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

everything; they were almost
magical in their abilities to see, smell, and hear. And once, she'd been forced
to stay still as the dead when a grizzly bear had prowled to within feet of
her. Only the breeze had saved her that time, blowing the bear's sour scent
into her nose.
                   But then, Tanager had always known she was
special. The games of the other girls had no appeal for her. Something had
always drawn her to the timber, to skip gracefully along the polished trunks of
the deadfall and climb around in the rocks where a fall would have meant
instant death.
                   No amount of scolding by her mother could keep
her home. Not when the trees and animals called to her.
                   She wrinkled her nose as the old woman
disappeared. Who'd believe she'd seen a witch? Surely not Cricket or Elk Charm.
With no more noise than a stalking bobcat, Tanager backed out from her hiding
place and shot down the trail toward camp, running as only Tanager could.
                   Little Dancer curled into a ball, hoping his
sleep would ease the cramps in his stomach. The string of uneasy dreams wound
deeper into his mind.
                   Memories of what he'd seen replayed in his
head. He'd never forget the sight of Dancing Doe's baby being smashed onto the
hard cobbles of the ridge to flop and quiver and at last lie still. From where
he'd hidden in the sagebrush, he'd seen the tortured expression on Dancing
Doe's face. Above it all, Heavy Beaver's smile hovered, mocking.
                   The image shifted. Little Dancer's gut twisted
at the sound of the hollow plop as the Wolf Bundle landed on unresisting
ground.
                   "No!" he cried, remembering the
sucking emptiness that had pulled at his young soul.
                   "The People are dying," came a
voice. "Like smoke from a distant fire, we're drifting away, becoming less
and less."
                  An old woman walked down out of the trees,
hobbling with the aid of a walking stick. A tumpline secured an awkward pack
low on her back while breezes tugged her gray braids this way and that. As she
looked at Little Dancer, her deep-set dark eyes glowed with Power.
                   Shifting again, he danced and whirled, the
world spinning below him. A man threw something at the sky, his face contorted
as if by anger. A sudden light blinded him painfully.
                   He felt the hunger, like waves lapping the
cobbles of Moon River . Pangs of want washed around him, bearing
him on the current, twisting around, gurgling.
                   "Stop it! Stop!" He cried out; the
knot in his belly grew, encompassing all the People. Pangs of hunger, like
tendrils, reached out to touch the men who waited on butte tops; it tickled
their bellies as they searched for fresh tracks. He ached for all the People,
feeling the wasting of their bodies, the energy draining from their flesh.
                   "Feed us. Feed me," he whimpered
into the dream. The cramping of his stomach tightened as the last of the thin
stew entered his blood.
                   We come. Remember this day . . . for we are
you.
                   He started at the nearness of the voice. A
curious hazy sensation sent him drifting. A taste lay on his tongue, that of
sage, usually so bitter, now almost sweet. He bawled in fright, unable to form
words. Frightened, he ran on light legs. The view of the world around him
expanded, oddly flat, but vividly clear.
                   He ran, realizing he did so on four nimble
legs. Creatures, antelope, stood with rump patches flashing white at his alarm.
A doe stood alert and chirped to him. Without thought he turned to race for her
and the security she meant to him.
                   We come, the voice repeated. We come.
                   He shivered, torn from the body he