People of the Fire(112)

"Almost three moons."

"The weather's been bad, perhaps White Calf needed him. She might have been hurt. You never know."

Elk Charm nodded slowly, a grisly memory of her father's curiously swollen body rising from the depths of her memory. At first, she hadn't believed that hideously deformed face had been his, with the lips all pulled back to expose the teeth, the jaw cocked at an angle under empty orbits where his soft brown eyes had once been. But she had recognized his clothing.

Could that same ghost-mask face now belong to Little Dancer?

Little Dancer stepped out, blinking in the gray morning light.

White Calf parted the hanging skins behind him, pushing on the small of her back as she straightened. "Looks like good weather for traveling. Watch the talus slope when you go over the divide. This time of year, it'll be tricky footing. No telling what's frozen and what's loose. Stuff shifts, too."

"I'll watch myself."

White Calf worked her toothless gums, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. "And give my best to Elk Charm. I don't know what you'll tell her. I suppose that you're just fooling around with a woman old enough to be your grandmother. ''

"Great-grandmother," Little Dancer corrected. "And you are.”

"You get all the questions answered?"

"I think so. All but that one Dream."

"The one with Wolf in the burning forest?"

He nodded, looking away, down the trail.

She smacked her lips. "Yes, well, enjoy Elk Charm while you have time."

He tilted his head, staring down at her. "The Wolf-Man said I'd have time. And besides"—he smiled wryly—"Power can't make me into something I don't want to be. No, that I refuse to be."

"Care to bet?" she asked dryly.

He nodded soberly. "I promised my mother. Every time you talk about Power, I hear her words echoing in my mind."

"Your mother was Clear Water."

"My mother was Sage Root—and besides, look what listening to Power did for Clear Water.''

White Calf grinned at him, exposing empty pink gums. "The problem with Power, boy, is that we mortals can only see a tiny piece of the Spiral."

He clapped her on the back with an affectionate pat. "And I don't even want to see that much."

"Go see your woman. Her bed's been empty for a long time. If she's as passionate as I was at that age, she'll be dragging you between the robes before you've set your pack down."

He shook his head and hugged her good-bye one last time.

"Thank you for the talk . . . and the lessons."

"Thank you for the firewood. Come back when you feel like it. Send Hungry Bull and the rest, too. I like the company."

He waved as he set off down the trail.

As he warmed his sleep-stiff muscles, he struggled to make sense of the ideas spinning in his mind. A framework lay there, starting to sort itself out, a means for understanding the Dreams, the way of Power—and, he hoped, the trick to avoiding its snares.

Ahead, the trail wound around through the timber before dividing one way, heading down toward the Clear River, the other climbing up through the trees to the ridge top and following the elk route to the south. He took the high path, following the way of the elk—fitting, the way that led to Elk Charm.

At least now, after months of talking, of listening to an old Dreamer's words and thoughts, he could keep the Dreams in perspective. Besides, he had a week's worth of travel ahead. In that time, he could work it all out, rehash the arguments with White Calf, figure out how to combat the Dreams and keep himself happy while living with his wife. It would all work.

She says a person can't do both. Very well, Mother, I hear your warning. Your son will never do what Heavy Beaver did to others. No one will feel like that. I choose my wife. The Dreams, Wolf, and the ghost of the First Man can make their own way.

For the first time since Sage Root's death and the defiling of the Wolf Bundle, he felt satisfied with himself and who he was.

Charging along the path, he laughed aloud, enjoying the fire of sunrise among the clouds.

A movement in the trees caught his attention; as he looked eagerly, hoping to see an elk, a patch of black slipped through an opening in the trees.

Deer?

Then the animal darted across a meadowed pocket in the trees. The huge black wolf stopped, a foot lifted as he stared at Little Dancer with large burning yellow eyes: the Watcher!

His feet lost their lightness as a tightness restricted the bottom of his throat, making it difficult to swallow.

“Go back!" He waved his darts at the animal. "Go back and tell First Man I'm not his Dreamer! You and he well, you can't make me if I don't want to! You hi

Wolf didn't move.

"I'm Little Dancer . . . and I belong to no one but myself!"