People of the Fire (65 page)

 
          
 
"Come," Little Dancer told her,
backing away, reaching for her hand as well as Two Smokes'. "I have to
prepare. There isn't much time."

 
          
 
"Time for what?" she demanded. But
Little Dancer had already continued his way, stopping only to place his hands
on the baby's face before walking down the trail. As she unhitched the cradle
board from the tree, she noticed that Two Smokes studied her thoughtfully,
worry mixed with anguish.

 
          
 
"It's time," he said gently.
"He must go now."

 
          
 
Tanager ran, exulting in the rush of air from
her lungs as her leg muscles pumped. The feeling of smooth power, of balanced
stride and reserves untapped, thrilled her. For the first time in her life,
she'd found her place. Where once she'd been teased for her odd ways, for her
desire to hunt and trace the paths of the animals, now she would prove her
worth.

 
          
 
She twisted around trees, vaulting rocks and
deadfall where it lay in the trail. She'd always enjoyed running through the
timber, meeting the challenge of the cool green ways, ducking and dodging
branches. Like the elk, she'd prided herself on the ability to pass rapidly,
quietly. And like the wind, no one could keep up with Tanager when she shot
through the trees like a dancing dart. Not even the most powerful men could
match her fleet steps and avoid tangling in branches or crashing through like a
buffalo who'd lost the trail. Here, the heart of the mountains, was Tanager's
element.

 
          
 
As she ran, the darts clacked hollowly in her
hand. White Calf s darts—a legacy of Power and courage.

 
          
 
"So it's done," the old woman had
whispered as Tanager lifted her old head from the ground. White Calf's skin had
sunk, going sallow, exposing the lines of the skull.

 
          
 
"White Calf?"

 
          
 
"Hush!" The old woman had tried to
wave it away. "I don't have long. My Power will be with you, girl. Use it
well. Just promise me you'll follow the Dreamer. He's coming. I can feel him.
Feel him with the edges of my mind. Power's calling."

 
          
 
"I was afraid when I saw the
whirlwind."

 
          
 
"Pretty good, eh? Wish I knew if I'd done
that ... or if it was just chance. Wish I could see their faces when that fool
warrior tells . . . tells ..."

 
          
 
"Easy. Rest easy, White Calf."

 
          
 
"Dreamer's coming. Dreamer ..." And
the old woman's eyes had stopped, staring in the glazed look of death as her
body sagged in Tanager's arms.

 
          
 
Now she ran, powered by anger, driven by a
will to see her darts driven through as many Short Buffalo People as she could
find. Not until the last had choked to death on his blood, not until the
mountains were rid of their foul feet, would she rest. Nor would she smile
again until the sun set on the last of their raven-picked, coyote-ravaged
flesh.

 
          
 
"So a Dreamer's coming?" She glared
down the trail. "So is death, Short Buffalo People. And I'm bringing it/'

 
          
 
The shouts drifted faintly through the trees.
Tanager slowed, catching her breath, moving with the silence of a
midnight
shadow as she threaded her way through the
thick stands of fir. Louder now—she placed their location.

 
          
 
She skirted a meadow, catching a glimpse of
men moving across the grass. Before her rose a knob of rock defended by only a
few, while a circling band of warriors shouted and shook fists, Dancing to
their Power before they cast darts up into the rocks above.

 
          
 
Through the clear air, Never Sweat s voice
carried as he stood resolute on the top of the outcrop. "Come and die,
Short Buffalo! You may kill us, but we'll chase the souls of your dead on past
the
Starweb
!"

 
          
 
A roar of shouted insults erupted from the
surrounding warriors as the attackers launched slivers of death.

 
          
 
Tanager's anger broke loose as she charged
heedlessly into the open, sprinting across the grass, a dart already
nocked
in the balanced
atlatl
.
White Calf's soul seemed to pulse through the spear thrower, throbbing,
vibrant. Power ran through her, thrilling her heart as she burst into the midst
of the enemy, driving a dart through a man's back as he prepared to cast at the
defenders.

 
          
 
From the depths of her enraged soul, Tanager
shouted and whirled, close enough to physically drive a dart through another. A
song burst from within, echoing the anger and Power of her soul. Spirit took
her, possessing her, Dancing her through the darts, making her a whirlwind of death.

 
          
 
As if in a haze, she fought, wheeling,
releasing her darts one by one, Singing them into the bodies of her enemies. A
man charged, his dart seeming to slip harmlessly past as she plucked the heavy
Short Buffalo man's
atlatl
from her belt and cracked
his skull. The rest milled around now, one cast dart missing her by a whisper
to drive into another charging warrior.

 
          
 
The Power coursed through her veins, giving
her the strength and agility to Dance away from deadly darts and close with her
enemy. Her jabs and thrusts seemed to slip by their guard, bringing blood
before she skipped lightly away. Pandemonium broke loose as they charged her,
unable to cast their deadly missiles lest they impale their friends.

 
          
 
Around and through them, Tanager Danced death,
her Song ringing in her ears, drowning their shouts and confusion.

