Free People of the Earth by W. Michael Gear Page A

at her. The golden light of his expression warmed her
weary soul. "Power?"
                   "The way of the Dream, a path between the
worlds."
                   "Who? What are you?"
                   ''All that you are . . . and are not. The Wolf
Dream that Dances fire and Sings the stars. Good and evil. Ecstasy and
suffering. Extend, loosen the bounds of your soul. Feel the One. "
                   Another voice, that of an old woman, rose on
the wind, whispering through the sage beyond the lodge covering. The eerie call
haunted, lost in reverie . . .
                   South, ever south we go . . . find an end to
the blowing snow. Death in the high plains. Others come. Our old path they
follow from. Shelters they dig in the ground. Make them like holes in the
round.
                   Further . . . further south they go. Shelters.
                   Rock piled high. Raise the infants to the God
in the sky. Earth, hey earth, from it spread.
                   Raise the underworld from the Dead.
                   "What's she talking about?" White
Ash cried out, moved by the lilting words.
                   "Wolf Dream. The Spiral turns, earth and
people changing," the gentle voice prompted. "Yours is the blood of
First Man. You are the Mother of the People. You are the bridge between the
earth and sky. Opposites crossed. Follow the way. Seek . . . seek ..."
                   White Ash fell into a warm, gray mist that
wrapped around her like marten fur, soft, comforting, and warm. She could feel
a soul, frightened, unsure, hovering close to her. She tried to see, to
penetrate the mist, finding only haze.
                  “Bright Moon? Is that you? Where are
you?"
                   "She's just beyond the One," the
familiar voice told her. ''Feel the freedom. You and Bright Moon are One . . .
and you are not. You are both hidden from yourselves in cloaks of illusion. You
live the Dream . . until the body fails as hers has done.
                   "Seek, White Ash. Seek the Power. Follow
the Dreams. The One brought you here. The People change—the Spiral turns. The
way has always been south. Singing Stones knows. Prepare. Dream in the high
places. Singing Stones knows the way to First Man Spirit Bundle.
                   "When the fire has burned, you are all
that is left. You will be on your own soon. You can become the fire or the
darkness. The Truth, or the illusion. Seek the Bundle . . . seek. ."
                   The gray mist billowed around her, pulsing
with the beat of her heart. She could feel the soul of Bright Moon passing,
moving around her like stream water around a rock, ebbing away in the gray mist
until nothing remained but a sweet memory.
                   Pain stitched her back, her head falling
limply forward. With a jerk, she caught herself, blinking awake in the dim
light of the lodge. Before her, the fire had burned to isolated coals. The
first fingers of chill had stolen beneath the hide door. Reflexively she
reached for another knot of sagebrush and dropped it on the fire.
                   She looked over at Bright Moon. Her mother's
eyes were open and a smile graced her lips. White Ash froze, the Dream
replaying in her mind.
                   "Bright Moon?" She reached, knowing
even as she did that the woman's soul had departed. She'd felt that flight
toward Thunderbird—shared the warmth of its passing.
                   "Mother ..." An ache built in her
chest. She clasped Bright Moon's cold hand. In a bare whisper she said,
"I'll miss you. Go in peace."
                   Weary, so very weary, she reached over and
unrolled her bedding. Building the fire up one last time, she allowed herself
to sink into a troubled sleep. Hints of the wonderful Dream played through her,
like sunlight through