Read Online People of the Earth by W. Michael Gear - Free Book Online Page B

the
serrated ridges of the Black Mountains .
                   "I don't think he's witching
people," he told his nephew. "I think it's just the way he acts that
makes people nervous. You know, if you like a Healer, he's a good and Powerful
man. Black Hand, however, well, he's a different sort. Not everyone can talk to
Power. It's up in the air, and different Spirits live in the springs, and in
high places, and in certain rocks. Spirits listen when the elders give them
special gifts to see that the grass grows and the animals come. Black Hand does
that. Intercedes for humans like us. He lives way down there in that rock
shelter all by himself. It takes practice to talk to people when you've been talking
to Spirits."
                   Tuber looked up, hostility in his eyes.
"Did you know he and Larkspur used to couple?"
                   Bad Belly lifted an eyebrow, a half-smile
trying to form on his lips. Now that took some imagination! "Are you sure
you heard right last night?"
                   Tuber grunted, bracing himself as he twisted
another sagebrush in circles and jerked. The root snapped satisfyingly. "I
heard real good last night. Maybe they wouldn't have talked if grown people had
been sleeping nearby. People always underestimate a boy."
                   “I don't."
                   “I know. But you're different. You're a—"
Tuber halted awkwardly.
                   "Goon."
                   “Nothing. But I heard that the last four
people Black Hand has Sung for have died. Green Fire's isn't the only family
talking. Black Hand's worried."
                   “And what did Larkspur say?"
                   "That it was all talk. That no one else
had Power like Black Hand and it would be all right in the end. That things
went in streaks . . . like luck. Sometimes it was good, sometimes bad, but it
would always turn around."
                   “It usually does."
                   “Not if my father's going to die as part of
it." Tuber's eyes glittered hatefully.
                   Bad Belly adjusted his grip on the sage the
boy kept pulling out of the ground and handing to him. For a brief moment he
envied the boy's strength, trying to remember what it had been like to have two
good hands to manipulate the world with.
                   “You know, there's one great truth about
life," he said.
                   "What's that?"
                   "You have to live before you die."
                   "What's that supposed to mean?"
                   "That whether Warm Fire gets well or his
spirit joins with the earth, he gave all of us something wonderful. He gave you
life and taught you many things that you will know until you die. Like how to
hunt, how to hide your tracks, and how to pick an ambush. He taught you the old
stories of Fire Dancer and of the Power of White Stone Gleaming, who Dreamed a
new way for the People. He told you about the Creator, who made the First
World, and about how First Man led the people through a hole from the First
World to this one. Any life is a gift, Tuber, no matter how long it is."
                   The boy grunted, watching Bad Belly from the
corner of one eye.
                   Bad Belly couldn't blame Tuber for
disbelieving his words-—not when they sounded hollow even to his own ear. What
would it be like to lose a father—just like that? But he understood. He could
feel the frustration and anger and fear that filled T. It burned bright, almost
like a physical heat.
                   I worry about the boy. If Warm Fire dies,
Tuber will never be the same again. The injustice of it will eat at him, sour
in his belly like a runny mold.
                   Bad Belly tried to grasp yet another gnarled
brush the boy held up to him. "Tuber, that's about enough.