People of the Fire(23)

“Who are you?" he whispered, the firm grip of the atlatl reassuring. The wood fairly pulsed with the spirit he'd breathed into it at Blessing. And what good is a crafted dart against a ghost? If only he’d had Heavy Beaver Sing Ghost Medicine into his . . . but he hadn’t.

“You don't know me?" She cocked her head; a glitter of amusement animated her black eyes. “If you're who I think you are, boy, you've aged well. Handsome."

He half started. She called him “boy"! “I am Hungry Bull, son of Seven Foxes and Bright Cloud. My grandfather was—"

“Yes, yes, I know you. Knew your father. Know of him, I should say. Knew your grandfather, Big Fox, well." A saucy gleam filled her eye as she looked him up and down. "Knew him well, indeed. The ways of the wind lead us round and round, don't they? What a person starts always comes back . . . somehow, someway. The Vision was right. It was time to come."

Visions? He squinted, slightly irritated, still unsure. A man never knew what the demons might do to him. Could she be some spirit? If so, good or evil?

Close now, unsure, his heart beat like a stone maul on green wood. Swallowing hard, he set himself, terribly afraid. Quick as lightning under a thunderhead, he flicked the point of his dart down and jerked her skirts up.

"What?" she screamed, jumping back, arms flailing for balance, hindered by her walking stick.

In the melee, he ducked, looking under her skirt. A woman.

Only quick reflexes saved him as the walking stick descended in an arc. Crabbing sideways, he rolled under the blow as the stick whistled over his head.

"Hey! Don't kill me!" He scrambled sideways, the walking stick whacking the cobbles on the spot he'd just been. Before she could recover, he got his feet braced and scampered back.

' 'Waaaa! ' ' The war cry tore past her old lips as she charged after him.

"Wait!" he called, racing away from her. "I was just checking!"

Her old body wasn't up to the chase. The pack—still on her back—slowed her even more. Panting and wheezing, she glared at him, walking stick raised high as strangled sounds gurgled in her throat.

"Coyote disguises himself as a woman!" Hungry Bull pleaded.

She started forward again, intent on cracking his skull.

"What would you think?" He backpedaled out of her reach, hands raised.

Lungs laboring, she slowed, jaw thrust forward.

"I'm sorryl" He gulped a breath. "I'm just a hunter. All I know about Coyote is what Spirit Dreamers tell me."

"You ever . . . seen Coyote . . . look like an . . . old woman?"

"No!"

"Then why-"

"Because he might! And if he wants to trick someone, can be someone besides me! I got enough troubles!"

At the stricken look on his face, the old woman stopped herself short of the next attack and laughed, breaking into coughing fit in the process.

"Okay," she admitted between lung-racking hacks, "I believe you."

Hungry Bull took a deep breath. "Good. Who are you?"

She sniffed, reshuffling her burden. "My first human name was Green Willow." She chuckled, gesturing at the country around them. " Shows you how long ago that was. You Ye Hungry Bull? Supposed to be quite a hunter, I hear tell."

He swallowed hard. "I'm the best among my people. 1 '

She glanced at the trophy dangling limply from his left hand. "Well, if a bushy-tailed packrat's all you got ... I wouldn't want to be one of your people." Her critical eye took in the scratches and scuffing of his clothing. "And it looks like quite a chase. Was that you I heard bashing through the sage like a Monster in rut? All that for a packrat?"

He bristled, straightening, heat rising in his face, ready to lash out in anger—but caution held him. In the old stories, proud young men like him got in trouble doing that. The Wise One Above turned them into frogs and snakes and worms and such.

And there was that look in her eye—a Spirit Power look-like she could see his soul inside, like she knew so very, very much more than he. And he knew her. He was sure of it.

"Green Willow? Are you ... I mean, are you real . . . in this world, I mean?" His throat had gone dry. What would an old woman be doing up here?

She grinned wickedly, exposing worn yellow teeth. "As real as you. And judging from your recent behavior, a whole lot brighter."

He flushed, lowering his eyes in shame.

"Where were you going when I saw you down there? A camp of the People around here someplace?"

He swallowed, pointing with darts to the southwest. "Four days' walk. Down along the Moon River. Three of us, Black Crow and Three Toes, and me, we came to hunt. I tried circling to the north."