People of the Fire(149)

“Someone comes!''

The cry drew Heavy Beaver's attention from the bits of feather and bone he'd laid out on the finely tanned buffalo-cow hide before him. Across the way, Seven Suns watched curiously, massaging his wrist where the joints had started to stiffen and bite.

"I think this bodes well. The Anit'ah will be moving, trying to hide in the timber."

Seven Suns narrowed old eyes. "I think it doesn't take a Spirit Dreamer to know that. If I put myself in the Anit'ah's place, what would I do with an entire people swarming over my country?"

Heavy Beaver allowed himself a casual smile. You dare not challenge my power now. Seven Suns. It's gone too far for that. "You may place yourself in anyone's position you want, old friend. But remember yours." He enjoyed the stiffening of Seven Suns' lined features. The old man could have turned to stone. Only the knowing eyes remained expressive—and, of course, Seven Suns knew the reality of his situation.

Voices broke out in a babble.

"Perhaps I should see to this new disturbance?" Heavy Beaver pulled himself to his feet, irritated by the extra bulk he'd put on. A Spirit Dreamer should look prosperous, but perhaps he should move about more, watch his diet. Too much fat would be just as detrimental as too little.

He ducked through the lodge flap and straightened, watching the evening sunset falling bloodred over the mountains that rose above him. The cottonwoods rattled and chattered with the breeze while the thick stand of juniper and tall sagebrush behind the camp whispered. The Red Wall burned crimson—the color almost painful to the eye—as it reflected the sunset. The broad green valley of the Red Wall stretched north and south in a delightful emerald vista of lush grass. Blocking the entire western horizon, the mountains rose as if the earth had been turned up. Limber pine and juniper dotted the slopes, leading one to believe their seed had been cast randomly by the Wise One Above. A narrow slit in the rising slope marked the sheer canyon of the middle fork of the Clear River.

Here, where once the Anit'ah had camped, the packed lodges of the People now pointed their tops toward the sere vault of the summer-scorched sky. The dense forest of juniper and tall sage rising behind the camp crackled with drought.

The babble of voices rose. Dogs barked and yipped; the high tones of crying women added to the confusion.

Heavy Beaver turned his steps toward the commotion, rounding a lodge to find a knot of people bearing a warrior. Straight Wood! He recognized the young man the crowd supported. The warrior's head hung low, one leg hitched up painfully as he hobbled.

"What has happened?" Heavy Beaver stopped, shrugging so his white buffalo-hide cape would sit regally on his shoulders.

Straight Wood swallowed hard, raising his head. Pain racked his pale face. Sweat streaked his clothing and glistened in a sheen on his pallid skin. Looking closely, Heavy Beaver could make out the bloodstains on the young man's legs. Despite the crowd of anxious people supporting his weight, flies seemed to home in on the wound.

"Spirit Dreamer." Straight Wood gulped at his dry throat and shivered.

"Get him some water. Place him on a robe so he can relax. Someone get him food."

Heavy Beaver watched while the others led Straight Wood to a lodge and placed him on a hurriedly provided robe. After food and water were provided, the People crowded around until Heavy Beaver ordered them back, the word "Dreamer" still echoing in his mind.

"Now you're safe. Tell us what's happening."

Straight Wood looked up, a crazy light in his eyes. "We captured an Anit'ah woman. She escaped and killed Two Blue Moons and Tiny Ant. We tracked her and came to an overhang like the Anit'ah live in. An old woman sat out front She told us to leave or die. Left Hand darted her and the woman we'd captured ran. I went to see about the old woman. She wasn't dead. It was ..."

"Yes, yes, go on/'

"It was the old witch . . . White Calf."

A gasp went up from the people.

Heavy Beaver grimaced, waving them down. "This isn't trouble. I Cursed her to die long ago. She was Powerful. It took warriors I had personally blessed to kill her." He smiled sleepily as he turned. "You see, my people. Not even a Powerful witch can stand before the Dreaming of Heavy Beaver."

"Then you'd better Dream harder," Straight Wood gasped.

"She didn't die?" Heavy Beaver turned, glaring down at the youth, putting all his malice into the expression.

Straight Wood glared back. "She died ... I think."

"You think?"

Straight Wood swallowed hard, sweat-shiny throat working. "I didn't stay long enough to find out. The Anit'ah woman killed Left Hand, Quick Fall, Firm Dart, and all the others. The old woman sat there, looking like she'd triumphed. She told me that we'd brought about the death of the People. She said, 'Fool! With my death you've spat upon Power for the last time.' "