People of the Earth (61 page)

 
          
 
She nodded, gaining a glimmer of
understanding. To herself, she whispered, "And I'm the bridge? The way
between the Peoples?" She stared at her hands; they'd closed around Bad
Belly's necklace. At another time she would have marveled at the craft that had
gone into the ornament, but this morning a coldness lay within her breast. In
silence she reached up and draped the necklace around his neck. For a brief
moment their eyes met; then White Ash had to look away.

 
          
 
Bad Belly wandered off to the edge of the
clearing and bellowed, "Trouble!"

 
          
 
"Hey," she chided, "do you want
to call all the Wolf People in the mountains down on us?"

 
          
 
Bad Belly colored and took a deep breath.
"No. But Trouble's lost. I know it."

 
          
 
She raised her eyes to the sky and shook her
head. "He'll come back. Dogs are like that. He probably charged off after
a rabbit. Dogs have great noses; they can follow their trail back."

 
          
 
Bad Belly groaned to himself. "Well, we
can't go anywhere until he shows up."

 
          
 
She walked over, chewing on the jerked meat,
and put an arm around his shoulder, hugging him tight. "I know. It's a
nice camp. We've got water down in that little creek. The view to the west goes
all the way to the
Red
Rock
Mountains
. I think we can wait until Trouble comes
back/' She hesitated. "And there is less chance someone will see us."

 
          
 
.He reached up to pat her hand. "You've
been scared half to death, haven't you?''

 
          
 
"When I think of Wolf People, I think of
Three Bulls."

 
          
 
He tightened his grip, worried eyes scanning
the campsite. "I told you, if any of the Wolf People catch us, we'll just
tell them we're looking for Left Hand."

 
          
 
"If I don't throw up."

 
          
 
"That might be a little awkward," he
added absently. "But I suppose I could tell them we wanted to Trade with
Left Hand for healing herbs."

 
          
 
She shivered.

 
          
 
"It's all right," Bad Belly told
her. "We're Earth People. Friends of the Wolf People. They're only at war
with the Sun People. Just don't say anything in Sun People talk and they'll
never know."

 
          
 
"Sure," she agreed. Ice fingers
curled in her guts.

 
          
 
"Come on, let's—"

 
          
 
Shouts broke out in the valley below.

 
          
 
"Wolf People!" Bad Belly whispered
with excitement. He led the way into the screening brush that overlooked the
limestone cliff. White Ash crouched beside him at the edge and looked down.
Three women—burdened with infants in their arms—and five small children ran
down the valley. Behind them a man broke out of the trees. He kept looking
anxiously over his shoulder as he ran. He carried an
atlatl
and two darts, one
nocked
for casting.

 
          
 
"Hurry!" The man's call carried
faintly.

 
          
 
Within moments the fugitives had crossed the
valley and disappeared into the trees.

 
          
 
Bad Belly sat back on his heels and chewed on
his thumb. "What do you think they're running from?"

 
          
 
White Ash stilled the panic in her breast.
"War."

 
          
 
"War?"

 
          
 
She hated the sodden feeling in her soul.
"I've seen enough of it. It's war."

 
          
 
"Oh, no," Bad Belly moaned.
"War? And Trouble's lost in the middle of it? We've got to—"

           
 
She clamped a fear-strong hand on his arm.
"We're not going to do anything of the kind. We're going to sit here and
keep out of it!"

 
          
 
"But Trouble-"

 
          
 
"Bad Belly, listen to me." She
stared into his eyes. "You've never lived it. You don't know what it's
like. The Earth People haven't raided and warred for a long time. People die,
Bad Belly. People are darted, get their skulls bashed in. Wounds get infected
and pus runs out like rivers as the person swells up and burns with fever. They
die slowly . . . terribly."

 
          
 
He nodded. "I know."

 
          
 
"Then you know that it could happen to
us."

 
          
 
He closed his eyes and nodded again.

 
          
 
More people broke out of the trees and ran in
panic across the valley below.

 
          
 
"Who?" Bad Belly asked. "Who'd
raid Wolf People?"

 
          
 
Her eyes narrowed. "Sun People. Broken
Stones most likely. Last winter they hunted where the
Gray
Deer
River
joins the Fat Beaver—east of the Black
Point range."

