People of the Fire(170)

And behind, he could feel them coming, feel them reaching for him.

He jerked awake, crying out, and sat up. Blood rushed in his veins as Red Chert blinked awake, staring at him through dull eyes.

He ripped the covers off, stumbling to his feet, pulling on his ceremonial shirt. Desperately, he jerked the hanging aside and stumbled out into the cool air. From the faint graying of the eastern horizon, dawn lay at hand.

He stared at the lodges, at the parched trees overhead. Cool, peaceful. It had only been a Dream. A terrible Dream. Yes, a real Power Dream.

They would start the Blessing today. All would be as it should. He gasped and wiped at the fear-sweat beaded on his fleshy forehead. Panting, he walked around, enjoying the mangy dogs that came to sniff and scampered away as he kicked at them.

"It's all right. It's all going to be fine."

Then why did a fist seem to grip his heart?





Chapter 26




A hot, brassy day. Another in a long pattern of hot days. The morning breezes rose up the canyons, bringing the smells of dry grass and suffering pine. Tanager ran fingers through her hair, braiding it. She needed this fight. Her blood fairly pulsed for it.

What had it been? What Power had the Dreamer wrought? Her sleep had been tortured, flashes of the rape filling her with dread. The images of men dying on her darts replayed over and over again. She'd listened to the wet smack time after time as she crushed an enemy's face with a heavy stone. Each time, she'd reveled in the anger set free, feeding her hatred for the men who'd come to brutalize her and her people.

The memory stirred the anger. Not long now, only the slight movement of a shadow or two and she'd let loose her wrath, vent the stirring rage that burned within. After that, she'd lead attack after attack, bunching the enemy, assuring their destruction. A warm anticipation vied with the soul thirst for revenge.

The Short Buffalo would rue the day they'd climbed the trails. Warriors would sing for many generations of Tanager, who trapped and killed the Short Buffalo People.

A grim smile curled her lips.

She squinted at the trap. Scouts reported the Short Buffalo warriors climbed even now. Steep rocks lined either side of the trap while her warriors waited in the tangle of service-berry, screened from view. The enemy would walk out into the small open space, winded from the long climb. In that moment, she'd have them, her warriors cutting off retreat back down the trail. Only one avenue would be left open for their escape—into the black timber. There, she'd hound them, driving them deeper into the trees, leaving them to their fate. Her heart raced with the high fever of a hunter who has his quarry.

Each time she killed, it fed that desperate need within her to hurt them as she had been hurt. Each time, she paid them back for that wretched evening in the camp when they'd hurt her so deeply. The body had mended, but the mind continued to cry out, in haunting Dreams like she'd had last night.

White Calf's ghost had walked the land, that knowing squint in the old woman's eyes.

"Help the Dreamer . . . the Dreamer. . . . " White Calf's words echoed.

Help him how? What did she know about Dreamers? She jumped at the feel of tiny feet running up her arm, looking down, expecting an insect. White Calf's atlatl lay in her hand, a deadly dart nocked for release.

“Why me?" she wondered, licking her lips.

"You must listen to the Dreamer."

“The last man I listened to was Blood Bear." Anger rose again as she remembered the way he'd undercut her, forced her to lose herself. And if she'd struck? She closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the image. Not even Fire Dancer's arrival could have saved her from that.

No, she'd stay here, ensure her people got out in time— and kill more of the enemy at the same time. What business of hers was it what the Dreamer did with Two Smokes up in the high country?

"Are you strong enough?" White Calf's question left an uneasiness in her mind.

“I'm strong enough—and the Short Buffalo People will prove it."

"That's passion." White Calf's words came from the depths of her memory. "Can you force yourself to look beyond your rage ?''

"Trust the Dreamer?" she whispered to herself.

Suddenly she remembered Two Smokes' words about a dart in the back. No, not even a Dreamer could counter that. But what mad scheme could | him? Alone, Two Beaver's camp simply to Dream? Who'd watch their back for that deadly dart?

She wiped unconsciously at the prickle on her arm, realizing again that nothing crawled there.

"It's insanity." Then she stood, hastening to where Snaps Horn waited in hiding. "Snaps Horn, do you know what to do?"

The young man looked at her and grinned. "Kill as many as possible and chase them into the black timber."