I’m looking for something that I can use to hold the sisiutl’s pearls when I spy a clump of wild ginger growing along the side of the road. Its ugly brown flowers poke out of the ground like alien creatures emerging from the primordial stew.
“Thank you,” I whisper as I dig the plant with my hands, inhaling the strong, dank scent of earth mingling with the tang of ginger. The plant comes free of the soil with ease and as I tuck it into the basket, nestling it under a layer of fern blades to protect it from drying out, I hear the ratcheting of a bicycle coming up the road.
It’s Cedar. He stops a few feet from me. “What’re you doing?” he asks.
“Digging ginger.”
He sniffs the air. “I can smell it.” He smiles.
I notice he’s missing one of his front teeth. I’m pretty sure he had it last time I saw him. “What happened to your tooth?”
“Oh, that.” He rubs his jaw with an absentminded laziness. “Happened after the gathering. You know.” He shrugs. “Where are you going?”
“Madda’s.” I walk past him, hoping he’ll just leave me alone and continue on his way. He doesn’t. Gravel crunches as he turns the bike around and then there he is, pedaling next to me.
“How did you like the gathering?” he asks.
I give him a sidelong glance. Does he know about the sisiutl? “Why?”
“Just making conversation.”
“Why?”
“Are you always so bitchy? Shit, just trying to be friendly.”
“Oh.” I glance away. He’s right. I am being bitchy and have no reason to be. “Sorry. I haven’t been feeling well.”
“I heard. You okay?” His eyes might be plain brown and a little too small, but they’re squinting in what looks like genuine concern.
“Yeah.” I shift the basket from one arm to the other. “Thanks.”
He nods at it. “It’s a long walk to Madda’s. I could double you, if you want.”
“No, thanks,” I say as I pick up my pace. I don’t know what it is—the look in his eyes, the strange smile pulling at his mouth, but the last thing I want is to go anywhere with him.
Cedar rides beside me. “Oh, come on. You can sit up here on the handlebars. I won’t bite—promise.”
“No, thanks. I’m still working on getting better. I don’t want to risk falling off and getting hurt again.” Please, leave me alone, I want to say, but the words won’t leave my mouth.
“No; let me show you.” He pedals hard, cutting me off with a skid of tire. “Here—sit here.” He moves in to grab me, but I sidestep him.
“Cedar, I don’t want to.” I walk on, ignoring him as he curses and makes another grab for me.
“Come here,” he says, this time without the pleasant air.
“No!” I glare at him, but something’s wrong. I can feel it. No matter what I say, I don’t think he’ll take no for an answer. He catches my wrist and holds me fast, pulling me toward him, smiling, until I twist and wrench myself free.
Sparks flash around my eyes as I break into a run. I hear Cedar grunt as he pedals hard, but I’m off the road and into the woods. Brambles slash at my legs. Branches reach out to tear at my face, but I don’t care. The sparks cluster around my head, blurring my vision as I fight to get away from him.
I can hear him crashing behind me. “Stop! Stop, damn it! Don’t go in there! I’m not going to hurt you!”
I continue to run until he tackles me. We fall into a thicket of stinging nettle and I claw at his face.
“Jesus Christ, stop!” he says as he tries to pin my hands down.
“Don’t touch me!” I strike at him.
“Stop it!” His hands are so big that he holds both of my wrists at once. “You shouldn’t be here. Ah, shit!” He stands up, pulling me with him, then lets go. Angry red welts run up his legs and more are sprouting up all over his face. He points at the spear-leafed plant crushed by our fall. “Stinging nettles? Why did you have to go through stinging nettles?”
“I didn’t. If you hadn’t chased me, we wouldn’t be here.” Welts are rising on my hands and arms.
“Come on. We need to get out of here. This is old burial ground—not a good place to be.” He glances around and holds out a hand. When I don’t take it, he rolls his eyes. “I’m not a monster, you know.”
“Right,” I mutter. “And all that stuff out there on the road? When I said no? Why wasn’t that good enough for you?”
