She waves her hand in front of her as if the answer’s obvious. “You aren’t sure, huh? Well, if you ask me, you are. He wants to, at least. What about you?” She peers at me. “What do you want?”
What do I want. I look outside. Paul is making his way through the grounds, walking with Avalon. “What I want,” I say slowly, “is for my brother to be happy.”
“Ah.” Ms. Adelaide follows my gaze. “And you think he’ll be happy with her?”
“No. I don’t.” But he looks happy, and that’s got to count for something.
“So, now I know what you want for your brother. How about you?” She laughs. “Look at me, pestering you with questions. But if I could go back to your age, there is one thing I’d do.” She fixes her gaze on me with such intensity that I can’t look away. Her shade is a bear, a great mother bear, reaching over her shoulder to touch me. “It would be to listen to my gut and follow it, no matter what. You’re a thinker, I can tell, and thinking is good, but if you don’t listen to your gut, well, you don’t got much.” She pokes me in the stomach. “You ask your gut what it thinks about Bran, and you follow its advice, and don’t let anyone, not Avalon or Bran’s fool mother tell you otherwise.” She pushes herself up, taking the bowl of sauce with her to slop more on the ribs.
Listen to my gut. I want to. It’s what told me to kiss Bran the day of the earthquake, but the trouble is, what if it’s wrong?
“Talk to him,” Ms. Adelaide says, though she doesn’t look at me. “Going ’round and ’round in your head will get you nowhere at all. Talk to him, and then you’ll know what’s what.”
“Talk to who?” Bran steps into the tent. He’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Speak of the devil,” Ms. Adelaide says. “You look like you just swallowed a canary.”
“Nope. I just found out my mother’s gone home with one of her headaches, so tonight, I’m free!” He pulls me to my feet and spins me around in a circle. “Free!”
“Go on then, free boy. You’re going to get into trouble if you stay around my kitchen. Out!” Ms. Adelaide shoos Bran from the tent, but grabs my elbow before I can leave. “Now, girl, listen to me,” she whispers. “They’ll be bringing out whiskey later—stay with Bran and don’t let him drink any. He’s just kicked it, and for him to go back to the bottle? Tragic.” She shakes her head. “Shame we have it here at all. Probably best if you just get Bran to take you home after Madda does her thing. The men, well, things can get out of hand, and you’re new—different.” She cups my chin with her wide, firm hand and gives me a searching look. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I say, shocked at everything she’s just implied. Is that why Bran’s shade is so strange? Because of whiskey? If so, what does that mean for Helen’s own newly healed shade? Did she have the same problem, or is it something else entirely?
“Good.” She squeezes my chin. “I knew you had a good head on your shoulders. Make sure you have a little fun tonight.”
Bran waits for me a few paces away, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “What did Ms. Adelaide want?”
“She said that things can get out of hand sometimes, and if they do, you’re to take me home.”
He nods. “That’s true. And I will. But for now let’s go and get a seat. The drumming will start soon, and then the dancing.”
“Do you dance?”
“No.” He purses his lips. “Not until my father returns.”
“Why is that?”
“Don’t know.” He picks a pinecone up off the ground and throws it as far as he can. It bounces into the trees. “Just doesn’t seem right without him. He’s the one who taught me.”
The longhouse is already full of people when we step inside, but space is made for us near the fire. This is my first time inside the longhouse. Heat rises from the coals in invisible ribbons, making the sisiutl, the double-headed mythical serpent, painted on the far wall look alive. Already the transformation from here to the time of myth has begun, and when I look around, I see that other people feel the shift too.
The drummers have all ceased playing, save for one lone man. He’s ancient, and as the shadows of the fire ripple across his face, I can see his shade, a raccoon, hovering so close I can’t tell where it ends and the man begins. He beats a slow rhythm on his drum—ba-bump, ba-bump—like a heartbeat. I feel it deep in my chest, deep in my bones. Those sitting around me feel it too. I can tell from the way their breathing shifts, the way they close their eyes and listen.
