People of the Fire(173)

"Then trust an old berdache and let's take this trail.*'

“And if you're wrong?"

Two Smokes looked over the edge, seeing the winding track disappearing into a thick stand of lodgepole. To either side, sheer walls of the mountain dropped off in cliffs impossible for them to descend. Before them, all of the basin lay exposed and sere under the burning sun.

“This other trail doesn't look any better. And if we try the main trail, you're going to be Dreaming on the end of a warrior's dart."

Fire Dancer bit his lip, lost in thought.

“Can't you sense which path is right? Dream something!” And the second Two Smokes said it, he wished he hadn't.

Fire Dancer's face twitched. “I—I don't I’m so confused." He shook his head. "All I can feel is the power. You don't just talk to it unless . . . well, you're Dreaming.”

Two Smokes rubbed his sweat Then let's go this way. There are fewer rocks." He gestured toward the lodge-pole.

"Not only that, look. Tanarer's plan is working.” Fire Dancer pointed up.

Two Smokes shaded his eyes against the blaze of the sun. A faint haze of smoke dulled the sky. “Then we’d better get off the mountain. Dry as it is, it'll burn fast. My father told me about the first coming of the drought. His father told him. It was like the whole world burned.”

"Not like in my Dream, I pray. Not that." Fire Dancer swallowed nervously and finally nodded. "All right, down is down."

Two Smokes started over the edge, suddenly uneasy. Power wouldn't protect him from a broken leg. And without him, who'd hold the Wolf Bundle while Fire Dancer Dreamed and Danced with Fire? ... If they lived that long.

“Hey!'' The cry came from above as if in answer to his fears.

Two Smokes turned to see Tanager waving as she jumped down the steep trail in a cascade of rock.

Wearily, Two Smokes hitched himself back up to the restricted shoulder of the mountain they stood on.

Tanager came puffing down the slope. She looked disheveled, legs trembling as she gasped for air. Apparently, she'd run a long way.

"Not . . . that way," she panted, pointing. "You'll be in a dead end. That trail ends in a sheer cliff. Only the deer use that trail to go up and down to get the brush that's there for winter feed. It would have cost you a half a day."

Fire Dancer closed his eyes and nodded, a subtle panic hidden behind worried eyes.

"Why have you come?" Two Smokes asked.

Tanager looked away, breasts heaving as she sought to catch her breath. "Something White Calf said. I don't know the why of it. Power. She said if I did this, maybe I could save the Red Hand."

"Another Dreamer following a Dreamer," Fire Dancer added softly. "And this other trail?"

"It's rough, but I don't think we'll find Short Buffalo People on it." She rattled her darts. "And if we do, you can Dream them to the Starweb."

"But why?" Two Smokes insisted. "Why you?"

She looked out over the basin. "White Calf said something about balance, and Spirals, and things I don't understand. I've been given part of her Power. I think she wanted me to use it." She swallowed. "And I swore I would. I promised the Spirits back where you had your sweat and killed the wolf. I didn't know it was a sacred place until too late. Maybe this way I won't offend Power."

Fire Dancer smiled absently, eyes gone out of focus. "Then let us hope none of us offend. Time is short. Which way?”

She shook off a shiver and pointed with the darts. 'This way."

Red Chert brought Heavy Beaver a roasted piece of buffalo backstrap skewered on green willow. The meat had been wrapped in balsam leaves with yarrow sprigs and sage inserted into the tender flesh. Then the whole had been deep-pit roasted until it simmered in its own juices. Now the meat barely clung to the skewer, cooked to perfection.

"Bring me a bowl, woman." He scowled as rich juices ran down his arm, staining his best ceremonial clothing. He flicked the droplets away, checking to make sure none had spotted his white-buffalo hide.

Elk Whistle, Seven Suns, and Two Stones sat in the pi of honor beside him, waiting their turn. The huge fire burning in the center of the camp kept the herd of children scampering to collect more wood as the women who'd been punished for this and that levered deadfall between tree trunks to break it into sections.

To waste so much wood in the middle of summer seemed almost profligate, but they'd move camp by the time winter set in. The few warriors who remained to guard the cainj taken a break from their Dance, silting in the shade of the cottonwoods, laughing and joking among themselves as they looked to their decorations and repainted their bodies sweat had run.

For the moment the Singers continued to chant, thumping the pot drum, voices rising and falling in a Song for the Girl’s Dance. On a tall pole a buffalo head had been hung and Blessed to watch over the Dancers. Eagle feathers had been woven into the matted hair to flutter with the breeze.