“We've got to take her back," Two Smokes whispered hoarsely.
The voice in Little Dancer's ears sounded distant. He didn't feel the berdaches arms drop away. He stared fixedly into eternity. Two Smokes pulled Sage Root's limp body from the Cottonwood, struggling to prop it on the smooth wood could get a grip on the sagging flesh.
Little Dancer barely noticed the pain reflected in Smokes' face as his mother's weight fell on his crippled leg.
The berdache hunched his back and pulled to resettle the dangling burden.
He looked back at the crimson-stained log. There, behind it, he saw the black wolf. The animal stood motionless, ears raised, watching. A prickling of Power traced along the nape of Little Dancer's neck. His eyes locked with the beast's, joining, twining their souls.
No! I don't want this! Mother! Where are you? Little Dancer tore his eyes away and followed. Like a hammerstone on a hollow log, Two Smokes grunted each time his stiff leg took the load. The path back couldn't have been more than three long dart casts, but Two Smokes staggered by the time they entered the camp clearing.
A pain pierced Little Dancer's heart as Two Smokes reeled and let go of his mother. When her body hit the ground, it made a hollow thud and bounced like a freshly killed carcass dropped heedlessly by the hunter. Two Smokes collapsed next to her. His teeth sank deeply into his lower lip as his face contorted in response to the pain in his maimed leg.
Little Dancer stood mutely, eyes locked on his mother's body while Two Smokes ran anxious hands down his stiff leg. Sweat droplets caught the morning sun, shining like ice crystals as they traced his hot cheeks. The berdache's hair looked wet and sticky while sweat stained the finely worked leather of his dress where it clung to his back.
''Sage Root! She's dead!"
In the haze of his numb mind, Little Dancer didn't recognize the voice. He only vaguely noted the rushing of people as they came to stare. A tension began to build inside him as their whispered voices intruded on his empty mind. The rising murmur irritated him as it grated on his concentration. Didn't they understand? Couldn't they feel the hurt and grief?
"So the moment has come! Do any of you doubt me now?" Heavy Beaver pushed his way through the press to stand above Sage Root's body. The Spirit Dreamer raised his hands to the morning sky. His moon face flushed hot, alight with triumph.
"Let no one doubt the Power of my Dreaming. Look! Look before you, my people! See the cleansing of the pollution!
Look to the skies and see Antelope Above rejoicing in the justice meted out to the woman who defiled his children!"
Little Dancer stared up at the morning. He looked again, harder, seeing nothing but emptiness in the air where Heavy Beaver pointed. A fist clenched and turned in his stomach; wrongness soured the air around him. He'd heard the antelope, remembered the Oneness of the Dream. He'd shared the taste of sage in their mouths, frolicked and felt their worry. Now he felt nothing but the sense of being apart. When he looked at Heavy Beaver, he saw nothing, felt nothing but unease and a curious sense of being cheated.
"You lie!" he called out in his misery. "You see nothing but what's in your head. You don't know the Oneness. You can't feel the Power around you. You're a deceiver. A thief."
A gasp from the People fanned the spark of anger kindled in Little Dancer's breast. In the nothingness, it burned brightly, seeking to strike out, to repay hurt with hurt and terror with terror.
Heavy Beaver wheeled, black eyes gloating as his lips parted. "From now on, boy, you'll live with me. You've been tainted by pollution. I can see it hiding in your soul. An evil lies within you. An evil which must be beaten, burned, and driven out if your soul is to be saved from Anit'ah sorcery."
"No!" Two Smokes cried, raising himself up slowly, sweat popping from his tortured face. He got a foot under him, wincing at the pain as he started to stand and face the Spirit Dreamer. Heavy Beaver turned, kicking out to knock him flat.
"And you, Anit'ahl You're a worse pollution than an>« You're a monster! You offend everything normal in the world. A man who loves men and dresses as a woman? You're a vile pustule! From this moment, I banish you for the evil you are. Get out! Get away from the People. Now! Leave us . . . and if you ever come back, it's to receive the cleansing death you deserve!"
Two Smokes shook his head, pulling his good leg under him, starting to rise again. "No, you don't understand the---“
He cried out in agony as Heavy Beaver kicked him in the maimed knee. The cry shivered Little Dancer's soul, loosening his intestines with the intensity of the suffering it communicated.
Little Dancer's sanity collapsed under a rush of hatred. Rabid, he flew at Heavy Beaver, clawing, shrieking, kicking with all the rage broken loose in his little body.