People of the Fire (67 page)

 
          
 
The fires glowed with reddened eyes in the
night. A thin sandstone slab had been placed over each glowing pit of coals. On
the surface of the rock, grass seeds had been milled into a paste and turned
into patties and roasted on the dry heat. Faint wraiths of steam rose in the
ruby light of the hearths, filling the air with a delicious aroma.
TSmokes
shifted his attention from one fire to another.
Here, at last, he could feel the solution to the problem that had preoccupied
him for years. At the same time, he tried to absorb what Cricket and the others
related.

 
          
 
The people had begun arriving the morning
before, talking of the war in the mountains. They came in ones and twos or
strings of up to five, walking with their dogs and packs. Women and children,
elders, and youths too young to fight. Each had a similar story about surprised
camps, of token resistance and flight.

 
          
 
Now they sat, talking in low voices to
Rattling Hooves and Hungry Bull. Meadowlark and Black Crow listened on one side
while Three Toes and Makes Fun hovered over another fire pit, lifting boiling
stones to drop into the water, heating an elk-paunch boiling bag full of root
stew.

 
          
 
Firelight danced on tired faces, some of the
fugitives simply staring into the flames, the weariness and despair of their
souls reflected in the slack expressions. Some fumbled with uneasy fingers,
legs crossed, looking around at the camp, at the overhanging rock wall that
caught the light or out into the darkness, minds disengaged. Throughout the
assemblage, worry and defeat seemed the constant thread. He saw a people
undone, lost, unable to understand.

 
          
 
Two Smokes cast a quick look at Little Dancer.
The Dreamer sat, half listening, eyes focused on a point out beyond the fire,
as if wonderful forms wove themselves from the very night. The big black wolf
sat at his side, ears pricked as he watched the dogs snuffling around the
perimeter of the camp. Even the dogs seemed cowed, unwilling to challenge the
wolf, their canine natures as baffled as the human natures of their masters.

 
          
 
Elk Charm looked miserable where she cradled
the youngest baby to her breast. Her stare slipped to the refugees, to Cricket
who'd been her friend, and to the others with whom she'd lived, and inevitably
back to her husband. Through the atmosphere of gloom, Two Smokes could sense
her preoccupation and frustration.

 
          
 
Rattling Hooves saw to distributing the stew
among the hungry visitors. Hungry Bull continued to listen, waiting politely
while his guests ate, a pensive look on his lean face. Preoccupied, he stroked
his chin.

 
          
 
Finally, Cricket laid her bowl to the side and
belched loud and long to demonstrate her appreciation for the food. She clasped
her hands in her lap, looking at Rattling Hooves and then, with some suspicion,
at Hungry Bull. "We have come here. Tanager suggested it. What do we
do?"

 
          
 
Hungry Bull stood, taking the center of
attention. "I've heard your words. I've also read the suspicion in your
eyes. I would tell you that you are welcome with us. I think we can feed most
of you for as long as you stay. Two Smokes has found the secret of the grass,
which will give us a new food. The grass is everywhere."

 
          
 
"And what about your ties with the Short
Buffalo People?" One Cast rose from where he sat at the edge of the camp.
His old eyes glittered in the firelight; grief still marked his face.

 
          
 
Hungry Bull gestured resignation. "We are
no longer Short Buffalo. We are something else, a different band . . . neither
Short Buffalo nor Red Hand. We, too, have fled Heavy Beaver and his
Dreams."

 
          
 
"He is no Dreamer," Little Dancer
whispered from the side. "He isn't of the One. He has perverted the
Spiral."

 
          
 
People glanced at him, curiosity mixed with
wariness.

 
          
 
"As I was saying, One Cast, we are
different. We have no ties with those who were once our relatives. You are all
welcome with us. Our camp is yours for as long as you wish. Already your
children and ours are playing, enjoying each other's company. I think there is
a lesson to be learned from our children."

 
          
 
One Cast bowed his head, steely eyes on Hungry
Bull's. "And if the Short Buffalo come down the mountain?"

 
          
 
Hungry Bull gestured to the west. "We'll
leave. The Fish Eaters live across the basin and only—"

 
          
 
"Short
Buffalo
have been known to hunt in the basin."

 
          
 
"But the buffalo have left," Hungry
Bull countered. "Only one or two small herds live down there now. With the
drought, they've moved down along the Mountain Sheep River. I hunted out there
once as a young boy. I know that the grass Two Smokes has made food from is
thick out there. And to the south lies the
Warm
Wind
Basin
. More mountains are beyond those. Somewhere
we will find a place for our people."

 
          
 
"My grandfather's bones are here,"
One Cast added. "You ask me to leave this place?"

 
          
 
Hungry Bull shook his head. "No. I only
tell you what our people will do if Heavy Beaver brings his war here. We're not
warriors. We're hunters and collectors of plants. That's all."

 
          
 
Little Dancer stood. "You will not leave
the mountains. Tomorrow I go to reclaim the Wolf Bundle. The time of Fire has
come. The Spiral has come full. I go to Dance the One, to restore the Circles.
To do so will set the Spiral back. Heavy Beaver must be faced by a more
powerful Dream. Fire must have its way. The time has come."

