured.

 
          
 
Yet through his resentment, the bliss of the
One permeated, drawing him like an aster drew a bee. No matter what, he'd have
to taste that nectar. He'd have to immerse himself in the sweetness. And
therein lay the pain, knowing he couldn't back away from the colors of the
flower and the rich feast it contained. No, not even love could make him
retreat.

 
          
 
Power had pulled him with an addiction
stronger than Hungry Bull's adoration of the hunt. To seek the One had become
his single purpose.

 
          
 
He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath,
stilling his thoughts. Again he tried to cross the threshold, searching for the
One. Bit by bit, he channeled his mind, seeking the silver touch of it just
beyond his reach. Harder and harder, he tried, forcing himself.

           
 
Finally, in futility, he opened pained eyes,
glaring angrily up at the night. "How? Tomorrow is the day . . . and I
can't."

 
          
 
A rustling in the night breeze whispered
through the brush around him, ruffling the dry grasses.

 
          
 
He cocked his head, listening, the sound that
of a rattlesnake. A rattlesnake?

 
          
 
A swell of Power pressed the air around him.
The strange voice chanted in his imagination:

 
          
 
Monster Creatures on bellies crawl. Legless,
armless, hair of scale. Shakes a rattle on his tail. Teeth of poison, hollow
flail, Makes the blood black and frail.

 
          
 
The threshold.

 
          
 
Tanager cried, "Here!"

 
          
 
Two Smokes turned from where he peered under
the sagebrush to see Fire Dancer rushing over. As he hobbled closer, he watched
Fire Dancer bend down on his knees, facing the buzzing reptile.

 
          
 
"So now we catch it?" Tanager asked
uncertain

 
          
 
Fire Dancer wet his lips and looked up. An
unfamiliar expression, part awe, part worry, met Two Smokes' questioning look.

 
          
 
"Yes, we catch it."

 
          
 
"Wait!" Tanager started forward, too
late, m extended his open palm. His hand trembled as he gritted his teeth,
determination on his face.

           
 
Two Smokes cried out, watching as the coiled
rattlesnake drove fangs into Fire Dancer's hand.

 
          
 
"No!" Tanager reached for him,
stricken, only to have Fire Dancer shrug her off, reaching around to grasp the
snake behind the head.

 
          
 
Fire Dancer inspected the wounds. Meanwhile,
the snake twisted around his arm, straining, the
shishhh
of its angry rattle loud in the air.

 
          
 
"What?" Tanager drew back, shaking
her head. "You're out of your mind!" She turned away, staring back up
at the smoke-capped mountain. Already, ash fell from the still air like some
perverted snow.

 
          
 
Two Smokes stared, undone at the two beads of
blood that formed where the fangs had sunk into Fire Dancer's living flesh.

 
          
 
"This is it," Tanager added firmly.
"I'm going back."

 
          
 
"You can't," Two Smokes pleaded.

 
          
 
She whirled, sparks in her eyes. "I
didn't come down here to walk into Heavy Beaver's camp of warriors with a
delirious madman!"

 
          
 
Out of the jumble of confusion, Two Smokes
tried to form some argument. "But . . . you said—"

 
          
 
"White Calf told me to trust the Dreamer,
to set aside my anger for the Red Hand. She didn't tell me to ... to take care
of a crazy fool!"

 
          
 
"The threshold," Fire Dancer
murmured to himself. "It stings, burns ... all illusion. Seek the gray
mist, feel it swirl . . . illusion."

 
          
 
Tanager shook her head and stared. "A mad
fool!"

 
          
 
"Come with us. I don't know why, but we
need you. I can feel it."

 
          
 
Tanager stamped back and forth. "Need me?
For what? To carry him when he starts falling over?"

 
          
 
Two Smokes raised his hands in a soothing
motion. "Trust him. He knows what he's doing."

 
          
 
"What he's doing? He just stuck his hand
in a rattlesnake's mouth!"

 
          
 
Two Smokes gestured frantically. "Yes . .
. yes, he's done it before. I don't know why. He's the Dreamer! Trust me. I can
feel the Power of it!"

           
 
"The Power of lunacy." She gripped
her darts and started back the way she'd come, shaking her head.

 
          
 
"Wait!" Two Smokes pleaded.
"Didn't you say you'd promised? That you'd been to the place we renewed
the Wolf Bundle?"

 
          
 
She stopped short and lowered her head,
hesitating for a moment before nodding. Wind tugged at her braid, her fine
dress looking shabby in the smoke-filtered sunlight. She stared up at the
streaked sky, seeing where the light shone evilly through the shadows of a
flaming world. She turned, glaring at him from the corner of her eye.

 
          
 
"I guess I'm committed. One way or
another."

 
          
 
Two Smokes took a deep breath, the odor of
smoke in his nostrils. "Yes, I guess we all are. This is the road of
Power. All we can do is walk it."

 
          
 
Tanager turned. "And pray like mad we
know what « doing."

 
          
 
Fire Dancer had raised his eyes to the turbid
sky. "The threshold. Please make this be the threshold. Where is the gray
mist? The mist of illusion?"

 
          
 
"Come on," Tanager ordered,
shouldering past them, a disdainful glance cast at the Dreamer.

 
          
 
Two Smokes pulled Fire Dancer to his feet,
staying well clear of the writhing rattlesnake.

