Shadows Cast by Stars (28 page)

Yes, but I shake my head. “Later. Do any of you have symptoms?”

Chris shakes his head. “Not yet.”

Maybe they’re not really sick. Maybe everyone’s made a huge mistake. My skin crawls and I look at my arm again, half expecting the black marks of Plague to be worming their way across my skin, but nothing’s there. “I guess you’d better take me to them.”

Chris steps outside, blows a single blast from the signal horn to let everyone know to stay away, and then leads us out. I notice Henry Crawford’s brought his rifle with him.

The lean-to is directly behind the cabin. Chris enters it first, holding a lantern before him as he beckons me inside. I pause, draw a deep breath, and step across the
threshold. Henry Crawford leans against the doorjamb and peers at the men on the floor. Even in the flickering light, I can see they’re in bad shape. Only one of them is conscious.

Everyone’s watching, waiting for me to perform some sort of miracle.
Think
, I tell myself.
Pretend you’re Madda. What would she do?

“Cassandra?” Henry says. “Need something?” “Give me just a second.” I draw a couple of deep breaths, trying to steady the pounding of my heart. “Okay. I need Madda’s medicine kit. It’s with the packs. Ask someone to leave it outside. We don’t want to contaminate anyone else.” Henry nods and disappears, closing the door behind him, sealing us away from the night.

I kneel beside the man who’s still conscious.

“Am I dying?” he says. His voice squeaks like a rusty hinge.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You look awfully young to be a healer.”

“I agree, but you don’t have much of a choice, do you?”

He manages a rattling laugh. “I’ll take what I can get.”

I draw a deep breath and start examining him. Maybe, just maybe, I might be able to heal him. I unbutton his shirt. Pockmarks stud his chest. I touch one. Liquid ripples underneath. His forehead burns with fever. I move to the
other man. The black spots have burst all over his body. They’re seeping through his clothes, into the earth that he lies on. It’s all I can do not to gag. I know that stink. I smelled it back at the monolith, when Madda sent me on the journey to find the sisiutl.

Just a coincidence
, I tell myself.
Doesn’t mean a thing
.

Or does it?

The door opens and Henry steps in, interrupting my thoughts. “Well?” he says.

I shake my head. I don’t know. “I’ll have a better idea once I try a few things,” I say, but it’s more for the benefit of the conscious man than anything else. Hope works wonders, and when there’s none to be had, sometimes we have to make our own. “You can go back to the cabin if you want.”

“I’ll stay,” Chris says. “You might need someone to get stuff for you.”

“Thanks.” I smile. His thoughtfulness is a welcome surprise. “We’ll need water. Leave a bucket outside and have someone pour water into it. Make sure they don’t touch the bucket.”

Chris and Henry head out. I’m left with the two sick men and a medicine kit full of plants. What am I supposed to do now?

I lift the lid and scan the contents. Devil’s club. St. John’s
wort. Mint. Lavender. No silver bullet. No secret antidote. No magic potion. Nothing that will eradicate Plague. Others just haven’t had to worry about it, and now, because of that, we’re all contaminated. We may all die a slow, painful death, just like these men. Or we could do what my mother did, and end it right now.

That’s just grief talking
, I say to myself as I take a pinch of each herb and begin to mash them together in a bowl, working them with the knob of antler Madda once used. St. John’s wort for the pocks, lavender and mint to calm and soothe the mind.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. First things first. See to the men. Do what you can. Worry about what comes after later
.

Chris returns with the water and I add a little, mashing the herbs into a fragrant paste.

“That smells good,” he says. “Reminds me of what my grandmother used to rub on my chest whenever I got a cold as a kid.”

The unconscious man starts coughing and the sweet tang of St. John’s wort is replaced by the stench of excrement. Chris gags as I draw my shirt up over my mouth. “Here,” I say, offering him the mortar. “Breathe this in.”

He does and hands it back to me. “Thanks.”

I spread the paste over the conscious man’s sores and spoon a little water mixed with willow powder into his
mouth, but his gaze is already glassing over. Soon, he won’t see anything anymore.

That leaves me only one option—to cross and see if I can find answers in the spirit world. The medicine kit contains sticks of sweet grass and sage, so I light them. Smoke drifts through the cabin as I close my eyes. Sparks pulse at the edge of my mind. I let them come.

I see a raven. He cocks his head, glancing at me, and hops away.
Come along
, he croaks.
Follow me. I can show you what you want to see
.

I take a step forward and realize my feet are not feet, but talons. Wings beat at my back and my tongue is that of a serpent. I stare at it, cross-eyed, in wonder.

Now that you know, you can shift
, the raven says, dancing his jig across the path.
That’s sisiutl’s gift. Come. You must come now
.

He leads me into a thick forest, where I see a shadowy figure of a man on a path.
So
, the raven says as he lands on my shoulder to whisper in my ear,
you thought I was a trickster
.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs as only a raven can.

The figure starts down the path, moving away from me.

“Do I follow?” I ask the raven.

Do what you feel is right
.

The man begins to run as I draw near, forcing me into a run too. Thorns reach toward me, tearing at my skin, tangling in my hair. Thunder stirs the air and the sky breaks with lightning. The forest gives way to the twilight-lit lake. Gray fingers of rock reach out into it and on the end of one finger is the man. He’s waiting for me.

