Wolf Dreamer leaned back against the crusty rocks of the hot springs. He’d sought out a higher pool, hidden in the rocks above the falls. Small, it hid in dark shadows. Only a piece of Blue Sky Man shone over his head.
“Heron,” he murmured painfully, “lead me. I must know what to do.”
Fragments of his conversation with Raven Hunter echoed through his mind. He could see his brother’s face—see the
controlled anger, the darkness of his soul. Blood whimpered in Raven Hunter’s tracks. Souls cried in the vastness—their way to the Blessed Star People unsung. Pain—pain followed Raven Hunter. It twisted in Wolf Dreamer’s thoughts.
Everything had come unraveled. His mind, so carefully ordered, had lost the silence—the peace. The One eluded him in the roiling of emotions, remembered words, which—like Raven Hunter’s face—he couldn’t vanquish.
Confusion roiled in his stomach, stirring his mind and soul with the blackness of defeat. He felt so tired and so desperately, barrenly alone.
Why did he have to mention Dancing Fox? “Sure you don’t want me to send her to you? She’ll willingly fall into your arms, you know. I can tell you honestly, she’s most ardent on a man’s staff. Most worth your …”
Eyes squeezed tightly shut, he clamped his cupped hands over his ears, teeth gritted. Nothing stilled the voice repeating in his mind. A vicious thought speared him—a question of what it would feel like to love Dancing Fox. Flesh teased by the thoughts, he began responding, and cried out in horror.
I’ve seen the end of the People … .
“Heron? Help me!”
She appeared in his reeling thoughts, her face stiff, cold, blue in the light of the torch. Once again, he stared into her dying eyes, seeing the light of the soul fleeing the body.
“Bear Hunter?” her rasping voice called.
“Death,” Wolf Dreamer whispered, Dancing Fox’s image fading as Heron’s haunting eyes became the total of his consciousness. “To love and Dream is to die.” The beat of his heart pulsed through his body, as if pumping away the confusion.
“That’s it, isn’t it. Death is the end … no matter what.”
An ominous feeling of wrongness swelled around him. He fought it, centering his soul on the concept of death, remembering every line in Heron’s still face—in the glazing of her terrified eyes. Opening his mouth, he began chanting the nonsense song she’d taught him. He forced himself to concentrate on the sounds, clarifying his thoughts, forgetting the bustling world of people chattering in the main pool far below. They depended on him—those that believed. Yet he’d
lost faith in himself. Would the rest of the clans ever follow? Or would he have to leave them to the death predicted in his Dreams? Sharp laughter drifted up to him, breaking his concentration. Then someone roughly scolded a child.
“Dance,” he commanded himself. “Seek … seek beyond your self. Lose your mind. Become all—and none.”
He shook his head hard, clearing the mental fog of self-pity, and continued chanting, chanting, chanting … .
Time stretched, the chant seeped into every corner of his mind until he no longer heard the lilting sounds of his own voice. Chant whirled into Dream. The One beckoned. Absorbed in the flow of his mental dance movements, he found he didn’t need the song, that he couldn’t stop the motions now; they possessed him, the fluid swaying like a balm on his wounded soul. Only the motions existed, blending with the caress of water around him, until finally he felt himself being lifted high into the air.
He Danced weightlessly in a sea of light. Time vanished, slipping into an eternal now where there never had been a Wolf Dream or a Dancing Fox—only a single moment of present awareness existed.
The Dance stopped.
He melted into the effulgence like a drop of water in the ocean. Nothing but light existed. Then in a massive and silent explosion, the light burst forth, washing through the universe in a gigantic tidal wave, spreading … spreading … conquering the darkness.
And he knew at that moment, knew at last what Heron’s cryptic words had meant. “You’ve got to stop Dancing so you can get a good look at the Dancer.”
Beneath the motions of the Dance was the Dancer. And beneath the Dancer was the essence of all that existed, the thing that tied the animals and plants to human beings: the One Voice, the One.
There was no Dancer. There never had been.
After an eternity, his body returned to him. He opened his eyes. The glare of the sun made him squint against the pain. Sound reached him as he floated. One by one, his senses tingled to life. With them, depression set in. He’d made another step, but why couldn’t he stay in touch with the light?
Until he could hold the connection, he’d never be able to perceive the world around him as mirage. Fire handling and poison would be imposs—
Across the pool, from inside Heron’s shelter, a babble of haunting voices called his name.
Cold fear touched his stomach. He turned to look toward them, seeing their black shriveled faces in his memory. An eerie wail rose, the mushroom’s impassioned pleas pounding against him like fists.
He sank deeper into the pool, hiding … hiding.