Sage Root ground her teeth, tears of frustration and anger forcing past her hot eyes. "Horn Core never said things like that."
Chokecherry nodded curtly, staring up at the sagging figure standing on the ridge top. "Keep that in mind, girl. The People are dying off one by one. Heavy Beaver has decreed that infant girls aren't necessary for the survival of the band. He blames the drought and the lack of game on us. Look around. See any luster in the People's eyes these days? Like smoke from an old fire, we're fading away."
Chokecherry pushed past, smacking her lips as she hobbled toward her weathered, smoke-stained lodge.
Sage Root took one last look toward the place where Dancing Doe stood hunched on the ridge. Even from here, she could see her shoulders rising and falling in grief. As she turned to leave, her eyes locked with Heavy Beaver's where he sat in the shadowed depths of his lodge. The Spirit Dreamer's eyes gleamed in promise.
"Like smoke from an old fire," she repeated numbly under her breath.
Little Dancer watched as Heavy Beaver walked out of camp. The man strolled lazily away from the lodges and up from Moon River toward the sagebrush-studded slopes leading to the upland terraces.
"He'll Dream up there. Call the buffalo," Two Elks said to no one in particular. The old man lounged in front of his lodge, ancient hands working a piece of chert into a fine dart point. He smiled happily up at the sun. "Good man, Heavy Beaver. He chased the ghost away last night. He purifies the People."
Ghost? I was that ghost, old man. Some Spirit Dreamer. Little Dancer turned his eyes away, seeing his mother use sticks to pick rocks from the cooking fire. She dropped them into the suspended pouch to boil stew made of some of the last remaining shreds of sun-dried meat. After that, all they had left would be the hides from which they'd made moccasins and lodge covers. Starvation food.
Little Dancer walked slowly toward the lodge, gut growling. Glancing up into the trees, he remembered the thrill of hunting for birds' eggs. Now the nests had been robbed for two days' walk up and down the river. Still, Heavy Beaver didn't move the camp to new grounds. Instead, he promised to call the buffalo—and killed babies.
The horror of it would last. The hollow place inside ate at him, and he wondered what hurt more: hunger, or the feeling he'd had when Heavy Beaver threw the Wolf Bundle into the darkness. Nothing would be the same again.
He squatted next to the lodge, peeking under the cover to Two Smokes' stricken face as he cuddled the Wolf Bundle. A person with soul death might look like that, slack, listless, horrified at the future.
"Take a horn and dip some broth out," his mother urged, breaking into his thoughts.
He did so, amazed at the watering of his mouth. Curiously, he eyed the lodge cover, remembering the bitter taste from winter when they'd practically starved before his father, Hungry Bull, had led the hunters to kill a small herd of buffalo. Already reports had come in that the cows seen had few calves with them.
"What are you thinking?"
He looked up at her, noting the deeper worry in her eyes. "That Heavy Beaver.will kill the People. We should leave."
She said nothing as she reached for a second horn and dipped it into the broth. "Take this to the berdache."
He did so, careful to spill none as he crawled inside. Two Smokes didn't even look up. Little Dancer laid the warm liquid next to him.
As he crawled back out, his mother said, "You know Heavy Beaver doesn't like us. What did you expect to prove last night?"
He dropped his eyes, absently pulling on his fingers.
"That was you, wasn't it?"
He remained silent.
"A boy doesn't get dirt all over his shirt like that unless he's crawling around. Did you ever stop to think of the effect you might have on Power?"
"No. But the voice didn't—"
"I don't want to hear about voices. Dancing Doe could have died last night. The baby could have ..." She sighed, the sound of it like a tearing of the soul. "Well, never mind."
"The Power was right."
He could feel her eyes boring into him.
"And you know of Power, little boy?"
His mouth had gone dry. "I felt it. I felt the Wolf Bundle. Two Smokes' Power worked. It freed the baby. I felt that."
He could feel her sharpened gaze. "And what else did you feel?"
He swallowed hard, heart beginning to race. "I felt Heavy Beaver. He's a bad man. Wrong. And then, when he threw the Wolf Bundle ..."
"Yes?"
"I got . . . sick."
"You don't look so good now." She handed him another bowl. "Stop pouting like that."
Hearing the listless tone in her voice, he looked up. The look she gave him frightened.