People - People of the Wolf Part 12

One Who Cries flinched, eyes searching the gray landscape, looking to the low-hanging clouds, feeling the bite of Wind Woman's fury. Flakes of snow rushed past, borne on the wind.

"Let's stop. Darkness is falling. Tomorrow, those who can stand will follow the mammoth's tracks."

Runs In Light watched, gnawing doubt leaving him empty. He bent his back, cutting at the packed snow, lifting the light blocks from the drift. If nothing else, his efforts might keep some of the People alive to starve later. His faith in the Dream had stretched as thin as a caribou hair. Had it been real? He no longer knew.

Green Water watched him through furtive eyes for a moment before walking slowly over to place a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know what you're thinking, but don't let Singing Wolf's words hurt you."

He shivered and blinked at her, feeling the horrible pang of doubt knotting in his chest. "Maybe he's right. I ... I'm responsible. I led you here."

"You did your best, Wolf Dreamer. There's honor in that. No one can give more than--"

"My best?" he whispered dully, scooping snow as his eyes darted over the wind-sculpted landscape. "Is that enough? I see their thoughts in their eyes. I see what they--"

"They're just tired," she chided. "Don't judge them so harshly."

He looked around dubiously, scanning the blood red sky behind them.

Drifts hemmed them in like walls. "Singing Wolf called me a false--"

"I know. But he's confused. He's facing something he doesn't understand.

For the first time since he sucked a teat, he's feeling helpless to provide for his family."

He lowered his eyes at the warm understanding in her frail smile. "None of us are providing for our loved ones." "It's a terrible reality for a man to face."

"A man?"

Green Water nodded. "I've always felt sorry for men. They take responsibility for so many things that aren't their fault. Like Singing Wolf when he looks at Laughing Sunshine with the death of his baby weighing on him. He fears Sunshine might leave him for another man ... a better provider." "That's crazy." Wolf Dreamer chewed his lip. "Sheloves him."

"But Singing Wolf doesn't see it. Men are just that way." She winked at him. "You should be glad you have us around to keep you out of trouble.

Women stay sane in times like these. We have to."

He clenched a fistful of snow. "I'm still responsible."

She patted his shoulder. "Come, rest. I believe in you. Laughing Sunshine, Ocher, and Broken Branch, we all believe in you. We all know what you've done--and appreciate it."

He stared at her as she smiled warmly, then nodded and walked slowly to where they handed blocks of snow out of the excavations.

When they'd cut three cavities from the lee of the drift, he carefully faded back, feeling the trail. Last time, wolf tracks had led him to musk ox. Perhaps this time, Wolf would come. Or perhaps he'd stumble over another winter kill--for Green Water and the rest.

On unsure legs, he turned into the growing darkness, feeling his way on the uneven surface of the trail.

Black's yipping brought Heron wide-awake.

She sat up and rubbed stiff fists into her eyes. "Something different in that bark of yours," she called out.

Red coals glowed around the rock-heaped fire pit. Retrieving her darts, Heron rose and pulled on her parka. Again the yip came, barely audible over the howling of the wind. She shoved her feet into her boots, snugging the laces tight and binding her hair with a thong before pulling the hood closed about her face. Last, she took her snowshoes.

Before leaving, she settled a couple of f.a.ggots of wood on the fire and ducked through the flap. Snow whirled from the darkness--a twisting cascade as she turned her head, half hesitant to undo the hood and free her ears. No, not good to get her head wet in this. The head lost too much heat unprotected.

Black barked again. She got a fix on the direction and hesitated. Even with her knowledge of the area, only a fool walked out in the wind-whipped storm. Still, something in Black's call, some wrongness, goaded her onward. "Never heard you yap like that," she murmured in concern, feet crunching on new snow as she angled away from her home.

She whistled, hearing the faint responding howl. Bending, she tied her feet into the webbing of the snowshoes. Steadfast, dart nocked in her atlatl, she crunched up the slope, into the brunt of the wind. Her lips chilled, making whistling difficult. Snow packed on the front of her caribou parka, forcing her to walk head down to keep the storm from blinding her. Black yelped excitedly in the distance.

Rested though she was, her aged legs complained, aching in the deep drifts. Time and again, she whistled, following the lead of Black's cry.

For what seemed an eternity of night and Wind Woman's incessant hara.s.sment, Black's call grew louder.

He bounded out of the dark, whining, the b.i.t.c.h White on his heels, as always, unsure. Black leapt away. Stolidly, she followed.She almost missed him. He lay half-buried, face cradled in his arms, protected from the force of the gale. The snow around him had been packed by Black's feet. The dog looked up, whining, tail swishing.

