People of the Wolf by W. Michael Gear

Author:W. Michael Gear
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Native American & Aboriginal, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9781466818521
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2009-11-02T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 35

The People snaked along over the undulating hills, gazing across the dots of sparse dwarf birch dotting the land. Snow already hoared the northern slopes. Stubborn leaves clung in auburn patches to the limbs. Father Sun's path sank closer to the horizon every day; the brilliant yellow light of summer faded now to a dull straw color. The drainages they crossed were blanketed with frost-slick leaves that crackled beneath their feet.

Dancing Fox adjusted the tump line biting into her forehead and glared at Mouse's back. The woman grated on her nerves like weathered slate against flesh. Talon, who walked several paces ahead of Fox, turned and grinned as though reading her thoughts, then waved her forward. She trotted to catch up.

"Get away. Walk back there," Mouse ordered, pointing.,

"I walk where I please," Dancing Fox challenged, seeing Talon stop, turning. The old woman's eyes gleamed darkly.

"Your soul is cursed. I don't want you around my baby. You walk behind. Give us decent people some peace."

Dancing Fox moved like lightning, work-tough fingers clamping around Mouse's windpipe. As the woman croaked and struggled, Dancing Fox leaned close, peering into her eyes.

"The man who cursed me is a false Dreamer; he has no Power. That means his curse was meaningless." She tightened her grip, making Mouse gasp frantically. The woman futilely batted at her face. "Understand?"

She shoved Mouse backward, hard. The woman's stagger made the infant under her hood start to bawl shrilly.

Mouse rubbed her throat, staring wide-eyed at Dancing Fox. "You . . . you're crazy," she coughed.

Dancing Fox smiled grimly. "Remember that. There's no telling what I might do if I'm crossed." Coolly, she turned on her heel and walked on, aware of Singing Wolf running back to see what the commotion was all about.

She had no more trouble with Mouse that night or any

other. But she noticed that when any of the other women were near, they kept their eyes lowered. Respect? Or fear? Only Talon looked at her, winking in silent endorsement. Dancing Fox walked straighter, weapons held proudly.

Wolf Dreamer floated in the hot spring, Heron's sweet chanting buoying him, enfolding him. The lapping of the waves caressed his naked flesh.

"Lose yourself in the song," Heron instructed. "Free yourself. Move with the sounds. Dream this world away. It doesn't exist. Nothing exists but the Dance."

"The Dance," he repeated.

He leaned back in the water until it stroked his ears. The sounds of the birds vanished, a soft hum of flowing water filling in. Faintly, he heard Heron take up the chant again, the song rhythmic and haunting, a string of nonsense words. Because they made no sense, he shifted his concentration to the wavering sounds, imagining himself dancing to the cadence.

He blinked, lost, the world out of focus. He sat in Heron's shelter. His senses whirled with familiar shapes and smells. The skulls glared sightlessly at him, observing his very soul. The effigies and the colorful shapes drawn on the walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own through the thin layer of soot.

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