People of the Wolf (44 page)

"Does a bear dog have any choice?" Raven Hunter asked.

"Do we? By becoming meaner, berserk, as you say, we keep our land. So I ask you, what's better? Living as a berserk bear dog? Or dying at the hands of the Others?"

"I . . .1 chose to live." He glared nervously as he pushed past Raven Hunter, stalking across the camp, hide-bound feet crunching in the snow.

Raven Hunter shivered, following him with his eyes, stroking his chin thoughtfully as the sharp wind chilled his skin. A deep-seated unease stirring in his chest, he wavered as a particularly fierce gust of wind battered the camp. Eyes slitted against the knives of cold, he ducked back through the flap to the warmth within.

Young warriors cackled joyously before a row of captive Others, eyes gleaming in hatred. The Others, faces like masks, awaited their turn, sweat beading on tight faces. Their eyes reflected the horror.

"So many have left, fleeing south to Runs In Light," he whispered to himself. "But I have the youth bound to me. And with the youth, a man can take a people anywhere."

He pushed into the crowd, enjoying the pride and awe in the warriors' eyes as they looked at him.

The Other had become a bloody whimpering pile of meat. Crow Foot pranced around, stepping high, exhibiting a long section of thigh muscle he'd just stripped from the man's leg. Flinging it into the crowd, he dropped on the man's abdomen, slicing it open to reach within, drawing out a ropy handful of blue-gray intestines.

The warriors whooped and shrilled. Raven Hunter smiled, observing the raptorial faces around him. Indeed, here were warriors—his warriors. The hope of survival.

The next morning, Three Falls was gone.

Bowed under loads of frozen meat, the People struggled up the last rise, the trail familiar now. Breath puffing in the dark, coating the chests of their parkas in frosty white, they shuffled across the crest of the ridge.

"Careful," One Who Cries panted. "Trail's solid ice. Got to go down the side."

Singing Wolf grunted agreement, too tired to do anything else, following on trembling legs as his friend picked his path through the rocks. Behind, Jumping Hare, Curlew Song, and

others staggered under their burdens while a long line of dogs shuffled in their trail, backs bent under packs of frozen meat.

Step-by-step they worked down into the valley, the snow melting as if by magic as they walked onto the ground-warmed rock.

"Wonderful thing, these geysers." One Who Cries sighed.

A dog barked, then another, before all the curs in the camp exploded in howls and yips, dashing out to confront the intruders.

Jumping Hare laid into the camp dogs with his dart shafts, keeping them from jumping the pack animals. -

"Hello!" Singing Wolf called. "Hey, people. We're here!" He swung the heavy pack from his shoulders, dropping wearily on a rock, head hanging as he fumbled with cold-stiff fingers to undo his webbed snowshoes. Beside him, One Who Cries sighed as he deposited his burden. People emerged from the shelters to come scrambling across the dark rock.

"Singing Wolf?"

"Here." He stood to hug his wife, delighted at the feel of her bulging belly against his. Wouldn't be long now and they'd have a family again. The thought warmed him deep inside.

"We got a mammoth cow. Meat enough for everyone here. Some will have to move up there, though. Too much carrying. Not only that, but we saw sign of musk ox," One Who Cries said.

Green Water picked her way through the darkness, hugging her husband. "He's just come back."

One Who Cries frowned, kicking a dog away from the meat. "Who?"

"Wolf Dreamer."

Singing Wolf stopped at the anxious tone in her voice. "Where? What's happened?"

In the darkness, he could see the familiar shrug of her shoulder. "There. In Heron's shelter."

He could feel One Who Cries' eyes on him, waiting. "Jumping Hare. Keep the dogs out of the meat and see that it gets distributed." He started quickly for the shelter, One Who Cries on his heels as he walked the winding path along the pool.

"Wolf Dreamer? You there?" he called at the door.

"Come."

He anxiously licked his lips before lifting the flap. Heron's shelter always prickled his scalp. A Power place to begin with; something about the eyeless skulls, the intricate colorful drawings on the rock, the fetishes in niches, all left a man's gut rotating.

Singing Wolf blinked in the dim light of a fading fire, seeing Wolf Dreamer sitting up, hood thrown back. Then he stopped, One Who Cries pushing alongside, his flat face forward, peering.

But who was this man? His face, once smooth and young, looked pinched. A curious, knowing light burned in his black eyes. As if Runs In Light's features were possessed by someone else—someone different, strange.

"I ... We were ..." Words stuck in his throat. "You're back."

Singing Wolf shifted uneasily, waiting for One Who Cries to speak.

Wolf Dreamer smiled wistfully, sensing their disquiet. "I crossed the Big Ice."

Stunned, Singing Wolf dropped to his knees. "You ..."

Wolf Dreamer nodded serenely. "But the People won't be able to follow in my tracks. It's too dangerous. Lost both the dogs. To cross is, well, a nightmare worse than Crow Caller's threats."

Singing Wolf slumped, weariness flowing back through his exhausted body. "Blessed Star People, that means things are bad."

"Bad?" Wolf Dreamer reached for one of the old sticks from the willow-wood pile and dropped it on the fire to a rising of sparks.

"Very bad," One Who Cries agreed. "In the three turnings of the moon that you've been gone, four camps of people have come over the hills to winter here. Beyond, down where the Big River flows out into the plains, the People find nothing but war. Our young men and the Others, they raid back and forth, moving constantly, striking each other. The old, the children, they can't travel constantly. Not in the Long Dark. So they come here to find peace."

"All but the young men and women?"

Singing Wolf nodded uneasily. "Yes, how did you know? The youth find this new life exciting."

