Shadows Cast by Stars (16 page)

I try not to cough as I inhale. My eyelids seal away the world, but I still try to look through them. Somewhere out there is my spirit creature, my shade. Madda said a shade is a bit of the divine, that spark that gives a person her soul. If I have no totem, what does that mean? That I’m soulless?

“Stop looking,” Madda snaps. I can hear her take a seat and shuffle around until she’s comfortable. “Looking’s my job right now. Yours is to breathe.”

Gradually my breathing steadies as my mind drifts. I see a pool of water so black it’s blue. A lake. It stretches out as far as time. A single drop of water falls into it, sending ripples racing across the darkness. I follow the ripples, I become the ripples, I am the water, I am sinking down, down …

Madda touches my hand. “Open your eyes,” she whispers.

I do, though it takes several seconds before I recognize the room I’m sitting in, and several more before I feel like I fully inhabit my body.

Madda fixes me with a serious stare. “You learned to do this by yourself?” she says.

I nod.

“Hmm.” Her hand returns to her chin. “Herbs might have to wait for a bit. Take this.” She turns to grab a pouch on a string from the counter. “I was going to wait to give this to you, but you need it now.” She pushes the pouch into my hand. “This is your medicine bag. There’s something inside, but don’t look at it—not just yet. You’ll know when the time is right. You can add your own stuff as you go along, things that have deep meaning to you. Remember what I said about dreaming, about having something to lock on to, to get back? This is part of it, like home base in a way. It should do the trick.” She pauses to give me a hard look. “Don’t ever take it off.”

I slip the string around my neck, wondering why I can’t take it off or look to see what’s inside. How, exactly, is a pouch going to protect me? “Did you see anything?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “I was told that I shouldn’t
interfere. Well, they used terms a little stronger than that, but you get the idea. This is between you and your totem. You have to figure it out. That doesn’t mean we can’t work on the other stuff. The roads to the spirit world are many. We can walk the other ones together while you figure out what your totem is. But I think that’s good enough for today, don’t you? Off you go.” She fans the remnants of the sage smoke away and then nods to the door.

I try not to think about the pouch hanging around my neck on the way home, but with every step I take, it bounces against my breastbone, begging me to open it and see what’s inside. I make it halfway home before I give in. After all, Madda said I’d know when the time was right, and though something in my mind whispers that I should wait, I don’t. I can’t. The pouch and its contents are driving me crazy.

Inside is a carving, a tiny woman’s face chiseled out of cedar. Her eyes are pebbles and her lips are painted red. I tuck the carving back inside the pouch as a feeling of dread pours over me. Madda’s right. I should have waited. I should have heeded her words. As I set off again, a whisper takes up in my mind, one that doesn’t come from within me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it came from the tiny carved woman in the pouch. What she says, I can’t make out, but she’s there, tickling my
mind, laughing at me because I don’t know what she’s saying. How can something like this protect me? Maybe Madda was wrong. Or, maybe, I’m the wrong one. I should have left well enough alone, and I didn’t.

I try to ignore the whispers as best I can, but by the time I reach the top of our driveway, I can’t stand it anymore. I slip the pouch off and tuck it into my pocket. The whispering stops as suddenly as it started, and relief floods through my body.

Will I tell Madda what I’ve done? No. I’ve managed this long on my own.

But when I fall asleep that night, the whispers flood my dreams. The first thing I do when I get up is walk down to the water and throw the pouch into the lake.

And though I know I should, I won’t tell Madda that, either.

M
adda and Helen surprise me by arriving at my house just after breakfast. They both wear baskets strung across their backs. “We need willow. There’s a good grove near here,” Madda says. “I used the last of my supply removing chips from the new Corridor people.”

“How many new people?” I ask as I grab my basket.

“A half dozen.” She yawns. “Kept me up most of the night. You’ll see them at the gathering tonight.”

We don’t speak as we follow the road along the lake’s edge. Madda glances at me from time to time, but doesn’t ask what I’m thinking about, though I can tell she’d like to know. What would she say if I told her I threw away the medicine pouch she gave me? I can scarcely believe it myself. How could I have done that?

Because it was talking to you
, I tell myself.
It was driving you crazy
.

So shouldn’t I have asked Madda about it first?

Maybe, but it’s too late now, and I’d almost believe that, if it wasn’t for the sick feeling in my stomach.

The willow grove is on the shore of the lake. We squat in the mud and ask permission to take the willow before we begin our work. The mosquitoes arrive soon after, and even though Madda sprays us down with a mist that smells of camphor and lemon balm, they’re hell-bent on eating us alive.

Helen drifts close to me, and I can tell she wants to apologize so badly it’s killing her, but she can’t seem to find the words. So I find them for her. “It’s okay,” I say when Madda conveniently wanders out of earshot. “I understand.”

Helen’s on the verge of tears. “No, you don’t,” she says in a thick, choked voice. “You haven’t been anything but nice to me, and they …”

“Haven’t?” I arch an eyebrow. “That’s not hard to believe, considering how they treated me.” A tear slips down Helen’s cheek, so I bend to cut another branch of willow, giving her time to wipe the tear away. “I’m used to being alone, Helen. I’ve never had many friends—just Paul, really, and if they don’t like me,
so what? But you—you’ve known those people for a long time. If it’s easier for you to pretend you don’t like me when they’re around, I understand. Really, I do. Doesn’t mean we don’t know the truth.” But it still stings just the same.

Helen sniffs and shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I’ll do it right next time. I will. I promise.”

That’s when Madda rounds the corner and wades her way back through the shallows toward us. “That’s enough for today,” she says, batting the bugs around her face. “Time to get back to the cottage.”

“Okay,” I say, though I take a moment to give thanks before we leave. Helen copies me. Madda nods in approval. If she only knew.

