People of the Earth (59 page)

 
          
 
Amazement rippled through the watching people
like a deep river current.

 
          
 
"No," Wind Runner cried as the words
sank in. "They'll kill you, uncle!"

 
          
 
Sage Ghost laid callused hands on Wind
Runner's shoulders. A wry smile curled his lips. "Then they kill me,
nephew. I just came to see you one last time. I had to know what happened to
you. You're all I have left."

 
          
 
"I claim him," Wind Runner called
out. "This man is my uncle. He can share my lodge. I will care for
him."

 
          
 
One Man came to stand behind Black Moon,
glancing warily back and forth.

 
          
 
Black Moon paced, working his fingers. He
turned and spread his arms wide as he asked Hot Fat, "What do we do?
What's happened to us? I can't order One Man to kill him. After all we've heard
here today?"

 
          
 
Hot Fat stepped up to Sage Ghost, keen eyes
staring into the White Clay's face. "How many summers have passed since I
saw you last?"

 
          
 
"Five, old one. At the Gathering north of
the
Bug
River
. The one where Seven Bulls married Wild
Plum."

 
          
 
Hot Fat grunted and scratched at his ear.
"That long?"

 
          
 
One Man edged next to Wind Runner and said
quietly. "I will offer some of my meat to feed Sage Ghost."

 
          
 
Wind Runner's dazed wits refused to serve him.
Fragmented images of White Ash battled with concern for Sage Ghost and grief
over the death of the White Clay . . . and so many beloved friends.

 
          
 
Black Moon threw his hands up and let them
fall. He turned to the people. "You have heard Sage Ghost. You have heard
One Man's words, what Makes Room said, and what Wind Runner said. Myself, I
cannot speak for the clan, but me, I can't order this man away. I can't add to
what's already befallen him. My advice is to let him stay. Let him stay with us
as the last of the White Clay."

 
          
 
One Man raised his hands for attention.
"You all know me. You know the courage of One Man. I have fought for the
Black Point. I have given my soul for my clan. You know that One Man is proud
and strong. Yet I have seen and heard things which frighten me, for I do not
understand what is happening among the Sun People. Perhaps a new way is coming
to us. Perhaps we should all look to the White Clay—and think about the things
that have befallen them. Perhaps we should take our time, and learn all we can
as we try and see the way Thunderbird and Bear would lead us."

 
          
 
Then the Black Point war leader indicated Sage
Ghost with a nod of his head. "I say Sage Ghost should be welcomed among
us." He ran a steely gaze around the circle. "He came here alone,
knowing he would have to fight the entire Black Point clan. A man who has done
this has proven his courage and worth to One Man."

 
          
 
Fire Rabbit leapt to his feet, a clenched fist
held high. "What is happening here? To us? To everything? Think about what
we've heard here today. Has Power turned against us? Everything has come apart,
like an old coat sewn with rotten sinew. I don't care if this old White Clay
comes to live with us. I have only one question: What are we going to do about
the Hollow Flute?"

 
          
 
The crowd erupted, some shouting, some
arguing, shaking their heads and gesturing. Confusion reigned.

 
          
 
Black Moon raised his hands as he called out
for silence. Then he turned to Sage Ghost. "You said you'd been south of
the
Sideways
Mountains
?"

 
          
 
Sage Ghost nodded. "I have been there.
Twice. Once, years ago, because Power led me there. This time I went to find my
daughter."

 
          
 
Black Moon nodded and glanced around at the
worried people. He asked, "What about these Earth People? Do they have as
much as the Traders say? Can we live in their land?"

 
          
 
Sage Ghost shrugged. "They don't live the
way we do, but yes, they have as much as the Traders say. Rarely do they starve
in the winter as happens among our camps. We could take the land and live
there—but it would mean learning their ways."

 
          
 
One Man squinted appraisingly. "You say
we could take their land? Are they fierce fighters? How many of us would have
to die to do this?"

 
          
 
Sage Ghost gave him a crooked smile. "No
man lives forever, One Man. Some of the Black Point will die no matter who you
war with. Myself, I'd rather face the Earth People than the Hollow Flute. There
are more Earth People—their camps are everywhere because the land is so
rich—but I know the Hollow Flute. You have to kill them three times to keep
them dead."

 
          
 
Black Moon chewed his lip. "Let us take
some time and think. Meanwhile, talk about it. Tomorrow will be time enough to
decide what to do."

 
          
 
Wind Runner had barely heard. White Ash filled
his memory, and her eyes stared back at him from his very soul. Dead? She can't
be dead! Thunderbird wouldn't take her— not after I risked everything.
Impossible. It can’t be!

 
          
 
A gentle hand settled on his shoulder. Wind
Runner looked down into Hot Fat's sharp eyes.

