People of the Earth (53 page)

 
          
 
Wind Runner lifted his head a trifle to see
the last of the Hollow Flute warriors dropping over the crest of the ridge. He
filled his lungs, trying to drown the pumping fear with fresh air, and rolled
the rocks off before rising carefully to his feet.

 
          
 
"Stay there!" he called to his
friends, sprinting across the flat rock to peer over the southern edge of the
ridge. He counted the warriors as they drew their net tight around the brush
below. Then he scrambled away from the rim, urging, "Come on!"

 
          
 
He led the way back in the direction they had
come and dove off the northern edge, his feet dimpling the soil already mashed
flat by Hollow Flute feet. He jumped to the side, sprinting for the head of a
drainage, knowing they had to keep to low ground to avoid detection.

 
          
 
"I never would have believed that could
happen!" Blue Wind cried in amazement. "I thought you'd killed us
all."

 
          
 
"Then why did you do as I told you?"
Wind Runner asked.

 
          
 
"I just . . . well

 
          
 
"Maybe he didn't have a better
idea," Snail Shell broke in. "It's not going to take them very long
to figure out what happened. We'd better make tracks."

 
          
 
"Let's run," Wind Runner agreed.
"And we'd better get back to the main camp. The quicker the clan leader
and the Soul Flier know the Hollow Flute are coming, the sooner they can move
camp."

 
          
 
"Move camp?" Snail Shell asked.
"It would be better if we drove these pesky Hollow Flute back north—and
sent them packing with a couple of dead to mourn over."

 
          
 
"How many war parties have you seen in
the last couple of days?'' Blue Wind asked.

 
          
 
"Too many," Wind Runner growled.
"Save your breath to run with." And Thunderbird help us, there are
still a lot of Hollow Flute between us and the Black Point. A chill had settled
in Wind Runner's spine. If they didn't warn the Black Point in time, it might
be the Fat Beaver massacre all over again . . . provided I live that long.

 
          
 
The sun had barely crested the low bluffs on
the horizon. To the southeast, the
Grass
Meadow
Mountains
gleamed in the morning light, shadowed here
and there by patches of clouds that drifted over the peaks. The Broken Stones
had slept late after the Dancing and revelry Brave Man had led the night
before. As the eastern horizon grayed, birds had chirped among the cottonwoods
and in the greening brush along the
Grass
River
. Faint traces of blue smoke had woven
around the lodge poles, as it rose from the smoke holes and floated out over
the conical tan lodges. Here and there around the camp, a dog sniffed for
leftover scraps.

 
          
 
A single scream had broken that peace.

 
          
 
Now Brave Man hobbled across the camp while
people called to each other and warriors rushed about, blinking off sleep,
darts clutched in their hands. Dogs barked and yipped as they were kicked out
of the way.

 
          
 
“Over here! It's Sun Feathers!"

 
          
 
Brave Man hitched his way through the outlying
lodges toward the place where Sun Feathers liked to camp. A knot of people had
formed before the old Soul Flier's lodge. They parted as Brave Man approached,
confusion and terror in their eyes. A silence fell on the crowd as he arrived.
Buffalo Tail crouched by the Soul Flier's body and held his limp hand. The clan
leader glanced up, grief in his eyes. "He's dead."

 
          
 
Only the sound of camp dogs barking and
growling somewhere in the distance could be heard. Then a raven cawed ominously
from the cottonwood branches overhead. A puff of wind buffeted the side of
Brave Man's face and tickled stray hairs along his cheek.

 
          
 
Buffalo Tail gave him a flat look as he stood.
Brave Man turned his attention to the old Soul Flier. Sun Feathers lay on his
back, arms crossed peacefully on his chest. The old man's eyes were closed, his
wrinkled flesh hanging to outline the skull underneath.

 
          
 
“He was just lying there like that?"
Brave Man asked.

 
          
 
Yellow Rock's wife, One Blue Stick, stepped
out from the crowd and nodded. "I was on the way to the river at dawn to
get water. I passed him and thought he was asleep. On the way back, I looked
closer and saw he wasn't breathing. I was frightened ... I screamed.' "

 
          
 
The clan leader wiped his hands on his
buffalo-hide leggings and shook his head. "He must have just lain down and
died."

 
          
 
"Killed by the green light in the
sky," someone whispered. A buzz of anxious voices filled the morning.

 
          
 
"Wait." Brave Man lowered himself,
wincing as he kept his leg straight. He placed a hand on the old man's skin.

           
 
Cold. He lifted the elder's colorful beaded
shirt, exposing the flesh of his stomach and chest. Nothing seemed amiss. Brave
Man pried the old man's mouth open and peered inside. He studied the old man's
face and neck carefully, then inspected his hands.

