People of the Fire(136)

White Calf winced at the pain the girl must be feeling as she cleaned the wounds; but Tanager showed no change of expression on her stoic face, despite what had to be agony.

"Like I said, you've got an inner strength." White Calf frowned. "Perhaps that's what I never had. Ah, well, this is an age for heroes."

"I still don't understand."

White Calf found a robe and handed it to Tanager, who'd begun to fidget and finally stepped back from the fire, a faint sheen of sweat on her muscular legs and belly.

White Calf waved the words away. "You don't need to. Not yet. The thing you have to remember is that you've got to trust the Dreamer. You've got to be the strength of the Red Hand. Do you understand?"

"Trust the Dreamer?" A wry smile began to bend her lips until she flinched from the pain.

"Trust the Dreamer," White Calf agreed fervently. She cocked her head. "Tell me, Tanager, are you strong enough? Can you—"

The keen tip of Tanager's dart dimpled White Calf's throat. She looked down the shaft into the deadly eyes of the young woman. "I killed two of the crawling maggots that raped me, old woman. Don't tell me of strength. Where I should have been a broken wreck, I killed and got away—and so help me, by the Wolf Bundle, I'll make them regret it!"

White Calf ignored the prickle of the razor-edged stone. "That's passion, the need for revenge. Anyone can whip themselves to rage and attempt the impossible. I asked you about strength. Can you do what you have to? Can you rise above yourself? Can you carry the weight and responsibility of the Red Hand on your shoulders? Can you lead them, no matter what it costs you?"

"I killed, didn't I?"

“Any damn fool can kill. Can you give all of yourself for your Red Hand? Can you force yourself to look beyond your rage? That's what I'm asking. I'm looking for strength—not another weak fool like Blood Bear.''

“You call him a weak fool?"

White Calf nodded, feeling a trickle of blood down her neck. “He's no better than Heavy Beaver—just less capable. He, too, spurns the Power."

The dart tip withdrew. Tanager shook her head. “I’m surprised. Had it been me on the point of the dart, I'd have thought my life over. Don't you fear, White Calf?"

She dabbed at the blood. "I fear. But not death. I've been waiting for it. I have a lot of questions I want answered. But that's not the issue."

“My strength is?" She lifted an eyebrow. “Right now, I could kill the world to pay it back for—"

"That's what worries me." White Calf filled her lungs. “I want to know if you're strong enough to use your wits over your anger. Can you do that?"

"Wits? Anger? What are you talking about?"

“If you can't figure it out, then Wise One Above help us, you'll probably kill the Red Hand."

Tanager simply stared, the hot burning of fury pulsing behind her eyes.

"Forget it. There's the stew bowl. You're about to fall over from fatigue. Eat and sleep, and if we have time, we'll discuss it in the morning."

Little Dancer took another handhold on the hot rock and pulled himself up, panting as he fought for breath. Below him, a sheer cliff dropped away to tumbled and broken rock. Wolf sat below, watching, tail wrapped around his front feet.

From where he'd climbed, the view could literally steal a person's breath. Even eagle didn't have a better perspective of the world. To either side, the sandstone cliffs dropped away from the pinnacle Little Dancer scaled. The land had been thrust up here, and he could see out across the entire basin to the blue-green mountains to the west. There, the peaks rose gray and jagged to rake the blue eminence of the sky.

The flanks of the Buffalo Mountains stretched in buckled and dissected shoulders, each stippled with pine and juniper. Higher, dense mats of fir and lodgepole blanketed the slopes until the rounded peaks protruded like eroded and cracked skulls from tattered scalps.

Against this vista, Little Dancer pitted himself, trying to sweat out the misgivings and queer fingers of fear that gripped and slipped along his very heart. The danger of a fall, the chance of a misstep, only heightened the challenge—and the gnawing question that ate away inside him.

He couldn't go. He could feel the call, feel the pull of the Wolf Bundle—but Elk Charm pulled him more. He couldn't look into the eyes of his children and walk away to follow the call.

"I promised," he rasped through clenched teeth. "I made my decision!" Under his sweaty cheek, the gritty sandstone bit into his flesh.

He reached for another handhold. "Wolf Dreamer!" he screamed. "Where are you?"

Despite his bleeding hands, he braced himself and pushed up, torn fingers reaching frantically for another hold. He found a slight fissure in the rock and pulled himself higher. His muscles quivered and ached under the strain.