lost faith in himself. Would the rest of the clans ever follow? Or would he have to leave them to the death predicted in his Dreams? Sharp laughter drifted up to him, breaking his concentration. Then someone roughly scolded a child.
"Dance," he commanded himself. "Seek . . . seek beyond your self. Lose your mind. Become all—and none."
He shook his head hard, clearing the mental fog of self-pity, and continued chanting, chanting, chanting. . . .
Time stretched, the chant seeped into every corner of his mind until he no longer heard the lilting sounds of his own voice. Chant whirled into Dream. The One beckoned. Absorbed in the flow of his mental dance movements, he found he didn't need the song, that he couldn't stop the motions now; they possessed him, the fluid swaying like a balm on his wounded soul. Only the motions existed, blending with the caress of water around him, until finally he felt himself being lifted high into the air.
He Danced weightlessly in a sea of light. Time vanished, slipping into an eternal now where there never had been a Wolf Dream or a Dancing Fox—only a single moment of. present awareness existed.
The Dance stopped.
He melted into the effulgence like a drop of water in the ocean. Nothing but light existed. Then in a massive and silent explosion, the light burst forth, washing through the universe in a gigantic tidal wave, spreading . . . spreading . . . conquering the darkness.
And he knew at that moment, knew at last what Heron's cryptic words had meant. "You've got to stop Dancing so you can get a good look at the Dancer."
Beneath the motions of the Dance was the Dancer. And beneath the Dancer was the essence of all that existed, the thing that tied the animals and plants to human beings: the One Voice, the One.
There was no Dancer. There never had been.
After an eternity, his body returned to him. He opened his eyes. The glare of the sun made him squint against the pain. Sound reached him as he floated. One by one, his senses tingled to life. With them, depression set in. He'd made another step, but why couldn't he stay in touch with the light?
Until he could hold the connection, he'd never be able to perceive the world around him as mirage. Fire handling and poison would be imposs—
Across the pool, from inside Heron's shelter, a babble of haunting voices called his name.
Cold fear touched his stomach. He turned to look toward them, seeing their black shriveled faces in his memory. An eerie wail rose, the mushroom's impassioned pleas pounding against him like fists.
He sank deeper into the pool, hiding . . . hiding.
Chapter 52
His mouth had gone so dry. Fear did that, fear that he. wasn't strong enough. Fear that he'd break down in the Dream. Fear that his denied love for Dancing Fox would rise to cleave him from the One, to leave him as horribly dead as Heron in her love for Bear Hunter.
"Go now, leave me."
He looked back and forth, seeing the nervous trepidation in One Who Cries and Singing Wolf's eyes. They sat silently, awkwardly, unwilling to abandon him in this most critical moment. His heart warmed to their loyalty and concern.
"The time has come for me to Dream for all the People. Don't you see?"
Singing Wolf frowned, stubby teeth sunk in his lower lip. "It killed Heron. And she was practiced."
He silenced him with an uplifted hand, smiling wistfully. "It's my time, Singing Wolf." Filling his lungs, he stilled his anxious heart. "Please, go now. I must prepare. See that no one disturbs me. No one! Not for any reason."
He closed his eyes, seeking to clear his mind, to prepare for what he had to do. Vaguely, he heard the rustle of their clothing as they left, the feeling of their unease heavy in the
air.
Beyond Heron's rock shelter, he could feel the lifeblood of the People coursing through their bodies, their emotions roiling in the air around him. Their voices carried on the wind, calling out to Father Sun, to the spirits of the animals that had given them life this year.
With deliberate fingers, he plucked up the willow stems, dipping them in the water, sprinkling them over the fire. Leaning forward, he bathed his head and shoulders in the cleansing steam.
Beyond the flap, beyond the rock shelter, he could feel the beginnings of the Renewal Dance. The lilting melody of the old songs caressed the depths of his mind.
From beside him, he unwrapped the fox-hide bundle, letting his fingers play over the hard thin slices of the mushroom. Fear began to extend icy fingers into his thoughts; they curled and crept through his soul. Brutally, he forced them away, banishing the lingering remnants of the memory of Heron's eyes—horror-locked in death.
Four times, as Heron had taught him, he passed the willow through the fire, sprinkling the stems onto the glowing coals. ' Leaning forward, he bathed himself in the smoke, cleansing himself. Then, one by one, he lifted the thin slices of mushroom, passing them through the cleansing smoke before placing them on his tongue.