Wolf Dreamer's eyes watered. "But who tells them the winter stories? How is the lore of the People passed on if all they do is run and fight? Who hunts for the old, the young?"

"Only our camp," Singing Wolf said softly.

One Who Cries sighed. "And the Others aren't leaving as Raven Hunter promised. The raids continue endlessly, back and forth. They're fighting through the Long Dark. Can you imagine that? What about the Soul Eaters?"

Singing Wolf added, "And our supplies are dwindling fast."

"What of the Others' supplies? Are they suffering—"

' 'They trade to different camps to the north and west along the salt water. They have plenty of food and new hides. They move their sick and old to camps farther up where meat has been taken and frozen. Then they send their young men to follow the Big River south, all carrying their weapons over their shoulders."

Wolf Dreamer's jaw muscles bunched under his cheeks. "And my brother?"

Singing Wolf lifted his hands. "He claims he's keeping the Others at bay. The People, at least the ones here—who don't count in the end—wonder. They see only disaster."

Wolf Dreamer nodded.

One Who Cries lowered his eyes. "We had hoped the Wolf Dream . . . That there was a way across the Big Ice."

Wolf Dreamer looked up at them, eyes oddly lit. "Across the Big Ice? No, not for the People. Too many would die, slip, fall, be lost in crevasses. There's no food up there. Only snow, and ice, and gravels melting out. I crossed the Big Ice in a month. Most of it without food."

One Who Cries looked nervously at Singing Wolf. "Then it looks like we'll have to take up Raven Hunter's way. Fight until—"

"No ..." Wolf Dreamer whispered eerily. "My Dream is right."

"Right?"

Wolf Dreamer nodded. "I crossed the ice. Had to kill Grandfather White Bear up there. But I lived on his flesh." He extended a pouch.

With trembling fingers, One Who Cries undid the binding, spilling out a wealth of claws. Singing Wolf swallowed and looked up.

"Grandfather White Bear? So far south? He eats seals, hunts the ice." One Who Cries shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Bear Power," Singing Wolf added under his breath.

"No matter how he got there, he came, following my scent." Wolf Dreamer smiled at the memory. "I tried to run at first. Then I called him, like I did the caribou. Remember?"

They both nodded nervously.

' 'I Dreamed him over the slabs of ice. The trail circled a slab thrust up by the ghosts below. There I waited, Dreaming him past, his nose to the snow. As he came, I rose on my toes, Dreaming my dart point to the place behind the shoulder, driving it with all my strength."

"Ahhhh!" One Who Cries sighed, eyes glowing.

"And the dart point you made went true." Wolf Dreamer patted One Who Cries' sleeve. "Grandfather White Bear whirled and twisted and snapped the shaft, but in doing so, sliced his heart in two."

"You did this alone?" Singing Wolf asked, mouth dry.

"Alone." He nodded wearily. "And Grandfather White Bear's blood, heart, and liver gave me strength. His flesh made me strong. His hide gave me warmth beyond my parka and long boots. I lived."

One Who Cries shook his head.

"Then I killed long-horned buffalo that ran free across the vast plains on the other side of the Big Ice. The game is tame. I walked up to animals. They simply looked at me, wary, walking off slowly, or coming close to smell. You see, they've never been hunted by men before."

Singing Wolf straightened slowly, holding his breath. Could it really be true? "No sign of men?"

"None."

"Only the Big Ice lies between us and this ... wondrous place?"

Wolf Dreamer nodded.

"But you crossed twice!" Singing Wolf cried. "Maybe

just a few of us could build a trail? Find a way for the elders and the children?"

"Impossible," Wolf Dreamer told them, eyes seeing someplace far away. "The ice shifts, blocks slide and crack. Any trail changes as it's made. What was safe the first time will be death the second. Every step must be felt out. That I lived is a miracle. And no, I didn't cross twice. Only once."

Singing Wolf shook his head. "You crossed twice, Wolf Dreamer. Or are you a spirit?" As soon as he said it, he regretted the words. This place of Heron's gave him fear nerves anyway. And if Wolf Dreamer were an apparition, his soul was already mostly sucked away.

Wolf Dreamer chuckled softly. "No, I'm no spirit, old friends. I only crossed the ice once. The way back"—he paused—"is much more frightening."

The hair on the back of Singing Wolf's neck prickled. He looked sideways at One Who Cries, who looked back, mouth open, hesitation in his brown eyes.

Wolf Dreamer steepled his fingers. "The way is only open until the Long Light advances. When the warm breezes blow, it will close. We can only cross in the Long Dark."

"Cross? But you said—"

"A poor choice of words." He raised his hands. "Better had I said
come through."

"Through?" One Who Cries looked his mystification at Singing Wolf.

"Underneath, actually." Wolf Dreamer's eyes glowed again. "The way is dark."

"The way?" Singing Wolf held his breath.

Wolf Dreamer nodded. "The way is alongside the Big River."

"Like Wolf showed you."

' 'Yes. When the water builds up in the Long Light, it flows through a second channel. For two days, a man must walk in total blackness, feeling his way."

"The hole."

One Who Cries started. "You walked into that? Under that? You're crazy!"

' 'Hush!'' Singing Wolf chastised harshly. ' 'What else, Wolf Dreamer?"

Wolf Dreamer spread his hands again. "That's not the

worst. The ghosts are there, watching a man move in the darkness below."

One Who Cries propped his chin in his hands. "Under the Big Ice? After all the stories Crow Caller told? And you can hear the ghosts?"

Singing Wolf frowned at his cousin. "Would you rather have the ghosts or the Others?"

'
'Give me the Others!''