He swallowed, searching her honest face.
"Trust me. She'll be here in her own time."
"But she's coming."
His eyes fixed on the distant horizon where snow-heavy clouds twisted across the heavens and his heart pounded in anticipation, hope like a dull blade in his gut.
"She's well," Green Water comforted. "For an expelled woman. Just don't expect her to—"
"I'll punish him." He knotted a fist inside his thick mittens. "I swear, I'll pay him back."
"Shhh!" She placed mittened fingers to his lips. "Don't, Wolf Dreamer. Don't say it aloud. Not now. We need some--one strong and wise to lead us. The People are already shredded like a mouse skin in a weasel's mouth."
He stood stiffly, not breathing. People straggled by, figures black in the night, battered by Wind Woman's merciless breath. So many? How would they feed them all? Diffidently, he forced himself to turn and blend with the flow of bodies. He had to talk to Heron.
As they rounded the corner, he could see Heron's shelter and the People gathering in awe on the banks of the hot springs. Murmurs of amazement filtered through the crowd. He searched but didn't see the old Dreamer. Curious. She usually greets people before they get this close.
Gazing through the eddying bodies, he looked to her shelter. The flap hung motionless. Somewhere in the back of his mind, dread built, a feeling as terrible as if the end of the world had come. He picked up his feet to run, panic increasing with each pounding step. Stopping before the flap, he shouted, "Heron!"
No answer came.
Breathlessly, he called again, "Heron?" He felt as though
his heart were breaking and he didn't know why. He stepped forward cautiously in the dark.
"Wolf Dreamer?"
He turned at Broken Branch's voice. "Where's Heron?"
The old woman waddled out of the dark, features illuminated by a burning knot of willow root. "In there . . . When you left to find the People, she did something. Said I should leave her alone."
From her ancient fingers, he took the root and clamped it hard in his trembling fingers. Then, bending low, he stepped inside, the fire flickering and jumping yellowly off the walls.
On the floor, Heron glared up at him, glassy eyes shining eerily in the light of the torch. Beside her lay gatherings of willow stems and . . . mushrooms. Their flat black shapes loomed dangerous, deadly, where they lay exposed in the folds of the fox hide.
Horror twisted his soul. He cried pitiably, "No ... no, what did you do?"
"Dream . . .Dream, boy." The words shuddered from her mouth.
He crouched and touched her arm tenderly. "You're so cold."
Frantic, he plucked wood from the pile, applying the burning roots, thankful as flames licked up around the dry sticks.
"Here, sit up. Let me—"
"C-can't, boy. Poison. Can't move. Can't . . . feel. Dreaming, boy. Drifting. Not . . . not here."
He dropped to his knees, heart bursting, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Fight them," he whispered. "You can do it. Don't let their spirits beat you!"
He wrapped her in her robes, keeping her warm where she lay beside the crackling coals. "Please, Heron. Come back. I need you. I'm not finished learning."
"Dream, boy!" she croaked, saliva dribbling down her chin, eyes unfocused. "See? Look . . . there!" She cried:
' 'Built a big mountain out of dirt. Raised on sweat and hurt. Rose so high over the river. Eating plants! Bah! No spirit in that. Not like blood-filled liver.
"Father of Waters flows so rich,
Trickles water into the ditch.
Grow a plant, so tall and green,
Fruit is yellow. I have seen.
Feathers colored, the dead are laid.
Logs across and dirt is made.
Lazy sloth, in baskets carried—
Sun, man, and woman high are married.''
"She's raving," Broken Branch murmured from behind him, voice shaky. "I don't know what to do for her."
"Nothing," Wolf Dreamer said in a pained voice. "We talked about this possibility months ago. I think I understand what's happening to her. She'll live so long as she follows the Dream. If she hesitates, loses herself for an instant—she's dead."
"Sun God!" Heron exploded, body jerking.
"Born of Light!
Spiral, you god of gaudy feathers! Carry the plant upon your back. Parch the seeds upon the rack. Rocks like sky are passing by.''
A black look crossed her face.
' 'Sun children . . . kill each other.
Long way south for the death of a brother.
Hot, dry, war is nigh.
Sing, Sun God, blood rises . . . stingers in the sky.
"And among the People?
Come the brothers!
Born of Sun. One is stayed.
Here, by the long trail, his corpse is laid.
Blood is spread, from the head.