Once we’re back at the cottage, Helen and I are assigned the task of stripping the leaves off the willow branches. There’s a gathering tonight, and Madda wants the bark to make a tea for the hangovers she’ll have to treat tomorrow.

She works at her mortar and pestle, crushing feverfew. “Make sure you don’t drink any of that firewater the Band brings tonight—horrible stuff. Impure. It’ll give you a terrible headache. When you’re finished with that, bind the white sage over there into wands. Oh, and take this.” She slides a sheathed knife across the table to me. “It’ll come
in handy. You never know when you might need to gut a fish or strip some bark. I never go anywhere without mine. Neither will you, from now on.”

I slip it onto my belt, feeling oddly pleased. The knife makes me feel like I’m an initiate of a secret order. Maybe I am.

Someone raps on the door. I rise to answer it, hoping that maybe it’s Bran. I haven’t seen him since he got back. Madda waves me away. “Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Fine,” I grumble. I’m tired of doing what I’m doing, but when I see who’s at the door, I find I’m very glad to be stripping willow. It’s Avalon. Helen slips out the back door at the sight of her.

“Hi, Madda,” Avalon says. “My dad said you’d have his medicine for him. He’s almost out.”

“Oh lord.” Madda shakes her head. “It completely slipped my mind. Come in, come in. I’ll make it up right away.” She bustles about, pulling jars from cupboards as Avalon and I eye each other.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I say back.

“What are you doing?” Her gaze flickers to Madda, who’s pounding something into a pulp, as I set one willow switch aside and take up another.

“Getting these ready for Madda. They’re for …”

“Headaches. I know. I used to help Madda before you came.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. She’s working hard to be nice, I can tell, and I wonder if she knows Madda’s taken me as her apprentice.

“Do you,” she says carefully, “miss it?”

“It?”

“The Corridor.” She rubs the chip scar on her forearm. “Being connected. Having friends. You know. Having hot water.” She laughs.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that the only hot water at my house was boiled on the cookstove, that my father didn’t allow etherstream devices in the house, and friends? Can’t say I ever had those, either. She’s talking about a different world than the one I knew.

“Okay, here you go.” Madda hands Avalon a jar of salve. “It’s best if he can let it steep for a couple of days. Tell him to come see me if it doesn’t do the trick.”

“Thank you,” Avalon says, though she doesn’t move to go. “Will you be at the gathering tonight?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I say. “Will you?”

“Yes.” She smiles at the jar in her hand. “Make sure you come say hi, okay?”

And with that, she leaves. I watch her make her way
past the roses and out into the lane. Madda watches her go too. “A troubled girl, that one,” she says.

“Is she?” As if I didn’t agree.

“Yep.” Madda closes the door. “I had thought about making her my apprentice before you came, but she isn’t the right sort. Too much ambition. Too hungry for power. A girl like her, she’d lord her gifts over everyone else, use them for punishment and reward. Didn’t take it well when I told her you’d be taking her place. Can’t blame her, I guess. These ones from the Corridor, they just have trouble fitting in here. You—you grew up living the Old Way, knowing what it’s like to do without. Her—she never had a day when she worried about where her dinner would come from, and she hasn’t quite forgiven her father for bringing her here.” Madda moves to the window. “Avalon hasn’t fit in with the other girls, but she seems to be making an effort with you. Try with her, would you? She could use a friend—someone who has a bit of moral fiber.”

“Okay,” I say, though I doubt friendship is what Avalon has in mind. Still, Madda has asked, and so I’ll do my best.

“Now,” Madda says, “you head off home too. This gathering tonight is important for you and your family. You want to be at your best. A little bird told me that someone’s looking forward to seeing you there too.”

“Someone?” I force myself not to smile as I get up and wipe willow juice from my hands. “Someone who?”

Madda doesn’t answer. She just grins as she steers me toward the door.

The house is empty when I arrive home. My father has left a pile of rocks by the door, arranged to indicate he’ll be back soon. I move them, restacking them to say I’m home safely, and then run down the hill. The lake beckons.

But I draw to a halt at the boathouse and stare at the dock, the memory of it lurching beneath me suddenly fresh in my mind. A merganser and her chicks float by, watching me with their queer red eyes. I step out from the boathouse’s shadows, and they scurry away, leaving ripples in the otherwise seamless water. Little by little, I inch my way out toward the end of the dock, pausing with each step, listening, waiting for the dock to move, but it doesn’t. Nothing happens at all, so by the time I sit down and dangle my feet in the water, I’m laughing at myself. My father was right. It shifted under my weight, nothing more. Docks don’t just move without reason.

The sun is hot, and the water, so cool against my bare legs. I pull off my shirt, and then, with a quick glance back at the house just to make sure no one’s come home,
I pull off the rest of my clothes and slip into the lake.

It’s icy cold, but soon my flesh numbs. I float on my back, naked, until I feel the forest watching me, and then I dive. The merganser flashes past me in a blur of red, chasing a school of fish. I take comfort in that and linger underwater as long as I can while my lungs tighten. Green waterweeds wave back and forth. The sun trickles down as if it’s made of water, and the lake, of glass.

I wait there until my lungs feel like they’re about to burst, and then I set my feet on the lakebed, bend my knees, and push off, jettisoning myself to the surface. The merganser chicks scatter as I break through the water. I laugh, and then notice the shadow hanging over me.

The muskrat boy stands on the dock. “I didn’t know there were mermaids in the lake,” he says.

I push myself underwater and swim to the end of the dock, my cheeks burning against the chill of the water as my mind races.
How am I going to get out with him standing there, and just what did he see?
When I surface, I press my chest against a piling so only my head’s visible.

“No need to be shy,” he says as he strolls toward me. “I didn’t see much. These yours?” He points at the heap of clothing at his feet.