I know who you are
, he says.

Lightning flashes, exposing skin that is seeping and raw. Is this one of the infected men?

Why don’t you come closer and find out?
The man takes a step toward me.

“Get back,” I growl.

The raven flutters down beside me.
You think he’ll listen to you?
he cackles.

What have I forgotten? Something is clawing at my mind, trying to remind me that there’s something I need to know, something I can do to save myself, but I can’t think of what it is.

I’ll offer you a deal
, the man says. Lightning flashes again, this time exposing a man’s face laced with scars. He smiles, baring a mouth full of fangs, and then blows a mouthful of breath at me.

It’s such a strange thing to do that I don’t react at first, not until the smell hits me—that terrible, rotten stench,
sweet and sickly and noxious. My stomach flips as I pinch my nose shut, but the smell is in my mouth, in my throat, in my lungs. This was a bad idea—a terrible, terrible idea. I want back into my body, into the hut with the diseased men. I want away from this being who would devour my soul.

You’re right to fear me
, he says.
You don’t know the paths of the spirit world. I do. I’ve walked here for ages, waiting for you
. He smiles.
I have your brother
.

“You lie,” I say.

The raven hops up and down.
Oh-ho, I didn’t expect that!

Do I have your attention now?
the man says.

“You do.”

Good. I want you in exchange for your brother
.

“Who are you, exactly?” I narrow my eyes. This exchange is not in good faith. I can feel it.

Does it matter? I have him. You don’t. Simple as that
.

Something in the water catches my eye. There, in the center of the lake, the sisiutl rises from the depths. Is it coming for me or the man? The raven cackles and lifts into the air.
Use your power
, he says.
Make the earth dance to your drum
.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I wonder as the man crouches low to the ground, exposing a great dorsal
fin rising from his back. He’s primed to strike. And yet, something is making him wait. Why hasn’t he attacked me already? He’s said I’m weak, that I don’t know the ways of the spirit world, so why is he stalling?

The sisiutl stares at me with its obsidian eyes.
Dance
, it says. Then, with a smack of its great head-tail, ripples race across the lake, right to where I stand.

I lift one foot and set it down, and then the other, more firmly. The earth shudders. I do it again, with greater certainty, and the shudder becomes a tremor. The tremors radiate out from me, running through the earth, sending rock and plant and tree rippling as if they are borne upon waves. Again and again, I dance and jig, lifting my feet higher and higher, crowing as I jump at the sky and drop back down, the earth trembling and quaking beneath me. This is my answer.
This man has my brother, and I will come for him. Oh, I will come for him and his captor will pay!

And then sparks fly at my eyes and I’m back in my body. The hut is alive with fire. Screams fill my ears. Mine? I don’t know. Someone drags me out and a blanket is thrown over top of me. The earth shakes. Trees shudder and groan as they topple. Men run across the red earth, trying to escape.

The hut and lean-to collapse in a burst of flames,
like bones of a long-dead animal trampled underfoot.

That’s enough
, I think, and the shaking stops.

I can smell the horrible scent of singed hair and I hope it’s not my own. I touch my face. It’s been spared, but a fierce claw of pain is coming from my right shoulder. I don’t touch it. I don’t want to know what’s there.

Someone picks me up. Pain rips through my body, burning down veins and arteries, turning nerves to ash. I hear someone scream. Me. It’s me. I scream and scream as I am burned to dust.

“Hold on,” a voice commands. “Hold on to me, and don’t you let go.”

S
leep, Cassandra. Go back to sleep. You aren’t ready to wake yet
.

Madda?

Yeah, it’s me. Don’t worry about that right now. You need to rest
.

Madda, it’s all gone wrong
.

Things are changing, that’s all. Everything changes
.

Am I burned?

Yes. The spirit world needs sacrifice. They need to see what we’re willing to give up in exchange for their help. Nothing comes of nothing, you know. There’s always a price to pay. Listen to me for a second. I never told you about my last apprentice. I’m with her now. She was taken by the dzoonokwa first, and she wanted me with her. I didn’t
protect her as I should have. The dzoonokwa know what it means to be mad, and they seek that insanity, flock to it like the way you and me are drawn to spirit
.

So that’s why you died?

I’m not dead, Cassandra. I’m still alive, in a manner of speaking. Just different now. You ever see my totem?

Only a bit
.

Well, it’s a dzoonokwa. Always knew I’d be with the wild women eventually—I suspect all of us end up with our totems sooner or later. Didn’t expect it to be quite like this, though. Now I’ll walk Dzoonokwa’s paths, work her medicine. She doesn’t have good eyesight, and she wants my eyes to see better in the world of the living
.

Madda, did I cause that earthquake?

Yes. You did. Earth’s lent you some of her power, because she needs your help. Just like the dzoonokwa taking me. They need my help, and I’m not sure they’re done with you, yet, either. That’s why I haven’t crossed over to the land of the dead yet. But that can wait. Right now, you need to heal. So sleep. Don’t dream. Do you think you can do that for me?

Yes
.

Good girl. You got to stay grounded, stay sane; and rest, real rest, will do that for you
.

• • •

When I wake, the first thing I see is the monolith. Its gaze is an accusation:
You should not have lived
.

And then I blink. The monolith is in my mind. Only my mind. Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better. My chest aches. I try to move, but I can’t.