People of the Wolf(133)

Around him, the souls of the People wavered in a rainbow of colors, shimmering in horror and doubt and awe.

"Cleanse yourself," he offered, handing the glowing coals to Crow Caller. "Dream yourself clean, man of the People! Drive the corruption from within. Here is Light." He spread his fingers to reveal the glowing coals. "I offer you a new way, reach out and take it!"

Crow Caller backed away, shaking his head, pathetically crying, "No! No!"

"Do it!"

"N-no!" he wailed, the blackness crumpling, folding in on itself, destroyed in the Light of the spitting smoking fire and its cleansing odor.

"A husk, like a maggot casing," Wolf Dreamer moaned, shaking his head. "That's what you've become, Crow Caller."

"No!"

Wolf Dreamer placed the coals reverently to his lips before dropping them in the fire. He turned, looking to the People. "Pity this creature for what it has done to itself. Forgive it for what it has done to you."

"Don't," Crow Caller muttered from where he crouched, looking up, blinking his one good eye. "Don't do this to ... to ..."

His mouth opened, pink tongue darting out between the stained pink gums as he grabbed at his chest.

Wolf Dreamer reached down, the Dream showing him the way. "His heart," he called. "His heart is jumping around, quivering. His soul is killing him. He dies . . . still a coward."

Crow Caller cried out, huddling there on the ground.

Wolf Dreamer straightened, feeling the corrupt soul writhing in agony. "One Who Cries." He recognized the soul as it parted from the crowd. "Take him, he'll be dead soon. Make him comfortable. He must deal with his soul now. Later all of us will sing him to the Blessed Star People."

The shimmering multicolored soul that was One Who Cries lifted the old man lightly from the ground, bearing- him through the People.

Wolf Dreamer raised his hands and pointed northward. The souls around him shifted, fluttering and changing colors

anxiously. He lowered his voice to a calming murmur. "There, the Others come. You must all make a choice. Our young men can die, kill their young men. Blood will stain the snow, leach into the rocks, trickle through the gravels. But nothing will stop them. See? Look out there! Beyond the hills, see them crouching? Hear the beat of their countless hearts as they close around to smother us? Look close, my people."

And he turned to look himself. A cry of fear rose in his throat at the vision that met his eyes. It came ... the blackness rolling like waves toward them. "See?" he screamed. "The blackness there beyond the far horizon! Who can stand against that? Feel the Power coming, each step crushing our world?"

Someone cried out in anguish and a rumble of voices rose.

"But life can be ours. ..."

"How?" someone called piteously. "Tell us!"

He pointed toward the Big Ice where it loomed darkly on the horizon. "Heron Dreamed. . . . She said we would find nothing here but pain, and death. She saw us ground away, bitter, angry, rotting within as we torture, and glut ourselves in an orgy of blood. Ground away! Like a sandstone cobble in a sea of flint! See us ground away? "See us buried?"

He whirled at their gasp.

"Yes, buried! Covered by the Others! The ways of the People gone . . . forever!''

"Tell us how we can—"

"Wolf Dream!" Singing Wolf bellowed from somewhere far away. "Wolf will save the People."

"Wolf," he murmured. "Wolf ..."

One Who Cries struggled to keep himself from shivering as he laid the old man down in the thick robes of the shelter he'd borrowed. The low structure had been closest to the Dance, the easiest to carry the dying shaman to.

"There, rest easy," One Who Cries said, comforting.

"I was . . . powerful . . . once," Crow Caller whispered. "I led the People. Led them well. Tried to do the best. Tried, you understand?"

One Who Cries nodded somberly. ' 'We remember.''

"Did my best." Crow Caller swallowed hard. "But the

People, they always want so much. ... So much . . . They suck away your soul. Suck you up ... like the Long Dark . . . sucks up heat. They want ... so much. Always . . . hungry. Demanding . . . Can't . . . can't be wrong. Always have to be ... perfect. All the time. Had to ... pretend. Lie." He closed his ancient eyes. "I tried ... best I could. ..."

"We know," One Who Cries soothed. "Rest now, Grandfather."

"Pain," Crow Caller gasped. "Deep. All along my left side and arm. Pain."

"Don't worry, you'll be . . ." One Who Cries stopped cold, staring at the place he'd left his darts.

"Dying," Crow Caller whispered hoarsely. "Dying from the inside."