It hurt his eyes. Had the sun ever been so bright? Cloud Woman parted long enough that a shaft of light practically blinded him. Raven Hunter looked away, tears coming to his eyes. On his shoulder, the White Hide beamed, the reflection illuminating the ice that parted to either side as he stumbled out, his back crying as if it had never been straight before.
His useless arm dangled, swollen, the fingers puffy, the lines of his hand disappeared in the bloated member.
Owlishly, he looked around, seeing the pockmarks where the feet of the People had passed over the gravels. Snow blew down from the icy ridge overhead.
' 'We made it.'' He nuzzled the White Hide with his cheek. "We're close now!"
Snow had blown across the trail, but as Raven Hunter looked around, he could see the route they'd taken, the streak of white where the way led up through the brush at a bend in the river.
Bowed under the weight of his burden, he stumbled off, panting in the light as Cloud Woman drew herself close about the sky, threatening, ominous in the still air.
A crow cawed from high overhead.
Their camp nestled at the edge of a grove of towering spruce. Buffalo-hide lodges sprouted in a rough semicircle around a central open space where children played and women
and men labored at butchering the wealth of animals their Dreamer had called.
Wolf Dreamer sat on a fallen log, gazing at the carcasses. As they'd died, he'd suffered with them, feeling the stinging darts biting deep, invading the delicate tissues of their hearts, lungs, and livers. One with them, he'd choked on their blood, shared their terror as death's fingers stole through their minds and their eyes grew dim.
At the same time, he shared the joyous abandon of the People, now wading through dispatched animals: life for another year. Meat and new clothing would fill the lodges.
Yet . . . beneath the suffering and joy, a deeper reality -' called to him—but he knew he couldn't let himself drown in that truth until, like spider, he'd thrown out the first threads of the crimson web.
"Huh!" One Who Cries grunted, walking up to stand by Wolf Dreamer. "You know, we've butchered a lot of animals here, but I never noticed before. The lungs, none of them have worms in the lungs. Wonder why?"
Wolf Dreamer's eyes drifted to the looming blackness in -the north that gained Power with every breath he took. "We're not the only life moving south."
"You mean the hole will widen and let animals through?"
He smiled faintly. "Soon the mammoth and caribou and buffalo will walk down this way of ours. Where they walk, the worms ride."
"Is that good?"
Wolf Dreamer gave him a wry grin and spread his arms, beginning to dance, spiraling around in a circle, never stepping on his tracks again. "See me dancing? How many times have I been around?"
"What?" One Who Cries asked, bewildered. "I don't-"
"Look!" Wolf Dreamer danced back to the beginning before jumping out of the center and lifting his brows questioningly. "Now, tell me which came first. Did I dance from the inside out, or the outside in?''
"Inside out first and then outside in second." He pointed. "Any hunter can tell by the tracks."
Wolf Dreamer sighed, disappointed. "What came first? The inside or the outside?"
One Who Cries pursed his lips. "What does that have to do with worms?"
Wolf Dreamer threw back his head and laughed until he had to hold his stomach. Feeling foolish, One Who Cries began laughing, too, nervously trying to decide what he'd done that was funny.
Wolf Dreamer settled on a log and patted it to indicate his friend should join him.
One Who Cries gave him a speculative look from the corner of his eye as he cautiously lowered himself. "I don't like it when you start talking in words I don't understand. You're always drifting off, leaving us alone, without your guidance."
"I know . . ." he said tiredly. He smiled shyly like the old Runs In Light would have. "In answer to your question, the worms will come south, too. They—like us—live off the animals. Many of the creatures that live south of us will die off. Partly because the world is changing, partly because of us—and the worms. Change is the breath of the One, a step in the Dance. You have to see the Dancer ... but the Dancer is never there."
One Who Cries bit off what he was about to say concerning the worms, a look of mystification spreading over his flat features.
Here is a good man. Though One Who Cries doesn 't know it, he Dances closer to the One than all the others. He is pure, unimpressed by his growing stature.
A slight pain touched him.
I will miss this man more than any of the rest. And the end is coming so soon now, so very very soon.
In the distance, a child raced through camp, carrying a stick high over her head. A dog leapt for it, barking at the girl's heels.
"I never know what you mean anymore."
"Another follows me who will explain."
"Who? Can we—"
The sensation burst upon him, leaving his senses reeling. He would have fallen from the log but for One Who Cries catching him, supporting his weight while the world shimmered around him,
"I have to go," Wolf Dreamer groaned, breathing deeply as he pushed to his feet, arms out for balance. He felt the
red tendrils wrapping around him, the strands pulling tight.
"The web is almost complete. The spiral of the spider is
coming together."
One Who Cries narrowed his eyes, looking up at the young
man who had once been his friend. "Go where? Can I come
and—"
"No. I have to prepare myself, to ready the Dream." He caught his balance, turning his steps upward, toward a
high spruce-covered ridge that overlooked the camp. His feet
had never seemed lighter, nor his heart heavier.
Darkness swelled around them, heavy and damp. Above,-the ghosts groaned and shrieked, their voices often so loud the People couldn't hear one another speaking. Ice Fire braced his back against the gritty ice wall, feeling along the rough surface with his hands as he cautiously placed each foot. Dancing Fox walked gracefully in front of him, silhouetted by the fat-fed lamp Moon Water had told him how to find. Such a little light, such a terrifying place. And she had passed through here in the darkness—while water ran? His respect and admiration grew.
They pushed onward, a bond forming despite the bristling hostility. Men and women alone with their fears, not even their intense hatred could separate them from the rumbling ice overhead.
