the burning eye, feeling the Power before he was really aware of it. Out of the curls of light, a face formed, staring back at him.
"Who are you?" he asked, the Clan Dance fading out around him, only the chant carrying him forward.
"You ask, Father?"
Ice Fire knotted a fist at his breast. "Who ..."
"I threw you a rainbow once. Wasn't that enough?"
"Father? You call me Father?"
"The man who raped my mother. Now you come for the rest of us? Go away. Leave our lands that Father Sun blessed for us. Give us—" He cried out suddenly.
A pain lanced through Ice Fire's breast, a sharp sting like the cool keen edge of a dart piercing him.
"Death," the face in the fire whispered. "My brother has killed the Others. See them? See their bodies lying bleeding and broken?"
A vision formed in the back of Ice Fire's mind. Five crumpled figures, flies thick in the clotted wounds, their eggs lining the torn flesh in ivory piles.
"Hoop Thrower, Five Stars, Mouse Tail ..." One by one, Ice Fire named them, the vision shimmering in the back of his mind. He stared at the face in the fire, swallowing hard. "You . . . you have done this?"
"My brother, Raven Hunter . . . your son . . . did this. I am Wolf Dreamer . . . born of your seed, man of the Others. You have reaped the actions of your lust. What you planted has grown in the rocky soil of the People. Pain, death, and misery walk with Raven Hunter."
Ice Fire shook his head. "We'll kill you. It's now a matter of honor. Mine are a fierce people. Yours are soft, bleating like wounded caribou calves. My warriors won't let you run any longer, they'll hunt you down for this."
"See the way you have made, Father. Your son, born of blood, comes. Your son, born of light, leaves. Which will you choose?"
"Choose? What do you mean? Wolf Dreamer, what is your message?" He stood, leaning forward. "What?"
"Death ... or life. Is there any other message, Father?" And the flames crackled, a shower of sparks spiraling into the night in a crimson swirl.
"Wolf Dreamer? Wolf Dreamer?" Only the flames flickered, the slender branches of willow hissing, their sacred smoke rolling over him like a blanket.
Ice Fire looked about, blinking, the Power of the vision fading from his taut body.
"Old friend?" Red Flint's voice sounded uneasy, hesitant in the silence.
Ice Fire rubbed his masklike face, feeling the warm hand of the Singer on his shoulder. He turned to look, seeing the dancers where they watched, casting wary glances at him and each other.
"What . . . what happened?"
Red Flint met his gaze, deep worry behind his brown eyes. "You stood, shouting into the fire. Like you were talking to someone there. I came quickly, and saw nothing but glowing coals in the fire pit."
Ice Fire shivered suddenly, the image of the dead hunters in the back of his mind, the very humming of the flies roaring in his ears. "Death. He said death was coming. My son is coming. And he was born of blood."
Slowly Ice Fire walked through the still dancers, hardly aware that they stared at him, faces ashen.
Chapter 29
Bonfires made from piles of alder and willow crackled high, sending wreaths of sparks to glow orange-red against the mauve heavens. The people danced, singing praise to the souls of the animals who had sustained them through the year, finishing the last of the four-day ceremony that brought each of the seasons. With all their hearts, they danced the Renewal of the world, calling their joy to the Blessed Star People. Now they would feast, the huge fires flaring in order that the spirits above might see their rejoicing and bounty and bring them more in the coming year.
In the reddish glow of the midnight sun, shelters of mammoth hide, caribou, and musk ox cast eerie shadows onto the trampled tussock grass. Wind Woman, her breath muted by the Long Light, played lightly across the camps of the clans, bearing the odors of roasting meat and the sounds of laughter and joy at another season passed.
"So few," Raven Hunter whispered, anger rearing.
"Not in memory has a Long Dark called so many," Strikes Lightning reminded him. "Nor has a summer been this warm. Not in any man's memory."
The warriors threaded their way, passing shelters, aloof, eyes ahead as they approached the main fire.
Together—a knot of resistance—they waited while the Sacred Dance slowed, ending in a final shout to reach the Blessed Star People above.
Crow Caller appeared out of the gathering, fire flickering over his withered face. Dressed in summer hides, he strode haughtily, hands raised. "The People live!" he called.
The songs quieted gradually, eyes turning to the old shaman.
Crow Caller smiled. "We offer thanks to the Blessed Star People. The souls of the animals hear us and rejoice. Their strength lives within us. We are made whole by their sacrifice. From above, they look down and see our joy, our thanks."