Above, through the smoke hole, the moon peers down at us: Cree, Dene, Anishinaabe, Métis, white, half-breeds, some with the names of their native tongues, some with the names given to them by the white man, some with names that I’ve never heard of before. We’re a strange stew, but we all wait together to see what the moon has to say. The Elders have been cloistered away in a sweat lodge all evening. The crowd’s on edge.
Never takes this long, someone nearby whispers.
I take it that’s not a good sign.
Bran leans into me. The solidity of his shoulder, the heat of his skin, settles into me, helping me stay attached to the ground. I set my hands there, not caring that they’ll come away dirty. In my mind, great roots creep down from my body. Tonight is not a night for spirit to overwhelm me. Tonight, I wish I had kept Madda’s pouch. I have a feeling I could use its strength, whispers or not.
The cadence of the drum changes and the crowd parts. The Elders, wrapped in cloaks of woven cedar bark, stagger up to the fire. Firelight glints off the shells sewn to the capes, shells that have become eyes of the creatures painted there. The Elder’s faces are covered with red ocher and soot, giving them a nightmarish, menacing look. Madda comes last. Her eyes are vacant, and I can tell just by looking at her that only her body is in this world. She looks exactly like Paul when he goes to his place of visions. I scan the crowd, looking for him, for my father. I can’t find them, but I know they’re here, hidden in the shadows.
A woman walks before the Elders, waving a branch of burning sage in the air as another woman hands out smudge sticks to the crowd.
“What do I do with this?” I ask Bran as he hands one to me.
“Wait and see.”
“We’ve been waiting all night,” I murmur.
He smiles. “Time moves differently in the spirit world. You should know that better than me.” He shifts his weight and wraps an arm around my shoulder. I close my eyes as he whispers, “We’ll light them in a bit, after Madda speaks to the Old Ones, asking them for guidance.”
“Guidance for what?”
“For the coming winter, for the path of our people, for healing the world around us—who knows, really. The Old Ones choose what they want to reveal. Madda will deliver their messages, and then the celebration will begin. Dancing, drumming, you know. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll take you home, safe and sound.”
The air around me stirs with a wind that doesn’t come from a natural source. This is the spirit wind, the breath of the world, come to the longhouse to speak its secrets to Madda. I feel it drift past me, then stop and double back. No, I think, I’m not the one you want. She’s over there, under that cape, waiting for you. Please, not me. I’m not ready.
In my mind, I see the wind nod and continue on, looking for the one who has given up her body for its purpose.
The drum changes cadence again and a man starts to sing. Others add their voices, and as Bran joins them I can feel the rumble of his bass coming through his chest, right into my back, echoing out through the longhouse, to the moon, the stars, the sky.
The Elders circle around the fire, supporting Madda as she takes shuffling steps. Her head droops to one side, her mouth slack. The singing grows louder and louder. Her eyes roll back, and every muscle in my body tenses. I know what’s happening. I know, because it’s happened to me. She’s about to have a seizure.
“Won’t be long now,” Bran whispers in my ear.
But then Madda lifts her face to the moon and shrieks. The men let go and she fa
lls to the ground, crawling on her hands and knees, grasping at things only she can see. Then, she whirls around and points at me. All I can see are the whites of her eyes as she bleats, Hoo, hoo.
Bran nudges me. “She’s calling you.”
Everyone’s looking at me as I push myself back, but with Bran right behind me, there’s nowhere to go. This creature isn’t Madda. She’s someone else, someone who terrifies me.
“You must go,” Bran says, more insistent this time as Madda shakes her finger in my direction.
I creep forward. She lunges at me, wrapping me in her arms and cackling. I don’t know what to do. Her grasp is firm and tight, and I can’t breathe. She rocks me back and forth, faster and faster, until the world blurs before my eyes. The singing becomes chanting as the earth tilts and whirls. I squeeze my eyes shut because I feel like I’m falling, falling …
Madda howls. She releases me now and I drop to the ground, panting, as she bays at the moon.
