People of the Earth (106 page)

 
          
 
"Power gives every person a choice! What
is yours? Do you Dream the One, or separate yourselves from the Spiral? First
Man Dreamed that the One would let the People live in harmony with their world.
Will you deny his Dream?"

 
          
 
A great weariness came over her. She could
feel the tug of the life in her belly, taking nourishment from her body.
Protectively, she placed a hand on her stomach.

 
          
 
She stared hauntingly at the
firelit
faces. "You have heard First Man's Dream.
Earth and sky, opposites crossed. I will take this Dream to the Hollow Flute,
to the Wasp, and the Green Stone—that we may all live the way First Man
Dreamed. I have spoken."

 
          
 
She turned, aware of the silence that held the
people. She walked out through the lodges, a growing disquiet wrapping around
her. The lightning-torn bank of clouds had roiled closer, almost over camp now.
She thought she could hear the faint roar of thunder.

 
          
 
Behind her a babble of voices rose as people
began discussing her vision and the meaning of her words. Trouble appeared at
her heels, looking up with sad eyes.

 
          
 
"Where's Still Water?" she asked,
taking a moment to rub the dog's ears. Trouble whined and licked her hand, his
hot tongue reassuring. "Yes, you're part of the One, too."

 
          
 
She blinked and yawned, exhaustion vying with
her desire to find Still Water.

 
          
 
"Go to your robes," she told
herself. "He'll come eventually. You've pushed yourself for too long,
White Ash." She trudged tiredly across camp to Sage Ghost's lodge and
skirted the stakes that pinned the lodge cover down. She found their robes
piled against the rear. She knelt and unrolled them. What had happened to Still
Water? Her heart began to pound for no reason. She rubbed her gravelly eyes and
pulled the top robe back.

 
          
 
"Witch!" someone hissed.

 
          
 
The shadow of a raised war club shone on the
lodge cover and White Ash jerked up her arm, screaming, "No!" as she
tried to crawl away.

 
          
 
Tuber's burly body smashed into her, knocking
her sprawling. She glimpsed his panicked eyes as he rolled off and lurched to
his feet. Still Water shouted in rage as he charged out of the shadows with a
rock lifted high, heading for the woman who stood with a dart
nocked
and ready. But Tuber reached her first, his war club
smashing down . . .

           
 
The loud smack of wood against bone split the
night. Both
Tand
the woman tumbled to the ground.

 
          
 
Still Water dropped to his knees by White Ash
and used his good arm to help her sit up. He frantically kissed her hair,
whispering, "It's all right. You're all right."

 
          
 
Someone shouted. Frantic voices rose. Wind
Runner and Black Moon raced around the lodge. Sage Ghost followed them, bearing
a firebrand.

 
          
 
At the sight of Sage Ghost, Tuber pushed away
from the dead woman and reached out with imploring hands. "I'm not a
murderer. I had to! She killed Hot Fat. Before that, she killed Black Hand. I
saw her sneaking around. She's been talking about witchcraft and how White Ash
was evil and would curse us all."

           
 
Bitterbrush burst into the light and stared
down. Her gaze riveted on Tuber and the bloody woman lying beside him. A cry of
horror broke from her lips. "Basket?"

 
          
 
Tuber nodded fearfully, eyes searching their
faces for understanding. "She's hated Dreamers ever since Green Fire died.
You know it, Mother! She blamed Black Hand for it. She thought Hot Fat was
trying to witch the children the Black Point had taken. She scolded me for
trying to become a Black Point warrior. Bad Belly and me, we had to do
it!"

 
          
 
Sage Ghost hurried though the gathering crowd
and crouched before his son. He gazed firmly into Tiber's blurry eyes. Then a
crooked smile bent his lips. "Tonight you are a warrior."

 
          
 
"But I killed . . ."

 
          
 
"Someone had to," Still Water told
him. "An evil possessed her. After she murdered White Ash, she would have
had to murder me. And after me, someone else."

 
          
 
As Sage Ghost extended a hand to help Tuber
up, a falling star streaked the skies. Everyone whirled to watch its flight; it
sailed across the heavens and disappeared into the bank of clouds. Lightning
flared in several places, and thunder crashed like a stampeding herd of
buffalo.

 
          
 
White Ash leaned heavily against Still Water.
He stroked her tangled hair gently, but he'd gone very quiet. She shifted to
glance up at him and followed his gaze, but not to the lightning. He stared out
across the starlit
sanddunes
at the huge black wolf
that stood, a paw up, watching pensively. Its yellow eyes glinted with a fiery
sheen in the flashes of light.

