Shadows Cast by Stars (20 page)

I’m beginning to think the raven that’s been dogging me is actually Paul. It’s there, perched on the railing of the sun-deck every time I wander into the sitting room. It follows me when I make my way down the hill to feed the chickens. I hear the whoosh of its wings outside my window every night. It haunts me, and makes me worry for my brother.

I’ve only seen him a couple times since the night of the attack. Last night, he crept into my room and sat on the floor while he thought I was sleeping, but I wasn’t. Tension hangs between us. That’s what woke me.

He’s afraid of me.

And, if he really is that raven, I’m a little afraid of him, too.

• • •

My father rouses me early. “Get up,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

There’s magic in the air today. I can see it in the rosy glow of the early-morning sun and smell it drifting on the wind.

I dress quickly. The scabs on my stomach crack when I lift my arms, but it’s a good feeling, a feeling that reminds me of nature’s power to remedy wrongs. Breathing doesn’t hurt, finally, and I feel so good I bet I’d be able to fly if I tried.

Paul and my father are outside, waiting for me. Paul drops his eyes to the ground as I wind my hair into a braid. I hate this distance between us, but how can I fix it when I don’t know why it’s there?

“Hey,” I say, edging up to him and giving him a nudge. “Haven’t seen you around much.”

He shrugs and turns his dark eyes to my father, who gives each of us a forked willow branch. “Gonna teach you to witch,” he says as he takes another branch from the back pocket of his jeans. “Figured we need a well. I’m tired of hauling water up the hill.” He holds the tines of the branch in his hands. “Gently,” he says as we copy him. “Let the willow talk to you.”

I close my eyes and allow breath to slip in and out of
my lungs. The air around me hums. I feel open, a channel for the earth. The willow branch vibrates in my hands and when I open my eyes, I see the tip is bobbling up and down.

“That’s good,” my father says, nodding in encouragement. “Now, walk with it. When it points at the ground and doesn’t move, you know you’ve found water.”

I start off slowly at first, a step forward, a step to the side. The willow branch bounces and trembles, bending in impossible directions as it seeks out water far below the ground. Everything else fades away.

The branch continues to jerk back and forth as I make my way up the hill toward the back of the house, and then, all at once, it points straight down at the ground.

“Dad,” I call. “I think I found something.”

He comes racing up the hill. “Looks good,” he says, holding out his own willow branch. It mirrors mine. My father pats my shoulder and drives his branch into the ground. “Good spot for the well—close to the house, but not too close. How far down do you think we’ll have to dig?” he asks as he narrows his eyes.

I recognize that look—he already knows the answer, but wants to know if I’m a natural at this. It’s the same look he gave me when he taught me to fire a rifle.

I close my eyes. “Not far down,” I hear myself say. In
my mind, I see myself burrow into the earth like a root, a twisting, winding root searching for water among the rocks and the bones and the ghosts of dead things. And then I see the water—a deep, dark pool like the one in the spirit lands. It’s fed by three streams. “About twenty feet down,” I say. “There’s a pool down there.”

My father whistles under his breath. “Well, that’s lucky. Sounds like an artesian spring. Huh. Surprising no one tapped it before.” He smiles. “If there’s enough pressure, we might even be able to pipe it into the house. Wouldn’t that be something!” He takes the willow branch from my hand. “Good work. Let’s go see how Paul is making out, huh?”

We go back down to the house, but Paul is gone. His willow branch lies on the ground, twisted in half. My father sighs as he bends to pick it up, and shakes his head.

I stare at the forest. I’m pretty sure that’s where Paul’s gone.

Why, for once, couldn’t this gift have gone to Paul? He needs it more than I do, and if I could, I would give it to him. I would give him anything he asked for. But I can’t, and no amount of wishing is ever going to change that.

I
leave for Madda’s after lunch. I’m worried about Paul. He didn’t come back, and I can’t help feeling that all the time he spends by himself isn’t helping. Part of me hopes he’s with Bran, and maybe he is. I like the idea of them working wood together. The thought erases some of the worry I feel for Paul, but not all.

The road is thick with shadows, and chickadees dart back and forth, chattering as they hunt for bugs. I pause to watch them. The basket on my arm suddenly feels very heavy, even though all it holds is Madda’s herbal. But it’s my gathering basket, and a good apprentice, says Madda, never goes anywhere without one. You never know when you might spot something valuable, she says.

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.”