People of the River(45)

"Wanderer!" Lichen shouted in glee as she pushed Flycatcher from her to grab the old man around the right leg. "When did you get here? I thought you would wait until nightfall, when people couldn't see you so well."

Wanderer grinned. "No, no, I came early to talk to the rocks."

Lichen exchanged a prudent look with Flycatcher. "What for?"

"Why, to hear stories about the Beginning of the World. Come on, I'll show you." He spun in a whirl of glistening rabbit fur and tramped back up the slope.

Lichen followed in his moccasin prints, taking two steps for each one of Wanderer's. When she reached the highest cluster of rocks, where Wanderer crouched, she turned to speak to Flycatcher, but the space behind her was empty. She stretched her neck and saw him dashing down the trail in the distance, his short legs pumping as fast as they could.

"I guess he didn't want to talk to the rocks," she said.

"Oh, most people don't," Wanderer observed. "It's a curious prejudice. They'll talk to themselves with no hesitation, but when it comes to communicating with higher Spiritual forms, they go deaf and dumb. Come over here. Lichen ... let me show you this."

He ducked low and wiggled through a wide crack between the rocks that led into a sort of cave, then extended a hand to her. Lichen tucked her fingers in his and allowed him to pull her into the darkness. Only a tiny dimple of sunlight penetrated the fissure, lancing down between two upright slabs of gray stone and striking the far comer. Wanderer slid into the light and crouched so that it hit him squarely in the chest.

"What now?" Lichen asked as she snuggled up beside him.

"All of these rocks have voices," he answered. "But not everybody can hear them. You have to listen very carefully."

The fissure smelled mustily of pack-rat dung. When her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she could discern the rat's nest of evergreen twigs and shiny bits of mica stuffed under a narrow shelf in the back. It looked abandoned. Too bad. Her stomach had been growling since noon. She could have used a snack before tonight's big feast.

She wet her chapped lips and gazed around. They looked like ordinary rocks to her, gray and lumpy. "I'm listening, but I don't hear anything."

"Wait." Wanderer reached around the side of one of the slabs and pulled out a gray rope of braided human hair. He wrapped it around the uppermost rock, which protruded just over his head, and hoarsely whispered, "Are you ready?"

"Yes. I want to talk to the rocks."

Wanderer started pulling the hair rope back and forth, back and forth. A soft, protesting moan resulted. He breathed, "Can you understand what they're saying?"

She concentrated on the variations in sound, trying to decipher words. "No. What?"

"They're telling the story of Father Sun's first mating with Mother Earth. You see, these rocks are very old. They were alive untold cycles ago, so they remember."

Lichen canted her head, straining to understand. She could hear something, but not words so much as notes in a Song, rising and falling, twining in an ancient melody. "They're Singing about the Beginning Time, aren't they?"

"Yes." Wanderer smiled broadly. "I thought you'd hear them. Most people can't, but the hole in the top of your head is still partly open."

"What are they saying now?"

"Hnrni? Oh, they're telling the story about Bird-Man fighting his brother. Wolf Slayer. It was a great battle of Light and Dark, which sundered Mother Earth and created the hole through which our people emerged from the dark Underworlds to this world that is both Light and Dark. Like all things here, half this, half that, always in harmony unless we do something to upset it."

Lichen scooted closer to the rope. "Wanderer? Could you ask the rocks something for me?"

"Ask them yourself."

"All right." Lichen hesitated, not sure of how to put the words so rocks would understand. "You rock people," she began, "I sort of hear your Song, and I am grateful for your Singing. Since you know about the Beginning Time, maybe you could help me. Bird-Man came to me once when I was a little girl and told me I had to learn to see life through the eyes of a bird, a human, and a snake. Do you know what he meant? I think the time has come when I need to know how to do that."

Wanderer had a look of engrossed concentration as he sawed the hair rope back and forth. Lichen brought up her knees—careful of the stiff one—so she could wrap her arms around her shins. The rope looked like a glimmering icicle, the way it moved in the gloom.

"Ah," Wanderer said thoughtfully. "I understand."

"What?"

"The rocks say that you should take heed of putting on Bird-Man's wings without a resigned will."