And then, without warning, she collapses in a heap.
That’s when I notice the silence. Everyone stares at us as I crawl forward and check Madda’s breathing. It’s shallow, but regular. “What do I do?” I ask the Elder nearest me. He’s staring at Madda, his eyes wide with fright. “Please—what do I do?”
Madda groans and sits up. “Start the dancing,” she croaks. “Go on, start. Start!” she barks at the nearest person and the drumming begins again. “Henry, help me up.”
Henry Crawford rushes over and lifts Madda to her feet. “You did good, kid,” she says to me as I follow them outside, half-running to keep up with Henry’s long strides. He stops when he reaches the back of the long-house and gestures for me to open a door that leads into a meeting room. There, he sets Madda down on a table.
“You did real good,” she says to me as she struggles to sit up. Henry presses a cup of water into my hands, and I hold it to her mouth. She drinks, coughs, then blinks at me.
“Was that calling down the moon?” I ask.
“No,” Madda says. Her voice is tight with concern. “I’m sorry.” She looks at Henry. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
I agree, though I wish I knew what it was that happened. “But you didn’t do that on purpose,” I say.
Madda shakes her head. “No, I didn’t, and let that be a warning to you not to go messing with things that aren’t yours to mess with. Now, go on back. I’m fine,” she says, giving me a push. “The dancing’s started, and I need to talk to Henry. Alone. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassandra.”
Madda gives me another push. I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want to make sure Madda is all right, that she’s truly back in her body and attached to the earth. I want to ask her what happened to make her scream like that. What could the Old Ones have told her that would have brought that madness to her eyes? And, is that what will happen to me if I go walking in spirit unprepared? I’ll go mad and not even know it?
I make my way back toward the longhouse. The dancing has spilled outside and with it, whiskey. I can smell its scent on the air. Bran’s nowhere in sight. I look inside the longhouse for him, but right away I’m overwhelmed with the sparks of spirit. There is no barrier between our world and theirs tonight, and one glance at the dancers, whirling so fast that I can’t tell where dancer stops and spirit begins, tells me what I already know: I am not ready for this yet.
You have no choice, the thunderbird guarding the door seems to say. This is what has been given to you. You cannot give it back. Ready or not, here it comes.
I turn and rush outside, bumping right into Paul. “Hey,” he says, taking my arm and steering me into the park. “You okay?”
“No.” I look over my shoulder at the longhouse. “Were you there? Did you see?”
“Yeah,” Paul says. “Not the best way to introduce you to everyone, was it?”
“No.” I cross my arms. Suddenly I’m very cold. “Do you know where Bran is?”
“No,” he says a little too quickly, and when I follow his gaze, I see two shadows just a little ways off. Firelight flickers across them. It’s Avalon and Bran. She passes him a bottle and leans in, kissing his neck.
“Cass,” Paul calls as I pull away from him. “Cass, come back!”
But I don’t. I find my feet and run into the night.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Halfway home, my dress soaked with sweat and my legs burning, I stop running. What am I running from? I’m not even sure. The sight of Bran and Avalon? Yes, that’s part of it, but it’s Madda, too, how she singled me out. She might not have said a word to me, but in those howls I heard despair, and confusion, and sadness for me and for her. What did the Old Ones show her? What could have been so terrible?
I stand there, panting, thoughts of Madda giving way to Bran again. How could I be so stupid? I try to tell myself he doesn’t matter, he’s just some dumb guy, but that’s a lie. He does matter now. I promised myself that I wouldn’t let this happen, that I wouldn’t care, that I wouldn’t become like the women who live here, the ones who pine after Band men and get nothing in return. So I won’t. No matter what I feel in my heart, I won’t go back to that.
Bran’s not like that, a small part of my mind whispers.
But the image of him and Avalon passing the bottle, sharing a kiss? It mutes that whisper. I know what I saw, and no matter how strong I wish I was, it still hurts.