"There," she cooed. "Good boy. Just like I trained you, huh?" She bent down, squinting at his clothing in the blackness. "One of the People.

Here?" She blinked, an eerie sense of familiarity taunting her heart.

Frowning for what seemed an eternity, Heron finally pulled his snow-encrusted arm away, lookirg at his slack features. "Too late." She sighed. "Looks like he's froze."

Chapter 14.

Heron kicked him in the ribs, hard, and got a groan.

"Come on," she growled. "Get up."

Lifting, she got him to his feet, slipping on the irregularity of the snow beneath. Mammoth trail. Must have been the old bull headed for the hot springs. The boy had followed the tracks.

"Black," she called, supporting the staggering man's weight. "Home, Black."

Obedient, the dog loped away, a charcoal splotch in the windswept night.

Forever they walked. Her breath tore at her lungs. He faltered, trying to keep erect. Even through the many layers of his clothing, she could feel his bones. Starved. One foot at a time, they progressed, Black racing back and forth, leading the way, nose to the piling snow.

An hour later, on the verge of collapse, they crested the ridge, the stranger falling to his knees, almost dragging her down. Huffing condensed clouds of breath, Heron grabbed his hood and slid him down the trail.

He shivered, the spasms violent.

"You gonna die after I've done all this work?" she grumbled. Pulling off her mittens, she undid his parka with stiffened fingers, the dogs nosing about, anxious, reading her disquiet.

The stiff leather came off with difficulty. Heron turned her face away at the odor of him. Sickness and stale sweat hung heavily about him.

Teeth chattering, she yanked the last of his clothing off and stripped herself, dragging him over the rocks, heedless of his tender skin until she had him in the warm water of her hot springs.

In the darkness, steam swirled wildly in the wind, enveloping them in a blanket of moist warmth. She held him, feeling the strangeness of human flesh against hers. Keeping his head above water, she listened to his heart, to his breathing. He stirred. "You're safe," she a.s.sured. "Now tell me what you're doing here?"

The boy muttered, voice thick, the words only half-formed. In the darkness, she could read his confused eyes. She knew this boy. Something inside tensed.

"Long ago .. ." she muttered. "You've finally come."

The next evening Heron ducked under the door flap, leaving the wide-eyed boy to stare at her back. He'd remained quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts. She hadn't wanted to push him yet, but would have to soon.

Stepping along the mist-slick rocks at the edge of the pool, she stopped suddenly. The old mammoth lumbered down the hillside and into the pool, soaking up water with his trunk and spraying it over his back.

"Back again, are you? Brought me a human, you know? Followed your trail."An explosive exhale and a grunt were her only answers as he scented the air warily. He always came before a storm. Regular as the call of a plover, the huge animal plodded to the hot springs to suck up the mineral waters and wade in the steaming pool. She accepted that, understanding how joints ached prior to the storm. Her own, stiff now with pain, reacted the same way.

She waited, speaking softly to her two dogs who watched with p.r.i.c.ked ears. She motioned with a flat hand, keeping them steady, silent.

While they had a truce of sorts--she and the old bull--they didn't crowd each other's territory. On a rock, she waited, keeping a cautious eye on the mammoth who stood up to his belly in rolling mist. He swayed his trunk, splashing slightly as though the odor of the mineral springs was distasteful to his sensitive nose.

In the lee of the rocks, the wind didn't touch her, though tiny flakes of snow drifted down from the sky to disappear as they landed on the warm rocks. Magically, from the mist, caribou appeared. Young "one antler" held his head irritably, shaking it, as the itch to shed tormented his lopsided head. Warily, the caribou drank, feeling Heron's serenity.

Black shifted uneasily She signaled the dog to quiet. White stifled a low whine, her eyes on the caribou, speculative.

The old mammoth grunted, lifting his trunk, stepping gingerly toward sh.o.r.e. A ponderous beast, his huge legs ran silver-crested waves toward the rocky beach, the swirling fog from the hot water almost obscuring him from her view. Amidst splashes, the patriarch of the herd gracefully placed his tree like feet; rock grated under the weight. Rivulets of runoff drained in threads from his coa.r.s.e red-brown hair.

"Yes," Heron cooed. "You'd best get back to your cows. What have you got up there? Three now? And two calves to keep track of? Better beware, old man. The Long Light is growing. Other young sprouts will be coming, trying to drive you off and keep the old dames to themselves, eh?"

At her words, he turned, facing her, grunting again.

"Oh, go on with you." She waved him away. "What's one old woman to you?"

He lifted his trunk, working his mouth noisily, and turned into the storm, a moving mountain of hair and meat. His bulk faded into the darkness, becoming one with the haze.