“Shh,” he whispers. His eyes dart around, searching for something among the trees as I realize the birds have fallen silent. “We need to go—now.”
I shiver and follow him back to the road.
“What on earth happened to you two?” Madda jumps off her ladder, newly severed blackberry cane still in hand, gaping at us as Cedar leans his bike against the gate. Our legs and arms are stained green from the dock I found along the roadside and used to take away the worst of the sting.
“Nettles,” Cedar says. “On the old burial ground.”
“What,” Madda says, fixing Cedar with a piercing glare, “were you doing on the burial ground?”
I speak before Cedar has a chance to. “Cedar chased me into the forest.”
“What?” Madda says.
“I thought he was going to hurt me.”
Madda’s face loses all its color. “Didn’t you see the wardings, Cassandra?”
“What wardings?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t know what the wardings for a burial ground look like,” she snaps.
I grind my teeth together. How am I supposed to know what wardings look like if no one has bothered to tell me? How am I supposed to know the rules and regulations of this place if they aren’t spelled out anywhere? The words try to force their way out, even though I know I’ll regret them later, but Cedar interjects first.
“The markers weren’t there.” His voice is hard. “I double-checked as we were leaving. They’re gone.”
“That can’t be.” Madda starts to pace back and forth, tugging at her chin. She stops and leans toward Cedar so suddenly that he sits back and hits his head against the wall. “You’re positive?”
“Yes, Madda,” he says firmly. “The markers are missing.”
“Okay,” Madda says. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Cedar, you’re coming with me. We need to see the Elders. Cassandra, you’re going to stay here.” She fixes me with a stern look. “Go inside. There’s a bottle of vinegar in the pantry. Use it to clean that green stuff off you. It’ll kill the last of the nettle sting, too. Then go home and come back tomorrow. If anyone sees the two of you looking like this, well, talk’ll spread all over town like wildfire, and not in a good way.”
I notice that this doesn’t seem to bother Cedar, but it sure bothers me. He got what he wanted, didn’t he? I can’t help feeling he’s one of those people who taints everything he touches, and now I’m damned by association.
I’ve just finished washing my arms and my legs with vinegar when someone knocks on the door. Quickly I pull on my clothes and look up to find Avalon peering through the curtains. “I know you’re in there,” she calls. “Let me in!”
Her nose wrinkles when I open the door. “What’s that smell?”
“Vinegar.”
“Oh. Where’s Madda?”
“Gone into town,” I say, though I know perfectly well that Avalon must have passed Madda on her way up here.
She motions to my green-stained and welted legs. “So, what happened?”
Like I’m about to tell her. “Long story,” I say, waving her away.
“Huh. Looks painful.” She trails her hand across the table, over the counter, touching the glass bottles of herbs lined up, waiting for Madda’s return, as if she owns them all. “Do you like it? Being a witch’s helper?”
“She isn’t a witch.” I cap the vinegar and set it back in the pantry. “She’s a medicine woman. There’s a difference.”
“Whatever.” She opens a cupboard and begins to paw through the contents
.
“I don’t think you should do that,” I say.
She doesn’t stop. “Why?”
“Because that’s where Madda keeps her poisons. You should know that.”
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “Really? Madda never taught me that sort of thing.”
“Oh, well, that mushroom, the one in that container you’re about to pick up? It’s called fly agaric. It’s so poisonous even the dew from it can kill you.”
“Oh.” Avalon closes the cupboard door and tries to pretend that she’s not interested.
I can’t help but smile as I turn away. For once I have the upper hand. “Madda might be a while. Do you want to come back later?”
“No,” she says. “I’ll wait here.”
“Fine. Just don’t touch anything.” Helen’s left a half-finished basket sitting beside the fireplace, so I pick it up and start weaving where she left off. Madda did say I could go home, but that was before Avalon arrived, and I’m pretty sure leaving Avalon here by herself isn’t a good idea.
“So,” Avalon says, nodding at the basket, “where’s Helen?”
“Don’t know,” I say as I join a new piece of cedar to the one Helen’s already worked. “At the orchard, I guess.”
