People of the Wolf (35 page)

Long strips of meat covered the rocks. One Who Cries worked by Green Water, splitting long bones, helping pile

the rich marrow on the greasy hide to be rendered for fat. Dancing Fox tended the hot rocks, carefully pouring liquid fat into intestines the way Green Water had taught her. It was such a tricky process; she couldn't let the gut bag burn, but she had to get the fat hot enough to run.

"Hey!" Singing Wolf snapped where he slashed at the thick hide with a sharp bifacial tool, flaked on both sides to create an acute cutting edge. A cur ducked his backhanded blow and jumped lightly to the ground, panting with excitement. The other dogs ran, yipping and snarling at each other, despite bellies which practically dragged the ground.

"Maybe we were better off without 'em," Singing Wolf growled, threatening the beasts.

One Who Cries looked up and grinned. "You'd rather carry everything on your back, huh?"

Singing Wolf sighed and shrugged. "No, and this time the dogs can sniff out bears for us, too. Guess we won't have to worry so much about being eaten alive."

One Who Cries sucked his upper lip, nodding. Pensively he looked up at the thick clouds rolling in from the north-, west. Already they'd had snow, but the grasses had grown this year, curing brown on the stem. The fat on the mammoth's back where Singing Wolf exposed it was a foot thick, the meat beneath rich with the white deposits. Bloody, fat globules sticking to his forearms, Singing Wolf bent to his task again.

Green Water shook her head, looking up at the hunter as she whispered to the women working beside her. ' 'You know, I believe Blueberry's stories about the Mammoth People. Even if Raven Hunter says she's lying."

One Who Cries listened pensively, nodding slightly in agreement.

Dancing Fox changed the position of her bulging bag, air starting to expand with the heat. Deftly, she let off some of the pressure. "I told you he was crazy."

"Singing Wolf isn't convinced. He might be heartsick at the things Raven Hunter led the young men to do but he's not convinced Raven Hunter's wrong in fighting for these lands."

"He's going to get himself killed."

"He's going to get all of us killed," One Who Cries added furtively.

As silence descended, he turned his attention to Sunshine and Curlew Song, who sliced long strips of meat from the shoulder, laughing as they walked to lay them across the willow tops. There, the meat would freeze-dry for the next couple of weeks, the heavy water weight sucked away by the cold wind.

From the corner of his eye, One Who Cries watched Curlew Song. Young and pretty, she kept glancing up at Jumping Hare where he worked to peel the thick hide back from the mammoth's rib cage as Singing Wolf continued to cut at the stringy gray tissue that bound the hide to the body.

She kept the young man's spirits up, kept a new shine in his eye to make up for the loss of his mother, Gray Rock. He'd taken her for a wife upon his return from warring with the Others. She'd come from Buffalo Back's camp: a woman of the Seagull Clan. He'd wanted her as a first wife. Then he had married Moon Water, a captive he'd taken in a raided camp.

Moon Water bent to her burden, looking sullenly up at Jumping Hare, a smoldering fire in her eyes. She'd be trouble; One Who Cries could feel it. Nevertheless, her lithe body and the way she moved with undulating grace drew his eye. A brief fantasy of stripping her, running his hands over her high full breasts, parting her firm legs, played through his mind. He felt himself—

The vision popped as an elbow punched his ribs. Startled, he shot a quick glance at Green Water. She doubled her fist, eyes knowing.

"Just daydreaming," he muttered.

"Sure," Green Water growled under her breath; but she couldn't keep the twinkle from her eye.

One Who Cries grinned sheepishly and went to gather another armload of fat as Singing Wolf cut it loose.

Everywhere, camps of the People had taken in the new women captured from the Others. The elderly women worked hard to teach them the legends and myths, to make them one with the People—even though they would always be second-class wives. The captives learned. They remained for the most part sullen, angry, servicing their new husbands with resignation. Still, many continued to try to run away.

"How long?" Green Water wondered, looking at the

growing pile of fat as One Who Cries dropped the greasy slab.

He stood, easing the crick in his back, trying to wipe the gobs of fat from his thick fingers. "Another week? Maybe two? The freeze will be hard in the ground by then. Snow won't be that deep and we can walk into the deep cold. There'll be good travel then."

' 'The sooner the better. Singing Wolf is worried.''

"And I'm worried," One Who Cries agreed. "They'll strike back. According to Blueberry, they have to."

Green Water tilted her head, soft eyes on her husband. "I think she's seen a lot more of the Others than Raven Hunter. I listen to her talk and I think the men should heed what she says. If half of what she says is true—"

"We're in deep trouble," One Who Cries agreed, watching Blueberry take time to nurse her child.

Green Water nudged him, humorous reproach in her eyes. "The child will grow up as one of us."

"Can you believe Raven Hunter wanted to kill it? You'd think he'd learn."

"He's crazy." Green Water lifted her chin, long shining lengths of hair falling around her firm throat. A wistfulness lay in the corners of her broad mouth.

"I hope he's not as crazy as Dancing Fox says."

Fox sighed heavily, shaking her head. "He is."

Green Water studied One Who Cries thoughtfully. "Incidentally, I noticed that you told most of the band leaders how to find Heron's valley."

A few yards away, Singing Wolf had taken his baton, striking flakes off the sinew-clogged biface he was using to butcher the mammoth. The clack-snap carried to One Who Cries on the cold breeze, reassuring, the familiar sound of meat making. Why didn't it soothe him?

