People of the Fire by W. Michael Gear Read Free Book Online Page B

lodges and up from Moon River toward the sagebrush-studded slopes leading
to the upland terraces.
                   "He'll Dream up there. Call the
buffalo," Two Elks said to no one in particular. The old man lounged in
front of his lodge, ancient hands working a piece of chert into a fine dart point. He smiled happily up at the sun. "Good man, Heavy
Beaver. He chased the ghost away last night. He purifies the People."
                   Ghost? I was that ghost, old man. Some Spirit
Dreamer. Little Dancer turned his eyes away, seeing his mother use sticks to
pick rocks from the cooking fire. She dropped them into the suspended pouch to
boil stew made of some of the last remaining shreds of sun-dried meat. After
that, all they had left would be the hides from which they'd made moccasins and
lodge covers. Starvation food.
                   Little Dancer walked slowly toward the lodge,
gut growling. Glancing up into the trees, he remembered the thrill of hunting
for birds' eggs. Now the nests had been robbed for two days' walk up and down
the river. Still, Heavy Beaver didn't move the camp to new grounds. Instead, he
promised to call the buffalo—and killed babies.
                   The horror of it would last. The hollow place
inside ate at him, and he wondered what hurt more: hunger, or the feeling he'd
had when Heavy Beaver threw the Wolf Bundle into the darkness. Nothing would be
the same again.
                   He squatted next to the lodge, peeking under
the cover to Two Smokes' stricken face as he cuddled the Wolf Bundle. A person
with soul death might look like that, slack, listless, horrified at the future.
                   "Take a horn and dip some broth
out," his mother urged, breaking into his thoughts.
                   He did so, amazed at the watering of his
mouth. Curiously, he eyed the lodge cover, remembering the bitter taste from
winter when they'd practically starved before his father, Hungry Bull, had led
the hunters to kill a small herd of buffalo. Already reports had come in that
the cows seen had few calves with them.
                   "What are you thinking?"
                   He looked up at her, noting the deeper worry
in her eyes. "That Heavy Beaver.will kill the
People. We should leave."
                   She said nothing as she reached for a second
horn and dipped it into the broth. "Take this to the berdache ."
                   He did so, careful to spill none as he crawled
inside. Two Smokes didn't even look up. Little Dancer laid the warm liquid next
to him.
                   As he crawled back out, his mother said,
"You know Heavy Beaver doesn't like us. What did you expect to prove last
night?"
                   He dropped his eyes, absently pulling on his
fingers.
                   "That was you, wasn't it?"
                   He remained silent.
                   "A boy doesn't get dirt all over his
shirt like that unless he's crawling around. Did you ever stop to think of the
effect you might have on Power?"
                   "No. But the voice didn't—"
                   "I don't want to hear about voices.
Dancing Doe could have died last night. The baby could have ..." She
sighed, the sound of it like a tearing of the soul. "Well, never
mind."
                   "The Power was right."
                   He could feel her eyes boring into him.
                   "And you know of Power, little boy?"
                   His mouth had gone dry. "I felt it. I
felt the Wolf Bundle. Two Smokes' Power worked. It freed the baby. I felt
that."
                   He could feel her sharpened gaze. "And
what else did you feel?"
                   He swallowed hard, heart beginning to race.
"I felt Heavy Beaver. He's a bad man. Wrong. And then, when he threw the
Wolf