With his main camp, Heavy Beaver walked, following the trail left by his warriors. The trail wound round about, tied by necessity to the availability of water. They walked over a scarred land—rivulets had eaten into the denuded soil, only to fill with blowing dust and sand. Even the dogs looked miserable, panting and laboring under their loads as the pads of their tough feet bruised on the deflated pebbles and cut on angular rock.
Heavy Beaver did not lead the only band of the People. Two Stones came from farther east, and Seven Suns' runners reported that he traveled south from the mouth of Mud River where it met the Buffalo tributary of Big River. From the south, Elk Whistle's tattered band picked their slow way up from Sand River, reporting that the blowing sand now blanketed the very sky, leaving the gritty air black. They had already taken to eating their dogs.
Heavy Beaver squinted at the rising parapets of the Buffalo Mountains. Here his warriors would win him a victory—or he would face a challenge more terrible than any they faced warring with the Anit'ah.
"The Anit'ah eat roots and seeds," Red Chert had told him. "Perhaps that's a way to keep hunger away?"
He'd slapped her, glaring down at her where she had fallen, a hand pressed to her mouth. "We're men, not diggers in the dirt like Anit'ah. Buffalo Above and the Wise One placed buffalo here for men to eat. Meat is the food of strength, of Power. Roots will weaken my warriors." He'd looked to the rising swell of the Buffalo Mountains with their gleaming cap of snow. "No, we'll go where Buffalo Above leads us. This year, yes, this year we take the mountains."
But he'd heard others when they thought him far away. "The Anit'ah eat roots—and I don't see their blood going weak!"
"I'll take your mountains," Heavy Beaver promised. "On my mother's soul, I swear it. By the very blood in my veins, I'll not have silly women out gathering roots, gaining power in the lodges through the food they obtain. No! No man will be held hostage by that. They won't turn the cleansing of the People back in that manner. I'll have every last one of us dead by an Anit'ah war dart first!"
He clenched a fist and shook it at the mountain wall.
"Wolf Bundle? Reach . . . reach for him now! Fill him with your need. Act. Act now!''
Chapter 22
White Calf awoke with the feeling of premonition. Power had disturbed her sleep, playing with the little corners of her Dream mind. The last of the Dreams, however, had played as powerfully as life itself. The images lingered, sharply edged, so real she could practically reach out and touch them were she to extend her withered arm.
So her time had come at last. She opened her eyes, focusing on the comfortable interior of her shelter. In the peace of the morning, she let her vision trace the familiar belongings that hung from the pegs and rested in the niches. The ancient Spiral pecked into the back wall seemed to dominate the room this morning. As the morning sun peeked over the distant mountains, a single sliver of sunlight pierced the hangings and lanced the Spiral with a brilliant shaft of light.
White Calf pulled her hair back, working her mouth to rid it of the stale night taste. Her bones crackled and groaned as she got up from her bedding, walking over to stir the sagebrush ash in the fire. She dropped tinder on red-eyed coals. Blowing gently, she coaxed a fire and began heating boiling stones.
Tanager lay covered with hides, a slender arm projecting from under the covers. Her slim hand lay limp, fingers in a curl. Here and there wisps of shining black hair poked out from under the protection of the bedding.
White Calf sucked thin lips in over her gums. A longing went out to the girl. Curious how Power worked. Tanager, the wild girl of the forest and hunt, had been drawn up, lifted into the Spiral.
Building a roaring fire, White Calf waited for the stones to heat while she used a sharp chert flake to shave dried meat into the boiling pouch. After the water floated thick with chips of meat, she added biscuit root, balsam, and the last of her carefully preserved onions. What little ephedra she had left, she threw in. Tanager would need it.
After that, she stepped over Tanager and inspected the stack of things propped against the back wall. She took her atlatl and the bundle of darts she'd so carefully crafted. One by one, she inspected them, checking for cracks in the wood, making sure the fletching hadn't been ruined by the rodents. The bindings remained tight where the deadly stone points fastened to the shafts. Good work, some of the best she'd ever done. The points had been crafted by Three Toes, who— with the knack of the plains people—created the most wonderful points she'd ever seen. Now the stone rippled in the morning light. She ran a caressing finger over the darts, blessing them, lifting them to her lips to blow a bit of her soul into them. The missiles—along with her atlatl—she placed next to the two darts belonging to Tanager.