The frightened scream torn from Two Smokes' lips was for him, yet pain and grief spurred him as he screamed with rage and desperation. The man's heavy body defied him. A hand caught in his shirt, lifting, as he battered at invulnerable flesh. The world spun as he was thrown violently away.
The ground rose, whirling. When he smacked and bounced, lights blasted through his brain. His breath burst from heaving lungs. Pain—pulsing physical pain—seared his nerves. Fright strangled his breath in fevered lungs as his vision spun and little sparks played behind his eyes. A ringing filled his ears.
Two Smokes cried out again like a wounded rabbit twisted on a sharp stick.
"See? See what this pollution has done? See how he's turned that poor little boy into an animal? This is the evil we've inflicted on ourselves! We allowed the evil into our midst. And you ask why rain doesn't fall? Why the grass doesn't grow thick and green for buffalo? How could any worthy Spirit send game to a people who harbor an offense like this?"
A voice of assent rose from the People.
"Curse you, Heavy Beaver!" Chokecherry's old voice pierced the air. "Haven't you done enough? Now you'll add torture to—"
"Silence, old woman! You're part of this. Someone remove her. Take her away before she angers the Spirit Powers!"
Chokecherry cried out over a scuffling of feet.
As breath rushed back into his starved lungs, Little Dancer's vision clouded with unrestrained tears. He sobbed at the pain, at the futility and hurt. He sobbed at the injustice and violation. Most of all, he sobbed at his helplessness. Blood ran from his nose. Heavy Beaver had thrown him down so hard that everything hurt.
"So, you haven't left, berdache?" Heavy Beaver's voice penetrated Little Dancer's mind like oil soaking into dry leather. 'Then you've made your choice. Your evil ends here. Someone bring me a club. Today we'll all Sing the end of the pollution. Together, we'll Dance the lingering taint of the berdache away. With our voices united, we'll call the Spirit Powers to see how we've cleansed the People! Then the rains will come. Then the buffalo will return."
''Cleansed with my blood?" Two Smokes cried. "By murder?"
Little Dancer's heart froze. He swallowed his sobs, dragging his sleeve across his eyes to clear the swollen tears. Heavy Beaver loomed over Two Smokes, a flush of excitement reddening his flat features. Two Smokes huddled on the ground, slowly shaking his head in disbelief. His hands had raised, empty, beseeching.
Little Dancer pulled himself forward on abused muscles until he reached the entrance to his lodge. There, inside, the old familiar furnishings brought no solace.
Grinning and whooping, Fire At Night pushed through the crowd. In his right hand he waved a hafted maul back and forth like a trophy. The heavy hammer consisted of a pecked and shaped stone head. A thumb-thick green willow stick had been doubled over the head to act as a handle. Green rawhide had then been sewn over the whole and allowed to shrink tight to hold it all together.
Two Smokes began to shiver, eyes horror-locked on the maul Heavy Beaver took from Fire At Night. "No," he whispered. "Don't do this thing."
Heavy Beaver lifted the hammer high, offering it to the sky. "Today, Wise One Above, we cleanse ourselves to be worthy of your truth! See this act of humility! See the People once again turn their faces toward you and your path of light! Watch, Father Sun, as we drive this filth from among us!"
Two Smokes swallowed hard, looking for an escape. People ringed him, eyes bright as they pressed forward.
A whimper caught in Little Dancer's throat. Panicked, he looked around, seeing only the hides and cold fire pit and the empty space where the Wolf Bundle had once re-There to the side lay Two Smokes' grass collection in its hide and . . .
"I call on you, Spirits Above! I call on you to watch!"
"No!" Two Smokes screamed, scrambling backward as Heavy Beaver charged forward, the hammer lifted high. A snarl of vindicated rage twisted the shaman's broad face.
Little Dancer reached with fear-charged fingers, closing them on the wood. He turned, screaming his fear, and rushed forward in one final desperate attempt.
Someone cried a warning. Heavy Beaver stopped, staring wide-eyed. He jumped back, feet tangling in his retreat. He started to fall just as Little Dancer drove Blood Bear's dart into his body.
The cry saved him serious injury. Heavy Beaver felt his feet snag. Arms flailing, he fell as the boy drove the dart at him.
By instinct, Heavy Beaver twisted away. Instead of slicing through his belly, the point bunched the leather of his shirt, ripping through as he pulled away. The razor edge of the stone slipped along under his clothing, stinging as it went.
"Get him! He's trying to kill me!" he screamed as he rolled away. The dart caught in the folds on his shirt. The shaft wrenched from the boy's grasp and tumbled him.