“Really.” Avalon snickers. “You know about her, right?”
My breath sticks in my throat. “Know what?” I say as I force myself to keep weaving, even though every muscle in my body has gone rigid.
“Let’s just say”—Avalon gets up and peers out the window, smiling to herself—“that Helen isn’t as innocent as you think she is. Ask Cedar about it sometime. I’m sure he’d love to tell you.” She opens the door. “You know, we should hang out more. You, me, Bran, and Paul. Just the four of us.”
I stop weaving and stare at her. Right. Just the four of us. “Maybe,” I say. “I’ll talk to Paul about it.”
“Paul. He’s a pretty sensitive guy, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” I say slowly. Just what is she getting at?
“I worry about him. He feels things too deeply. Takes things too personally. People like that, well, it’s not hard to hurt them.”
“Paul’s stronger than you think,” I say carefully. “You’d be surprised just how strong.”
Avalon looks at me for a long moment. Neither of us has said what we mean, but I think we understand each other perfectly. “Well,” she says with a lazy smile, “looks like Madda’s going to be longer than I expected. I’m glad I got to spend a little time with you. It’s hard to get you alone, you know.” She hops off her perch and heads out, but not before stopping to pick a daisy. I watch her as she twirls it between her fingers, and then, pulls the petals from it, one by one, tossing them over her shoulder as she strolls down the path. He loves me, he loves me not. An innocent game, if played by anyone else, but Avalon is no innocent. If I didn’t know that before, I certainly do now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Madda’s attempt at discretion hasn’t worked. Some-one’s been talking—two someones, with the names of Avalon and Cedar, no doubt—and the whole town’s buzzing about the missing markers. Judging from the way people look at me as I walk down the street, I know there’s been more talk than that.
“That damned Cedar,” Madda mutters to herself. “Never could keep his mouth shut. Just hold your head high,” Madda says, loudly enough for the people nearby to here. “Not your fault people are stupid enough not to know a lie when they hear one.”
We’ve been summoned to a meeting with the Elders. Madda tried to get me out of it, but they insisted, and I can tell she’s not happy about it.
I follow her past the watchmen totem poles and the forbidding stare of the thunderbird. My palms are sweating.
Madda stops and sets a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let them see your fear,” she whispers. “Just be you. Tell the truth and everything will be fine.”
I nod as we set off again. Dust motes catch in the light drifting through the smoke hole, casting the great room in a pleasantly hazy glow. Nothing remains of the gathering, none of the madness that gripped Madda, not even the ashes from the fire, but I can feel the songs in the air, the words that bring the old stories alive, turning myth into reality. The supernaturals press at me, wanting to take root in my body, wanting me to dance them back into this world, but I don’t let them. This isn’t the time or the place, and little by little, they back away, waiting their turn to be called forth.
Madda opens a door and we step into the meeting room, where the Elders wait for us. All men. That’s the first thing I notice, and though Madda prepared me for this, seeing them here, staring me down, sets my heart fluttering. Henry Crawford sits at the end of a narrow table, leaning back in his chair. The others I don’t know. Henry nods at me, and then looks down the line of men.
I glance around for a place to sit, but there is none. Madda stands at my side, and I can tell she’s uncomfortable too. This isn’t a casual chat. It’s the first time these men will test my resolve, and we all know this meeting will establish the dynamic between us from here on in. Right now, it’s not so important. I’m an apprentice and will be for some time. But later, when Madda passes on? I pray that’ll happen years from now. I can’t imagine that I’ll ever really be ready to face these men alone.
“So, you gonna stand there and stare, or are you gonna tell us what happened?” This comes from a man with fat jowls and gray hair. He leans forward and glowers like a great, fat toad.
Madda nudges me. I take a step forward and glance back at her. The truth is, I’m not entirely sure what I’m supposed to say because I’m not sure what they’re asking about. Do they want to know about the sisiutl, or the incident at the burial ground?
“Something wrong with her, Madda?” another man says.
