People of the Earth (97 page)

 
          
 
Still Water winced at the venomous anger.
"I don't think Black Hand let Warm Fire die. I think he did all he could.
Power sometimes—"

 
          
 
"Don't talk to me about Power!" Tuber
spat into the night. "I've watched too many people die because Healers
wouldn't save them!" A pause. "You heard about Lupine?"

 
          
 
Still Water nodded. "Yes. But that wasn't
Power."

 
          
 
"Hot Fat didn't save her. I saw. He just
shook his head and walked off."

 
          
 
Where had all the anger come from? Still Water
tried to remember the Tuber he'd known before Warm Fire's death. Could this
brooding young man be that same laughing, happy child? "We've talked
enough about death. Tell me the new things, about your hunting."

           
 
"The world would be a better place
without Healers and Soul Fliers. I don't trust them."

 
          
 
Still Water leaned back on his elbow and
stretched his legs out across the warm sand. "Ah, but not all Power is
bad. While I've been gone, I've seen. I've become the Keeper of the Wolf
Bundle. So I'm tied up with Power, too."

 
          
 
He could feel
Tiber
's hard scrutiny. "The Wolf Bundle?
What's that? If you're its Keeper, it must have all the Power of a rabbit
pellet on dry sandstone."

 
          
 
"It might surprise you."

 
          
 
"And I might surprise it," Tuber grunted,
shifting warily.

 
          
 
"You really like Sage Ghost?"

 
          
 
Tuber's grin infected the darkness. "He's
a real warrior. He's had a tough time—like me. His wife died last winter, the
same time my father did. I don't care if he couples with Mother. He cares for
her . . . which is more than Black Hand did. And he cried when Lupine was
killed by . . . Well, when she died."

 
          
 
"Sage Ghost isn't sure he cares about
me."

 
          
 
Tuber chuckled at that. "I suppose he
wouldn't be. But he's a good man, Bad Belly. He's lost a lot in the last year,
his wife, his people. And then his daughter vanished when the Wolf People
killed the White Clay. He thinks she's dead and he still mourns her. Maybe
that's why I like him so."

 
          
 
"I don't think he mourns his daughter
anymore." Still Water smiled into the night.

 
          
 
"You don't know him. He's lost everything
he loves. So now he loves us."

 
          
 
"His daughter is my—"

 
          
 
"To hear him talk," Tuber went on
excitedly, "his daughter was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. Sage
Ghost says Power gave her to him when his other daughters died. That she was
special."

 
          
 
"She is. Everything Sage Ghost says is
true."

 
          
 
Tuber cocked his head. "Is?"

 
          
 
"White Ash is my wife. That's how I came
here—alive, as you noted. She's talking with Sage Ghost now, telling him of our
adventures,"

 
          
 
Tuber gaped. "You? White Ash is married
to you?"

           
 
"It's a long story. I'll tell it to you
one of these days."

 
          
 
Tiber
's
disbelief stretched his face out of shape. "What does she see in you?”

 
          
 
Blessed Creator, did it never end? "She
says my soul is yellow and red. Maybe that's it."

 
          
 
"But how did you get here? How did you
know where we'd be?"

 
          
 
"Power brought us. We've come to fight an
evil Soul Flier. His name is Brave Man, and he's leading the Broken Stones here.
He has to be stopped or his Power will change the world."

 
          
 
"Let me help you!"

 
          
 
Still Water shook his head. "Enough of
the Round Rock are already gone. Not you, too. This is a thing for powerful
Dreamers—not for young boys who believe themselves invincible."

 
          
 
Tuber fingered the war club that hung at his
belt. "A Healer dies under the club as fast as any other man."

 
          
 
"Perhaps, but Brave Man is coming with
all of his warriors. White Ash and I must meet him on a different ground than
this one."

 
          
 
"As long as it's one less Spirit man, I'm
all for it."

 
          
 
"And would you have wished that Singing
Stones had never cured me when the rattlesnake bit my arm?"

 
          
 
"Your arm never healed," Tuber
pointed out unpleasantly.

 
          
 
"But I lived."

 
          
 
"Uncle, you and I see the world
differently. We always have."

