People of the Earth (47 page)

 
          
 
Brave Man laughed, slapping a hand against his
good leg. “Is that what you think? That they had no heart for war? Think back!
Count the dead, Buffalo Tail. Remember the faces and tell me if the White Clay
didn't kill two for every one of their own dead." Brave Man made an
imploring gesture. "1 was there! At no time did the White Clay number more
than ten tens of warriors, yet they kept you—and the Black Point—at bay for
many seasons."

 
          
 
“And they are gone today," Cloudy Sky
scolded, her arms crossed, face angry.

 
          
 
“They are gone," Brave Man agreed. “But
not because they didn't fight like cornered badgers. I knew those warriors. I
can remember the gleam in their eyes when they talked of war. I felt the
presence of their courage. But strong arms and hearts—even hearts filled with
an anger as fierce as that of a silver bear—weren't enough to save the White
Clay. They made a mistake."

 
          
 
“What mistake?" Sun Feathers asked,
stepping forward to peer up at Brave Man.

 
          
 
“They forgot the ways of Power." Brave
Man raised a finger. “They couldn't read the signs of the sun. They didn't heed
their Soul Flier, Old Falcon."

 
          
 
"You are awfully young to be talking about
the ways of Soul Fliers and Power," Sun Feathers said casually.

 
          
 
Brave Man lifted his head, staring down his
nose. “Power isn't tied to a man's age. It's tied to his soul, respected elder.
The White Clay were destroyed when they split their strength into three bands.
Two of those bands declared they would hold the
Fat
Beaver
Valley
, with its wonderful hunting and mild
wintering grounds. They refused what Power asked of them. Now the winter wind
whistles through their bones."

           
 
Sun Feathers cocked his head, an amused
expression on his face. "And you know what Power asked of the White
Clay?"

 
          
 
Brave Man scuttled the urge to strangle the
old man. "Yes, old one. The destiny of the Sun People lies in the south.
Those who refuse to follow the path of the sun will be destroyed or
discarded."

 
          
 
"And what if we don't believe this vision
of yours?" Sun Feathers asked, eyes narrowing.

 
          
 
The fire popped, and whirling sparks rose to
flicker out in the night sky. Tension gripped the people. A breeze wavered the flames
and tugged at robe hems and fringes before going still again.

 
          
 
"Then you, too, will be destroyed or
discarded. Power will not be ignored. We can't help but follow the path of the
sun. As long as we do, victory will follow upon victory. If we try to stay
here, or move back to the north, one disaster will pile upon another."

 
          
 
"And you know these things, White
Clay?" Sun Feathers sniffed disdainfully. "What are you, Brave Man?
Who are you?"

 
          
 
The voices cackled in Brave Man's head,
hissing their anger.

 
          
 
Brave Man smiled grimly and raised his hands
to the starry skies, ignoring the agony in his knee as he stood free of Pale
Raven's support. "I am the way of Power, old one. I am the future of the
Broken Stones."

 
          
 
"You are-"

 
          
 
"Consider, before you speak, Sun
Feathers," Brave Man interrupted. "Who came into your camp with
nothing? Who killed your most powerful warrior? Who Dreamed and warned of the
Black Point trap? I did that! Brave Man! I, who escaped from the Camp of the
Dead despite Black Point Power. I, who survived the last of the White
Clay!" He glowered at the old man. "Think carefully, Soul Flier.
Search yourself and ask if you know all the ways of Power. Can you deny what I
have said? Is your Power the same as mine?"

 
          
 
Sun Feathers' lips twitched as he met Brave
Man's glare. "I don't know what you are."

           
 
Brave Man nodded. "But I do, old one. I
am the future."

 
          
 
Sun Feathers bristled and made the cutting-off
sign with his hand. "I think this is enough for tonight. We all need to
think, to weigh the words of the elders against those of brash young men."

 
          
 
At that, the old Soul Flier pushed past, the
people parting before him. He walked
pridefully
, a
Powerful man who knew his position. At the same time, anger bristled from his
stiff back.

 
          
 
Buffalo Tail took a deep breath, staring into
the fire. "Let us all go and think. Much has been said here tonight."

 
          
 
The people began to trickle away, voices
hushed as they faded into the night and the shadows of the lodges.

 
          
 
Flying Hawk rubbed his face and stood. He
turned to Brave Man. "Is it true? That the Wolf People would wipe us
out?"

 
          
 
Brave Man nodded. "If you doubt, ask the
White Clay."

