People of the Earth (36 page)

 
          
 
He smiled understanding^. "It's all
right. Think about it on a full stomach. Then you can go. And I'll eat only one
fish. That way you can take some with you. It might make the difference."

 
          
 
Her mouth opened as she raised a finger and
shook it at him. "You . . . you don't make any sense at all! Doesn't it
make you angry that I'd take your clothes and run off? How do you feel? About
me, I mean? You ought to be . . . well, enraged!"

 
          
 
He lifted his hand in a placid gesture.
"It hurts, that's all. It makes me feel sad that you'd do that. But I
think I understand. The last man you saw raped and beat you. Maybe, if I were
you, I'd steal someone's clothes, too. And, like I told you, life is full of
puzzles that people need to—"

 
          
 
"Puzzles! We're talking about survival
here? And you'd let me eat your fish?"

 
          
 
He gestured at the river. "There are
plenty of fish. I'll make a better net next time and catch lots of
"them."

 
          
 
She shook her head, settling slowly to the
rock. "What sort of man are you, anyway?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly took a deep breath. "I guess
I'm just me. The only sort of man I can be."

 
          
 
She stared down at his bare feet. "I hate
raw fish."

 
          
 
He gestured toward the uplands. "You
could make some fire sticks. I think there's some chokecherry up there in the
draw back of the butte.. You'll need something to cut it with. I saw quartzite
cobbles in the river. You could get one of them and knock a few flakes . . .
What's wrong? You look sick."

 
          
 
She turned her ashen face from him. He could
see her fists knotting as the muscles in her shoulders tightened. She lifted
her face toward the sun, black hair spilling to catch the light.

 
          
 
"Why don't you do it?" she asked
quietly.

 
          
 
“You've got one of my moccasins on, and you're
wearing the rest of my clothing." He hesitated, then added uncertainly.
"And besides, you might not want to come back here. It's your chance. If
you think you need to take it, go."

 
          
 
She wheeled around, beautiful eyes flashing.
"I'll go cut some chokecherry." She swallowed hard. "And I'll be
back. I ... I owe you that much."

 
          
 
Cold air braced Wind Runner's skin. He stood
naked, toes clenched as if to grip the ground through the remains of the frozen
snow. The Black Point had formed a ring around him. Now they waited, shoulder
to shoulder, dressed in finely tailored hides, while the elders had wrapped
themselves in buffalo robes. He stared at the excited faces—strangers, all.
Then his mother's sister, Two Antelopes, appeared and gave him a smile. She'd
been White Clay before she met Stone Fist during a Gathering. He had won her
admiration and had asked for a marriage.

 
          
 
The Sun People did that during a Gathering.
During that one time of year, Thunderbird watched over the people. All
hostilities were dropped and the clans assembled to conduct Trade and to Dance.
Hostages could be ransomed, and marriages into another clan were encouraged,
especially when kinship had eliminated the potential mates within a band. No
shame came of marriage during the Gathering. In fact, long ago Spirit Bear had
seen that bloodlines would run together and had persuaded Thunderbird to
declare a time of peace at the summer solstice so that all of the Sun People
could get together and renew their Power without fear of war.

 
          
 
Such marriages now worked to Wind Runner's
benefit. He had called out for Stone Fist's protection as he approached the
camp, his hands empty of weapons. After he had explained his desire to seek a
place among the Black Point, his uncle-in-law had spoken for him in the
council.

 
          
 
Now Wind Runner must prove his worth. He
stared up at the sky—a pale blue this day. The sun hung high overhead, a
brilliant light that washed the rich, grassy bottoms of the Fat Beaver River.
The cottonwoods stood mute, gray trunks weaving patterns against the far
horizon where the Great Bear Mountains pierced the western sky. Snow lay heavy
up there, the land locked in a blue cold.

 
          
 
The wind didn't carry much chill on this day,
but it savaged naked flesh. With it came the odor of musty grasses and melting
snow. Ravens cawed in the distance with raucous and jeering voices. Rosy finches
rose in a swirl against the sky.

 
          
 
One Man—the Black Point warrior whom Wind
Runner would have to face—stood across from him, a war club dangling from his
fist. One Man looked to be about thirty-five summers old, and he stood tall and
proud. Lines of lightning had been tattooed down his cheeks, and the man's nose
had been broken in a past fight. The warrior inspected Wind Runner the way he
would some pest. The sun's glare emphasized a nasty scar that ran across One
Man's muscular left breast. The stone-headed war club swung back and forth in
the warrior's powerful grip. The brilliant yellow-tanager feathers on the
handle fluttered in the breeze.