 
          
 
"Just like in the Dream," he
whispered in a strangled voice. "It's happening just like in the
Dream."

 
          
 
"Come on." Fear wiggled in White
Ash's gut. "Let's get our packs and get out of here. Whoever they're
running from will be coming after them."

 
          
 
Bad Belly followed as she eased back from the
edge. With frantic fingers she tied the hide packs closed, then glanced around
to be sure they hadn't missed anything. She started for the trail that led down
into the timber.

 
          
 
"Wait!" Bad Belly cried.

 
          
 
She turned. "We've got to get away from
here."

 
          
 
He swallowed hard and looked up at the bald
rise above the camp. "At least let me check to see if Trouble's up there.
Maybe a packrat has a nest up in those rocks. It'll just take a minute."

 
          
 
She bit off an angry reply. "All right,
but hurry! We don't want to run into a band of anyone! Broken Stones will kill
us quickly as Wolf People—and any stranger will be a target."

           
 
He left at a run. She followed him
reluctantly, picking her way up through the rocks. Bad Belly crested the top
and stopped.

 
          
 
She climbed up next to him—and at her feet lay
the edge of the largest star wheel she'd ever seen. It rested on the flat top
of the knob, while the sides dropped off all the way around. She would have had
to stretch her legs to cross it in twenty paces. Spokes composed of head-sized
white stones crisscrossed the circle in all directions. The wheel looked old,
with grass growing up around the stones, and silt was piled in the
cairns
that marked the center and major
directions.

 
          
 
The whole of the sky would be visible—not even
the tree tops broke the horizon. The view was spectacular, from the
Red
Rock
Mountains
on the west far into the plains on the
east. White Ash could feel the Power here . . . watching, hovering in the air.

 
          
 
Did her ears trick her? Or did she hear an old
woman's sing-song chant?

 
          
 
"Look," Bad Belly exclaimed,
pointing. "Look at this! It's wonderful! You could follow the tracks of
all the stars and the sun and the—"

 
          
 
"And people are trying to kill us!"

 
          
 
Bad Belly tore his eyes from the circle and
started around the edge of the flat, peering over the side for Trouble. White
Ash set her pack down and started around the other way. She couldn't see any
trace of Bad Belly's dog. This is crazy!

 
          
 
"Bad Belly? I'm going back down to the
trail head. Someone has to keep an eye on what's happening down there. If more
people show up, we'll have to find another way off this point."

 
          
 
He nodded and waved, continuing his circle of
the knob.

 
          
 
White Ash grabbed her pack and started back
down the trail, growling to herself, "We could die any second and he's
worried about a dog that has more sense than he does."

 
          
 
She dropped her pack by the trail that led
down through the trees and crawled to the edge of the limestone cliff. The meadow
looked deceptively peaceful and empty.

 
          
 
Hurry, Bad Belly, Hurry.

           
 
She chafed, hating each passing instant; then
two warriors broke out of the trees, and her heart stopped. She knew the cut of
their clothing. That long-fringed hunting shirt and the tight-fitting leggings
with fringe along the outside were worn by only one people: Sun People. Broken
Stones.

 
          
 
Careful lest she make a sound, she backed away
from the cliff toward the brush. She started to reach for her pack—and realized
it had been moved.

 
          
 
She spun at the faint noise behind her,
watching apprehensively as the warrior stepped out from behind the firs that
marked the trail ahead. He smiled—triumph in his eyes. "Don't leave your
pack lying in the trail next time, Wolf Woman."

 
          
 
"No," she whispered.

 
          
 
Run!

 
          
 
She wheeled . . . and dashed into the arms of
a second man. She opened her mouth to scream, but a hard hand clapped over her
mouth from behind.

 
          
 
Brave Man walked through the camp of the Wolf
People. Another Camp of the Dead—but this time he had dispatched the victims.

 
          
 
"Will any of you escape as I did? I doubt
it. The Power is mine." He looked down at a young warrior who lay in the
sun, a dart jutting from his bloody belly. Someone had finished the job by dashing
his brains with a war club.

