The Changing Wind (23 page)

Now his task was to decide when to use his new skill, and how. When the time came to move, perhaps. He conferred with Hump Ribs, though he did not mention the black stones.

When the chief announced the day of the move, White Buffalo also announced his ceremony of prediction. It would be held that evening, after dark. The flicker of fire-light
would make it more difficult to see the skittering plum-stones and determine how the thing was accomplished.

There was much interest. The ceremony began with a dance. Crow Woman, who knew only that it was a new ceremony, beat the cadence while her husband established the mystic mood with the dance. When the time came to cast the Black Stones, White Buffalo explained that three tosses were required. The stones would tell of good or ill, depending on the showing of dark or sunny sides of the plum-stones. Palms sweating, he rolled the first toss from a painted rawhide box that he had crafted for the purpose. There on the skin, plain for the onlookers to see, were seven black and two yellow stones. There was a gasp from the crowd. The next throw resulted in a score of eight and one; the third, in nine black stones.

Even White Buffalo was startled. He made a very formal ritual of gathering the plum-stones and storing them away in the little box. Then he spoke.

“There is danger on our trail,” he predicted. “I cannot say what form it will take, but we must be ready when it comes. We have been blessed with good omens for many moons, but sometime it must end.”

“When, holy man?” an old woman asked.

“Ah, Mother, I cannot tell that,” White Buffalo answered seriously. “Even the Black Stones do not say.”

S
tone Breaker bent over the vein of blue-gray flint, pounding and prying at the block of material he wanted. It was loose, shifting a little with each pry of the stick but still not breaking free. It was much like picking the nut meat from a cracked shell, he thought to himself. Yes, the fragrant oily meat of the walnut was equally reluctant to come free. It must be teased out painstakingly with a sharp wooden awl. Some of the old women were highly skilled at such things. It had been good, in the time of No-Rain, to have such skills for survival.

The young man sitting near him gave a long sigh. Stone Breaker had taken a journey ahead of the band as they traveled, to secure some flint blocks. By moving a day ahead of the slower column, he would have an extra day to quarry the stone. The rest of the band would overtake him sometime today. One of the young warriors had agreed to accompany him for protection. He could also undertake any of the tasks that were difficult because of Stone Breaker’s handicap. The young man, Turtle-Swims, had no particular interest in Stone Breaker’s craft. This was only an opportunity to escape the boredom of the slow-moving band. Turtle had found the quarrying operation equally boring. He sat near the skin carriers on which were piled chunks and flakes of flint while Stone Breaker continued to work.

Stone Breaker was aware of his companion’s disinterest, of course. His purpose was not to create an interest in the craft. Idly, he wondered if someday he should select a likely successor, as Stone Breaker the Elder had done. Ah, that should be a long time off. Maybe their child, now six winters old, would develop an interest. If not, so be it!

He was aroused from his thoughts by an exclamation of surprise from Turtle-Swims. Stone Breaker looked up to see three men standing on the canyon’s opposite rim. They were scarcely twenty steps away, had the ground been level. But between them was a rough and rocky cleft of the little canyon’s upper end. A man could, with no problem, walk down one rocky slope and up the other to the spot where Stone Breaker now worked in the quarry.

The situation looked desperate. These men were obviously Head Splitters, obviously confident. Their main force must be just behind the ridge.

Turtle had been negligent, Stone Breaker realized. It was his function to protect. Turtle should have been acting as a lookout instead of sitting in the canyon, bored with inactivity. He had depended too much on the approach of the rest of the band.

Now, as if to compensate for the mistake, Turtle-Swims leaped to his feet and started to fit an arrow to his bow. He was still looking down at the bowstring, fumbling to adjust the arrow, when he was struck from above. Stone Breaker heard the soft thud and turned his eyes from the Head Splitters back to his companion. Turtle looked upward for a moment toward the warriors above, a startled expression on his face. Then his knees bent, and his body collapsed limply, his hands still clutching the bow as he fell. Stone Breaker saw the feathered end of an arrowshaft sticking from Turtle’s shoulder, near the neck. Horrified, Stone Breaker followed the estimated course of the shaft with his eyes and saw the head protruding half a handspan through Turtle’s back on the other side.

He looked up in terror. The Head Splitters were chuckling. One was fitting a new arrow to his bow. Now the man raised his head to voice the yipping falsetto war cry that had struck such terror in the children so long ago. Stone Breaker felt for a moment that he was once again a helpless child, waiting for the death-dealing blow of the Head Splitter’s arrow. He held up a hand in the sign for peace, and the others laughed.

“You, Lame One, what are you doing?” one signed.

“Digging flint,” Stone Breaker signed back. “I do no harm!”

The Head Splitter, whom Stone Breaker now recognized
as the evil-looking warrior they had seen last season, now laughed. What was he called? Ah, yes, Gray Wolf.

“That
one does no harm!” announced Gray Wolf, pointing to the still body of Turtle-Swims.
“I
will decide who does harm.”

Stone Breaker had given himself up for dead. The three men started across the gully, picking their way among the rocks. They paid little attention to Stone Breaker. What harm could he do? With a twist of the old hurt, he realized that he could not even run or try to escape. The enemy regarded him as harmless, a nothing. It was a long time since Stone Breaker had experienced bitterness over becoming a cripple, but now it returned. Along with it came the helpless feeling that he remembered from childhood, when he lay in the mud with the crippled leg under him, waiting for the Head Splitter to shoot.

Then his brain began to work again. These men were not a war party. There would be more of them. They must be wolves of a larger group of Head Splitters. Wolves of a war party? No, he thought not. Such scouts would not travel in threes, but singly, not openly like this. The other possibility that occurred to him was that these men were the advance unit, the wolves, of an entire band, traveling as the People were. If so, their families were vulnerable. Maybe he could plant that seed of anxiety, play for time. Possibly, he could even postpone the inevitable until the People arrived.

