The buffalo would come back. He'd cleansed the People of the taint of women. Buffalo Above would see their humility and lift the drought, bringing his children to fertility. The buffalo would continue so long as the People remained untainted. Mother had told him that as a young boy.
So why keep whittling away at the Anit'ah? the voice of reason demanded.
"Because they stood before us. Denied us the land which is ours. Because they defied me!" He raised a clenched fist to the mountain wall.
The drums of the Blessing remained in his memory, pounding their message of unity and the Power of the People. They'd been together then, untainted by the evil prophecy of a dying witch.
He stopped, staring up at the fire in the clouds, remembering the way the huge bonfires of the Blessing had even masked the light of the Starweb.
“Yes. A Blessing. A way to purify the taint of Straight Wood's possessed soul."
He smiled blandly at the sky, thankful for the sign his mother had sent him. He could reaffirm the Power of the People, make them one again. Together they'd Dance away the taint of Straight Wood's prophecy—and the witch White Calf at the same time.
He smacked a pudgy fist into a palm before slapping another mosquito. Already he could hear the drums, fed the Power of the Dancing People. The women could be shown their place.
The Power of Heavy Beaver would be renewed And maybe, just perhaps, he could understand his mother's words this time if he purified himself, sweated and tasted.
"Thank you, Mother," he whispered to the dying hues in the clouds. He'd need some time for preparation, of course.
He couldn't recall the war parties from the mountain and leave their back exposed. To do so might give heart to the Anit'ah. But if runners went up to tell them the People Danced a Blessing, perhaps they at last might see the end of the Anit'ah.
Fire Dancer led the way up the rocky trail behind White Calf's shelter, called by something beyond. The huge black wolf whined softly, warning. Muscles rippled along the animal's flanks as it fixed piercing eyes on Fire Dancer. Why? What did it know?
The western horizon blazed in a glory of light as the sunset illuminated the clouds. The color stopped them as they reached the crest of the trail. Was it imagination, or did a man's form stare at them out of the packed thunderhead? A shiver played down Two Smokes' spine; a feeling of Power filled the air about them. Some terrible worry betrayed itself in Fire Dancer's posture as he looked up at the radiant clouds, eyes on the shining face that had formed from the cloud mass.
The anxiety had been growing as they climbed the trails and cut through the valleys. Fire Dancer rarely spoke, locked away in his preoccupation and worry.
Then to have found White Calf's shelter empty, and a bloodstain in the soil, had added to the premonition.
Two Smokes hobbled up and stopped, following Fire Dancer's gaze. The old woman lay on her back, illuminated by the vermilion tones cast by the enflamed clouds. Already the coyotes and ravens had been at work. White splotches streaked her clothing where the ravens had evacuated. The flesh had been eaten from her face and feet. Despite the ravaging of her gut, the fatal dart shaft still stuck up to the sky.
"No!" The cry tore from Fire Dancer's throat.
An aching hollowness yawned within as Two Smokes hitched his way forward—pain forgotten in his tortured knee. He stopped at the edge of the stone circle, seeing how someone had propped White Calf's head on the central cairn, facing her to the west so her soul could watch the setting sun. Wisps of gray hair fluttered around the wreckage of her skull.
She'd been dead for some days. Now her exposed gums glinted in the bloody light. The empty sockets of her eyes gaped at the sunset. Her death rictus mocked the dying day.
Two Smokes wavered on his feet, catching the odor of decay and raven feces. He seemed to hang over an abyss, a portion of his soul torn away to disappear with the wind.
Fire Dancer walked up to stand beside him, the strength of his grief buffeting Two Smokes' already tortured soul. The black wolf whimpered, a keening note in its plaintive voice.
"I thought the People didn't believe in killing their own through violence." The thought surfaced and Two Smokes had to say something.
"They've lost their way," Fire Dancer whispered."Others must pay."
"They'll pay," Two Smokes gritted. "They'll pay in the end. You'll Dream them all away, into the ground, to be locked forever in blackness."
Two Smokes shuddered at the weight of Fire Dancer's hand on his shoulder. The soft voice soothed something in his rent soul.
"Do you kill children for foolishness? Do you destroy them because they've no parent?"
Two Smokes clamped his eyes shut, trying to block the memory, to ignore the scent of death in his nostrils. "Is that what we are? Parents?"