“Nope. You’re just going to have to be a bit more specific. Speak plain, you old fools.” She says this in an offhand, friendly manner, but there’s a hint of warning about it, as if she’s reminding them that we’re here for their benefit, not the other way around.
Henry Crawford speaks up next. “So, do you wanna tell us what you were doing on the burial ground, then?”
My gaze flickers to Madda. They already know I was with Cedar and they already know his version of the story. So why do they want my take? What could I possibly tell them that they don’t already think they know? The words I choose are important, that much I can tell. “I didn’t know it was a burial ground,” I decide to say. Keep it vague.
The men exchange looks. I can’t tell if what I’ve said is the wrong thing or not, but I do sense that I’m on trial and they’re my jury, and all the reasons I have for hating the Band come flooding back to me. What right do they have to judge me? Who says they’re any wiser than I am? Who’s elected them? Not me. I never asked for any of this.
Madda must sense I’m about to explode because she rests a hand on my shoulder again. “Tell them the rest, Cassandra.”
I draw a deep breath. “I was on my way to see Madda. Cedar offered me a ride on his bike, and I said no—a couple of times—and I got scared because he wouldn’t leave me alone. So I ran.”
Henry Crawford nods, but he’s the only one who seems to believe me. The rest have skeptical looks on their faces.
“You know what you’re saying, don’t you?” the jowled man says. “That’s a pretty strong accusation.”
“I’m not accusing anyone of anything,” I say, drawing myself up tall so I don’t feel so scared. “I’m telling you what happened, just like you asked.” I can hear my tone start to get lippy, and I know that’s dangerous territory. These men have the power to make my life a living hell, and, by proxy, my family’s, but when I see the corner of Madda’s mouth quiver like she’s resisting the temptation to smile, I know I’m doing okay.
“Teach her the wardings,” Henry Crawford says to Madda.
And that’s that. I’m not sure what’s happened, for as Madda steers me from the room, I’m left bewildered. They brought me all the way down h
ere just to tell Madda that?
Before we’re out of earshot, the men start talking. “Stupid half-breed” is the first thing I hear. Followed by: “Idiot kid.” “Pot-stirrer.” “My son wouldn’t lie.” “Slut.”
Madda walks faster, towing me along, but not fast enough. All I want to do is run back into that room to give them a piece of my mind, but Madda tightens her grip on my arm. “Let them think what they want,” she mutters. “They’re fools. The people who count will always know you for who you are. For the truth of you.” She halts and turns me so we’re looking each other right in the eye. “You know that, right? You know who you are? You know they’re just a bunch of spineless, scared men?”
I nod. I do know, but that doesn’t mean their words don’t pierce me like glass. I want to know what Cedar said. I want to know what his father believes, because I’ll set him right. I’ll show him who his son really is.
“Just don’t forget who’s on your side. They haven’t done battle with a sisiutl, have they? Although it’s just as well that they don’t know about that, considering what just happened. No telling what they’d do if they knew your true power. Then they’d have real reason to be scared.”
Maybe she’s trying to make me feel better, but it doesn’t help. Not one bit.
Bran is the last to know. It always works that way.
I’m sitting on the sundeck, staring out at the lake, watching for the sisiutl. I should be weeding, or mending my father’s work shirt, or kneading bread, but I’ve found a length of rope. It’s been some time since I’ve made something, and I can’t stop myself. My hands are twisting and knotting, forming the rope and the stones I’ve gathered into a wind chime. That’s when I hear Bran’s footsteps rounding the corner of the house, and from the way they fall on the wood of the sundeck, I know, just from their rhythm, that he’s upset.
“I should have been there.” His voice is breathy, as if the words hurt his throat.
Should he have? I look up at him. For sixteen years I’ve survived without Bran Eagleson. I stand, slowly, and lift my shirt to expose the scar on my belly before Bran can look away. “Look at this, Bran. Look. I don’t need a protector. I am capable of taking care of myself, and if you can’t handle that, then you should leave.” I let my shirt fall back into place and sit back down. Did I really just say that?
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