 
          
 
Pale Raven walked beside Brave Man, absently
noting the smoking fire pits and the smoke-browned covers of the lodges that
caught the morning sunlight. Except for the bodies, the place might have been
peacefully waiting the owners' return. Here and there a lodge had been upended,
but otherwise, personal possessions lay where they had been dropped.

           
 
"It happened the way you Dreamed it
would," Pale Raven said in awe. 'The very same."

 
          
 
. Brave Man chuckled. Satisfaction threatened
to burst his breast. "I am the new way. No one will stand before the
Broken Stones. Power whispers in my mind. One day soon all the Sun People will
speak my name."

 
          
 
She gave him a sultry glance. "I have
come to believe you."

 
          
 
Brave Man stopped at one of the fire pits. A
roast lay on the gray coals; the bottom had charred during the fighting, but
juices bubbled out of the top. He sniffed, enjoying the savory scent of elk
meat. "I would have some of that."

 
          
 
Pale Raven reached into her belt pouch and
produced a hafted
chert
knife. Deftly she cut a long
slice from the top and handed it to him. He blew on the hot meat to cool it and
took a bite. Warm juices filled his mouth.

 
          
 
He chewed thoughtfully as he looked about the
trampled meadow. Several of the younger warriors guarded the perimeter of the
camp, eyes on the trees lest any of the fleeing Wolf warriors double back.

 
          
 
In the center of the camp stood a solitary
lodge—the largest in the camp—-surrounded by a clear space. The cover had been decorated
with colorful paintings of the Sun, of Wolf and fire, the moon and stars; and
several large Spirals had been painted in red to either side of the
doorflaps
. Brave Man hitched his way across the open space
and stopped. Just in front of the lodge, a gray-haired elder lay on his back,
arms and legs sprawled. A dart had been driven all the way through his body.
The old eyes stared sightlessly into the sky. Something about the old man's
expression—as if the shaman had glimpsed some nightmare terror as he died—sent
shivers through Brave Man's soul.

 
          
 
Brave Man shook off the feeling of
premonition. The Wolf People had cared for their shaman. His clothing had been
tailored from the finest tanned-elk hide and stitched by a skilled hand.
Porcupine quills dyed in different colors had been worked into intricate
designs on the chest, yoke, and arms of the shirt. The quill work gleamed
eerily in the morning light. A wolf hide lay under the old man's body; his
blood clotted and dried in the rich black fur.

 
          
 
Brave Man turned to the lodge and gritted his
teeth against the pain as he ducked through the low entry. Various pouches,
fetishes, and feathered bundles had been hung from the lodge poles. The finest
tanned hides made up the old man's bed.

 
          
 
In the place of honor at the rear of the lodge
stood a tripod of peeled willow sticks, and upon it rested a large bundle
wrapped in wolf hide. Beside the tripod lay a beautiful rawhide
parfleche
—the carrying bag for the bundle, no doubt. Brave
Man stepped closer and studied the bundle. He reached toward it, pain stitching
his leg.

 
          
 
Yes, the voices whispered. Power. Here is the
Power of the Wolf People.

 
          
 
The moment Brave Man's fingers touched the
wolf-hide wrapping, a charge ran up his muscles and thrilled in his very bones.
He jerked his hand back as if it had touched a snake. Steeling himself, he
ground his teeth and lifted the prize from the tripod. Trembling, he peeled the
black hide back. Something fell from the wrapping to thump solidly on the furs
at his feet.

 
          
 
Brave Man grunted as he reached down and
retrieved a carved-stone effigy. He turned it in his fingers: an intricately
carved wolf, crafted from a black stone and polished until it shone in the
light.

 
          
 
Beautiful! And now it, like the Power, is
mine. He dropped the stone wolf into his pouch.

 
          
 
Brave Man's heart raced as he finished
unwrapping the black wolf hide from around the bundle. Cradling the bundle in
his hands, he studied it. The leather cover appeared to be very old, and had
been sewn into the shape of a heart. The top had been painted white to
represent heart fat, while a blood-red—laced by darker veins—had been rendered
on the lower part. The cover stretched tautly, the way it would if the bundle
were stuffed full.' Full of what?

 
          
 
Brave Man squeezed it . . . and flinched. A
queazy
feeling stirred his gut, and pain like slivers of
hot stone lanced his aching head.