 
          
 
Still Water slapped his knee with his good
hand. "You surprise me, Tuber. I left a sulking boy—and I find a
man."

 
          
 
Tuber lifted his war club, grasping it as if
to reassure himself of the weapon's balance. "You know, you and Father
were the only people I could ever talk to. You listened to me. The rest of
Round Rock had no use for a worthless boy. After you left, I realized that. I
want to thank you for taking the time."

 
          
 
Still Water's heart warmed. "I'll always
listen. But don't remember our clan with such anger. There were many good
people there, and hate isn't good for your soul."

           
 
"Oh?" Pensively Tuber studied the
firelit
camp. "They thought you were worthless, too.
You can't deny that. I heard Grandmother talk about you—heard the scorn in her
voice. I learned a lot of lessons from Grandmother. Now I have a new place, a
new people, and one day they will know me as a great warrior."

 
          
 
Still Water gripped Tuber's shoulder.
"That's the way. You'll do fine here."

 
          
 
Tuber stood. "I intend to. Meanwhile, I
have to skin these rabbits, cool them out before the meat sours."

 
          
 
"Come on, I'll help. I can hold the head
while you peel the hides off. It'll be like old times."

 
          
 
Tuber laughed. "No, uncle. Better than it
used to be. I've learned to change things I don't like."

 
          
 
"All right. But first, come and meet my
beautiful White Ash." As they walked, he asked, "You got the rabbits
with your club?"

 
          
 
Tuber nodded. "I sneak close, then I throw.
A twist and a half, and smack."

 
          
 
"You've become a very good hunter."

 
          
 
"Better than you can imagine, uncle.
Rabbits are easy. They can't kill you if you make a mistake."

 
          
 
Still Water looked into the lodge and found it
full of sleeping forms, but he didn't see White Ash. Their robes lay several
paces behind the lodge. He backed out and let the flap fall down, then tiptoed
around the stakes that pinned the lodge cover. He recognized the swell of White
Ash's body lying in their robes. "Looks like she's asleep. Well, let's go
skin rabbits. Then maybe we'll roast one over the fire, just so we can talk
some more."

 
          
 
Brave Man sat on a rise that looked out to the
south. He'd laid a deer hide over the cobbles and gravel that would have eaten
uncomfortably into his flesh. Wind whispered in the pale leaves of the sage,
and bird song filled the evening air. He could hear the prairie dogs yipping in
the flats below. He took a deep breath, sucking the soul of the land into his
lungs. He cleared his mind, seeking the voices within as he let his soul float.

 
          
 
Power. South. The final test is coming. Look
inside.

 
          
 
What had touched him the night the one-armed
man had stolen White Ash from him? What had caused the voices to deafen him?
He'd felt another Power working with the Wolf Bundle. Would it try him again?

 
          
 
The voices hissed, Seek inside. The way to
Power lies there. Seek. The time is soon.

 
          
 
Was that where the real Power lay? Had he
fooled himself all these years—thinking that it came from a Spirit outside of
himself? The Dreams and their revealing visions came during sleep, after all,
when the soul was free and thoughts didn't compete for his attention.

 
          
 
Inside, the voices agreed.

 
          
 
No one would bother him this night. Pale Raven
had talked to Flying Hawk, and a web of scouts had been sent out so no Black
Point could sneak in. For once, he had his peace.

 
          
 
He hitched his leg into a comfortable position
and exhaled slowly to allow the tensions to run out with his breath. He blanked
his thoughts. Bit by bit, he let himself go, seeking the source of the Dreams.

 
          
 
He banished the sensations of his body.
Memories tried to spring up in his mind.

 
          
 
I don't want memories. With all of his iron
discipline, he ignored them. A touch of gray mist crept into his being. He
surrendered more of himself. The mist grew, soothing. He began to fall into it
. . . then pulled himself back.

 
          
 
He blinked, aware of the hard rock of the
ridge top that bruised his flesh. The headache crashed down upon him, lancing
knives into his skull.

 
          
 
"What was that?"

 
          
 
Power, the voices chortled. You touched Power.

 
          
 
He nodded slowly to himself. On the night the
one-armed man had come to take White Ash, he had felt the same thing.