People of the Wolf(3)

Crow Caller grumbled and growled, tormenting them, saying that hunger would be their punishment for disobeying Seagull's oracle.

"A mouthful of food is worth more than an earful of shaman's words," Runs In Light had told himself. And the People had stayed, splitting even mammoth's small bones for what marrow remained. They stretched the heavy hides over piled stones and propped them up with split mammoth long bone and curved tusks. But mammoth no longer came to Crow Caller's chanted prayers. Musk ox and caribou stayed far to the north near the great salt water.

Despite the protests of old Broken Branch, the People had eaten the dogs. First the pack dogs were turned into stew. Finally, in desperation, the bear dogs were dispatched and dropped into boiling bags—a sure sign the People were near catastrophe.

Men and women hunted, finding nothing but darkness and ice. Grandfather White Bear killed Throws Bones and dragged him away into the darkness to eat.

And the People starved.

Wind Woman tugged Runs In Light's furs, pushing him toward the land of the Big Ice and Father Sun's home: south-ever south. Even now, Wolf ran that direction—away from the shelters of the People and into the unknown where even Crow Caller feared to go.

"Crow Caller," he whispered, gut tightening. The cursed old shaman had taken Dancing Fox for a wife—knowing she despised him. But who could deny a shaman of Crow Caller's power?

It had been a winter of sorrow. Runs In Light had lost so much, his mother and even the woman who made his heart sing. He blinked, shaking his head. Dizziness swept over him; he fought for balance.

"A little longer," he muttered to the Soul Eaters of the Long Dark. ' 'Just give me a little longer.''

Hungry . . . too hungry. The People insisted the hunters be fed first. People without strong hunters died. Still, he had cheated—given his share to Laughing Sunshine. Her milk had dried up and her baby wailed pitifully. Yet if he could find wolf, she could feed it again.

Runs In Light gulped icy air, cold tingling through his shivering body. His mind slowed its wheeling. He continued his shuffling pursuit on leaden legs, knowing wolf lurked close, angry, unwilling to die peacefully.

His foot slipped on slanted ice. He fell hard, grunting, light-headed again. Pushing himself up, he dusted the snow away and looked to his weapons, resettling the long dart into the hook in the end of the atlatl.

Mind tumbling, for a moment he tried to remember why he'd left the safety of the shelters. "What was I . . . ? Ah . . . wolf." He concentrated on his prey, frightened by the lapse.

Again he bent to the tracks. For weeks the People had been living off mammoth's hide, cutting apart—section by section—the very roofs over their heads. By the hour they gnawed frozen skin, having no fire to boil it soft.

He stumbled, almost falling. As he struggled to stay erect, he saw movement from the corner of his eye. He spun sluggishly. Too late.

A cornice collapsed under wolf as he leapt, blood-weak, from the crest of a drift. Wolf crashed down, rolling out of control in a cascade of powdery snow, snarling his hatred and fear; he knocked Runs In Light sprawling.

He scrambled to his knees to face wolf.

"My brother," he sang softly, "let me kill you. The People starve. Bless your soul to our use. We are worthy of your—"

Wolf bounded forward. By instinct, Runs In Light rolled away as strong jaws snapped for his leg.

The beast panted hoarsely, frozen puffs hanging in the air. Head lowered, yellow eyes squinted, he bared his teeth.

Runs In Light stood, edging around. The bloody fletched dart shaft poked out of wolf's side, flopping loosely with each labored breath. Blood dripped from the torn wound and soaked wolf's coat, freezing in stringers.

Why do I feel no fear? Wolf faces me with hate in his eyes.

We are both hungry. Maybe starving makes men and wolves fools ?

Wind Woman howled through the frozen darkness. A gentle dusting of snow glistened in the light of the Star People as it settled over them. Wolf's growl steamed out in a vaporous cloud.

"Wolf ... I'm sorry. Father Sun has truly forgotten us when we must eat each other. Where has caribou gone? Where is mammoth?"

The beast's head lowered; for the first time, Runs In Light noticed the froth of red building on wolf's mouth. The tumble down the drift must have driven the dart deeper to wound a lung.

Wolf's limbs trembled in sudden weakness. The beast charged, but his feet lost their grace. He weaved, strained breath a tearing sound over the whimper of the wind. Clumsy, the animal stumbled, falling.

"Forgive me, brother," Runs In Light sang, arms lifted to the night sky. "I send your soul to the Star People. Your flesh will make my people strong. You are brave, brother wolf."

With all his power, he drove a long dart through wolf's shoulder, using it like a spear. Wolf yipped in pain, kicking violently as Runs In Light struggled on the end of the shaft. Then the big animal quieted, fierce yellow eyes staring vacantly at the snow.