People of the Fire(19)

She crossed her arms, meeting his hot glare, refusing to cave in to the feeling of terror. "I fed my people. I told the antelope mother what I did. She knows. I—"

"And I suppose you're bleeding on top of it all? Menstrual blood? On a hunt? If there's trouble these days, you always seem to be at the bottom of it."

At the memory of Dancing Doe's infanticide, she bristled. "As if it was any of your business, I'm not. My moon passed two weeks ago. You should know, Heavy Beaver, you seem to keep good track of when each woman enters the bleeding lodge. Part of your Dreamer's responsibility? Or something else?"

Watch it! You We getting mad. You know what happens when you get out of control. She swallowed hard, trying to still the fires of injustice tugging at her gut.

He actually forced a smile onto his lips. "Times are changing, Sage Root. Oh, I know your lineage. I know the sort of woman your mother was. Passionate . . . like you. That's where you get it, I suppose. Your father never stood up to her, never taught you the manners to make you a polite woman, dutiful. Then you couldn't wait to rut with Hungry Bull—the name fits him. You've never—"

"Because I wouldn't bed you?" She arched an eyebrow, instantly regretting it, exhaling. "Never mind. It was long ago. You wouldn't have wanted me for a second wife anyway." And that's one of the biggest lies I've ever told. Look at you, even now, practically drooling. And you talk to the Spirit World?

Red Chert had stood through it all, eyes downcast as always. Stolid of expression, she waited, the wind tugging at her long black braids. A small dumpy woman, she'd never borne Heavy Beaver a son—yet she bled like any other woman, taking her time in the menstrual hut. Ever quiet and docile, she never even laughed at the crude jokes the women told. She spoke rarely and then only of the essentials.

The realization settled in Sage Root's mind. How terrible to be the object of so much sympathy. What a wretched life that would be. Imagine having a husband you never laughed with, never hugged, or coupled frantically with, or fought with. Imagine living all your life like a wounded puppy. Where would the purpose be?

"Indeed, you'd have made a very poor second wife." Heavy Beaver's words sank into her thoughts. "And I'll hope you haven't ruined the People forever with this little display of yours."

The anger broke loose.

Despite the warning voice in her head, she jabbed a finger into his breastbone. It all came out, spurred by the fear eating at her gut. She had to strike back, she just had to—or it was all lost. "And where are the buffalo you've been Singing to for so long? Do I see the hills black with their bodies? All that Singing, Heavy Beaver? All that time the People have been giving you the best of what little remained so you could spend time in the Dream without worries about your fat belly going gaunt? Maybe you haven't listened past the sound of your own voice. The children of the People are crying]

"And what have we got? Rain? You see any of that this spring? No, all we get are your accusations that women are spoiling the world, killing the People! There wouldn't be any People if it wasn't for everyone doing what they can. Including women! Have you seen Dancing Doe recently? Have you seen the misery in her eyes every time she thinks about what you made her do?"

"You push too far, Sage Root." He said it so softly, she almost missed it in her tirade. The chill of fear, overly damped by anger, reasserted itself. She swallowed hard. This fool could Curse her. And he had every reason after she'd ridiculed him that night he'd tried to take her. Ridicule wasted a man, ate at him . . . and Heavy Beaver didn't forget.

"Yes, you understand." He lifted his chin, studying her through lowered lashes. "Perhaps you do too much—take on too much. You would divide the People when they must pull together, Dance and Sing and apologize to the Spirit World Above for so many transgressions. In you, I see only arrogance, and pride. So much pride. Is that because of your beauty? Because of your husband? Do you think you're better than the rest of the People?"

She bit her tongue to still the hot response.

"Remember," his smooth voice grated, "the Wise One Above led men up from under the ground and into this world. A being who crawled out of the earth like mole shouldn't be too proud."

“I stand on my own under Father Sun as you do, shaman."

"But I Dream the Powers, woman. And I think you're too proud. Go ahead, eat your meat. I refuse to touch it, to foul my lips with your sacrilege. We'll see where your impudence and arrogant pride get you in the end."

He pushed past her, raising his arms and shouting for all to hear: "Antelope Above! I see what the woman has done to you! I see the insult to your children! I see the defiling of my brothers! Know that I, Heavy Beaver, refuse to taste, eat ... or even smell of this violation! I declare this meat to be putrid and fouled by a defiler of You . . . and my People."