"Many," she whispered. "So many. More than I've ever seen."

Raven Hunter cast a glance over his shoulder to the somber faces of his warriors who listened intently, fear glistening in their eyes. He laughed boisterously. "Well, they'll turn around now! Some escaped us.

They'll run to tell the other clans of the bravery and fierceness of the People!"

The youngest members of the war party insolently lifted their chins, chests puffed out as they stood around the fire.

Singing Wolf pursed his lips and stared at the ground. The young imbeciles, couldn't they see what was happening? If Blueberry was right, the Others might be under as much pressure as the People. "What are these Glacier People like?" he asked tiredly.

"They're white-skinned, covered with hair. The Mammoth People fought them. The stories are that they came from the western edge of the world.

They're fierce, fierce as Grandfather White Bear. Maybe they're his human children. I don't know. But they live by the salt water far to the southwest. Stories are told of how they float on the salt water in manmade hollow logs."

"Hah!" Raven Hunter laughed sharply. "No man floats on water. Trees don't grow big enough to--"

"Not here," Blueberry interrupted with trepidation. "But I've seen trees so tall they touch the sky. Big and dark--like dwarf spruce--but a person can climb a hundred feet high in them. I've been west of these mountains"--she pointed over her shoulder--"and seen the tall mountains that run out into the south salt water. The trees there are so tall they poke the sky."

"Fantasy," Raven Hunter growled. "This woman is spirit touched. Living too long among the Others has done things to her mind." She lowered her eyes, mouth hard. One by one, the warriors walked away, laughing at the stories she told. Whiteskinned men? Covered with hair? Grandfather White Bear's kin after all! A good story.

Singing Wolf waited, seeing the shame in her face, until the other mensauntered away to their own fires. "I believe you," he said.

"But they don't," she whispered. "Maybe I should go back to the Mammoth People. I don't know if I belong here."

"Forget about them. They're so puffed up from their battle successes they can't see straight."

"They'd better learn," she said ominously. "Because it's far worse than I told them."

A chill touched Singing Wolf's spine. "What do you mean?"

"There, to the far west, the ice is melting. The Glacier People are pushing the Others. But beyond the Glacier People, others still are pushing--people who look like us, and chase the Glacier People to the east and pin them against the sea--fierce and desperate men, who follow the animals to the north after the ice. So many hunt that mammoth there run at the slightest scent of man."

Singing Wolf frowned. "If all this fighting is going on, why did we beat the Others so easily?"

She met his eyes. "They didn't expect it, cousin. Always before, the People ran, left them the hunting grounds without a fight. These camps of Others became fat, lazy. All they had to do was kill a couple of the People and they could take what they wanted."

"Will they stay away then? Like Raven Hunter says?"

She shook her head. "No, they'll pa.s.s the message that you're no longer afraid and come hunting you."

"Can we stop them from pa.s.sing the word?"

"No, cousin. Like us, they travel between camps. There are four large clans, each so big it has a gathering all its own. They pa.s.s a sacred mammoth hide from camp to camp to keep people informed. And the hide is guarded heavily."

"Maybe we could intercept the hide. Stop the--"

"Don't even think of doing such a thing! The hide is filled with Power.

Just touching it would kill you." Singing Wolf slammed a fist into the soft warm earth beside the fire pit. "There must be a way to stop them."

"Run. It's the only way," she insisted, a burning plea behind her eyes.

"Don't you see? You've killed them. The way they believe, their dead will not go to the village of souls beneath the sea until each death has been paid for. It's honor to them, warrior's honor."

Singing Wolf filled his lungs. "You say there are many?"

"Like the stems of willow along the Big River." She shook her head. "And they have nowhere to go. Like the People, they are trapped. I've heard them. For the moment, they fear you. But what comes behind is even more terrible. The fear they have of you will melt like fat on hot coals.

Those who follow are pushing the Glacier People south along the rocky coast of the southern salt water. Runners come to tell us this. The Glacier People would cut you to ribbons.""So the Mammoth People have no other way but to take our lands?"