 
          
 
Black Moon, the nominal leader of the Black
Point, stepped out from the crowd. He wore a resplendent white buffalo robe—a
symbol of the blessings of Power and his status among his people. Behind him
walked Hot Fat, the Black Point's most powerful Soul Flier. Hot Fat's hair
glinted silver in the sun as he raised his hands, Singing and Dancing to
Thunderbird to give the combatants strength and skill. He Sang to instill
courage into the hearts of the warriors who would fight this day.

 
          
 
Wind Runner dropped his own club to the
ground, lifted his hands, and sang, "Great Thunderbird above, hear me. I,
Wind Runner, would earn a place among this clan of the People. I have proven
myself worthy. In the past my courage has been Sung over the bodies of my
victims in war. My skill has been proven on the trail, where I eluded the
pursuers who would take my life. Hear me today. Grant me strength and triumph.
To you I will dedicate my life, to become a good man among this Black Point
clan. To you I will humble myself and offer my life."

 
          
 
He lowered his hands, realizing Hot Fat had
fallen silent. Now the Soul Flier stared at him, eyes like black obsidian
glinting from behind
slitted
eyelids. The old man
walked up to inspect him. Hot Fat's face was so lined and wrinkled that a
person felt he could read the ages of the earth in that eroded visage.

 
          
 
“You would humble yourself before Thunderbird,
be true to your Song?" Hot Fat asked.

 
          
 
“Yes, old one. A man is nothing without the
gifts of Power. I look around me, feel the sun on my face, hear the birds, and
enjoy the wind. All these things are the gifts of Power and are to be cherished.
They are not to be risked foolishly."

 
          
 
A pensive look came to Hot Fat's eyes. “And
you do not think yourself a fool to risk such things fighting One Man?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner shook his head. “No, old one. I
made a promise on my soul. I do not take my soul, or promises made to Power,
lightly. Young men have a reputation for doing foolish things. Those who do
rarely live to provide strong arms for their people."

 
          
 
Hot Fat smacked his lips, cocking his head. “And
where did you learn so much wisdom for one so young?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner pointed to the south. “There, old
one. Just over those ridges. The leaders who remain among the White Clay argued
among themselves, and the eager young men split the clan into three parts.
Black Eagle took one group and went east—and we have heard nothing from him
since. Gray Thunder took another group west, and his voice is also silent. I
followed Whistling Hare because Sage Ghost, my uncle, said that old Whistling
Hare and Old Falcon were wiser than the younger men, who would go fight a war
they could not win."

 
          
 
Hot Fat gestured to the east and west. “Most
of those you speak of have been killed. What few remained ran far to the east,
and we know nothing of what happened to them out on the Short Grass Plains, but
the Buffalo People are known to be mighty warriors.

 
          
 
"Now tell me, do I hear your words
correctly? You would not engage in warfare? You would not follow the ways of
our ancestors and fight to keep your strength?"

 
          
 
Wind Runner made the sign of negation.
"Most respected old one, I am afraid you do not hear my words correctly.
The best battles are the ones a warrior survives. A warrior's duty is to
protect his people. The finest warrior is he who knows when to attack and when
to avoid a fight. In war, courage is necessary, but even a fool can have
courage. That only makes him a courageous fool. A warrior who would lead must
have courage, but he must also have prudence. Courage and prudence must be
balanced, one against the other."

 
          
 
Hot Fat considered, rubbing his callused palms
together. He studied Wind Runner through gleaming eyes. "Tell me, warrior,
you speak of courage and prudence in the same breath. Which stands without the
other?"

 
          
 
"Courage," Wind Runner replied
easily. "Often prudence takes courage. Sometimes a prudent man must be
courageous enough to speak against the heartfelt desires of others when to
agree might be easier."

 
          
 
Hot Fat laid a hand on Wind Runner's shoulder.
"Good luck, young man. Your fate is in the hands of the Sun."

 
          
 
"Thank you, old one." Wind Runner
bent and picked up his club.

 
          
 
Hot Fat grunted to himself and returned to
stand beside the Black Point leader. Black Moon looked back and forth between
the warriors. Then he nodded his head.

 
          
 
One Man immediately charged forward, a shrill
scream on his lips.

 
          
 
Wind Runner ducked, dodging artfully and
parrying the blow of One Man's swing. One Man jumped nimbly aside, checking his
grip on the war club. He moved with uncanny grace, swift and agile.

 
          
 
Wind Runner circled carefully as he balanced
on the balls of his feet. One Man stood half a head taller than he; thick and
powerful muscles packed his shoulders. The cold reality settled in: Within
seconds, Wind Runner could be lying on the grass, his blood and brains leaking
through a cracked skull.

 
          
 
''You came here to die, White Clay," One
Man growled evilly.

 
          
 
"I came here to live." Wind Runner
whirled, feinted, and swung the club in a backhand toward his adversary's
skull. The blow slipped through empty air and Wind Runner used his momentum to
escape the vicious swing One Man countered with.