The Book of Dreams (20 page)

“One time when I am small … when I have ten years … I stay with my
grand-père
in Labrador City. I … I climb a high tree to the top and then I fall down. My legs, they are broken. Maybe my back too. I bleed inside. The
hôpital
is far away. It’s winter and the road are all ice and snow. My
grand-père
, he put me in a blanket on the sled. A man, he can’t go so fast but a wolf, he is strong …”

Jean pulled away from Dana. He clutched his stomach as if he were in pain. His face was twisted with grief and guilt. She knew, in that instant, that he had never spoken these words to anyone else.

“It is day. It is not the night. My
grand-père
, he … he …”

Jean let out a cry like a wounded animal.

“He turned wolf.” She finished for him, feeling the echo of his pain inside, for she carried the same wound. “He knew what it meant and he did it anyway. He turned wolf in the daylight so he could save you. And he can never turn back.”

Again, without thinking, Dana reached out to hold him. Great sobs racked his body as he wept unrestrainedly, letting flow the tears he had blocked for so long.

Only when he grew still did she dare to speak.

“You have to accept the gift,” she said softly in his ear. “His sacrifice. His love for you.”

She felt the surprise shudder through him. Drawing back a little, he took her face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes.

“How do you know to say this?”

Tears flowed down Dana’s face in response. “Remember I told you about my
anamchara
? My wolf guardian? She died … to save me.”

They held each other for a long time, like two lost children who had finally found their home. Slowly the darkness lifted around them, as the first hint of dawn crept onto the horizon.

There was a moment, just before they broke apart, when Jean’s face was so close to Dana’s, she could feel the warmth of his breath. It occurred to her suddenly that he was about to kiss her. Overcome with panic, she stiffened and closed her eyes.

Nothing happened.

When she opened her eyes again, he had already stepped back, hands plunged into his pockets. For the first time since she had met him, he did not meet her gaze, but looked away as if embarrassed. When he spoke, his voice sounded tight.

“We go to my friend,
n’est-ce pas
?”

Dana was confused. She was certain he had been about to kiss her, but then he didn’t. Was it her fault? Did she do something wrong? Or maybe it was just her imagination? Wishful thinking. She had so wanted him to. And now he was acting strangely. There was an awkwardness between them that wasn’t there before. She was mystified. She knew nothing about boys and couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking. As she followed him through the forest, she told herself to stop being silly. This was no time for fantasies. They had work to do.

Their feet crunched over the snow as they walked.

“My friend, they are Iynu of the Cree peoples,” Jean told her. “The Cree are the biggest nation in Canada, but here in the north of Québec they are small. They share the land with the Naskapi and the Montagnais.”

“
Croí.
” Dana repeated the word in Irish, as it had the same sound. “That means ‘heart’ in my language.”

Jean smiled. “
C’est beau.
‘Cree’ is the name the French give them. The East Cree say they are Iynu.”

“I’ve been in Canada a year,” she commented, “and I’ve never met a Red Indian.”

Jean winced. “This is not so good to say. In English they are ‘Native peoples.’”

“Sorry. That’s what the Irish call them. We don’t learn about … Native peoples.” She sighed. “I do know their history is sad, like ours.”

Jean nodded. “But
l’histoire
is not over while the peoples live. The First Nations, they are strong again.”

Dana could hear the passion in his voice. “Your canoe looks Indian, I mean Native. Did the medicine man build it?”

“He help me to make it and he teach me how to call the demon. With the spirit boat I can visit and see
grand-père
who live here too. After he turn forever, he don’t stay in Labrador City. They will kill him there. Here is better. The Native peoples, they don’t hate the wolf so much. They say he is their brother, like the dog.”

When they broke from the forest, they faced a stretch of open ground. Most of it lay cloaked in snow, but there were patches of moss-covered rock and coarse grass. In the distance, a scatter of buildings stood haphazardly like tents, as if the inhabitants didn’t intend to stay long. Behind the buildings gleamed a strip of lake. Nothing indicated they were on reserve lands. This far north, signposts were meaningless. If you didn’t know where you were, you were hopelessly lost.

There was no highway or other access to the wider world beyond, but a dirt road led from the forest to the community.

They passed a big dilapidated shack that was boarded up.

“The Hudson Bay Trading Post from the old time,” Jean told her. “It don’t open now but the peoples still are hunter and
trappeur
.”

“You don’t think that’s wrong?” Dana asked, surprised.

“The wolf is hunter too, eh? I don’t like when the peoples hunt for fun and they make a big joke about killing the animals. It’s not the same here. These peoples, they don’t kill the animal for nothing. They do it for their life, for how they live.”

Farther ahead was a small wooden church with a cross on the roof and a graveyard behind it. Beside the church was a low flat hall that served as school, library, and community center with offices for the band and government officials. Most of the houses were wood-framed bungalows with aluminum siding, television aerials, and satellite dishes. There were no gardens or driveways. The cars parked randomly were all four-wheel drives accompanied by snowmobiles. Life was organized around the reality of nine months of snow.

There was no one about at that hour of the morning. A few houses shone with yellow light and the flickering reflections of television sets. All around, the landscape glistened white with snow, outlined by dark forest and the hills beyond. Above, the sky was ablaze with stars.

Jean pointed to the lake that glinted icily on their left.

“There’s no road so the airplane bring the store, the food, the priest, the teacher.” He started to laugh.

“What?” said Dana, laughing with him.

She was glad to see him cheerful again. The awkwardness between them had disappeared.

“The airplane land on the lake in the summer and the winter. In the winter, he land on the ice. When he go again the little kids they run behind to catch—how you say?—the air that comes?”

He made a whooshing sound.

“The draft?”

