People of the Fire(150)

People gasped again, some taking a step back, hands over their mouths.

Heavy Beaver chuckled. "So, you'll have us believe that one woman killed all these brave warriors?" He laughed again, reading the effect of his scorn on the rest of the People. He had their attention now. "Fool is right!" He shook his head. "Straight Wood, tell us the truth now. You fought a party of Anit'ah warriors, didn't you? You became frightened and ran, didn't you?"

A burning hatred rose in a bile to charge Straight Wood's eyes. "You call me a coward? Then listen, Heavy Beaver. Listen good, all of you!"

"Enough of this." Heavy Beaver stifled a forced yawn. "I think we know the full truth of it."

"You listen, Heavy Beaver! Listen!" Straight Wood struggled up, almost falling as fresh blood broke out to leak down his leg.

This was really too much. Heavy Beaver motioned to two of the old men. "Get him to rest. He's fevered."

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

Heavy Beaver had made two steps before stopping and laughing. "What's this? A woman? A woman? You expect me . . . and all the People to believe that a woman will drive my warriors out of the mountains?"

Straight Wood extended trembling hands, eyes pleading. "You refuse to hear me out. You accuse me of cowardice. Then know this. I ran from White's Calf's. But I thought I'd been foolish. I found Has Strength where he'd trapped a party of Anit'ah in the rocks. There I proved myself. I killed one of the Anit'ah and started to charge their position when this same woman appeared in the middle of our warriors. She killed right and left. Darts wouldn't touch her. She Danced and Sang with a strange smile while—"

"Enough!" Heavy Beaver roared, waving his hands. "We'll hear the rest of this when Has Strength's warriors—"

"You'll wait a long time," Straight Wood cried. "He's dead! So's most of his war party. She gave heart to the Anit'ah and they charged down from the rocks. We couldn't stop them! They came and came and came until we ran. You hear that, Heavy Beaver? We all ran!"

Heavy Beaver shook his head. "Routed by a woman?" He smacked his lips, adopting a pained expression. "Take him away. He's out of his mind. Delirious with pain."

Straight Wood lifted his bloody shirt, exposing the wounds in his side. "You know so much, Heavy Beaver. You've seen wounds. You look. You know the difference in how a dart goes in and comes out. I took this facing a man."

"You see?" Heavy Beaver pointed. "No wonder he's delirious. Poor man. Take him away. I'll come Sing over him later, try and bring him back to his right mind."

Straight Wood snorted disgust, sinking slowly to the ground, lungs working. "And I'll tell you another thing I saw. I saw White Calf's ghost rise into the air. You've all heard the stories. Her ghost called a whirlwind and rode into the sky.

"And maybe I was a coward." Straight Wood worked his dry mouth. "But after what I've seen, Heavy Beaver, you'd better hope you can Dance with Fire. I know truth. I saw it in White Calf's eyes."

Heavy Beaver's eyes slitted. "You'd better be right, boy, because lying simply to scare the People and cover your own cowardice will bring down a more terrible fate than an An-it'ah dart!"

And he stomped away, breaking through the ring of surrounding people who watched him, intently.

The fires glowed with reddened eyes in the night. A thin sandstone slab had been placed over each glowing pit of coals. On the surface of the rock, grass seeds had been milled into a paste and turned into patties and roasted on the dry heat. Faint wraiths of steam rose in the ruby light of the hearths, filling the air with a delicious aroma. TSmokes shifted his attention from one fire to another. Here, at last, he could feel the solution to the problem that had preoccupied him for years. At the same time, he tried to absorb what Cricket and the others related.

The people had begun arriving the morning before, talking of the war in the mountains. They came in ones and twos or strings of up to five, walking with their dogs and packs. Women and children, elders, and youths too young to fight. Each had a similar story about surprised camps, of token resistance and flight.

Now they sat, talking in low voices to Rattling Hooves and Hungry Bull. Meadowlark and Black Crow listened on one side while Three Toes and Makes Fun hovered over another fire pit, lifting boiling stones to drop into the water, heating an elk-paunch boiling bag full of root stew.