 
          
 
Feel the Power! He closed his eyes and ignored
the headache. His senses seemed to swim, to extend. His soul swayed. He could
feel the Power trying to wrap itself around him, surrounding him like a warm
winter robe drawing tight to suffocate . . .

 
          
 
With a curse, he lashed back at it, driving it
from his soul.

 
          
 
*7f tried to kill me!" he raged. Then, to
the bundle, he chuckled, "You won't get me that way. I'm stronger than
you. And for trying to trick me, I shall destroy you."

 
          
 
Brave Man gloated down at the bundle and
stepped out into the daylight. Looking closely, he could see the delicate
stitching that held the sacred bundle together. The needlework had been done by
a master, the seams so small they could hardly be seen.

 
          
 
"Another prize?" Pale Raven asked.
She was staring down at the old man's corpse.

 
          
 
Brave Man threw his head back and laughed
despite the thorns of pain that pulsed in his head. "The heart of the Wolf
People! I have their heart!"

 
          
 
The bundle's Power sought him once again,
seeping into his flesh like chill on a winter day. He denied it, closing his
eyes to draw on the Power of pain and anger within. His balance failed him and
he fell, teeth gritted against the agony.

 
          
 
Call on your soul! Fight! Did you escape from
the Camp of the Dead to die like this? the voices shrieked.

 
          
 
Pale Raven s worried voice called from beyond
the red haze of pain and fear. He knew vaguely that she touched him, then drew
back in fear. Nothing existed for him except the battle of will he waged with
the bundle.

 
          
 
I will destroy you! I hate you, defy you! As I
butchered your People, so shall I butcher you! Anger welled, and he drew strength
from it. He unleashed the festering resentment that filled his soul, striking
back at the tendrils of Power the bundle tried to weave around his soul.
Seething rage twisted up from Brave Man's being, and he screamed as he broke
the bundle's hold on him.

 
          
 
I won! All I must do is hate! Blood and fear
are my weapons, my Power.

 
          
 
The bundle's Power drained away, and Brave Man
blinked his eyes, dazed by the strength of his personal Power. Or had the
bundle let him go? He tightened his grip on it as if to strangle it. "You
can't hurt me. No one is as Powerful as Brave Man. Tonight you will see the
full extent of my Power."

 
          
 
He looked up, finding himself ringed by
frightened people. The sun stood high overhead. How long had it been? Pale
Raven knelt before him, her antelope-hide dress twisted in her strong hands.

 
          
 
Brave Man rolled onto his side and shook his
head to clear his vision. Sweat trickled down the side of his face.

 
          
 
"Are you all right?" Pale Raven's
voice quavered. "What happened? I tried to help, but. . ." She closed
her eyes and shivered.

 
          
 
"I have broken their Power," Brave
Man rasped.

 
          
 
The voices inside whispered and giggled in
giddy triumph. Kill it! Burn it!

 
          
 
Brave Man
slitted
his eyes and raised the heart bundle to the Sun. "See? See what I bring
you? I, Brave Man, am the Power of the Sun! Thunderbird, I give you this
heart!"

 
          
 
Pale Raven looked around, cataloging the
campsite. "You give it to Thunderbird?"

 
          
 
"Tonight," Brave Man promised,
gripping the bundle until his fingers dimpled the sides. "During the
Dance. I shall send this to Thunderbird amidst the ashes of the Wolf
People!"

 
          
 
Left Hand's fear pumped with each panicked
beat of his heart. He held his breath and listened intently. He could hear them
coming, hear the soft footsteps of the approaching warriors. Frantic, with
nowhere to run, he'd slipped into a stand of young fir trees and dug into the
thick mat of needles. Obscured by a web of green boughs, he waited, each
remaining second of his life measured by the pumping of the blood in his veins.
A bit of the duff he'd buried himself in broke loose and fell into his ear,
tickling.

 
          
 
Left Hand struggled to clear his mind, to be
one with the rotting forest floor around him. If they found him now, he
couldn't even defend himself. He'd cast his last dart and gained the small
satisfaction of seeing it cut through an enemy warrior's side. Hopefully it had
gone deep enough to puncture the gut.