 
          
 
He smiled at something inside his head and
walked through the
firelit
center of the camp,
raising his hands to the night sky.

 
          
 
People watched silently, eyes wide. Wolf rose
and followed Little Dancer into the darkness, taking the path to the rim-rock.

 
          
 
"Ah!" One Cast exhaled with
amazement. "Then it's true. He is a Dreamer?"

 
          
 
Elk Charm wilted, biting her lower lip. She
fled from her spot, ducking through the hangings and into her shelter. Cricket
got quickly to her feet, parting the hangings and stepping inside.

           
 
Two Smokes sighed and stood. "He is a
Dreamer. He's a Dreamer like the Red Hand haven't seen for many years." He
filled his lungs, then told the story of Clear Water and the Wolf Bundle. With
great deliberation, he recited the whole story of Little Dancer's life, of the
Curse of Heavy Beaver, of White Calf's attempts to train him, of the Dreams and
frustrations. Finally he told of the vision.

 
          
 
“Little Dancer climbed the mountain to find a
high place. There a snake bit him and his leg swelled. For four days, he waited,
dying, until Wolf Dreamer appeared from sunlight."

 
          
 
"You know this?" One Cast asked.

 
          
 
Two Smokes nodded. "I am
berdache
. I felt the Power in his words. Together, Little
Dancer and First Man Dreamed the poison from his leg. You can see the punctures
still red and inflamed on his ankle. I myself have heard the Wolf Bundle
calling. Little Dancer was changed. He Dreamed the Dance. He has told me a new
leader has arisen among the Red Hand—a warrior who will break the strength of
the Short Buffalo People. And when that happens, Little Dancer will meet Heavy
Beaver and Dream the Spirals back so the world doesn't end in drought and our
brothers, the buffalo and antelope, won't be hunted to extinction as our
ancestors hunted the monsters."

 
          
 
"Then"—Hungry Bull's face
worked—"you'll leave with my son?"

 
          
 
Two Smokes turned, placing a hand on Hungry
Bull's shoulder, knowing intuitively the man's sudden worry and pain, and
nodded. "Soon we will go."

 
          
 
"Then I'll put my pack together tonight.
I'll go with you."

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
"But he's my son!"

 
          
 
"Hungry Bull, my longtime friend. He's
not your son. You only raised him and loved him. He's the child of Power. Power
will guide him now." Two Smokes gestured to the people. "You have
never wished to meddle with Power and its ways. Here, before you, is your
responsibility. These people need a leader. These people need you. Camps must
be prepared. Food must be gathered. More Red Hand will be coming in the next
weeks. This winter, you must feed them all."

           
 
Hungry Bull shook his head, baffled. "But
if the Short Buffalo are going to be broken, if Heavy Beaver will be . . . I
don't understand."

 
          
 
"Yes, you do, old friend. During this
war, no food has been cached. Camps have been destroyed. Little Dancer didn't
tell me the whole of it, but I know enough of his words to tell you the Red
Hand would starve in the high camps this year. They must move lower. Power has
its ways. We came here for a reason. The secret of the grass came to me when it
did for a reason. Trust your old friend, Two Smokes."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull licked his lips, a desperate frown
on his forehead.

 
          
 
"But my son ..."

 
          
 
"I will care for him. All my life, I've
been prepared for this journey. We'll do what we can."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull fought to find the words, and only
stared.

 
          
 
"Come, let us try these cakes we've made
of milled seed. From the grass, we now take life."

 
          
 
Hungry Bull knotted his fists and remained
standing, a stunned expression on his face.

 
          
 
He sat still, eyes closed, seeking. A subtle
panic built and swelled within. The One lay there, just beyond reach.

 
          
 
The night pulsed with life, with the feeling
of the One that twined around and through. Insect wings beat the air, a coyote
yipped in the distance. A soft sound came from the night breezes through the juniper.
Air drifted coolly across his hot face. The rock bit angrily into his flesh. A
gurgle of hunger churned in his gut. Memories of voices clamored for
recognition. Faces around the fire hovered new and exciting at the edges of his
mind.

 
          
 
Fire Dancer stilled his thoughts, battling
with the words and images that crept up to distract him. The Wolf Bundle
beckoned, its Power drifting away like water from a punctured bag, one drip at
a time.

 
          
 
I'm coming! Fire Dancer called, seeking to
trace a way through his jumbled emotions. Elk Charm's face formed before him.
The look of anguish she gave him shattered the serenity he sought.

           
 
I'm hurting her. It's my fault that she's
miserable. How can I bring so much pain to someone I love? Hurting her only
hurts me worse. WHY AM I DOING THIS TO MYSELF . . . TO THE ONES I LOVE?

 
          
 
The link he sought popped away, vanished like
mist in the sun. The One beckoned, its Power shining, alluring, irresistible.
Frantic, he reached out, and grasped nothing. The One remained, hovering,
elusive as a spiral of smoke that can be smelled but never felt.