S. Stirling - The Scourge of God

"I'd be surprised if they didn't, from what he told us about the place. Anyway, tipis are drafty; there's all that waste space above your head. A ger 's easier to heat, it doesn't blow over in storms, and if you put it on wheels all you have to do is unhitch the horses and you're there, wherever there is. And we had to get out of those shacks and trailers or freeze, with no more gas. Took a couple of years, but we managed."

He pointed; a family were leaving, their two gers drawn by half a dozen horses each and a wagon following along behind; two more were coming in, heading for the banners of their tiyospaye — clans-and being directed by the camp marshals.

"Moving around makes more sense here than trying to stay in one spot where you eat the land bare; in the winter we spread out in the sheltered places along the rivers or in hills, and in the summer we get together to swap and trade and socialize and talk politics. We're really stockmen now-we grow a few gardens here and there, we put up lots of hay, we mine the ruins and make stuff, and we hunt a fair bit, but there aren't enough buffalo to keep us fed. Not even now, and we've got a couple of million as of last summer's count. Back right after the Change, not a chance; plenty of cattle, though. You can live pretty well in this country, if you know how and you're careful and you've got enough acres."

"The real problem being the neighbors," Rudi guessed.

The Indian sighed. "No shit, Sherlock. Not the Fargo or Marshall people and the other Staters. We can live with them-they're not short of farmland anyway. When they do get crowded they'll move East. It's the Cutters."

"Who are mostly cattlemen too," Rudi observed.

"And we've got a lot of good grazing country; but even that wouldn't be too bad without that crazy religion of theirs. Yeah, a little raiding back and forth with the Ranchers, some horse-stealing.. that keeps the younger guys on their toes, and keeps life from getting dull. But Corwin wants everything and they want you body and soul. And there are a hell of a lot of them nowadays. We Lakota can put thirty, forty thousand men into the field, max. The Cutters can do three or four times that."

The young man and woman from Oregon winced. "The Protectorate.. my country… has about four hundred thousand people," Mathilda said.

"And the rest of our area… the realms that come together at the Corvallis Meeting… about as many again," Rudi added. "All of us together could probably match their numbers in war, or nearly."

Red Leaf cocked an eyebrow. "But I hear Boise has thrown in with the Cutters, made an alliance at least. That kicks up their numbers even more. We're not afraid of the Cutters, exactly, but we sure don't want to take 'em on by ourselves again. Once bitten, twice shy."

Rudi smiled. "Now, those numbers of theirs are a shame and a pity. But it isn't necessarily so that if you fight them you must do so alone."

Red Leaf nodded slowly. "We haven't had much luck with alliances," he said. "Virginia's dad aside. We'll talk about this more later. Right now, there's some things planned for later today."

"So this ceremony is OK?" Mathilda asked, feeling a slight flutter of nervousness beneath her breastbone.

Father Ignatius nodded. "It's more a civil matter than religious in our sense, strictly speaking," he said. "I've questioned the Catholics here. In fact, there would be no problem with even a priest taking part. God is no respecter of either persons or names-Dieu or Gott or Kyrie or Adonai or Wakantanka. He is the Great Spirit whose pity we ask. If this helps you direct your thoughts to Him, or to Our Lady or your patron saint, there is no harm in it."

The women's sweat lodge was surrounded by a square of leather panels on poles. Two older women stood at the east-facing flap with their arms crossed and stern expressions on their faces. Mathilda swallowed and ducked through. Within was the dome-shaped lodge, set directly on the earth, with a door made of a hide flap, facing eastward. The fire was ready, and the rocks were already starting to glow and crackle…

Rudi blinked into the dimness of the men's sweat lodge. It was made of sixteen willow poles bunched to the four points of the compass and covered in buffalo skins; the last of the hot rocks had just been handed in held between wooden paddles and dropped into the pit in the center. The roof was no more than four feet high at the tallest point, and it was crowded with the five men of his party, plus Red Leaf and Three Bears and the wicasa wakan, the Sacred Man, the shaman sitting at the end of their circle by the entrance. Naked bodies crowded to either side of him. It was already hot; there was a smell of sweat and earth and scorched rock and leather, of the tobacco and sweetgrass already burned, of the sage padding beneath them.

"Yuhpa yo!" the Sacred Man cried, in a cracked elderly voice.

The flap was thrown closed from the outside, and the darkness became like hot wet cloth over the eyes. The stones hissed as the shaman sprinkled water on them. The eight men cried out together:

"Ho! Tunkasila! Ho, Grandfather!"

The shaman's voice rose in nasal chanting prayer, directed to the four points of the compass; the sprinkling and response was repeated, and each time it finished the men called out " Hau! " together.

The rite was strange, but Rudi could feel the power in it. A calling had been made, and Someone had answered. Sweat poured from his body, and with it he seemed to feel all impurity leaving him; the darkness was absolute, but he could see with a clarity he'd rarely had before outside dreams. He stilled mind and heart, breathing in deeply of the scented steam, drawing it down into the depths of his self. Something glowed in the darkness…

A command, and the flap was thrown open. He gasped and shuddered, his skin rippling as the cooler air flowed in, and with it a little light. The old shaman grinned at him with his wrinkled eagle face, and the dipper was passed around. The sip he took was like wine… like the spirit of cool white wine, and when he poured a little over his head the chill came like a breath off the glaciers of the Cascades.

"Mitak oyas'in," he murmured as he'd been instructed, and passed on the dipper to Odard beside him.

The Baron of Gervais was looking very pale, he thought; beyond him Father Ignatius had a secret smile on his face as he stared into the heat quaver over the rocks-almost the look a man might have when he contemplated his beloved.

I wonder how Matti is taking it, he thought. And I wonder if the women's rite is much different.

The thought flitted through his mind without leaving any tracks; it was as if something within-the part that carried on a conversation with itself and watched itself in endless contemplation-was being lulled to sleep. Then the shaman cried:

"Yuhpa yo!"

Darkness fell once more. He was falling with it, like a particle drawn in by the breath of a beast larger than the Earth. He tumbled through the dark, and panic started to build up, and with it consciousness of the sage beneath him and the others around. Rudi took a long breath and released it, letting his heartbeat slow, letting awareness of everything but the steam hissing up and the wailing chant vanish.

"Ho! Tunkasila! Ho, Grandfather!"

He sank again, but this time it was a spiral glide-a dance, where his feet moved through a mist of stars. He could hear thoughts roaring by him, buffeting at him like storm winds against a man on a mountaintop. It was exhilaration, like a perfect stroke with the sword, like the kiss of danger, like the exultation of rising above fear.

Light glowed again. It took shape The flap opened. He felt as if he could laugh aloud, but there was no impulse to actually do it. Instead he took the water, sipped, poured a little over his head.