Black shifted nervously, nose working as he watched the big animal vanish into the roiling mists.

The caribou eyed her warily. Heron waited until they'd drunk their fill of the water, splashing disdain at the taste with their noses. Uneasy, they moved off, licking black muzzles. They, too, had been enveloped by the steam before she stood, stripping in the icy air.

She picked her way over the rock, wading into the warm water until it reached her hips. Gracefully, she dove, letting the warmth tingle and eat into her skin. Bathed in radiant heat, she stroked across the pool, rising, spitting a mouthful of sulfurous water before standing on the other side.Ah, how the heat helped. With callused fingers, she squeezed her hair dry and sighed, swirling the waters around her. Ice crystals formed in her hair as the breeze skimmed the surface, fraying the mists.

Black scrutinized her anxiously from the sh.o.r.e, stepping lightly along the rocks. Heron lay floating as the dusk settled, feeling life in her old joints. Indeed, this was bliss. Such a treasure, this pool of hers.

Above, higher in the rocks and hidden by mist, the geyser hissed and gushed, steam billowing down as hot water shot to the sky. The fount splattered the rocks in a melodic staccato.

Refreshed, Heron paddled to sh.o.r.e, stepping from the water. Her breath fogged before her as she shook water from her arms and legs, shivering.

Gathering her clothing, she walked a dart's-throw to the mouth of her cave, feet tingling on the cold snow. Black followed, White trailing him, sniffing the wind.

She pa.s.sed the caribou-hide door flaps and dropped another stick of birch onto the glowing coals, standing above them in the heat, letting her body dry before dressing. The boy sat across the fire, watching her hesitantly. He was a good-looking brat, perfect oval face with wide eyes and full lips. Tall, too, with broad shoulders.

Black paced nervously at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder.

"Hungry," Heron muttered.

Black's tail wagged and he sneezed, stretching his front legs playfully.

"Go! See what you can run down." She waved a hand, White and Black both nuzzling under the flap and into the coming night.

Heron wrung out her damp hair, spreading it over the dry heat of the fire. "You look like you'll live," she commented.

The boy bobbed his head slowly. "I will, but I'm worried about my people. When I left, the three shelters were all crowded. I don't know how many will be alive."

"Tomorrow, when it's light, we'll go get them." She sighed. "There goes my privacy."

He said nothing, eating slowly of her pemmican. The mixture of berries and fat would provide nourishment for his skinny frame.

She nodded, unable to take her eyes from his. "You grew up to be much more handsome than I'd imagined."

He looked up, frowning. "What?" "Never mind. I'll explain later. First, tell me why you're here." She nudged the end of another stick into the crackling blaze. "I thought old Crow Caller's father had warned everyone away from this place." "He did." He looked away, eyes pained, guilt in his expression. "I brought people here anyway."

"Wise choice." She fluffed her graying hair. She was unaccustomed to using her voice to speak to a human being. Her tones, once a smooth and sweet contralto, had gone gravelly over the long years.

He dropped his head in his hands. At the broken look, her heart went out to him. Some terrible burden weighed him down, betrayed by his anxious eyes."You want to tell me about it?" He shrugged uncomfortably. "I .. .1 Dreamed. We were hungry. Hunger does strange things to a person's mind."

"Of course it does strange things, but that doesn't have anything to do with Dreaming."

"How do you know?" he asked, a twinge of fear and hope in his voice.

"I know. "

His face flushed as he ran a hand through his long hair. "Wolf .. .

called me ... I mean ..."

Heron's heart quickened. She reached across and lifted his chin. "Look me in the eyes, boy. Tell me what Wolf told you." He swallowed, jaw working under smooth skin in the grip of her hard fingers. "We were starving in the shelters. I heard Wolf scratching at my mother's corpse.

I ... I thought only of meat." Once started, the story flowed, hesitantly to be sure, but it all came out. She stopped him when he told of trying to call the animals, to find them that they might eat.

"And when you tried to call the animals? What then?" He shook his head, hands extended to the fire. "I couldn't feel them, couldn't ... I'm not a Dreamer. Look what I've done. Led my people to the ends of the world--"

"Your mind was clogged. You thought other things? You were desperate?"

He nodded, cowed.

Heron scowled. "Yet you say you stood up to Crow Caller, that the strength of Wolf was in you."

He shot a hard look, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "Yes. I felt that!

It was there .. . then."

"Yes," she said contemplatively. "I can tell it was. But why isn't it now? Did no one teach you--" "I don't know why!" he shouted in frustration.

"Who Dreams among the People now?" "Crow Caller."

She lifted a brow. What had happened all those long years she'd been away? "I always felt a wrongness about him. He never Dreamed right .. .