 
          
 
Already they could hear the faint boom of
Heavy
Bca
pot drum. A mad fool?

 
          
 
Make it not be so.

 
          
 
Beyond the confines of his lodge. Heavy Beaver
could hear the Dance, Singing, drumming, the chants of the Dusk fell about the
camp like the drifting ash.
DOBfi
how lessening the
Power of the occasion He here, not wanting others to overhear.

 
          
 
"Why don't I trust your motives?”

 
          
 
Throws Stones shot a quick glance at Fire At
Night before stating, "This
Anit'ah
woman, this
Tanager, has Power. We knew you were holding a Blessing. None of your warriors
has more courage than we. Fire At Night and I have taken a vow to kill this
Tanager."

           
 
Heavy Beaver watched through
slitted
eyes. He heard the half lie. "Tell me
more."

 
          
 
Fire At Night cleared his throat nervously.
"She Dances and Sings as she fights. I myself have seen men set
themselves, take aim, and have their darts sail harmlessly past her. Straight
Wood told us—"

 
          
 
"I've heard enough of Straight Wood and
his stories!" Heavy Beaver clapped his hands to signify the subject
closed.

 
          
 
"So we came to be Blessed, to have you
Sing special Power for us. We had the Red Hand beaten before she rose to take
the leadership from Blood Bear and his pathetic Wolf Bundle."

 
          
 
"There is no Power in the Wolf
Bundle," Heavy Beaver stated calmly. "It is a pollution. If it comes
my way again, I intend on burning it. I should have in the beginning."

 
          
 
And now what? He watched his warriors sitting
nervously before him. If these two could have grown tired of the ceaseless war
with the
Anit'ah
, how many more felt the same but
didn't have the status to challenge him?

 
          
 
"What of the fire on the mountain? What
caused it?"

 
          
 
Fire At Night shook his head. "We don't
know. It started after we were almost down the trail."

 
          
 
"Could it be our fire?"

 
          
 
"Possibly." Throws Stones resettled
himself as if he were uncomfortable. "Some of our men have been careless
with fire before. Firm Dart almost set things on fire one night but got the
coals stamped out."

 
          
 
The solution came. "Very well, I will
make you special Power. Come." He rocked back and forth to get his weight
moving and got to his feet. He led them out into the camp, into the middle of
the Dance circle.

 
          
 
Raising his hands, he called, "People!
Tonight we will make special Power! These two men come bearing tidings of a
womanl
Yes, an
Anit'ah
woman who
claims to have Power! In the tongue of the
Anit'ah
,
her name is Tanager—a little yellow bird!"

 
          
 
Someone laughed. Throws Stones shifted
uneasily behind him.

           
 
"So I call you to witness. Someone bring
a sharp km

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver turned slightly, seeing Fire At
Night
tures
go ashen. An old man waddled forward, a
hafted
chert
knife in his hand.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver walked over to the roaring
bonfire and extended his hand to the two warriors. "Before all the People,
I Bless you!" He reached for Throws Stones' hand, taking the blade and
slashing the man's arm. Blood welled. In turn he made a similar cut in Fire At
Night's.

 
          
 
To the People who watched solemnly, he
explained. "Now I mingle their blood!" And he pressed the wounds
together. "So they are bound by this oath. The next time they see this
Tanager, they must kill her!" He forced their arms over the fire, letting
a few drops of blood drip onto the coals to hiss and spatter.

 
          
 
"It is done! Their word of honor is sent
to the sky as smoke, proof to Buffalo Above of their worth!" And in a low
voice he added, "And if you don't kill her when you see her, you're both
Cursed with the sticks as I did to Sage Root so long ago. You know my
Power."

 
          
 
For long moments he stared into their eyes,
seeing the effect of his words shrivel their souls. "Now, Dance! Dance
like you've never Danced before!"

 
          
 
And he turned, walking back to his seat of
honor as the gathering dusk darkened the sky around him and the mountain flamed
redly
above. Heat lightning lit the skies to the
north and south and east.

 
          
 
Yes, now they knew his Power. He gazed angrily
up at the burning mountain. Flames had crossed the summits. Flickering in
yellow tongues along the slopes. The People got up, awed by the sight.

 
          
 
Heavy Beaver experienced that flutter of his
heart. Power roamed loose on the land. Mother? Where are you?

 
          
 
"Are we ready?" Two Smokes asked
quietly as they came within sight of the camp. A huge fire lit the place. There
would be no stealthy approach.

 
          
 
Fire Dancer had begun to stagger, his bitten
arm swollen the other clamped tight on the snake so that Two Smokes thought
more than once the animal might have suffocated.

 
          
 
Tanager lifted a shoulder in a pointless
shrug. "I'm already dead. I can't be more ready than this."

 
          
 
"The threshold," Fire Dancer
whimpered. "Where is the threshold? Gray mist . . . gray . . .
illusion."

 
          
 
"Then we wait for a while," Two
Smokes decided. "Fire Dancer, your time has come. Dream, boy. Dream.”

 
          
 
The sacred
datura
pulsed within him. As it began to leach its power along his veins, Heavy Beaver
started to hear the whispers of Power. Perhaps it had been foolish to take the
last of the plant, but he had to hear his mother's voice in this moment of
triumph.