"I'm more awed by Wolf Dreamer every day," Ice Fire admitted. "How could anyone trust themselves to this?"
Dancing Fox nodded soberly. "And I've been through k twice before. It never gets any easier."
A sudden grunt sounded; Red Flint fell with a sodden thud. Something snapped like a dart shaft. He groaned and caught his breath.
"What is it?" Singing Wolf called in the darkness, voice echoing eerily.
"My foot," Red Flint groaned, the sound of his hides rustling against the rocks and gravel.
"Here. I found you. Take ray hand," Singing Wolf comforted. ' 'I'm bending down to feel your ankle. Can you guide my hand?"
Dancing Fox turned, starting back with the lamp. Ice Fire followed.
In the dim light, they saw Singing Wolf bending over the Singer, running quick fingers down the elder's leg. A moment later, Red Flint gasped.
"I can feel it through your long boot. Broken."
Red Flint choked some whimpering sound. "Not in here," he whispered.
"We'll get you through," Singing Wolf reassured. Unslinging his pack, he laid out a long rawhide thong and two sticks. "Let me splint that. We can bear you on our shoulders."
"Wait," Broken Shaft called from further behind. "He's our Singer. We'll carry him."
Into the darkness, Ice Fire called firmly, "We'll take turns carrying him—and anyone else who hurts themselves. Or have you forgotten where we are?" He looked around, meeting worried eyes in the faint light cast by the lamp.
The ice shifted somewhere overhead, the rasping vibrations loud around them. For a second no one moved.
"We'll
all
take turns," Dancing Fox said crisply into the resulting deadly quiet. The subject closed, she bent down so Singing Wolf could see better as he bound willow artfully around Red Flint's leg.
Fires sparkled like amber jewels strewn across the camp. People stood silhouetted before the flames, roasting meat, fiddling with boiling bags. In the light of the fires, prosperous new shelters of freshly scraped hide rose. The odors of cooking meat, roasting liver, and fat filled the air along with the pungency of a strange smoke. For once, the raking breath of Wind Woman had stilled. Sounds carried on the quiet night, the stars glittering, the mists banished for this evening of celebration. Raven Hunter sighed in elation and relief as a
pack of dogs yapped suddenly and raced out into the growing darkness toward him.
"Get away! You filthy ..." Raven Hunter cursed, kicking weakly at the darting beasts.
"Who comes?"
"Raven Hunter," he told the guard arrogantly, trying to stop wheezing. Legs trembling, he staggered past, hearing feet trotting behind him.
"You're hurt. Let me help you. Is that someone wounded over your shoulder? A body? What—"
"Get away!" he cried as the young man reached for the White Hide. As if his words had triggered it, Wind Woman gusted out of the north, a biting nip in her cold breath.
The man backed uncertainly in the dark.
Raven Hunter's eyes gleamed as he stepped into the light of the biggest fire, easing the White Hide down on Green Water's unoccupied robe. The People gaped, eyes wide as if one of the Monster Children had stepped magically from the sky and into their midst. Wolfishly, he peered around. Thick chunks of spruce popped and cracked, twisting spirals of sparks whirling up into the night sky.
"Raven Hunter!"
His name passed from mouth to mouth.
Yes.
He laughed to himself, turning on his heels and pinning their eyes, delighted by the awe in their laughter.
I'm back, my people. I have returned . . . with a new way. A way you 'II all follow. Now, none may question me. None may challenge MY leadership.
"Look at him! He's different—changed." "Look at the light in his eyes. Like a Dreamer—he's seen something." "How did he dare to come back?" they murmured, backing away as he laughed.
"Raven Hunter?" Buffalo Back appeared from out of the dark, head tilted, rheumy old eyes faded and unsure. Firelight flickered across his wrinkled face.
"I
have returned!"
he called out. Straightening his back, he jammed his good thumb into his chest, ordering at the top of his lungs,
"Look at me!"
They came from all around the camp, feet grating on snow. Anxiously they looked, hissing questions back and forth behind their hands.
"See me?" he called. "Look at a hero!" He knotted a fist and raised it high over his head. "I, Raven Hunter, the first warrior of the People, went to kill the Other shaman, Ice Fire! I, Raven Hunter, first warrior of the People, stole the White Hide instead! What is the life of a worthless Dreamer when the heart and soul of a people can be looted away?''
"You did what?" Buffalo Back asked, eyes going wide. "The White Hide? The White Mammoth Hide? The one their Power ..." He gulped, unable to finish, and backed away a step. A hushed chattering picked up among the rings of spectators.
"I took it!" he asserted, the thrill of victory shooting up through him, lending strength to his weaving body. "I robbed them of their spirit—of their courage and will. Do you think they can stand against us now? Do you think the silly tricks of my witch brother can lead you? Here! Look at me and see a man of true Power! My father, Father Sun, is more powerful than their Great Mystery. Now their greatest totem has fallen to us ... to me!"
"But they'll come after it!" Buffalo Back cried. He advanced, chin thrust out, hands imploring. "You can't take such a powerful—"
Raven Hunter lanced stiff fingers into Buffalo Back's old throat. It took all his strength, but he backheeled the man, his useless arm flapping and blasting pain. Nevertheless, as the old man dropped, choking and gagging, Raven Hunter centered himself, dropping his knee across the old man's throat, his total weight behind it.
The snap carried loud in the air, people staring, mouths opened in shock. For a brief second they stood, then rushed forward as a river when the spring ice breaks, reaching for him.