She flashed dark eyes at him and straightened, aware all eyes were upon her. "I not only have seen it," she began uncertainly. "I've been through it, Most Respected Elder."
He blinked, the import of her words sinking in. "Through it?" Slowly he settled himself to a rolled caribou hide, heedless of the flies that swarmed about. "Explain."
She nodded seriously, a shiver taking her at the memory. "It's a terrible place, Most Respected Elder. Things . . . ghosts, howl in the ice. The journey is long, days and days, and cold, and horrors hang in the dark waiting to grab the unwary."
"Yet you passed unharmed?"
"I ... maybe I showed courage to the ghosts. And pride and honor. Ghosts value such things."
He smiled warmly at her. "I'm sure they do. I didn't mean to mock your courage, Moon Water. You are very brave, worthy of every honor our people can bestow upon you. But tell me, what's on the other side of this ghost-filled place?"
Her face lit. "A valley like you cannot imagine! The game stands still while the hunter walks up to dart it. Buffalo, caribou, mammoth, musk ox."
"Stands still?" Red Flint cried, disbelief glinting in his sharp eyes.
She nodded. "The Enemy Dreamer said no man had ever been there."
"No man?" Red Flint shook his head. "The Enemy is tricky. Maybe they wanted you to—"
"No." Ice Fire held up his hand, bits of vision flashing in his mind.
In the silence, he turned, studying her where she looked triumphantly at Red Flint. A strong woman, this. Where was her like twenty years ago after his beloved . . . ? No, leave it. The dead are dead.
Moon Water edged forward slowly, then dropped to her knees before Ice Fire. "Most Respected Elder. Please, we must take the people through the hole before—"
"Yes, we must."
She smiled in sudden surprise. "We'll need to clear the Enemy out of the way first. Then we can—"
"Describe the Enemy Dreamer?"
"He is very young. Maybe nineteen Long Darks, with long black hair and an oval face. His eyes are large and filled with . . . with a strange light." After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Like yours, Elder."
Ice Fire filled his lungs, nodding. Even as the girl gave the description, the boy's face appeared in his mind, rainbow in hand, and a tremor shook him. To no one in particular, he murmured, "Come to me. Let us decide the futures of our people. Come to me, Dreamer . . . son."
Chapter 51
Wolf Dreamer leaned back against the crusty rocks of the hot springs. He'd sought out a higher pool, hidden in the rocks above the falls. Small, it hid in dark shadows. Only a piece of Blue Sky Man shone over his head.
"Heron," he murmured painfully, "lead me. I must know what to do."
Fragments of his conversation with Raven Hunter echoed through his mind. He could see his brother's face—see the
controlled anger, the darkness of his soul. Blood whimpered in Raven Hunter's tracks. Souls cried in the vastness—their way to the Blessed Star People unsung. Pain—pain followed Raven Hunter. It twisted in Wolf Dreamer's thoughts.
Everything had come unraveled. His mind, so carefully ordered, had lost the silence—the peace. The One eluded him in the roiling of emotions, remembered words, which—like Raven Hunter's face—he couldn't vanquish.
Confusion roiled in his stomach, stirring his mind and soul with the blackness of defeat. He felt so tired and so desperately, barrenly alone.
Why did he have to mention Dancing Fox? ' 'Sure you don't want me to send her to you? She'll willingly fall into your arms, you know. I can tell you honestly, she's most ardent on a man's staff. Most worth your ..."
Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he clamped his cupped hands over his ears, teeth gritted. Nothing stilled the voice repeating in his mind. A vicious thought speared him—a question of what it would feel like to love Dancing Fox. Flesh teased by the thoughts, he began responding, and cried out in horror.
I've seen the end of the People. . . .
"Heron? Help me!"
She appeared in his reeling thoughts, her face stiff, cold, blue in the light of the torch. Once again, he stared into her dying eyes, seeing the light of the soul fleeing the body.
"Bear Hunter?" her rasping voice called.
"Death," Wolf Dreamer whispered, Dancing Fox's image fading as Heron's haunting eyes became the total of his consciousness. "To love and Dream is to die." The beat of his heart pulsed through his body, as if pumping away the confusion.
"That's it, isn't it. Death is the end ... no matter what."
An ominous feeling of wrongness swelled around him. He fought it, centering his soul on the concept of death, remembering every line in Heron's still face—in the glazing of her terrified eyes. Opening his mouth, he began chanting the nonsense song she'd taught him. He forced himself to concentrate on the sounds, clarifying his thoughts, forgetting the bustling world of people chattering in the main pool far below. They depended on him—those that believed. Yet he'd