 
          
 
"Come," the Soul Flier said. "
Aspen
will fix a meal. You and Sage Ghost come
eat with me."

 
          
 
"My hunger is gone, old one."

 
          
 
Sage Ghost turned sad eyes toward his nephew.
"Come on. If she's anywhere, it's south of the
Sideways
Mountains
. If she's alive, we'll find her."

 
          
 
I've lost her forever. I can feel it. The
White Clay are dead—killed by the Wolf People. Why didn't I go with her when I
had a chance? Why?

 
          
 
Wind Runner looked up, his eyes losing focus
as he stared into the depths of the sky. I've been tricked. Cheated of the only
happiness I ever would have known.

 
          
 
Bad Belly turned the prize over in his hand as
he sat next to the small fire. 44 I don't understand. It's rock . . . and it's
wood. See the grain? The knots? How could it grow?"

 
          
 
White Ash studied the curious object he'd
found earlier in the day: a section of stone a little longer than Bad Belly's
forearm. The long, thin specimen was clearly solid rock, despite the fact that
it looked exactly like weathered wood.

 
          
 
"Maybe it's from some kind of tree we've
never seen." She stroked the strange stone, running her fingers over the
obvious wood grain. "Left Hand told you that the teeth you're making the
necklace out of came from a fish. And didn't he say there were stone bones down
around
Sand
Wash
?"

 
          
 
The pensive expression on Bad Belly's face
deepened and he nodded. He reached into the pouch and pulled out one of the ten
black teeth and rubbed it.

 
          
 
They had camped in a hollow between worn
granite boulders. Below them, a small stream ran clear and cold in the
drainage. Aspen trees rattled softly in the evening breeze. The air smelled of
grass, damp earth, and conifer trees. The meadow that stretched the length of
the valley grew lush and green with wheatgrass, fescue, and steppe bluegrass.
Bright yellow blooms on the balsam accented the purple heads of shooting star,
sagebrush buttercup, and early onions. Clouds had rolled in from the west,
darkening the night.

 
          
 
Trouble lay across from the fire, where sparks
wouldn't land in his thick fur. He watched them happily, eyes gleaming in the
firelight, ears up, as if listening intently to their conversation.

           
 
"It's wood," Bad Belly repeated.
"How can wood turn into rock?"

 
          
 
White Ash yawned and stretched. "Maybe
it's Power. Maybe Power can turn wood into rock like that."

 
          
 
Bad Belly scratched his ear while visions of
burning snow haunted him. He wiped the stone wood's sooty end where he'd tried
to set it on fire. Nothing had happened, not even when he'd placed it in the
middle of the glowing coals. "Wood that's rock . . . and doesn't burn?
Doesn't even smoke in the flames? I wonder, do you suppose that's what the sun
burns? Wood made out of stone? Maybe Power can set the sun on fire. Maybe
that's why you never smell smoke when the sun's up. It burns this kind of
wood."

 
          
 
She lifted a skeptical eyebrow and stared at
him. "Don't be silly. If the sun burned stone wood like that, it would be
so heavy it would fall out of the sky. Feel that. It's solid rock. And besides,
the sun couldn't burn wood anyway."

 
          
 
"How do you know?"

 
          
 
She propped her chin on her palms. "Pick
up one of the pieces of firewood. Don't just look at me like some sort of fool.
Go on, do it."

 
          
 
Bad Belly set his rock wood down and picked up
one of the branches she'd broken off of a dead juniper.

 
          
 
"Throw it up in the air."

 
          
 
He shrugged and threw it up. Trouble leaped to
his feet and launched himself in pursuit. The branch rattled when it hit the
ground somewhere behind them.

 
          
 
"So?" Bad Belly raised his good
hand. "I threw it up in the air."

 
          
 
"And it came down again." She smiled
sweetly and tapped her fingers on her chin. Firelight played on her smug face.
"So if the sun burned wood, it would fall out of the sky, too."

 
          
 
Bad Belly muttered to himself. Trouble
appeared out of the night to drop the irritating branch at his feet. "I
always said the sun didn't burn wood. Otherwise, you'd see the smoke around
it—even if you couldn't smell it."

 
          
 
White Ash picked up the stone wood and hefted
it. "There's lots of this in the buttes just south of the
Dangerous
River
. I used to wonder about it when I was
younger. People just looked at it and let it lay. They never wondered about it.
Because no one else did, neither did I."

 
          
 
"Are there stone trees in the
north?" . "None that I ever saw/' She turned the piece in the
firelight. "And someone would have said if they'd found one growing. I
wonder if the leaves are stone, too?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly knotted his brows as he thought
about it. "The leaves would have to be green." He cocked his head.
"Or would they? Leaves change color when they fall off trees. But what
happens to stone leaves? Where do they go? We should see little flakes of stone
leaf on the ground."

