People of the Fire(90)

The words stung him. "Don't say that."

"Well, I am." Little Dancer braced himself, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I've found what I'm looking for. Here"— he waved at the peaceful valley—"is everything we need. Food. Protection. Here I'll watch my family grow. Heavy Beaver's far away in the plains to the east. Blood Bear's in the high country. What reason would they have to come bother us? No, I'm through with Power and all the trouble and circles and . . . and ... I'm just through with it."

Two Smokes smiled ironically. "The problem with Power is that you never know." We will see, boy. We will see! Then he changed the subject. "And speaking of this woman of yours, are you letting her do all the hunting for packrats?"

"We found a couple of nests up there. She wanted to look a little further."

"Then you'd better take your fire sticks up. You know how to do this?"

Little Dancer gave him a skeptical look. "What's difficult? I make a fire and we set the midden to burning. When the packrat runs out, we bash him with a club."

"But you have to be very, very fast."

Little Dancer grinned. "I'm like lightning. And Elk Charm, she's even quicker."

With that, he jumped to his feet and strolled over to his pack. As Little Dancer fished for his fire sticks, Two Smokes whispered to himself, "I hope you're right, little friend."

He watched Little Dancer start back up the slope, a smart, proud young man who thought he could handle anything.

Young men jumped, their greased bodies catching the firelight that accented the swell of muscles and body paint. The bonfire in the middle of the camp snapped and popped, sending spirals of sparks high into the midnight sky. Beyond the illuminated confines of the camp, the grandeur of the Starweb could be easily seen—but not here, not where so much light filled the air.

Around the circle of lodges, women watched, some chanting with the Singer, some just looking on, faces impassive. They stood, mute, buffalo robes pulled tightly over their shoulders. Women of every size and build stood there—tall, short, some thin, others fat—the spoils of his renewal of the People.

Heavy Beaver sat on a white buffalo robe, each of his seven wives behind him. Two Stones, Elk Whistle, and Seven Suns sat watching to either side and slightly to the rear. Before him, planted in the ground, stood a long pole decorated with raven feathers and antelope-hoof rattles: his insignia. It went where his lodge went. Among the Cut Hair, the Fire Buffalo People, and the White Crane, that standard had brought fear.

This celebration, this night of Blessing, marked the reunification of the People under Heavy Beaver's leadership. He smiled happily up into the darkness, imagining his mothers severe face. I did this, Mother. You were right, like always. All it took was discipline—and desperate people in need of what you taught me. When my young men had nothing left to lose but their lives, they managed wonders. All I had to do was Dream the new way. Mother, you saw so well.

That flow of pride welled up in him. The whirling leap of the dancers reflected the ecstatic gyrations within his own breast. Through his vision, he'd re-formed the People. Against bands of warriors sent to stop him, his young men had always prevailed, believing themselves invincible. Among peoples who had never seriously warred, Heavy Beaver had sent fanatics willing to kill to the last man. Against his berserk young martyrs, no one could provide more than a token resistance.

The beat of the pot drum, and the rising and falling of the chant, swept him away. This night throbbed of life for him. What he watched was a celebration of his moth, n and

You saw this, Mother. You 're the real leader. I only used the strength you taught me. He cocked his head slightly. If he let his imagination drift a little, he could make out his mother's voice in the chanting of the Singers. The cadence of the booming pot drum might have been her very heart, speaking to him.

"You've done very well," Seven Suns admitted from the side. "I never would have believed this many of us would ever be in one place again."

The gruff old voice wrecked his concentration. The urge to rebuke the old man surged, hung for a moment, and ebbed as a cool wind of reason scattered his anger. Seven Suns needed to be won yet. That's right, son. Take your time. Use your senses and win him over completely. Then you can put him in his rightful place.

That's what she would have said.

Heavy Beaver spread his hands wide, head back, serenity on the flat features of his face. "We're the new hunters of the buffalo lands. Like the very wolves, we prowl and take what we need. But it's more than the mindless courage of our young men. You see that warrior there? The tall one, painted in blue with the antelope headdress?"