People of the Fire(141)

White Calf grinned happily, fingers clenched around the dart shaft. "Where's your war party? Eh? Look down where they ran. What do you see?"

Straight Wood tore his gaze from the old woman's sparkling eyes and stared down the valley under the shade of his hand. He looked just in time to see Firm Dart charge full tilt into a cast missile. The warrior shrieked, falling face forward. Quick Fall, the last on his feet, slid to a stop, frantically turning, sprinting for the far timber. The dart caught him before he'd even started, penetrating the small of his back. He pitched on his face and slid in the grass, trying to crawl painfully away.

“You're the last. Run now. Run like you've never run before, boy. And tell Heavy Beaver that a new leader has risen among the Anit'ah. Her name is Tanager. And tell Heavy Beaver the Dreamer . . . and the Wolf Bundle are coming for him. Tell him, and all the People . . . they'll have to Dance with fire!"

Straight Wood barely heard the last. He turned on his heel, pounding back across the meadow, back tingling as his prickling skin anticipated the bite of a keen point.

He paused only long enough to throw a look over his shoulder when he reached the trees. The sight left him stunned. From out of the clear blue morning, a whirlwind had formed before the shelter. It whipped the grass angrily, sucking debris and dust high, twirling it all into the clear, still air. Then it moved up the slope, centering over the old woman, tossing her hair this way and that, flapping her clothing about. Finally, it rose, lifting over the cliff face.

Straight Wood cried out, and ran as he'd never run in his life.

How long? Three days? Four? The pattern of sunrise and sunset had blurred in his fevered mind. A continual pain shot up Little Dancer's burning leg, powered with each beat of his heart.

“Wolf Dreamer?" he croaked yet again.

Only the faint whisper of the wind accompanied his pleas. Sometimes, when the delirium came on him, he thought it spoke in familiar voices, but he couldn't distinguish the words. In those moments, he talked back, hearing Elk Charm and Hungry Bull, or perhaps the rattling cackle of White Calf's dry laugh.

Uneasily, he slept, and the Dreaming came on him. He'd be one with the eagle soaring high overhead, feeling the precise control of the wing muscles and tail. What freedom to enjoy the subtle changes in altitude or the tensing of feathers that traced the currents of air.

Other times, he jumped with the rats in the night, listening carefully for the faint hiss of owl wings in the darkness. His keen nose sought for the rich sweetness of ripening grass spikes.

"I'm dying," he mumbled to himself, curled in a fetal ball as the sun sweated the last of his body water from him. Pain had driven him mostly mad. All it would take would be to drag himself to the edge, to let his tired body tumble over the side and down into the forbidding rocks below.

Wearily, he raised his head to look down at his leg; the sight of the swollen member sickened him. The skin had puffed out under pressure, nearly twice the size of his other leg. The color had become ghastly. When he touched the skin, it felt fit to burst, like a bladder under pressure. Nausea swept him.

"I'm dying."

“You are. "

He looked up, squinting into the sunlight, seeing the features of Wolf Dreamer forming out of the very gold-spun rays of the sun. He stood, tall, glistening, bathed in the golden light, skin traced by the patterns of the Spirit World.

Wolf Dreamer settled himself on the rock with no more sound than a feather on dust. He crossed his legs gracefully and sat serenely, back straight, hands in his lap. The beauty of his face, the sympathy and concern expressed in his sad eyes, melted Little Dancer's soul. The confusion, the worry and despair, drained away, replaced by a warm breeze that caressed him.

Little Dancer smiled, splitting his cracked lips in the process. The cutting burden of what he had to say lost its keen edge—no matter that the consequences would condemn him.

"I can't be your Dreamer. I can't leave Elk Charm ... or my girls. I love them too much." He sighed, emotions blunted by the throbbing agony in his leg. "I should apologize, but I don't think I really can, not for loving my wife and children. That's not something to be ashamed of. You see, when you asked me if I'd live and be your Dreamer, I didn't know how much I'd—"

"I don't need your explanations."

Little Dancer stared, eyesight wavering from the burning fever. "No? But I . . . Well, I thought that when a person made a promise to a spirit and then didn't follow through . . . well, things happened. You know, like the story about the woman who wished to have the Power to heal. Then when she got it, she used it to help her win at gambling games and the spirits crippled her legs in punishment."