 
          
 
Finally he tilted his head up and looked
around at the people who ringed them. "I don't see anything wrong with
him. There isn't a mark on his body."

 
          
 
"Then how did he die?" Buffalo Tail
asked as Brave Man grunted and got to his feet.

 
          
 
"The green light," someone
whispered. "It was an evil-"

 
          
 
Brave Man shot a finger like a lance at the
old woman who spoke. "No evil did this." He narrowed his eyes as he
pinned her. "Beware what you say, Grandmother. Words have Power. What you
call upon may visit you." Chided, the woman put a hand to her mouth and
backed away.

 
          
 
Brave Man spread his hands as he faced the
people. "No evil killed Sun Feathers. He had finished what he had to do
for the People. He was a Soul Flier." Brave Man looked from face to face.
"Perhaps the sign . . . maybe that green fire we saw in the sky was Sun
Feathers heading south. Did anyone see him after that?"

 
          
 
One by one, heads shook.

 
          
 
Brave Man nodded, looking up at the sky.
"We all felt the Power last night. It filled the air. Sun Feathers had
doubts about what the Power meant; he questioned why it sent me to the Broken
Stones. I knew he would seek the answer. How does a Soul Flier seek? He leaves
his body and travels to the Camp of the Dead. There he talks with Thunderbird,
who knows the way of the Sun." He paused, achieving just the right effect.
"And when a Soul Flier realizes that he has served his people, his soul
doesn't return. But sometimes he sends a sign to lead the people! While alive,
Sun Feathers wasn't sure about heading south, but after he died, he knew the
way to life for the Broken Stones!"

 
          
 
Buffalo Tail frowned and rubbed the back of
his neck. "And you think that's what happened? That it wasn't some evil
Spirit?"

           
 
"Look at him." Brave Man gestured
toward Sun Feathers. "All of you, look! Do you see any mark on his body?
Do you see any sign that he fought? When evil Spirits kill a Soul Flier, you
can see it in his face, because the soul is driven off in a terrible Spirit
battle. Sun Feathers lies before us in peace. Look in his mouth. Do you see
blood? Does it look as if his soul was torn from his body?"

 
          
 
Brave Man turned, searching the faces of the
Broken Stones. "No, I think he flew to the Camp of the Dead. And there he
learned what Power wanted the Broken Stones to do. Knowing that, he gave us a
sign—a path burned across the sky. That green fire streaked to the south,
toward the home of the Sun."

 
          
 
Buffalo Tail licked his lips, unsure.
"True, there would be a mark on his body if he'd died in a Spirit battle.
I've heard that before."

 
          
 
Brave Man placed a hand on Buffalo Tail's
shoulder. "He was your good friend. His counsel helped you to lead the
people. I know how you must feel. But hear me. He went in peace after having
lived a full life." Brave Man smiled reassuringly. "Buffalo Tail, you
must remember all the times that Sun Feathers cured sickness, the times he Sang
to bring courage in war and success in the hunt. He was part of the strength of
the Broken Stones. Elders—even those as wise as Sun Feathers—die. At the same
time, babies are born to renew the clan."

 
          
 
Buffalo Tail's shoulders sagged. He looked
back at the dead Soul Flier, grief growing bright in his eyes. "Yes, I
know. But I still feel a hole in my soul that will remain empty."

 
          
 
"So should we all," Brave Man
agreed. "Come, let us prepare him. Flying Hawk, Buffalo Leg, Yellow Rock,
and Fat Elk, our finest warriors, will bear his body to a high place. There we
will all Sing our praise of Sun Feathers."

 
          
 
"And you will help Sing, help call
Thunderbird to carry his soul to the Camp of the Dead?"

 
          
 
Brave Man smiled warmly. "I will Sing
with all my heart. I don't bear Sun Feathers any ill will. His first
responsibility was to his people—to protect them from harm. One day, when I
have passed as many winters as Sun Feathers, I will be as skeptical as he of a
young man who comes claiming Power. I hope I will have as much courage as Sun
Feathers and send my soul flying to seek the answers."

 
          
 
He turned then, limping back through the
crowd. This time the gazes were warmer, less suspicious.

 
          
 
Yes, I’ve turned all this to my advantage very
easily, haven't I?

 
          
 
Pale Raven had stood at the edge of the
circle; now she broke away to walk with him.

 
          
 
"Too bad," she said unemotionally.

 
          
 
"Yes." Brave Man studied her.
Appreciation for her poise and beauty filled him. Her full breasts strained the
soft leather of her dress; the morning sun gleamed in her lustrous black hair.
"You don't seem brokenhearted."

 
          
 
She glanced at him, wryness in the set of her
sensual lips. "Sun Feathers was no friend of mine." She paused.
"And you will go and Sing praises to him?"