People of the Fire(31)

And Sage Root had defied him openly. Tomorrow, first thing, he d Curse her before them all.

Sparks, like living things, spiraled up to the night sky, twisting, dancing a pattern of glowing yellow orange against the soft velvet of the night.

Across from White Calf, Hungry Bull, Three Toes, and Black Crow squatted, tense features accented by the flickers of firelight. They stared at her, uncertain, nervous. Three frightened young men. She chuckled in dry amusement.

“You all look like you're afraid I'll hop over this fire and eat you."

Black Crow swallowed, throat bobbing. "I heard stories about you. Chokecherry said you weren't all human—that you could change into an owl at night and fly up to the stars. They said you could talk to animals, talk to . . ."

"Ghosts?" she supplied when he couldn't finish. Wearily, she took a deep sigh, stretching her knotted legs out, looking down to where the fire glowed. "No, I don't talk to ghosts ... but I wish I could."

Her words hit them like cold wind. They waited, muscles tightening under smooth skin, eyes gleaming uneasily, hands propped to lever themselves up if they needed to flee in a hurry.

"Oh, stop that! What's the matter? You think the whole world is filled with evil? Who's spreading this dung-filled idea? Look at you! Three strong young men sitting here, scared to death of one thin old woman." She shook her head in disgust as they lowered their eyes. Dropping her voice, she added, "Look around you. See the plants? The stars? The very dirt? Hear the nighthawk and the owl? Feel the wind? None of this is bad. Life isn't bad . . . nor are ghosts. You think a man's soul changes just because he dies and rises to the stars?"

She cataloged their silent faces.

"You see, the question you have to ask is why? Why would a man's soul change after he dies?"

"If you talk to ghosts—"

"I don't!"

"But you said—"

"I said I would if I could." She rocked to ease her aching hip. 44 Yeah, I'd like to know what's on the other side. The old legends say it's like a Dreaming. All is one, and one is all. I'd like to know. That's what. Am I scared of what I might learn? Of course. Learning things always scares you. Learning is like walking on sand. You never know about the footing . . . when it might shift under your feet and leave you off balance. But if you don't walk, you don't get anywhere, don't see anything new. You'd be better to sit in your lodge, screened from the world by that thin hide, and starve to death."

. Hungry Bull frowned, a perplexed look on his handsome features. Three Toes sucked at his lower lip while Black Crow scratched at the back of his head.

"Now, get your sleep. We'll start for the People tomorrow."

Rolled in his sleeping robe, Hungry Bull stared up at the sky, wide awake. Why couldn't he believe the old woman? Premonitions of danger and trouble stirred that sixth sense common to hunters. Mouth dry, he looked over at where the old woman lay breathing easily.

A shiver sliced its way up Hungry Bull's spine. Spirits ran loose on the land, Dancing for souls.

Blood Bear walked down the long hills from the uplands south of the Moon River. To his right, slightly behind him, the tall peak of the Beaver Tooth caught the morning sun. Before him the river curled and wound through the broad floodplain. Even here the grasses crunched underfoot. No rain had fallen in this parched land.

Before him lay the river—and a choice. East or west?

High above, an eagle sailed in the thermals, its path ever westward. Since his early childhood, he'd heard of the Power of eagles. Very well, he'd go west. One way suited him as well as another. Besides, a person never knew. That moment of insanity he'd had might have worked after all. At the thought, a curious tingle burned in the scarring stump of his little finger.

Blood Bear turned his steps as he reached the hard silt of the floodplain. West. After all these long weary years of wandering, maybe luck had turned in his favor.

How wonderful it would be not only to recover the Wolf Bundle, but to kill the berdache—and perhaps beat his wife before him into the camps of the Red Hand as a reminder of how she'd disgraced him so long ago. No one would forget Blood Bear after that. And as punishment for harboring his runaway wife, he'd wage a new war on the Short Buffalo People. Considering what he'd seen of the plains peoples, none had the spirit to stand before the Red Hand.

The Wolf Bundle flexed its Power. It seethed, remembering Heavy Beaver's hard hands, the malignant hate in his mind as he heaved the bundle into the night. Anger whirled and swelled within it.

In the camp, men y women, and children slept, minds tormented by nightmares of violence and rage. Heavy Beaver whimpered in his Dreams, feeling as if a black fog suffocated him.