People of the Fire(38)

"I'm not interested in their agony. They can choose their way . . . as can Heavy Beaver. I have other commitments. "

"The boy?"

“Of course.'' A pause. ''If he lives. I may have made a mistake in calling White Calf "

"You always had a softness for old women."

"If I do, it's none of your concern."

"And you’d sacrifice the People for the boy? You’d allow so much suffering?"

“I have to. A deadly dart point isn’t crafted from flawed stone. "





Chapter 8




Chokecherry ducked out of her lodge and squinted up at the sun, resenting the heat that beat mercilessly down. Below the camp, even the cottonwoods looked limp where they grew out of the Moon River's banks. Leaves flickered lazily back and forth in the morning breeze. Moon River itself consisted of braided channels lacing through lenticular mud bars. The water barely rippled. Gray-white cobbles marked old beds— now nothing more than the bones of the river.

Along the sun-bleached bank stood Heavy Beaver's sweat lodge—banned to the women now. She lifted her lip at the sight.

To the southwest, Chokecherry could make out the tall conical mountain called Beaver Tooth where it stuck up above the Elk Place Mountains that rimmed the western horizon. Might be cool up there. A good place to go—if only Heavy Beaver would move the camp.

The thought of him brought acid to her stomach. Curse the fool anyway, why did anyone . . . the Curse!

She turned, looking across the beaten soil to Heavy Beaver's lodge. There, standing tall in the light, stood four dark sticks, each thrust into the ground.

A cold chill churned Chokecherry's gut. "Dung and flies, girl. He's done it." Her taloned fingers knotted in the front of her calfskin dress, old and shabby now from long wear. Steeling herself, she walked across to Hungry Bull's lodge, rounding the curve to find Sage Root sitting in the door flap, staring wide-eyed at the sticks, her beautiful face blanched.

"What's this? Maggots in pus, girl! That's what he wants you to do."

Sage Root continued to stare, barely aware of her.

"Get up!" Chokecherry hissed. "Hear me? Get up!"

The boy peeked around from inside the lodge.

"Son, help your mother up. We've got to get her out of sight of those foul sticks of his." She took one of Sage Root's ice-cold hands, tugging, while the boy tugged at the other. Sage Root shook her head, clambered to her feet, and followed without fuss. Chokecherry led off toward the river.

"That's what he wants, girl. You're supposed to stare like that ... to dwell on what's going to happen to you."

"He's ... a Spirit Dreamer. What if he's right? What if—"

"Hush, now. That's just what he's trying to get you to think." Chokecherry led her down beside the dry banks of Moon River, stopping at the edge of one of the rills. Bending down, she drank of the cool water, filling her parched tissues.

"Come on, girl. Drink. Then I'm taking you and the boy to my lodge and fixing some of that antelope you trapped. And after that, we're going to have a long talk about Power and how it works." She shook her head "Wish my fool sister were here for once."

She caught the awed stare in the boy's eyes. He beamed at her, eager to hear. What was it about him? Now his eye gone unfocused, staring out over the sere plains, absently following the flight of an eagle where the bird rose high on the thermals.

"Come on, let's go feed the two of you. You're both getting a little moon-eyed."

Blood Bear might have been a snake sunning itself. He waited, belly-down, in a thorny green mat of rosebushes. From where he lay, he could look out through a ground-squirrel run and right into the lodge occupied by the woman and Two Smokes. The rest of the camp sweltered in the late-afternoon heat. He could feel the tension. He could see it in the way they moved, in their uneasy glances and subdued conversation.

He'd found no chance to sneak into Two Smokes' lodge before dawn. When he'd crawled close, the woman had been sitting in the entrance, eyes fixed on the shaman's lodge across the way. She hadn't moved, hadn't left for any longer than it took to relieve herself behind the lodge.

Turning his head ever so slowly, Blood Bear studied each of the lodges, listening to the Spirit Man's odd chanting to the hollow beat of the drum. For a brief moment, he shivered, feeling the stub of his little finger. Of all the stupid things he'd ever done, that rankled the most deeply.

I don’t believe in such foolishness as Power, It's all curious myth and legend. That's all.

At that point, an old woman walked around Two Smokes' lodge and, with the help of the boy, dragged the pretty woman to her feet, leading her away.

And if something's happening, perhaps Id best move first. He raised his head slightly, checking each of the knots of people where they talked in the shade of their lodges, heads bobbing, all eyes on the Spirit Man's lodge and the curious sticks standing there. So long as the wind held and the dogs didn't get his scent, or someone didn't decide to use the rosebushes to relieve himself, he'd be fine.