Runs In Light stood silhouetted on the ridge crest above Heron’s valley, his waist-length black hair blowing in the wind. Dressed in summer fox skins, his muscles bulged in the golden daylight. Below, the People threaded their way in the mushy paths between the receding drifts. Pools of water lay silver in the slanting sun. He crossed his arms over his
chest defensively, hoping to ease some of his pain. There they go. I feel like an abandoned shell: empty and useless.
Heron ambled leisurely along the ridge to stand beside him, a hand up to shield her eyes against the glare of Father Sun. Her clean hide dress smelled of sulfur from the hot springs. “Not going?”
“How could I?” he asked bitterly. “What would they have said? The Wolf Dream …”
“They lived,” she reminded. “But I’m glad you’re not going.”
“Why?”
“You’re not ready yet.”
He frowned, turning to search her lined face, trying to read the glinting eyes. “How do you know?”
“We looked into each other’s eyes once. Seventeen Long Lights ago. You sought me even then—for a reason.” She smiled, brown lips hiding her worn and missing teeth. “No, you don’t recall … but you did.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t.” She probed his eyes deeply, as if searching his soul. “Whether you know it or not, Wolf Dreamer, you made your choice. You chose me … my way. I saw for certain the day you Dreamed the caribou in. Like me, the Power taunts you, stirs your mind, forces you toward the blinding light inside.”
Fear tingled across his chest, tight, prickling. “I’m not interested in Power. Power is for someone else who—”
“Who what?”
“Who’s more worthy.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her gray head. “Giving in to cowardice, are you?”
He stiffened, stung deeply. “If I’m giving in to anything, it’s good sense. I’ve been fooling myself.”
“You like the feel of Dreaming, don’t you?”
“Of course,” he admitted. The feel soothed him like a warm fire on a cold winter’s night.
“But you don’t like it enough to give up your soul for it? You want to dabble like a child playing with fire, hoping you never have to surrender your precious self to know the secrets of the flame.”
“I’m Runs In Light. Bastard child of an Other,” he protested hotly. “I’m not—”
“So what?” She cocked her withered head, arching an eyebrow.
Dread and a longing to return to the old days welled inside him. Silently he cried out, pleading for the safety he’d felt before his Dream Walk. Oh, he’d been hungry, but his soul had been whole and untormented. Now he felt as fragmented as a shattered dart point. “I’m not even really one of the People. I’m unworthy!”
“Why?”
“I don’t fit anymore.”
“Nobody ever feels like they fit. It’s part of the curse of being human.”
“I used to fit—before Wolf called me.”
“And why don’t you think you fit now?”
He shuffled his feet nervously, struggling to find himself beneath the malaise of Dream undercurrents. “I’m different now.”
“Of course you are.”
A lump swelled in his throat, making it difficult to talk. “Why am I?”
“Because you’ve touched the soul of the world. You’ve seen the Monster Children’s fight up close, heard the thunderous silence of their clashing weapons, and seen the brilliant darkness of your own soul reflected in their eyes.”
“Words,” he said gruffly, but their truth pounded loudly inside him like a warning drum. “Just words.”
“Yes, you’re different. Runs In Light died when Wolf called him from Mammoth Camp.”
Staring out across the rocky wilderness shimmering in the sun, he sucked in a halting breath. I’m half-dead, she’s right about that. Why can’t I just live anymore? Where’s Dancing Fox? What’s happened to me? All I want is the woman I love, a safe camp, and to watch my children grow. Is that such a terrible thing?
Heron hobbled over to stand in front of him, then grabbed one of the locks of his hair that fluttered in the wind and tugged hard to make him look down at her. “Don’t you see what you’re doing?”
“No.”
“You’re grasping frantically to pull the threads of Runs In Light back together, when you ought to be letting him go completely.”
“I can’t let him go!” he shouted bitterly. “He’s me! That’s all I am. I’m—”
“Bah! Quit being a fool. If that’s all you were, you’d have never heard Wolf calling you.”
Pressure built to a violent crescendo inside. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Her scratchy old voice had gone gentle, comforting. “I know exactly how you’re feeling, torn between this world and the Dream world. I’ve been there. Fortunately I had Broken Branch to make my decision for me. Years passed while I scrambled to learn how to open the doors in my soul. With me teaching you, you’ll learn it in a tenth the time.”
“I don’t want your teachings.”
A smile creased her face, understanding, sympathetic. “Going to be a dabbler all your life, eh?”
“Maybe.”
“I warn you … you’ll end up like Crow Caller, out of sorts, unable to leave the Power alone, lost between truth and falsehood.”
“I don’t care!” he shouted hoarsely, turning his back to her. “It’s my choice.”
“No argument there.”
He heard her steps going away down the trail, returning to her hot springs, and he swallowed convulsively, heart hammering. Looking out, he could see the People, smaller now, slow-moving dots in the gleaming plain as they picked their way toward piles of glacial rock buried in sheaths of snow.
The urge to follow cried hollowly in his chest. That way led back to the familiar world, to the People and comfort of knowing where he stood in the community. That way led to laughter, warm fires in the night, the old stories. His last link to the security that had always been his was fading with their tracks in the snow.
Too much. I can’t give that up!
Resolutely, he clutched his darts and snowshoes up from where he’d laid them, and ran, following the trail of the People.
A handful of paces later, he pulled up, looking back at the ridge, back at Heron’s. Fear tingled along his spine.
“No,” he growled at himself, at the longing tugging him to turn around. “I’m not the one.”
Again he took the trail, stilling the wrongness in his heart, but his steps had no spring to them.
Night caught him in the open, stringers of cloud blowing in from the far horizon to burn orange in the sunset. Alone, he bundled himself into a niche in the rock where Father Sun’s heat would radiate through part of the night. Miserable, he tried to sleep.
His Dreams left him uneasy, images of the Dream Hunt, of the green valley bursting with game, of Wolf’s rasping last breaths. They teased him, haunting, pulling like the open arms of a lover. A lingering taste of wolf meat went sour at the back of his tongue. In the Dream, Wolf stopped frolicking through the lush grasses and turned to him, lifting his nose high. “Spurning my promise?” he asked.
“No! No, I … there’s someone better, someone who can—”
“I chose you.”
“No!”
As if a clap of thunder had sounded, he came bolt awake in the blackness. Sweat poured down his chest, tickling along his skin. The gritty bite of the rock and the edges of chill ate through his damp long boots.
“I’m afraid!” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes. He slammed a fist into the rock beneath him. “So afraid. What’s happening to me?”
The wind brought a pungent odor, cutting. He leaned back, resting on his elbows. In the night, a wolf howled, a chorus filling in, eerie, searching.