People of the Moon(198)
“My choice,” Ironwood said woodenly, as if speaking to himself. “Oh, how bitter the gods have made this.”
“What choice?” Crow Woman asked.
Ironwood said hollowly, “The Dreamer asked: Do I serve my heart, or my people?”
“Your people,” Crow Woman rapped.
“Your heart,” Orenda countered, concern on her face as she looked up at Ironwood.
Soft Cloth leaned close, whispering, “Whatever you must do, husband, I am behind you.”
Bad Cast anxiously took Soft Cloth’s hand, feeling blessed by her love and camaraderie. As much as he loved her, how much more painful was this for Ironwood?
Ironwood stopped suddenly, shaking off Orenda’s arm and staring off into the smoke. There, between the trees, stood Ripple, a phantom figure in the haze. Then, as suddenly, an eddy in the wind obscured his form.
“Yes, Dreamer,” Ironwood whispered miserably. “I know. My pride and arrogance have at last come home to curse me.” He looked about, face working. “I need no tea, Bad Cast. Let us go back to the council and tell them this news.”
Crow Woman asked, “War Chief?”
“Sister Moon’s cloak is no blacker than the one around my heart,” he said, waving at the smoky heavens. “Prepare yourself, Crow Woman. Our souls and our world hang in the balance.”
“You will save the Matron?” Orenda asked.
“She knows the depth and extent of my love. Perhaps someday the world will know what this decision has cost me.” Ironwood straightened. “Come. We’ve a rescue to plan.”
Ripple could sense Ironwood’s decision. Once again Cold Bringing Woman had gambled well. He smiled wearily to himself as he turned and walked through the trees. They surrounded him like shadows, ghostly gray wreaths of smoke blowing past.
The temperature was dropping, and when he turned his nose to the wind, he could smell the blowing fire as it raced and raged through the rocky mountains to the north.
My beautiful world. He had spent most of his youth up in those thick-forested slopes. The dark trails that had known his sandal-clad feet were ash now. The creaking trees but black spears that smoked and smoldered against a flame-streaked sky.
Fire was clearing the way for Cold Bringing Woman.
He remembered cool springs, places he had bent and touched his lips to. The once-crystal waters would still be flowing, choked with ash. He could imagine the streams where trout slipped over the brown mottled rock. They’d be turgid and black, much of the water boiled away. Did anything live there anymore?
My world is dying.
One thing left to endure now.
He glanced over his shoulder, seeing a dark form slipping from tree to tree.
Yes, only one thing.
Fifty-five
The morning had dawned gray. Spots and Cactus Flower walked down to Flowing Waters Town with the wind howling from behind. It whistled through the heavy load of firewood that bowed Spots’s back and kept trying to blow Cactus Flower’s pack around in front of her. Grains of sand stitched their backsides with stinging effect. The combination of wind, the smell of smoke, and the dropping temperature had combined to ensure that few Traders had displayed their wares around the Dusk House walls; and those who did had chosen the lee of the south wall, where they could huddle in the wind shadow.
Only in the far west did any blue remain, while to the southwest, the Rainbow Serpent rose into the sky, curled south, and then merged with the thinning smoke plume.
Spots just had a feeling that it boded ill to see the fires of the north and south merged into one. The eerie feeling that had ridden his Dreams and dogged his bones deepened.
“Must be a terrible fire,” Spots muttered. “I hope it’s not too close to home.”
Cactus Flower staggered under a wind gust. She’d done her hair in twin buns on either side of her head to designate herself a maiden. A split-turkey-feather cloak slapped and floated about her shoulders. “We don’t usually have this kind of wind at this time of year. You’d think it was winter.”
“Tomorrow’s equinox.” He glanced up at the sinister heavens. “Sister Moon’s coming home. Maybe it’s the end of the world?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Spots?”
“Yes.”
“Why were you so quiet this morning? Every time I tried to get you to laugh, you just stared at the fire. Did I do something?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
He nodded, dread thickening around his heart. “It’s not you. Well, yes, it is.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing. Everything.” He glanced her way, only to have the wind whip hair around his face. “I want you to know: I have something to do tonight. I have to do it alone, so I’d like you to go back to your house and wait for me there. I’ll come if I can.”