The Head Splitters approached now. Gray Wolf, who assumed the role of leader, walked up and slapped Stone Breaker across the face. Stone Breaker attempted not to show a reaction. This was a ritual, a counting of honors. It was a greater show of bravery to strike and thus insult a live enemy than to kill one. An idea struck Stone Breaker.

“You are a brave man,” he signed, “to count honors on an unarmed cripple.” He turned to the others. “Is he as brave with women and children?”

The other warriors laughed, and Gray Wolf’s face was livid with rage. Stone Breaker thought for a moment that he had gone too far. However, his bold insult might have saved him. Now, if Gray Wolf harmed the prisoner, he would face the ridicule of his companions, who would also carry the story back to the tribe. In these few moments, Stone Breaker realized, he had achieved the upper hand.
Gray Wolf was now on the defensive. He must save face with his companions. The danger would be that the Head Splitter’s fiery temper would flare into a destructive act. Stone Breaker must continue conversation, keep the man distracted.

“How are you called?” he asked. “Gray Wolf?”

“Yes,” the other signed. “Remember it.”

“You are the chief?” Stone Breaker signed innocently.

“The war chief,” Gray Wolf answered.

“Ah, yes. Your chief, what is his name… Bull’s Tail?”

He had managed to remember.

“Bull’s Tail was killed last season,” signed one of the others. “He gave his name to his son, but that one is a child. White Bear is chief.”

Stone Breaker had been thinking quickly; “… killed last season…” It must have been an accident in the fall hunt. He could take a guess, and…

“Bull’s Tail was killed by a buffalo?” he inquired casually.

“How did you know?” came the astonished rejoinder.

Stone Breaker shrugged.

“Our buffalo medicine is strong,” he signed. “Our new holy man has great skill.”

An expression of wonder and doubt came over the faces of the Head Splitters. Then Gray Wolf reacted suddenly.

“Enough of this! That is nothing to me. Now, Lame One, is there any reason I should not kill you?”

Stone Breaker swallowed hard and tried to maintain his dignity. He hoped his captors would not notice his sweating palms and his near-panic.

“You wish to take the risk?” he asked in signtalk.

Gray Wolf reached for the stone war club at his waist. His swing had actually started when one of the others stepped in to seize his arm and stop the blow.

An argument broke out among the Head Splitters. Stone Breaker could not understand a word of their language, but the content was obvious. The others objected to killing the prisoner because of his boast about the People’s medicine man. It was too great a risk. Gray Wolf was angry and destructive, and was arguing his right to kill the prisoner.

Stone Breaker edged away, out of the reach of the wildly swinging weapon. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of motion above him. He looked up and was astonished to see, on the rocky ledge overhead, the figures of Hump
Ribs, White Buffalo, Short Bow, and several others. The warriors were looking down on the squabbling Head Splitters, and Short Bow appeared ready to shoot if there was danger to Stone Breaker.

“Ah-koh
, my friends! It is good to see you!” Stone Breaker said as calmly as he could.

His captors stopped squabbling and looked up. They had no way to escape, no place to run.

“Go ahead, kill us!” one of the Head Splitters signed arrogantly.

Another began to chant a mournful wail that was apparently their tribe’s version of the Death Song.

Short Bow readied an arrow.

“Wait!” said Stone Breaker. “It is better to let them go.”

“Let them go?” Short Bow was indignant.

Quickly, Stone Breaker explained his dialogue with the enemy. He had, without much thought, planted the seeds of doubt in the Head Splitters’ minds. He had boasted of the medicine of White Buffalo, its strength and help to the People.

“If we let them go, they will carry this story to their tribe, and they will fear us,” he explained. “Besides, I think their band is near.”

“Yes,” agreed White Buffalo. “We see them, over there. The People are near too.”

“But they have killed Turtle, here,” Short Bow protested. “Let us kill two and let one escape with the story.”

“No, let them live,” Hump Ribs interrupted. “But let us count honors first. There is time.”

The young chief walked around and down into the gully. Solemnly and with dignity, he slapped Gray Wolf across the cheek, then repeated the gesture with each of the others. Gray Wolf looked as if, at any moment, he might burst into a mad suicidal rage, but he managed to keep his dignity.

One by one, the other warriors walked past and counted honors as the Head Splitters stood stoically.

“Go now,” Hump Ribs signed. “No, leave your weapons.”

The other warriors started up the canyon slope, but Gray Wolf held back a moment. He looked from one to the other of his captors with a dark, malevolent stare. It was as if he wished to fix in his mind the men who had shamed
him, for future vengeance. The approach of the People could be heard now, the busy hum of conversation, the yipping of a dog, and the cries of children at play as they traveled.

Gray Wolf climbed the rocky slope and stood on the gully’s rim to look back.

“You have made a great mistake,” he signed insolently.

“You made the mistake,” Hump Ribs answered. “You should not have killed our brother here.”

He pointed to the still form of Turtle-Swims.

“No,” Gray Wolf answered. “You should have killed
me
. You will mourn over that mistake.”

With one final obscene gesture, he turned and was gone.

There were those who said that the medicine of the People was still strong. In an encounter with the Head Splitters, only one man had been lost. In addition, they had counted honors on the enemy and shamed him.

But some were uneasy. Among them at first was Short Bow, who favored genocide for Head Splitters when possible. Hump Ribs, White Buffalo, and Stone Breaker were uncomfortable with the results of the encounter but could not decide what would have been a better path of action.

Much later, it was agreed that this marked the turning point toward a period when good things did not happen to the People. Many times White Buffalo would remember the bitter remark of Short Bow at the camp that evening.