Red Prophet: The Tales of Alvin Maker, Volume II by Orson Scott Card Page A

speak
for
him.”
    From below the hill came a woman’s voice. “Armor! Armor Weaver!”
    Armor-of-God came alert. “Supper’s ready, and there she is calling out, she hates when she has to do that. Come on, Lolla-Wossiky. Drunk or not, if you want supper you can come and get it.”
    “I hope you will,” said Reverend Thrower. “And when supper is done, I hope to be able to teach you the words of the Lord Jesus.”
    “Very most first thing,” said Lolla-Wossiky. “You promise not to lock me up. I don’t want lock-up, I got to find dream beast.”
    “We won’t lock you up. You can walk out of my house any time.” Armor-of-God turned to Reverend Thrower. “You can see what these Reds learn about White men from William Henry Harrison. Likker and lock-ups.”
    “I am more moved by his pagan beliefs. A dream beast! Is this their idea of gods?”
    “The dream beast isn’t God, it’s an animal they dream about that teaches them things,” explained Armor. “They always take a long journey till they have the dream and come home. That explains what he’s doing two hundred miles from the main Shaw-Nee settlements on the lower My-Ammy.”
    “Dream beast
real
,” said Lolla-Wossiky.
    “Right,” said Armor-of-God. Lolla-Wossiky knew he was saying that only to avoid offending him.
    “This poor creature is obviously in dire need of the gospel of Jesus,” said Thrower.
    “Looks to me like he’s in more need of supper at themoment. Gospel is learned best on a full belly, wouldn’t you say?”
    Thrower chuckled. “I don’t think it says that anywhere in the Bible, Armor-of-God, but I dare say you’re correct.”
    Armor-of-God put his hands on his hips and asked Lolla-Wossiky again. “You coming or not?”
    “Reckon so,” said Lolla-Wossiky.
     
    Lolla-Wossiky’s belly was full, but it was White man’s food, soft and smoooth and overcooked, and it grumbled inside him. Thrower went on and on with very strange words. The stories were good, but Thrower kept going on about original sin and redemption. One time when Lolla-Wossiky thought he understood, he said, “What a silly god, he makes everybody born bad to go to burning hell. Why so mad? All his fault!” But this made Thrower get very upset and talk longer and faster, so after that Lolla-Wossiky did not offer any of his thoughts.
    The black noise came back louder and louder the more Thrower talked. Whisky wearing off? It was very quick for the likker to go out of him. And when Thrower left one time to go empty himself, the black noise got quieter. Very strange—Lolla-Wossiky never before noticed anybody making the black noise louder or softer by coming or going.
    But maybe that was because he was here in the dream beast place. He knew this was the place because the white light was all around him when he looked, and he couldn’t see where to go. Don’t be surprised at bridges that make black noise soft and White minister who makes black noise loud. Don’t be surprised at Armor-of-God with his land-face picture who feeds Red man and doesn’t sell likker or even give likker.
    While Thrower was outside, Armor-of-God showed Lolla-Wossiky the map. “This is a picture of the whole land around here. Up to the northwest, there’s the big lake—the Kicky-Poo call it Fat Water. Right there, Fort Chicago—it’s a French outpost.”
    “French. One cup of whisky for a White man scalp.”
    “That’s the going rate, all right,” said Armor-of-God.“But the Reds around here don’t take scalps. They trade fair with me, and I trade fair with them, and we don’t go shooting down Reds and they don’t go killing White folks for the bounty. You understand me? You start getting thirsty, you think about this: There was a whisky-Red from the Wee-Aw tribe here some four year back, he killed him a little Danish boy out in the woods. Do you think it was White men tracked him down? Reckon not; you know a White man’s got no hope to find no Red in these woods,