People of the Fire(129)

She squeezed his hand, a signal that she sensed his hidden desperation. Unconsciously, his attention went to the dark, searching for the ghost shadow of wolf, seeing nothing but the uplifted spikes of the sage protruding from the clusters of white-green leaves. Nevertheless, he could feel the animal, waiting, guarding.

Yes, you 're there. Wolf Dreamer didn't need to send you. I made my decision that time in the snow. I understand what's coming—but I don't have to like it.

At that moment, he caught sight of wolf. He could only make out the head, but both eyes burned in the darkness, catching and reflecting the light of the fire, looking identical to the old rock carving in Two Smokes' shelter on the south side of the mountain.

Now, when he thought of things like that, the path of the Spiral could be followed so clearly. Many a night he'd lain awake, thinking back on who he'd been forced to become and where his path would eventually lead. He felt frustrated, impotent; but then, what good had resistance ever done him? Almost with anguish, he remembered his excitement that day Chokecherry had tried to tell his mother about Spirit Power— and the whole time, he'd been no more than a feather in the spirit wind. Meanwhile, he drifted on the gusts and eddies, his friends around him, like unfettered birds, darting and dashing where they would, without restraint.

And therein lay the irony. He studied Hungry Bull—the man who'd always disliked involvement with Spirit Power, the man who'd been cast loose from his people and had reluctantly agreed to lead this unusual band of refugees. Hungry Bull, who seemed so much adrift in life, could fly where he wanted, unaware of his freedom to choose.

No one cared that Little Dancer—whose Power people had begun to revere—remained a captive of the Spirit Wind, waiting for the Power to blow him where it would.

Things can change. Wolf Dreamer worries about free will. Perhaps someone will kill Heavy Beaver. Perhaps some An-it 'ah will drive a dart through him, or some illness will take him. I may not have to give this up. I may escape!

Hope, like a sliver of fire-treated chert, rose hot and sharp within his breast. Fervently, he clutched Elk Charm's hand-praying with all his soul that some hole would appear in the net of fate to allow him to wriggle free.

"Hey." She tugged at him. "You're about to break every bone in my hand! You're squeezing so hard the blood will pop out the ends of my fingers!"

"Sorry, I was . . . just. . ." He let her tug her hand away, watching her rub it as she stared soberly up at him, a sly smile on her lips.

"Got lost in your head again?"

He nodded—the familiar longing pumping with his blood. How could he let this go? How could he turn his back and walk away from this woman and his children? The very thought of it wrenched his heart.

Hungry Bull's cry drew his attention. "I call this food done!" He looked up at the night sky, raising his hands over his head. "Hear me, spirits! We call on you to lift the deer mother to your safe heaven in the Starweb. Lift her unborn fawn and place him in an honored spot. From them, we receive life. So, too, will we one day die in our physical forms and go back to the Earth Mother. And from us, the worms will feed and brother coyote will eat. Our flesh will nourish the plants that nourish the deer. We are the Spiral of life. What we take, one day will we give back. Perhaps on that day, mother deer and her fawn will pray our way to the Star-web."

Little Dancer added his voice to the prayer, Singing the doe and her fawn to the stars, thanking the plants for their bounty, feeling the harmony of the Spiral of life.

And that's why you '11 turn your back on those you love. Because you know your place, your responsibility. You are the lever that will move the Spiral back into place.

"But can't someone else do it?" he asked under his breath.





Chapter 21




The taste of warm blood in Tanager's mouth gave her strength. Blood, the life that pumped strength through a person's veins. Her blood, her life, feeding her with her own strength ... a Circle within.

She bit her lip hard again, the pain acting as means of stifling the scream born in the bottom of her throat. Anything to keep from screaming, from admitting the pain or the reality of what continued to happen to her. Each time she bit down on the inside of her mouth, more blood seeped from her ravaged lip, feeding her strength, keeping her going.

She'd closed her eyes long ago, refusing to see what she couldn't help feel. Eyes could be closed—one small comfort in her situation. Ears, however, continued to hear. Her body continued to feel, and the pain lingered, dull, aching. No longer did the men's entry and movement make a tearing hurt. For the moment, the fluids had eased the discomfort to a burning chafe. Where they'd bitten her, the sting lasted, irritated by their salt-sweaty skin rubbing the wounds.