People of the Fire Read Free

again, time to allow the Sun Father to cleanse the wastes of the Red Hand.
All part of the Circles, even flies and beetles had to eat. Circles like the
ones he'd pecked so laboriously into the rock panels in imitation of the
constant Dance of the Wise One Above who watched from the Starweb .
                   Only this time, I won't be going. Here, this
is the end. The last camp for Cut Feather. It's a good place . . . a place to
die high on the mountain where the soul is free to rise to the stars and meet
the Wise One.
                   As if it heard, the knotted pain in his belly
tightened, stealing his strength and breath, trying to twist his soul from his
body. His body continued to waste, thinner and thinner except for the hard lump
he could feel when he pressed under his ribs on the right side. The lump got
bigger, and he grew less.
                   And I am left to the final Dream. . . .
                   Smiling wearily, he remembered Clear Water's
face, the glow of youth in her full cheeks. She'd been the true Spirit Woman.
She'd been the one who paused, eyes suddenly vacant, to tell him about the Wolf
Man who whispered in her ear.
                   He'd listened . . . always listened, and told
the People what to do. They'd never suspected the Power had come from his
daughter. Never suspected Clear Water's counsel guided him. She'd seen, and now
she'd gone, fleeing her man, Blood Bear. She'd left quietly in the night,
accompanied by the odd berdache , Two Smokes, who
watched the plants, picking the grasses and chewing the stems.
                   Angry shouts outside gave him the bit of
warning he'd hoped to have. The rasping swish of moccasins in the grass allowed
him that final instant to compose himself as a strong hand ripped the hanging
aside.
                   "Where is she, old man?"
                   Cut Feather smiled up into Blood Bear's
smoldering features. His son-in-law's strong face had flushed, dark eyes fired.
Muscular, hotheaded, Blood Bear had always been trouble. In the short time he'd
been married to Clear Water, he'd beaten her more than once. People had turned
their heads at sounds of violent coupling in the lodge at night, shamed by her
whimpers of pain.
                   He'd been helpless—an old Spirit Man without
power. Clear Water had no other relatives to protest her treatment, to seek
justice. And Blood Bear had no fear of a Spirit Man's threats.
                   "She's gone."
                   Blood Bear leaned forward, black eyes burning.
"I know that, you simple old fool. Where did she go?"
                   Cut Feather reached for the gourd, half-full
of water, extending it. "Come, sit. You are a guest in my lodge. Drink
and-"
                   Blood Bear smashed the gourd away, spattering
water about the worn hides, soaking the sacred bundles. "Where, old man ?
' '
                   Cut Feather winced at the mess, blinking as he
looked up. "You know, Blood Bear, you're not doing yourself any good.
Shouting at me just undercuts your position. I'm dying and everybody knows it.
Rage has stolen even your cunning."
                  "Hush and hear me out. You're a
laughingstock. Your wife ran away with another man. The People—"
                   A hard hand clamped on his throat. The heat of
Blood Bear's breath warmed his skin as those burning eyes searched his.
"What man, Cut Feather? Speak quickly, or never speak again."
                   The reflection of death watched from Blood
Bear's flushed features.
                   "Let ... go," Cut Feather croaked
over his protruded tongue. Blood Bear relaxed his powerful fingers ever so
slightly.
                   "Who?"
                   "Two Smokes."
                   "He's berdache !
A man who loves other men! Why would she run