 
          
 
Thunder roared again, shaking the very ground,
and misty rain began to patter on the lodges. White Ash lifted her face to the
cool drops.

 
          
 
Black Moon looked anxiously from the wolf to
Basket's dead body, then to White Ash. "Thunderbird has spoken," he
said. "Be welcome among the Black Point, White Ash. You have given us
First Man's Dream. Now we must discuss it, to see if we can feel the truth of
it in our hearts."

 
          
 
Left Hand hobbled down through the marshy
grass and stopped at the sandy shore. Roiling water swept past. A turtle
slipped off a snag and plopped into the river. Ducks and geese filled the sky,
winging over the broad expanse of water that shimmered silver in the sun.

 
          
 
To the north, the Big River emptied into the
Father Waters. His Wolf People had fought for this land, driving the Masked
Dancers out and taking many captives in the process. The natives in this place
didn't have the stubborn will of the Sun People, and the Wolf People had carved
out a large territory. They took tribute in exchange for not raiding the Masked
Dancers' new lands. Already the legend of Wise One Above and Wolf Dreamer had
established themselves.

 
          
 
Much could be praised in this rich new
country. Water-filled ox-bows sheltered the wild rice growing on the flats to
the south. Beyond them, fields of
maygrass
and
knotweed waved in the wind. Even this early in the summer, Left Hand could tell
that the women would collect a good crop. On the river, youngsters in a canoe
laughed as they threw a corded net into the water for fish. How curious that
the children had taken to the water so quickly. Already Sand Crane had taken a
party and paddled all the way to the salt water in the hot, steamy south.
There, he Traded with the Swamp People.

 
          
 
Grunting at his cracking bones, Left Hand bent
down to scoop up a handful of muddy sand. He raised it to his fleshy old nose
and sniffed, drawing its moist scent into his lungs. The river land had
Spirit—and it lavished its riches on those who would claim them.

 
          
 
"Is this the way you promised,
Dreamer?" he whispered, his faded vision locked on the canoe. "Then
perhaps it's as Power wanted."

 
          
 
He thrust his clean hand into the hide bag he
wore around his neck and drew out the tiny black wolf that Bad Belly had sent
him. It gleamed in the sun—the symbol of the Spirit Helper, the messenger of
Power.

 
          
 
He had recognized it immediately, of course.
Once it had ridden in the black
wolfskin
with the
Wolf Bundle. And when the People were camped, the stone wolf would be set on
the tripod to guard the Wolf Bundle. How had Bad Belly come by such a precious
treasure? A person never knew about Trade, about the Power it carried.

 
          
 
He looked at the cool sand and then at the
wolf, weighing them against each other.

 
          
 
"Such a long way for an old man to have
come."

 
          
 
He could still hear the wind sighing through
the spruce and fir of the Grass Meadow Mountains, though his feet would never
again follow the trails walked by Fire Dancer. And his soul would never again
soar as he looked out over the vast Gray Deer Basin or the Short Grass Plains.

 
          
 
He lifted his face to the cloud-splotched sky.
"But I can Dream about them when my soul passes from this earth. Until
then, I will live the Dream of First Man."

 
          
 
He glanced out over the Father Water one more
time, casting his handful of sand into the current. The rings widened and
vanished in the swirls and eddies of living green water.

 
          
 
This night in the lodge, he would tell the
young ones about the Dreamer who came from the Sun People. He would tell them
about Bad Belly, the crippled hero of the Earth People. He would tell them of
Bad Belly's new name, Still Water, and of White Ash's Dream, as the Trader had
told him. "Op-
posites
crossed," he mumbled
to himself and held the black wolf up to the sun, watching the way the light
played on the animal's stone body.

 
          
 
Wind whispered in the trees. Water lapped
softly at the sandy bank. And a strange thing happened: Those sounds seemed to
weave into a voice—an old woman's voice. Straining, he could barely make out
the words.

 
          
 
Father of Waters, flows so rich, trickles
water into the ditch.

 
          
 
Grow a plant, so tall so green, fruit is
yellow. I have seen.

 
          
 
Feathers colored, the dead are laid.

           
 
Logs across and dirt is made. Lazy sloth, in
baskets carried—sun man and woman high are married.

 
          
 
Left Hand shook his head. "Now I'm
hearing things. Getting old."

 
          
 
He
humphed
under his
breath and clutched the black wolf against his breast. The Power of the Trade
is complete, Still Water. But what is the journey this time? A thing of men . .
. or of Dreams? And where will it end?

 
          
 
He turned around then and followed the trail
back to the baric-covered lodges of the Wolf People's camp.