 
          
 
"And what about after we destroy the Wolf
People?" Buffalo Leg asked.

 
          
 
Brave Man pointed to the south. "There,
beyond the lands held by the Wolf People, is another land. I've seen the
Sideways
Mountains
. Beyond them lies the land of the Earth
People. The farther south you go, the more Powerful the sun is. There, in the
Wind
Basin
, people do not starve in winter. They have
so much food they don't have to move to follow the herds. In a land so rich,
the Broken Stones will grow strong. Our infants won't die of hunger. Power has
shown me this way. The Earth People are not used to war. We will kill their
warriors and take their women. Our way lies toward the sun. That is the reason
we're driven to the south."

 
          
 
He leaned on Pale Raven and hobbled toward his
lodge.

 
          
 
She whispered, "You have loosed a nest of
hornets among us. Sun Feathers will do everything he can to stop you."

 
          
 
"Let him try," Brave Man grunted
against the pain. "For now, the seeds of the future have been cast upon
the soil. They will grow strong and tall."

 
          
 
"You have a lot of faith in
yourself," she responded dryly.

 
          
 
"Power will not let me down. I will Dream
again—soon. And when I do, the Wolf People will know fear."

 
          
 
"And you'll get your White Ash?"

           
 
"She's almost mine." The voices
cooed, Yes. Yes.

 
          
 
Wind tripped along the open ridge top with all
the purpose of a young boy lost in his head. It wiggled the brown grasses so
recently released from the grip of the snow, and tugged gently at White Ash's
robe. She and Bad Belly sat on the eastern edge of a circle made of stones. Ten
paces across, it had been placed at the highest point of the ridge. Lines of
head-sized stones crossed the diameter of the circle. Bad Belly laid aside his
bow-drill and the flat, triangular rock he'd been drilling to make a necklace.
He stared down at the small bow and the drill—a thin shaft of hardwood circled
by the bowstring. The drill shaft fit into a block of wood that a normal man
would hold with his weak hand to steady and guide the drill. Bad Belly had to
rest his chin on it while he sawed back and forth on the bow. Periodically, Bad
Belly would wet the tip of the drill and dip it into fine white sand before
fitting it back in the hole he laboriously drilled in the tooth. The sand acted
as an abrasive while Bad Belly's saliva lubricated the cutting.

 
          
 
The dusky light fled from the deepening
lavender of the sky, and night's chill descended on the land. From this
high point
, the whole of the
Wind
Basin
lay exposed to the south. Blue shadows
crept among the distant ridges that rippled across the lowlands in dappled
patterns of rock and drainage. The southern land drew their eyes, leading ever
onward until it met the sere horizon so many day's walk away. To the west, the
Monster
Mountains
raked the yellow-white sunset sky with
snow-cloaked teeth. The steep rim of the Gray Wall hemmed the southern extent
of the basin—a pale ghost that mounded into the
Round
Rock
Mountains
. Far to the east, the
Black Mountains
were an irregular dark patch against the
dimming sky; their rounded peaks brooded above their tree-packed slopes.

 
          
 
Bad Belly straightened from peering down the
line of stones. To his disappointment, the sun had dropped over the horizon
between two lines.

 
          
 
“We probably won't be able to see
anything," he told White Ash mournfully. 'The rocks line up only on
certain days, and Singing Stones told me it will be another two moons until the
longest day."

 
          
 
She linked her arm in his, enjoying the peace
of the evening. "That's all right. I can imagine what it must be like. I
never even knew you could mark the path of the stars."

 
          
 
“Sure. See how all these spokes run across the
inside of the circle? Each one points to something, like the place the sun
rises on the longest day, or where the stars come up on the longest night. Left
Hand first told me about how the star wheel works. I wished so hard that I'd
get to see one."

 
          
 
She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Now
you have your wish."

 
          
 
A frown marred his brow. “You sounded sad when
you said that."

 
          
 
“No, I'm glad you got your wish. I didn't mean
to sound sad. I just hope all your wishes come true. That's all." She
shrugged. “It's not you. It's me. I'm confused. Everything's sad. I can't
believe it's all real. Too much has happened too fast. I can't quite convince
myself that the White Clay aren't waiting for me back there in the basin. I
keep thinking I can return home . . . and Bright Moon and Sage Ghost will be
waiting, worried sick about where I've been. The lodge will be warmed by a
bright fire. Chunks of buffalo will be boiling in the gut bag by the fire while
more stones are heating in the coals. Bright Moon will be bursting at the seams
to tell me the latest scandal."