"Yes, and their warrior's honor requires that they hurt you in even more gruesome ways than you hurt them."

Singing Wolf's thoughts went to Laughing Sunshine and his child-to-be.

Deep inside, a tremor shook his soul.

Chapter 32.

Wolf Dreamer's keen eyes darted nervously back and forth between the old women. His cheeks had grown hollow, his hair hanging long on either side of his face, accenting his half-starved look. A trace of sorrow lined his young brow; pain was reflected in the set of his thin-lipped mouth.

He rubbed his hands slowly back and forth while he waited, the muscles in his cheeks quivering as his jaw clenched.

"Tell me." Heron's voice came quietly across the crackle of the fire.

The shelter glowed softly orange, highlighting Broken Branch's withered face. "The People," he whispered imploringly. "My vision was hazy and wavering, but I thought I saw them dying."

Heron cradled her chin in her palms, eyelids lowered. To the side, Broken Branch listened intently. She prodded the fire with a split caribou bone.

"What else?" Heron prompted.

He shook his head. "There were women captives. Some . no, it just didn't come clearly."

"What did you feel?" "I felt a presence. Like something was coming, something far over the horizon. Like the Long Dark ... but different."

He wet his lips, puzzled. "Like night coming from the west instead of the east."

Heron lifted an eyebrow. "You understand its meaning?"

"No."

"Didn't figure you did," she growled, leaning back in disappointment.

"Well at least you've learned to walk. Now you have to learn some of the motions of the Dance."

"What?"

"You've got to learn some grace and stop stumbling around or you'll kill yourself."

He frowned, feeling that familiar pit of emptiness and inadequacy spread in his stomach. "I know some things. I call the caribou." She shook her head. "No, that's not what I mean. Everything flails along in its own private dance, but beyond, there's only One Dance."

She's always spouting gibberish. The One this and One that. Why can't she just come out and tell me? "I still don't understand."

She lifted a hand, dark eyes drinking in his soul, drawing him on. She pulled back the wolf-hide mats. With a scapula spoon, she dug into the fire, spreading glowing coals over the rock. They sizzled wildly in the breeze that penetrated beneath the door hanging.

Never letting her gaze leave Wolf Dreamer's eyes, she wiggled her fingers, flexing them into fists as if toning the muscles. She settled herself on her knees over the coals, silver-shot black hair swaying.

Lacing her fingers together, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, humming a haunting singsong chant. Serenity slackened her face, the lines softening as if she'd shed long years. Then she reached forward,placing both hands palms down on the coals, shifting, her weight full on them.

Wolf Dreamer gasped, glancing questioningly to Broken Branch. Frozen with fear, Wolf Dreamer stared as Heron scooped up the coals. The red eyes glowing between her fingers, she lifted them high over her head.

How long? He had to draw a breath. Then another, and another.

Still chanting, Heron placed the coals to her lips, her forehead.

Finally she put them in her mouth, rolling them around before she spat them out. The coals landed on the hides before her. The pelt browned, blackened, and smoldered, a wisp of smoke rising as hair sizzled, shriveling and stinking. Eyes still closed, a translucent rapture spread across her face, the melody hummed to a stop. She drew a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nose.

Wolf Dreamer reached out to touch her face, to feel the places the fiery coals had seared. The flesh was smooth and cool beneath his fingers. She opened her eyes, unfocused at first, then blinked. c.o.c.king her head, she turned to Wolf Dreamer where he sat, unnerved.

"Your hands .. . your face .. ." he whispered in disbelief, a feeling of dread coursing with his blood.

She lifted and opened first one hand, then the other. She turned her face, exposing each cheek to the light. Frightened, he reached forward to finger the hole burned in the hide, sucking his breath in and yanking his hand back as he seared his fingers. "How?"

"Not even a blister." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, watching, challenging.

"It can't be! You said there were laws!"

Unruffled, Heron sc.r.a.ped the remaining coals and charcoal back into the fire pit, hardly aware of Broken Branch, frozen, face a mask of awe.