Above me, the night sky is awash with stars. When I was little, my mother told me that when people died, they became stars. I’d like to believe that my mother’s up there somewhere, watching me at this very moment.
Mom, if you can hear me, make this right. Make everything all right. Make me strong enough to do what needs to be done. Make me brave enough to weather whatever is heading my way.
I’m still staring at the stars when I hear someone coming up the road. For a moment I think about stepping into the forest and hiding, but I don’t. There’s only darkness there, so I break into a run again.
It could be Paul. It could be your father. It could be … But I don’t let that whisper take root. All hope needs is a spark, and I’m too smart to allow that.
I don’t stop until I reach our house, my heart pounding, my skin cold with fear. Whoever is chasing me hasn’t let up, and isn’t far behind.
I round the corner and am halfway down the hill when Bran calls my name. I don’t stop. I’m past the house, the boathouse, out to the end of the dock as fear transforms itself into fury. How dare he chase me, after what I saw in the park? How dare he!
His footsteps echo behind me. “Cass! It isn’t what you think,” he calls from several steps away, as if he’s afraid to approach.
“Isn’t it?” My words come out as a hiss. “I saw you with her. What was all this about, coming to get me, holding my hand? What was that all about? I’m not like her. I’m not like that.” I spit the last word at him.
“I know. I know you aren’t,” he says, his voice halting, unsure. This is not the Bran I know. He holds his hands out toward me, pleading. “Please, Cass. You have to listen. She has ideas, Avalon. She won’t listen. She kissed me. I didn’t kiss her, and I’m sorry you had to see that. There was something between us, once, but it hasn’t been that way for a long time. That’s where I went when I left you with Ms. Adelaide. She had something of mine I needed back, and I had something of hers. I thought she’d understand, but …” His voice trails off.
I want to believe him. I want to believe him so badly it hurts.
“Ask Paul,” he says. His eyes are full of desperation. “Please. He’ll tell you.”
I turn toward Bran. A green stone hangs at his throat. The one Avalon wore the day I met her. With two quick steps, I stand right before him, catching the stone in my hand. “Then what is this?”
“That?” He meets my gaze. Moonlight reflects in his eyes. “That is mine. Avalon took it months ago, and I’ve been trying to get it back ever since. That’s what you saw—me, trying to get it back.”
; “And the whiskey?”
“I didn’t drink any.” He whispers the words, and I can tell they’re true, but I can also tell that he can taste the memory of whiskey on his lips. If a bottle appeared in my hand and I offered it to him now, he’d drink. “I’m trying, Cass,” he says. “I don’t want to be like my mom, but it’s hard. It’s so hard sometimes.”
We stand like that for several minutes, me gazing into his eyes, searching for—something. I don’t know what, exactly, and finally I sigh and pull him close, resting my forehead against his.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” he says.
“I think so,” I say.
“Good.” He traces my arm with a single finger. “I want you to have …”
The sentence remains incomplete as the dock suddenly lurches. Bran makes a desperate grab for me but misses, and we both tumble into the water.
I try to swim back, but my hand slides off something smooth and slick that blocks my way. It writhes in the water, churning it to white as I kick with all my strength, trying to get away.
“Here!” Bran screams. He’s back up on the dock. “Give me your hand!”
I swim toward him, stretching my hand out to his, but as our fingers touch, I’m hit square in the stomach and borne to the bottom of the lake, pinned there by a glittering mass of black.
I kick and try to scream, but water fills my mouth. My hands rake across leathery skin as clouds of sparks fly at me, misting my vision so I can’t see anything as I lash out, fighting with all the strength I have. The creature bites me right in the stomach and I scream, and scream again, even as water gushes into my mouth, down into my lungs, consuming me whole. The lake is my coffin, and I am about to die.
No, I think. No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! I will not be trapped here in the dark with that creature. I want to live, so I can hunt it down and do to it what it’s done to me!
And with that, I start to kick—kick with all my might. I will not die here. I will not die. This is my life. The lake and her creature will not steal it from me.
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