People of the Fire(169)

"This I've done! This is my new Power! Buffalo Above, look down on your children, purified from the taint. I, Heavy Beaver, have cleansed the People. I have made this happen."

He lifted his hands to the sky, reveling in the blue depths, knowing the Sun Man watched, feeling the warmth of his life-giving rays.

He could feel his mother's spirit rising above, looking down in approval. About the line of swaying chanting Dancers, children ran and played, young boys giggling and throwing mock darts made of grass at each other. About them on the hills, buffalo grazed in clusters. The whole place seemed to glow with a light as bright as the sun itself.

"Your Dream, Mother. I showed them. Those who ridiculed are gone, vanquished by the People's war darts. This I have done. They mocked me. They allowed women to soil their ways. I won."

He spread his arms, a joy almost bursting his breast.

Already Fat Dog, of the Cut Hair, had begun to fail. Among those camps, the young men talked of Heavy Beaver and the Power of the Short Buffalo People. To the east, the Fire Buffalo People had been reduced to rags, seeking to raid the camps of the River peoples for wild rice and the plants they gathered there. In the north, the White Crane pushed ever farther from the Big River, their will eroded by the virility of his warriors.

"I control the plains! I control the buffalo. The Spirit World has blessed me. So do I bless my People."

The Dancers continued to beam at him, a radiant glow in their faces. Yet, through the merriment, a wail arose from behind the line of Dancers. At first, they seemed not to notice, their adoration for him alone.

The keening grew, leading Heavy Beaver to frown. "What is the meaning of this wailing?"

As suddenly, a gust of wind tore through the camp, flapping the lodge covers, whipping dust from the packed ground. The Dancers hesitated, trying to cover their faces against the flying grains of sand.

A woman shrieked, the Dancers looking away from him, cowering back from some horror only they could I

"Dance!" he ordered, crossing his arms despite the wind that swept the camp. As the first gusts passed, the gale blew hot, withering like the heat off a thick bed of coals.

The Dancers cowered, their attention riveting on the wailing.

Daring the blistering wind. Heavy Beaver craned his neck to see. The line of Dancers had stopped now, and as suddenly as it had come, the wind stopped, leaving the camp in silence.

"Dance!" he bellowed, ignored as the People watched, spellbound.

"What is this? Dance! Dance for me!" He raised a fist, voice booming in the silence. For the first time, he noticed the sky had gone leaden, ominously gray.

The wail carried on the air again and the People screamed, backing away, fleeing this way and that.

"Stay and Dance!"

A low rumbling rolled across the sky, the sound of muted thunder before the storm.

Where the People had fled, a lone individual walked forward from the empty plain. Heavy Beaver swallowed. Another and another came, as if their figures appeared out of the shimmering mirage that rippled the air. Where buffalo had once packed the hills, only sunburned and twisted grasses remained. The silence on the land could have been felt if he could but force himself to reach out and pluck at it with his fingers.

The figures hobbled closer, worn clothing hanging in tatters about their bodies.

"Dance!"

The wretches remained on his Blessing ground, and came closer and closer.

"Go away!" He waved his arms. "I am the Dreamer, Heavy Beaver! Go away or I'll Curse you all!"

And still they came as he stood his ground, the unfamiliar sensation of fear clutching in his chest. He blinked, hating the suffocating heat around him.

"Dancing Doe!" the cry tore from his throat. The first of the figures could be distinguished now; the cruel shaft of a dart stuck out from her gut at an odd angle. A glitter filled her eyes. A baby's voice cried out—and was silenced, as if dashed against rock.

Behind her, Sage Root walked, horrible gaping wounds in her wrists as the flies buzzed about her. Even in death, her figure tantalized, a sexual sway to her hips. Chokecherry hobbled along, materializing out of the mirage. White Calf came behind her, a promising grin on her ancient lips.

Heavy Beaver raised his arms. "Go back! This is my Blessing. Go Back! Back!"

They wouldn't stop. A panicked voice in the back of his mind urged, Run! RUN!

Sage Root's voice rumbled in the still air, a cross between thunder and Dream. "We touched the Wolf Bundle, shared souls. Now Power is loose, Heavy Beaver. Black Power, changed Power. What have you wrought? We're coming . . . coming for you. Powered by the Wolf Bundle. It hasn’t forgotten . . . and the time is soon. ''

Whimpering, he turned, sprinting through the desolate lodges, crying out. No one answered—only the scorching wind whistling through the empty lodges.