"Close your mouth, old hag," Heron reprimanded. "You'll be catching flies pretty soon."

Broken Branch obeyed without thinking, scowling. "How'd you do that?" "I danced with the coals." Wolf Dreamer watched her, feeling some inkling of her truth pound inside. "With?"

"Instead of against."

"You mean you touched the coals' Dance .. . stepped into their tracks for a moment?"

"Not exactly. Beneath the coals' Dance is the One Dance. I stepped into the One's moccasins for a moment."

"How?"

"I found the stillness beneath the movement."

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. The cursed silence beneath the noise, the cursed stillness beneath the movement. The old witch was trying to drive him crazy. Through clenched teeth, he demanded, "How?""I quit my own Dancing."

"You quit your .. ." he uttered forlornly, shaking his head.

Broken Branch cackled, rocking forward to eye Heron severely. "I knew it. You're about as crazy as they come. You've got no mind left at all."

"I've been trying to tell you that for weeks." She glanced sideways at Wolf Dreamer, a sparkle of irony in her eyes.

He squeezed the hide of his long boots in a death grip. He was beginning to see what she meant, and it frightened him. "No-mind means no self to get in the way of just moving with the Dance."

"Sure. No-mind frees you to stop your own Dancing and move with the One Dance."

To steal time in which to think, he pointed at the coals. "You must have gotten burned a lot when you first started."

She smiled wryly, knowing what he was delaying and giving him the time he needed. "I had welts all the time."

"Can I ..." He shook his head, not believing he was asking. "Can I do it?"

"I wouldn't have showed you if I thought you were too dumb to learn. But it's like crossing a mountain; the climb is hard. You can't understand anything about the whole world until you see the other side." She steepled her fingers. "This is another step on the way to ultimate Dreaming Power."

He shivered at the glow filling her eyes. "Another?"

"Oh, yes, one that you must be able to master, or all the separate Dances going on around you will eventually trample you to death."

Chapter 33.

Against the pastel blaze of sunset, Wolf Dreamer ran, his actions repeated in vast amorphous shadows on the towering gray stone wall at his side. Down on the distant plain, he could see Heron's hot springs throwing steam high in the air. The mist glowed softly yellow in the evening light.

"Run. Run," he repeated over and over, trying to center his mind.

As his breath puffed white before him, his feet thudded into the thin crust of snow. His heels transmitted the shock, gravel crunching, as he vaulted smaller boulders and zigzagged around the bigger ones. A continuous cold wind blew off the ice to the south, chilling his face.

Breath tore in and out of his heaving lungs, the dull pain in his chest barely masked by his burning legs.

Clear your mind. Run, Wolf Dreamer, run until your body is oblivious, until you are outside your mind, looking in. Dance .. . Dance.

He drifted in and out at first, tendrils of the feeling of freedom, of floating, barely perceptible. Then he was free, soaring beyond his flesh. In his joy at the accomplishment, the bubble burst and he was back, sensation crawling over his body like a swarm of insects.

He plodded to a stop, bending over, coughing, as his lungs bellowed for air. Sweat trickled down his face, steaming in the glacial breeze.

Vaguely aware, he took one slow wobbly step after another, trying to still his lungs, rest the ache that knotted his legs. Like a bleached bone, the tongue in his mouth had gone dry. It stuck to the back of his throat.

He straightened, scooping the dusting of crystal snow from a hummock of gra.s.s, letting the cool moisture seep through his mouth, trickle down his throat.

A line of white etched the eastern horizon. The Big Ice. He gasped, blowing hard as he walked, feeling the fire in his legs. Around him, glacial rubble piled high, the haunts of the frozen ghosts. The gravel underfoot insulated layers of ice. Water had pooled here and there, freezing into slick snow-covered traps. To the west the giant mountains shot up in icy splendor. To the east, the Big Ice had fractured, tilted, and crumpled, a jagged landscape of fissures and edges impossible to traverse. Only to the south did the ice flatten out. Overhead, the clouds streaked mauve, the coming of night imminent not just for this day--but for all of the Long Light as well.