Mouth dry, she reached for her water skin and sipped. Sitting up, she rubbed her old legs, feeling the night cramp of age-knotted muscles. Eight years had passed since Power had led her to the child and the berdache. What had gone wrong now?
Looking out through the hangings on her shelter, she traced the familiar outline of the peaks against the skyline. She searched the dark patterns of the clouds as the moon broke the eastern horizon again.
She stiffened as the moonbeams sliced the clouds, seeing him again. Moonlight played lightly over the mounded white. The young man of her Spirit Dreams formed out of the billowing cumulus. Half man, half wolf, the image spun from the clouds appeared to point off to the southeast—toward the land of her people.
In shock from Heavy Beaver's desecration, the Wolf Bundle vibrated, wailing its anguish into the clefts and curves of time. The voices of the thousands who had touched it in awe and left part of their souls within the bindings whimpered and moaned.
The Power pulsated, remembering the defilement, withdrawing from the world of men, sucking down into a smoldering kernel of being.
"Remember, the Spiral. . . Circles within circles, joined, yet never touching. The time hasn’t come yet. But it will. . . it will.
And the Wolf Bundle waited.
Chapter 2
"You don't have to do this." Sage Root met Dancing Doe's eyes as she ducked from the birthing lodge, the infant cuddled to her chest. Dancing Doe shot a surreptitious look to where Heavy Beaver stood before his lodge with arms crossed on his broad chest. Sunlight revealed him as a middle-aged man, thick through the body and short. No hint of the thoughts inside could be seen on his wide heavy-jowled face. His nose, too, looked mashed and flat against his splayed cheekbones. A deep scar ran diagonally across his high broad forehead—legacy of an Anit'ah war dart.
"There isn't enough food," Dancing Doe whispered miserably, wincing at the tenderness in her hips as she straightened in the slanting light of morning.
"I say, don't do it. Something will happen." The angry knot in Sage Root's stomach growled. Nothing much remained of the last kill, only some thin strips of dried meat—enough for another meal or two. Some roots had been collected, enough for stew. Already women had gone out to beat the brush, look for rabbit or gopher holes close enough to the river that water could be diverted to flood them and flush a meal. Still, to kill a child . . .
Dancing Doe's mouth tightened. "My baby ... it's a girl." Her gaze slipped to Heavy Beaver where he stood. "He knows."
"It's your decision! He can't make you kill your own—"
"Please." Dancing Doe's plea wrenched Sage Root's heart. "I know what you're trying to do, but until Long Runner comes back . . . Well, I don't want trouble."
"I'll stand by you. Give you what's left of my dried meat," Sage Root promised, knowing full well that Long Runner had been killed by Anit'ah. "Listen, we can't keep killing the girl children." Sage Root placed a hand on Dancing Doe's shoulder. "Trust me. How would you feel if you killed your baby and Hungry Bull, or someone from one of the other parties, came trotting in saying they'd surrounded a herd, killed enough for all?"
Dancing Doe bit her lip, haunted eyes still fastened on Heavy Beaver, his presence like a miasma. "And then what? How long until the next kill? No. It's all hazy, but I remember him saying I had to. It's for all the People. This one" — she indicated the infant—"doesn't have a soul yet. It isn't named. It's only an animal
Sage Root closed her eyes, hearing the certainty in Dancing Doe's voice. "It's your ..." last link to Long Runner. But she couldn't say that, couldn't force herself to add to Dancing Doe's misery.
Frantic, Dancing Doe's eyes darted. "You've done enough. You . . . and your berdache!"
At the sting in her voice, Sage Root's resistance crumbled. "We were just—"
"Please. Let me pass, Sage Root. The quicker this is done, the easier it will be."
Standing aside, she watched woodenly as Dancing Doe walked up the trail to the hilltop, a lonely dejected figure. Sage Root flinched as Dancing Doe raised the child overhead and slammed it down on the deflated river cobbles. The wind carried the sound of impact away.
Heavy Beaver, expressionless, turned and entered his lodge. People stared empty-eyed at the bowed figure on the ridge top.
"What have we become?" Sage Root whispered under her breath.
"Hungry." Chokecherry appeared mysteriously at her elbow. "So, she did it?"
"She didn't want to face Heavy Beaver."
Chokecherry nodded, eyes narrowing. "He's killing his own people, and no one knows any better. It's the times, the lack of rain. Our people are falling apart faster than our worn-out lodges." She spat in acid emphasis. "You heard him last night. Then he got her again just after sunrise. He made it sound as if every misfortune the People have suffered was her fault. Told her if she hadn't gotten pregnant, maybe Long Runner wouldn't have gone to hunt in Anit'ah lands. Asked her whose meat she expected to get to feed her baby. 'Which mouth will you rob?' Those were his words."