People of the Fire(155)

Snaps Horn and the others followed him blindly, led by the knowledge that he carried the Wolf Bundle. Even through so many setbacks, so many deaths and defeats, their spirit remained loyal to the tiny bundle of hide.

Fools! Couldn't they see the silly thing had no Power? Blood Bear clutched the Bundle to his sweaty chest. Nevertheless, without it, his hold over the Red Hand would have eroded long ago. Even though he was Keeper of the Bundle, men and women had begun to look sideways at him, skepticism in their eyes.

He, the greatest warrior of the Red Hand, remained powerless to stop the advance of the Short Buffalo People. Even with the Bundle in his possession, more and more of his warriors trickled away into the timber, following the path south to this new leader, this Tanager.

Tanager? That skinny girl who haunted the canyons and ran wild through the meadows? What could she possibly know of war? Of the men who'd bedded her, most said she remained aloof, and none had planted a child in her muscular loins. Granted, for a woman, she had strength and balance. None could Dance as well as Tanager. But she'd been so odd. Even the charms of her body had eluded Blood Bear. Around her, he'd been uneasy, as if she knew too much. Who wanted a woman who could move through the trees with more craft than he, who could throw a dart with such accuracy?

He grunted to himself. And perhaps that was her secret in warfare? That she never missed?

The challenge of her rising status simply couldn't be ignored. Blood Bear's resentment had been stirred when talk centered around her, and a curious light began to fill the people's eyes. The Red Hand could afford no other leader than he when it came to this war with the Short Buffalo. Who better to lead them than Blood Bear, who'd survived for years alone in the land of the enemy? Who understood their ways better?

No matter. He knew where Tanager operated, cutting off the trails available to the enemy. He had only to confront her, perhaps bed her to show her his mastery, and her following would fly apart like cattail down in the wind.

He smiled to himself, thumping the Wolf Bundle with his thumb as he walked.

Heavy Beaver stalked the camp, hearing the subtle talk of the People, muffled now by the lodges. What could he do? He batted at a mosquito that hummed eerily about his head. The bones of the Clear River stood out in the channel where the crystal water wound around the rocks. Behind him. the Red Wall glared gaudy in the light of the burning clouds high above the Buffalo Mountains. Like fire, they reflected the sunset. Shades of pink, red. yellow, and orange glared against the incredible blue of the sky.

The lush valley they'd entered had withered brown under the lack of rain—as if by camping here, they'd condemned the grasses and plants. Only for a moment did Heavy Beaver let the thought bother him.

"Is that fire up there?" someone asked, stepping out of a lodge and staring west.

"Only the sunset of the Anit'ah," another called—but the joke didn't carry any humor.

And there lay the crux of his problem. Straight Wood had taken two days to die, during the last of which he lay in delirium, spouting on about White Calf the witch and her unsettling prophecy.

Heavy Beaver had Sung over his fevered body, nauseated by the pus that dribbled from the man's side. The smell had been terrible, that of punctured gut and putrefaction. No matter that he'd been locked away in a lodge at the edge of camp, Straight Wood's shrieks and dire warnings could be heard all through the night.

"White Calf," Heavy Beaver whispered under his breath. "Still trouble, even in death."

He swatted another mosquito, wishing he could so easily crush the rumors that circulated, undermining his authority. Viciously, he ground the dead insect between his fingers.

No matter that he'd claimed that Straight Wood was possessed by an evil spirit, the people still doubted. The news of a terrible female warrior had been carried down from the mountains. And with it came stories of his warriors being cut to pieces, routed by her ferocity and Power. Already some of the women had developed a spark in their eyes, a resentment in their actions. More than one had been beaten bloody because of her flippant remarks.

So how did he regain mastery of the situation?

"Mother?" He looked up at the sky. "What would you do? What would you tell me?"

In the still air, nothing came to him.

Memories of the Blessing returned to stalk his mind. When the drums boomed and the people Sang, he could almost hear. If only the words didn't elude him. But that had been a different time—the Power of the People unchallenged. When he walked among them now, he could still see respect in their eyes, but another feeling now lay hidden in their thoughts: doubt.

Why now? Meat came down the trail in a constant stream. More than enough had been dried, cured for winter by the women and youths. His warriors continued to loot the prize lands of the Anit'ah. He could have recalled his men and sent small camps out to kill those last herds of buffalo along the major rivers. He could rest assured in his Power, in the vision his mother had dreamed.