 
          
 
Then the enemy broke, running, scattering as
she pursued, aware of Never Sweat and other Red Hand following, plucking up
dropped darts to cast at the backs of the Short Buffalo warriors.

 
          
 
Her band pursued, chasing stragglers down the
trails and into the maze of timber, where the enemy died one by one. When they
ran out of darts, they smacked skulls with their
atlatls
.

 
          
 
Tanager paused, aware that the last of her
victims lay groaning at her feet. She struggled for breath, trembling, as she
bent to wrench an angular rock from the resisting ground. She grunted as she
lifted it. The man turned, looking up, a low moan breaking his lips as he shook
his head, a pleading in his eyes.

 
          
 
The stone cracked bone as she drove it down on
his face.

 
          
 
In silence she stood, the forest eerily quiet,
not even broken by the chirr of a squirrel. A soft wind began to sigh through
the trees as she stared at the dead warrior.

 
          
 
Drained, she turned, lungs laboring, and
slowly retraced her way. In the meadow, she stopped to pull darts from the
dead, driving the keen points into the hearts of the wounded despite their
whimpers and pleas for mercy.

 
          
 
She stood on the thick summer grass, watching
Never Sweat's warriors walking out of the trees, laughing, jumping, slapping
each other on the back. They went quiet as they approached, staring around at
the dead, nervous, awed glances returning to her.

 
          
 
Where she stood over the body of a dead
warrior, she reached down, placing her hand in his blood. She met their eyes,
one by one, as she straightened, lifting her bloody hand to the sun.

 
          
 
"Once we were the Red Hand. We lost the
right to that name under Blood Bear's leadership." At that, she clapped
her bloody hand to her chest, letting the clotted liquid seep into Two Smokes'
carefully tanned leather. "Now we are again!"

 
          
 
Elk Charm slashed the grass with her digging
stick. The seeds shot every which way, most missing the collecting basket.

 
          
 
Hungry Bull saw her anger and straightened
before walking over.

 
          
 
She crouched on her knees, head down.
Mourning-shorn hair tickled at the nape of her neck. The dullness in her heart
pounded against an empty soul. She barely felt Hungry Bulls hand on her
shoulder.

 
          
 
“We've always known," he said kindly.

 
          
 
She shook her head. "Not like this. I
never thought it would be like this." Frustrated tears burned at the
corners of her eyes, flooding across to shimmer her vision. “Last night. In the
robes. He wouldn't even touch me. He pushed me away. Said he couldn't . . . not
with the Dream."

 
          
 
She wiped at her drippy nose, and sniffed.
"I don't know him anymore. I can't reach him. He's a stranger to me."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull settled beside her, hugging her
tightly. "He's found Power. It's something beyond us. Two Smokes was
telling me—"

 
          
 
"Two Smokes! Two Smokes! That's all I
ever hear anymore! Two Smokes is the only one who can talk to him? I ... I hate
him! I hate it all. Maybe he'd better go with his
berdache
!
Share his robes with him

 
          
 
"Hush. You don't mean that." Hungry
Bull's soft voice reflected his own disquiet. "You're angry right now.
Upset. Two Smokes has never been anything but kind to us all. He's shown us all
how to live. When you had your babies, it was Two Smokes who sat with you all
night, feeling your pain. It was Two Smokes who nursed you when you were sick
that time. He loves you with all his heart. And if he'd heard you say that, you
would have killed part of his soul. It's not his fault."

 
          
 
She glared up at him, made more miserable by
the knowledge he was right.

 
          
 
"There, now, this will all be over one
day."

 
          
 
She shook her head. "I'm glad you believe
so. I can feel the change. It's all through him. Like pus in a wounded
deer."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull sighed. "Perhaps. But he was
born for it. I guess I never really thought it would be like that. I always
tried to avoid Power. I never understood it. Maybe that's why White Calf left
him with me. Maybe he needed to live like that."

 
          
 
She looked up at him, resenting the extra time
Hungry Bull had had with his son. Time she'd been excluded from. The thought
shamed her. She turned her head away.

 
          
 
"I know. But I love him, too."
Hungry Bull gestured fu-
tilely
. "I've got my own
sorrow. When I should have been there for him, I was locked away in my own
heart. I spent too long mourning Sage Root. Drowning myself in pity when I
should have been listening to his needs, helping him come to terms with the
Dreams. Instead, I ran away, kept to myself." A pause. "You gave him
the happiest moments of his life, you know."

 
          
 
"Why doesn't it feel that way?"

 
          
 
"Because the hurt is new. And you're
making yourself suffer for what might come in the future."

 
          
 
"I don't see anything getting better. All
he does is sit up on the ridge with that cursed wolf. When I go to talk to him,
he's locked away in his head . . . Dreaming during the day. He barely eats. He
won't talk except to Two Smokes. It's making me crazy."

 
          
 
"Two Smokes says they're going after the
Wolf Bundle."

 
          
 
"I know."

 
          
 
"It's Power, Elk Charm. It's just the way
it is. We can't control it. If a tree falls in the forest, it's beyond your
power to set it upright again. Power is like that with Little Dancer. Power is
part of the world, like the wind that blows over trees. Once it's come, it
won't go back again."