Chapter 24
Tanager watched the sunset, gazing at the magnificent swell of blaze-orange cloud that glowed with the dying day's light. The sky overhead had turned a forever shade of cerulean blue in contrast to the gaudy colors of the sky. The land below her position might have been touched by fire as the crimson rays of light diffiised from the spectacular sky.
"A world aflame," she mused, before forcing herself to tear her eyes away from the marvel and make another inspection of the surrounding country. Enemy war parties might be anywhere, skulking through the trees. Prior to the fading of last light, any dangerous parties of warriors must be located. Tanager couldn't allow another surprise attack. In the intervening weeks, she'd led her growing band successfully. They'd tracked enemy parties, ambushing them, scattering the prowling Short Buffalo warriors as more and more of the Red Hand retreated to Rattling Hooves and the camps there.
Below her in the rocks, her warriors settled in for the night, cookfires carefully screened, smoke rising on the still night air so as not to alert raiders. This camp couldn't be surprised. Scouts lay out, spending the night along the trails to raise the alarm.
As she turned her attention to the remarkable sky again, she couldn't banish the thought that they'd already lost. Despite her courage and the will she instilled in her warriors, they remained so few against so many.
"Then here I'll die," she promised as she had so many times before. "This land is mine. Given to us by First Man."
So she'd resigned herself. Absently, she ran long fingers over the atlatl, feeling the Power of it, knowing White Calf's soul had truly gone into the weapon. When she fought, she Danced and Sang, and called that Power forth. With it, she remained invincible. Her daring feats had broken more than one heated fight. Where she Danced inviolate, her warriors followed, stirring their own courage to a raging heat.
Darts ghosted by her, leaving her untouched. The enemy stood dumbfounded, refusing to believe a woman would kill them as she bashed their skulls or drove her darts into their bodies. She'd chosen carefully, finding a rock, shaping it, and binding it to the atlatl shaft she'd taken from Two Blue Moons to fashion a war club just right for her balance and strength.
Already her fame had spread as Red Hand warriors came seeking her camp.
As she watched, the burning clouds reddened, enraged by the setting sun. "So is my world maddened. Like fire, my anger pushes me. So the Short Buffalo People feel my heat— the burning of Tanager's soul."
Without thinking, she raised her hands to the towering clouds that shot flame through the sky. Did her eyes deceive her, or did she see the form of a man staring at her with blazing eyes?
“Give me the anger and strength to drive the Short Buffalo from my lands. Hear me, First Man. Hear the plea of Tanager. Give me the weapon to drive these beasts from the lands of your Red Hand!"
A low rumble of thunder rolled across the land.
As quickly, the color in the clouds faded, going dark and drab.
She lowered her hands, wondering. Turning, she scrutinized the timber again, searching the meadows and the fringes of forest. So dry. No matter that the clouds had piled high, no rain had fallen. Where she could look over the basins, they remained sere and dry, a land parched. Even here, high in the Buffalo Mountains, the timber was desiccated, and the few night fires they allowed themselves guarded carefully lest the sparks fall upon the dry grass or settle in the branches of the desperate trees.
"A land that cries," she whispered, lowering herself amid crumbling grasses. "And the Red Hand cry with the land."
The buffalo had become more numerous, climbing from the heat-cracked basins, seeking the water and grass of the high country. So the Short Buffalo lived off the land, as did her warriors. But what of winter? What of the food that men and women should even now be caching? Who could prepare when warfare raged and parties fought in the shadows of the trees?
She shook her head, a gloom settling with the fall of darkness.
Wiggling around the rocks, she wrapped her hide tight against the dry chill of the night. She'd seen no movement. The scouts had made no report. This night, they should rest secure before sending more parties out in the morning, blood and anger in their hearts as they cut for tracks. Where they should have been hunting balsam and sego lily, now they hunted men.
Weary, she allowed the tension and anger to drain from her fatigued muscles. Heat lightning flickered in the tall mass of clouds to the west.
She huddled in her robe, willing her eyes to close, willing sleep to come.
And with it, the Dream . . .
Blood Bear led the way. Behind him, the remains of his band ducked through the tinder-dry timber, stepping cautiously over deadfall, moccasins crackling on the dry needles. Dusk loomed overhead, lit only by the striking sunset they could catch a glimpse of through the somber trees.