 
          
 
"Shale?"

 
          
 
"I don't think so. Shale's thin and flat,
but it's black or gray. And it doesn't look like leaves. You can't see any of
those little veins in it . . . and the shape's wrong."

 
          
 
The fire cracked and popped, sending a curl of
sparks twirling into the night to flicker out one by one. In the black belt of
trees above their camp, a horned owl issued a plaintive
hoo
hoo
hoooo
.

 
          
 
White Ash placed a hand on his arm and gave
him a sober stare. "The world will never be the same for me, Bad Belly.
You've made it come alive again. Maybe Singing Stones and the Dream are right.
Maybe I did die in the river." She tightened her grip on his arm.
"From the time you saved my life, everything got better."

 
          
 
He smiled and laid a hand on hers. "I'm
glad. I never made anyone happy before. I just hope it stays that way. We're in
the Wolf People's land now."

 
          
 
She glanced out at the night. "All we've
found are old camps."

 
          
 
"It's greening up. The weather's warm and
the snow's melting out from the north slopes. Maybe they're digging roots.
Shooting star is coming up. Biscuit root is growing, and the tops are good to
eat before they flower. People like a change from eating stored things."

 
          
 
"I suppose." She yawned and sighed.
"At least the Dreams haven't been bothering us."

 
          
 
He stared up at the dark sky. "I don't
know if that's good or bad. I kind of . . . well, I thought that Dreams would
tell us where to go. There's a lot of country up here. Where do we go to find
the Wolf Bundle?"

 
          
 
Her grip tightened in his. "Maybe the
Dreams don't come as long as we're going the right way?"

 
          
 
"Let's hope so," Bad Belly agreed
fervently. He loosened his fingers and placed the stone wood in his pack.
"Maybe tomorrow we'll find what we're looking for."

 
          
 
Larkspur sat under the sunshade outside her
lodge. The sun beat down on the protecting granite mounds that rose behind
Round Rock camp. The warmth reflecting from the hot stone soothed her ancient
bones and joints. The sunshade consisted of a square framework of juniper that
supported a woven thatch roof of willow and giant wild rye.

 
          
 
Green
Mountain
dominated the skyline to the south, rising
like a humped monster against the endless blue of the late-spring sky. Up high,
the meadows between timber patches gleamed in new green. Fed by winter melt,
the grass had grown thick this year. Even the trees appeared to be a richer
shade of green than usual. They contrasted with the blue-green sage on the
terraces below the mountain, but even there, grass had given the landscape
life.

 
          
 
Too bad I can't walk as well as I used to.
Larkspur smacked her lips while her eyes traced the pathways to the top of the
mountain. As a young girl, she'd enjoyed climbing those slopes, a digging stick
in one hand to pry out roots and a bag in the other to carry the harvest of
scurf pea, paintbrush, and wild onions.

 
          
 
She stared around the camp—so curiously silent
now that her daughters, Pretty Woman,
Limbercone
, and
Phloxseed
, had gone up with the men to collect
shooting star, biscuit root, and the first tender leaves of dock. In the baking
light of the sun, the camp rested. The buzz of flies could be heard against the
background of bird song woven by the rosy finches, sage thrashers, and
white-capped sparrows that hopped around the sage. Redwing blackbirds and
grackles flitted through the thick willows along the Coldwater; a meadowlark
chortled its pleasure from behind the camp.

 
          
 
The young dogs had gone with the rest to carry
packs, but the old dogs slept in the shade, grunting occasionally as they
dreamed. In the manner of their kind, they'd wake for a moment to look at her
with lonesome eyes before rolling over on their sides.

 
          
 
The Gathering would be coming soon. This year
the Three Forks valley would hold the clans. Better there than over at
Sand
Wash
like last year. The walk down there almost killed me.

 
          
 
And next year? If Grouse camp wanted to hold
the Gathering clear over on the
Sage
Grouse
River
, could she go that far?

 
          
 
She glared at her swollen ankles. "You're
getting old, Larkspur. Too old." She squinted up at the slivers of
sunlight that slipped through the sunshade. It would be time to leave the
earthen shelters soon. The People did that in the summertime—moved around their
territory, setting up temporary camps where the root grounds looked the most
productive, or where the stands of rice grass and giant wild rye bore the
richest seeds. The local Spirits provided well as long as the People treated
them and their root grounds and plants with respect. Besides, who could blame a
Spirit for getting mad if people came and ate all the plants? Spirits had a
love for their places—and the things that grew and lived in them—just as humans
loved their camps.

 
          
 
Moving around served other purposes, too. By
spring, People were ready to live in the open. After so many turnings of the
winter moon, the earthen lodges wore on a person. Warm and comfortable as they
were in winter, the soul needed to be out in the air during the warm season.