He filled his lungs, blowing out into the cool air to watch his breath condense. Around him, the hills rose, crumpled shale outcrops on the ridges as the folded topography rose to the high mountains to the west. The air cut cleanly through his lungs, bringing the scent of mammoth and trampled wormwood and sedge. To the north, a somber bank of clouds rolled down from the salt water—a nasty storm from the looks of it.

"If the Others come this winter ... as many of them as Blueberry says, we've only got one way to go."

"And if there's no way out of Heron's valley?"

He gave her a cockeyed glance and chuckled. "Well, maybe Heron can Dream them away, huh?"

"People!" A faint cry came, borne on the wind.

Singing Wolf stood up, looking to the north, shading his eyes with a blood-caked hand. Jumping Hare let the hide slide loose, craning his neck back and forth to see.

"Looks like Three Falls," Singing Wolf called. "What's he doing here? Thought he'd gone off with Sheep Whistle to hunt up north."

"I see Mouse," Jumping Hare called. "I'd know her walk.
Broke her leg that time. When Strikes Lightning's dart didn't
kill that buffalo along the salt water. There's more, too. Lots
of the People behind them." >

Green Water made a clucking sound. "I don't think this is good. Go see."

One Who Cries picked up his darts and trotted around the rock outcrop where he'd taunted the mammoth cow. The dogs, were already barking, growling as they ran to meet the hounds with Sheep Whistle's people, snarling and fighting.

Three Falls walked in the lead of the group, a huddle of women behind him bent under flat-looking packs hitched by tump lines. They paced wearily, followed by one or two more hunters to the rear. Then came others, more bundled figures topping the horizon, walking bent against the skyline. The ones in the rear didn't look well as they limped along. No one noticed the scrapping dogs as they growled and yipped, the packs tearing into each other.

One Who Cries pulled up, sensing the wrongness. "Three Falls!" he called. "Welcome. Come, we've killed mammoth. We can feast you in real style."

A ripple of relief seemed to run through the group. Mouse—hair cut short in mourning for Strikes Lightning— lifted her head, a bit more bounce in her walk. Her young infant peeked out from her hood, a tiny face beside hers. Behind her a little girl toddled. More came, some still straggling over the hilltop to the north.

"There goes our winter's supply of meat," he whispered to himself.

Three Falls lifted grateful hands in the gesture of relief. "We'll enjoy your feast, One Who Cries, and offer thanks to the Blessed Star People for your shelter.''

"I don't see much in the way of packs. The dogs aren't loaded. Isn't that Big Mouth back there?" The short, stocky man limped miserably. "Is he hurt?"

"Dart wound." Three Falls looked away nervously, lips pinched. "We had a wonderful hunt. Caught a herd of dall sheep in a little valley. Perfect. We'd butchered most of the carcasses, built caches so the permafrost would keep the meat. Thought we'd stay there all winter with the Others driven off and all."

A tendril of anxiety touched his stomach. "What happened? ''

"The Blessed Star People saved us, my friend. Just luck. One of the young men was running to tell Raven Hunter and Crow Caller that we'd made enough meat to feed many. He saw the Others first, ran back, and warned us. Let me tell you, they fight better now. Killed four of the hunters who went out to drive them off. There were so many of them, old · friend. So many. So fierce. We could no more drive them off than stop Wind Woman. But our position in the hills was good, so we didn't get slaughtered."

"How'd you find us?"

"Sheep Whistle told us which way you'd gone. We hoped you'd give us help." Three Falls shuffled his feet awkwardly, eyes to the ground.

One Who Cries looked out across the figures still straggling over the far hill. "Is Sheep Whistle here? He taught me the old stories."

"He's gone, my friend. Maybe later, tonight or tomorrow, we'll gather to sing his soul to the Blessed Star People."

One Who Cries flinched. "How did it happen?"

"The Others . . . Well, the dart caught him low, just above his manhood. Bad wound, that. Gut juices got into him. He started to stink and swelled up. We carried him for as long as we could."

"And your camp?"

Three Falls slapped his darts meaningfully. "The Others moved into it. Me, some of the rest of Sheep Whistle's band,

we came to make sure the women will be safe. Then we're going after the Others to pay them back."

One Who Cries shook his head. "Last time you paid them back, they didn't stay paid. Give it up. Too many have died already." He lifted an arm toward the oncoming swell of people. "Look at the women with their hair all cut short. It's got to end someplace."

Three Falls smiled wistfully. "Feast me and my warriors tonight, One Who Cries. Feast us well. Then we'll avenge our lost relatives."

"Sounds like Raven Hunter talking through your mouth."

"He's a leader." Three Falls nodded admiringly.

"Maybe."

Three Falls' brows lowered. "We need warriors. You'll come? You and Singing Wolf and Jumping Hare?"

"No." He shook his head certainly.

"But we have to—"

"No."

"You don't care about the murders of people you loved."

"We care more about the living. Singing Wolf, Jumping Hare, and I have talked about it already. We were afraid this would happen. We're going south to follow the Wolf Dream. If you really want your women and children to be safe, come with us."

Three Falls hesitated, then shook his head. "We must go back. It's . . . honor."

"Honor?"

Three Falls straightened, eyes brightening fiercely. "Warrior's honor." He shook his darts in emphasis.

A wrenching feeling of foreboding lashed at One Who Cries. He bowed his head and nodded slowly. His People grew more like the Others every day.

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.