People of the Fire(55)

Fire At Night jumped forward, plucking the boy from the ground, shouting angrily as the child kicked him hard on the kneecap. A flailing fist caught the older boy on the cheek.

Snarling, Fire At Night slapped Little Dancer across the face. As the boy blinked, Fire At Night doubled a fist and punched him the belly. Little Dancer whimpered miserably and desisted.

Heavy Beaver exhaled relief. He'd lived. Collecting himself, he winced as the sting of the wound began to throb. Heavy Beaver got slowly to his feet, forcing his legs to stop trembling. His heart battered at his chest as he lifted his shirt to peer underneath.

A long gash bled freely where the dart had skipped across his ribs before fouling in the thick hide of his shirt.

Heavy Beaver's fear melted, to be replaced with a white-hot anger.

"You're evil, boy! You just tried to kill one of the People. I can't save you now. The taint from wicked Anit'ah Power goes too deep." He pulled a hand back and slapped the mewing boy. The cry he elicited warmed something deep inside him. He hit the boy again and again, happy with the marks he raised.

“Hold him. You, Throws Stones. Get his other arm. Too much of the berdache is in him. His soul is too fouled to save. Today we cleanse the People ... all of the People." And no one will doubt my Power!

"By the First Man," Two Smokes shrieked. "You can't kill him! He's just a boy!"

"Straight Wood, if the Anit'ah filth speaks again, kill him." Heavy Beaver smiled down at the berdache. "Don't worry, your soul won't be far behind Little Dancer's. I meant what I said. Today I cleanse the People, no matter how much blood I have to let."

Two Smokes clamped his eyes shut as Straight Wood took a position over him.

Heavy Beaver retrieved the hammer and swung it to test the balance. People stared in horror, some covering their mouths, others covering their eyes. No one spoke. No one stepped forward to stop him. His authority went unchallenged.

Little Dancer wailed as the two boys stretched his arms between them. Heady with victory, Heavy Beaver stared into the insolent child's fear-glazed eyes and raised the hammer high overhead, picking the spot on the boy's skull where he'd land the blow.

Hungry Bull's heart quaked. Not for years had he experienced this feeling of dread. Anxiously he stared ahead over White Calf's tottering figure where she led the way.

Smoke rose from the cottonwoods in a blue haze, just as it would from a normal camp.

Then a flight of ravens rose from a huddled shape on the terrace overlooking camp. Hungry Bull's gut twisted. Someone had died. No wonder he felt like catastrophe hovered above him, ready to fall and snuff his peace and happi Well, no matter, in a few moments he'd be in Sage Root's arms, hearing the news.

A tingle of anticipation warmed him. Once he was home, he'd be clear of all this. He could retreat to his lodge and let White Calf and Heavy Beaver worry about the Spirit Power and visions.

The image of Sage Root's happy eyes danced in his mind. She'd chide him about his misplaced worry. He could already imagine the feel of her warm arms around him, feel her happy body pressed to his as she laughed. With her long fingers, she'd pull the gleaming black hair from her eyes to stare up at him with joy. How his soul tingled when she smiled at him that way. All her love would reflect in the gentling of her eyes and the expectation in her lips.

Perhaps this time he'd stay home for a while. Let Black Crow and Three Toes and Travels Far do the hunting. Besides, young Fire At Night and Throws Rocks were old enough to be going on their first hunt.

White Calf's legs wobbled under her as they entered the trees. Would the old woman make it that far? She seemed on the verge of collapse. An old one shouldn't push herself like that. No wonder he felt nervous. If a Spirit Dreamer like White Calf keeled over and died on him, the Wise One Above alone knew what the consequences would be.

"I don't like Spirit Power," he told himself. "And I swear, I'll never get involved with it again after this." But then, he'd sworn that before—and trouble had come looking for him. What stories he'd have to tell Sage Root and Little Dancer.

A scream sounded from ahead. The anxiety in Hungry Bull's heart spasmed. The sound couldn't be anything but a man in pain. More cries tortured the air as they hurried forward, pressing White Calf.

They burst into the camp clearing to see a knot of people clustered before Hungry Bull's lodge.

Heavy Beaver stood in the center, blood streaming down his side. Fire At Night and Throws Rocks held a young boy by the arms, stretching him between them, feet off the ground in what had to be a painful position. Straight Wood stood over another figure—Two Smokes—angrily kicking the berdache in the crippled leg every time he tried to reach up for the boy who—