People of the Fire(178)

"The threshold," Fire Dancer whimpered. "Where is the threshold? Gray mist . . . gray . . . illusion."

"Then we wait for a while," Two Smokes decided. "Fire Dancer, your time has come. Dream, boy. Dream.”

The sacred datura pulsed within him. As it began to leach its power along his veins, Heavy Beaver started to hear the whispers of Power. Perhaps it had been foolish to take the last of the plant, but he had to hear his mother's voice in this moment of triumph.

He walked out in the center of the Dance circle, feeling detached, and silhouetted himself in the light of the fire. He raised his hands, gesturing to the People. He blinked, knowing the swirling of Power around him.

Watch me, Mother. Then speak to me.

"You see my Power!" Lightning flickered again in the inky sky, illuminating the clouds, backed by the inferno swelling from the Buffalo Mountains.

The cheer entered like a breath and grew within, filling him fit to bursting.

"We are the People! We are the new way!" As they cheered, pride pulsed up and down his soul. Mother, see me! See what I have done with your Dream!

"Look, people! Look and see that I have burned the An-it'ah!"

Firelight danced off the buffalo head hanging from the pole. "We, the People, have renewed you, brother Buffalo! Make your herds grow and know you feed your brothers.

"No one can change our way! The taint of weak women is cleaned from us."

The warriors whooped and jumped, rattling their darts. Their gleaming eyes were for him alone, ignoring the fire where their comrades now fought for their lives. Even the women watched, cowed, accepting their lot.

"Who would challenge Heavy Beaver's Power?"

"I would."

Heavy Beaver froze, refusing to believe. "Who?" he demanded hotly. "Know that you are Cursed as you speak."

Images from the terrible Dream replayed as the People backed away, clearing a path. Three people—a young man, a crippled old woman, and a tall thin young woman—walked through the ranks.

“Who are you?"

"Have I changed so much, Heavy Beaver?" The old hobbling woman spoke with a man's voice.

"Two Smokes!" The knowledge came through the shimmering sweetness of the datura rushing along his veins. 4k You bring the vileness of berdache here on this day? You have the nerve?" And the young man, why did he look so familiar/

“A Dreamer has come," Two Smokes said firmly. "He s come to Dream the Spiral—which you’ve forgotten."

“And this . . . this woman?" He gestured.

“Her name is Tanager. The greatest warrior of the Red Hand. She has come as our escort."

“A brief escort."

The young man stepped forward, lifting a rattlesnake high in a swollen hand. Something about his eyes caught Beaver's attention. Even through the years, he knew. "Ah— Little Dancer? Came for the same fate as your mother? Or have the Anit'ah thrown you out?"

Fire Dancer's voice carried, eerie in the night as he lifted a bundle in his good hand. The Wolf Bundle! "I have come to Dream with you, Heavy Beaver. Together we'll Dance the Power." And he lifted the snake high, a smile on his face. “Come and Dance with me, Heavy Beaver."

People gasped, eyes lit with wonder. Fire Dancer held their attention. With that, he handed the Wolf Bundle to Two Smokes, a chant on his lips. In the firelight, it seemed like a Dream. Chanting, the young man Danced up to Heavy Beaver. The People remained rooted, too shocked to move.

The world began to pulse with Fire Dancer's steps, shifting and shimmering. Or was it the datum? Heavy Beaver blinked, a curious chill in his flesh.

"If you're a true Dreamer, Heavy Beaver, you can Dance the venom. Prove as I have proved, that it's nothing but illusion." The People cried out as the rattlesnake bit Fire Dancer on the breast.

Heavy Beaver swallowed, staring with wide eyes at the serpent.

"No, you're evil."

Fire Dancer laughed, cavorting and leaping. "Feel the One! Feel it running through us. Feel the Spirals! This is a night of Power."

He extended the snake again. Frantically, Heavy Beaver batted the serpent away, grateful that it landed writhing and hissing in the flames.

"Is that your response to the Dance?" Fire Dancer whirled away, Singing and Dancing.

Heavy Beaver raised his hands, calling on his strength, on everything he believed. The datura swelled and rippled along his soul.

"Little Dancer, I declare you a foulness. You and your berdache are Cursed. You will die . . . die in agony!"

''See the Power of the One! '' Fire Dancer pointed to the sky.

Heavy Beaver followed his pointing finger to the night sky. There, on the western horizon, a whirlwind rose above the flames, flickers of light showered out of the night sky, falling, drifting here and there, lighting the darkness.