“Yes, I think so. They hold open the coats and it’s like they are wings. The air pick them up and they fly maybe a
mètre
from the ground.” He was laughing again. “You see the plane go across the lake and all these little birds, they run and jump and fly behind it.”

“Did you try it? I bet you did.”

“Maybe,” he admitted.

They were still laughing when they reached their destination. The house was a wood-framed structure like the others, but there was no wiring for television. The door posts and lintel were intricately carved with the shapes of animals. As Jean knocked, Dana studied the designs of wolf and raven.

The door was opened by a young man, not much older than Jean. He was lit up by the glow of a bare bulb behind him. Darkly handsome, he had glossy black hair that fell to his shoulders and lively eyes. His chest and feet were bare. It was obvious that he had just jumped out of bed and thrown on his jeans. He looked slightly annoyed, as well as concerned, but the minute he saw Jean he let out a yelp and grabbed him in a bear hug.

“Loup! Enfin! Ça va?”

The greeting was followed by a lot of horseplay as the two fell into the hallway. Loud whoops and laughter were interspersed with rapid-fire French and words of another language Dana guessed was Cree. She followed behind them and waited patiently till they broke apart.

The young man looked at Dana with frank curiosity as Jean introduced them.

“We speak English, okay? She come from
l’Irlande
. Dana, this is my friend, Roy Blackbird.”

“
Salut.
Hi there,” said Roy, offering his hand.

His grip was warm and friendly. They grinned at each other with instant liking.

“So you finally got a girl, eh?” he said to Jean. “A real cutie.”

Jean ignored the statement. Dana blushed.

Despite the kidding, there was a peculiar gravity to the moment that descended over the three of them; a sense that they had met before. In other times and other places, these three had stood side by side in the fray.
As it was, so it would be, now and always.

Roy ushered them through the dim house. Doors opened into rooms of bare walls and plain furniture. Dana saw immediately that no woman lived here. The place lacked decoration and the comforts of a feminine touch. Its purpose was evident: to provide shelter for men who spent most of their time outdoors.

“Should’ve known it was you,” Roy said to Jean. “Guess who’s been up all night drinking tea and smoking? Wouldn’t go to bed, like he knew someone was coming.”

He led them into the kitchen where a big woodstove dominated the room. The floor was bare linoleum. A government calendar hung on the wall. The furnishings were simple and functional, plain cupboards and shelves, a Formica-topped table with wooden chairs, a refrigerator, and a battered washing machine.

In a chair beside the stove, an old man sat hunched over his cup of tea, smoking a pipe. He wore denim jeans and a heavy plaid shirt. His silver-gray hair was twisted in long braids. A red-and-black blanket was draped over his shoulders like a mantle. The edges of the blanket were woven with the same designs that were carved on the door.

It was the blanket that Dana noticed first, then she met his eyes.

The room fell away. Dana staggered slightly. It was as if she had suddenly come to the edge of a precipice. She felt weak and dizzy. Never had she encountered such a powerful force, not even in Faerie. But though his gaze showed something profoundly deep and ancient, at the same time there was great humor in it. Dana found herself wondering if life wasn’t some huge joke being played on humanity.

He looked away from her and greeted Jean.

“
Bienvenue, Loup.
I been waitin’ for you. I had a dream. We got work to do, eh?”

His voice was like his gaze, deep and grave yet full of laughter.

Before Jean could answer, the old man stood up and nodded solemnly to Dana. She was overwhelmed by a desire to bow or curtsey, to show him respect. She knew how he would be addressed in the formal courtesy of Faerie.
Lord. King. Majesty.
But how to approach him here, in this world?

She stooped to take the edge of his blanket and brought it to her lips.

“I am honored to meet you, Sire.”

The dark eyes crinkled. His laughter rumbled like thunder.

“Don’t be too humble. It lacks dignity. Call me
Neemoo-soom
. Grandfather. The boys call me the Old Man.”

He took hold of her hands. She felt the rough rasp of his skin, like the bark of a tree, felt also his immense strength. He turned her palms upward and stared at them intently. Though she made no effort to call it herself, the golden light shimmered. He let out a grunt, then gently dropped her hands and gestured her to sit.

“Welcome, Sky-Woman’s Daughter. You got news of the Summer Land?”

Though Dana had recognized that he was special, she was still astounded. Tears pricked her eyes. This was the first time another human being had known exactly who and what she was, had recognized and greeted her as herself. The irony that it should happen in Canada—and not Ireland—was not lost on her. She sat down shakily in the chair beside him. Jean had already drawn up a stool, while Roy pottered around, filling the kettle with water, getting mugs from the cupboard, setting out milk and sugar. When the tea was made, everyone sat quietly sipping the hot brew.

Grandfather regarded Dana with calm dark eyes. He puffed on his pipe, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice shook with emotion.

“Yes, my mother is a
spéirbhean
. A sky-woman. And she lives in the Summer Country that has many names. I am of fairy blood, but I’m also human. The news isn’t good. That’s why I’m here. To ask for your help.”

The Old Man nodded. “My people tell stories about the
ma-ma-kwa-se-suk
who come as if from nowhere, who live underground and in the rivers and the hills. They are also called
u-pes-chi-yi-ne-suk
. ‘The little people.’ Some say they are the ones who make the flint arrowheads you find in the ground.”

“Elf-darts!” Dana exclaimed. “We say the same thing in Ireland!”

Grandfather tapped his pipe against the stove.

“When I was a young man, I went off with my uncle across the country. We wanted to see the land, test our skills with strangers, and hear the stories of other nations. In the east we sat at the fires of the people called Mi’kmaq. There I heard the tale of how summer came to Canada. How their hero-spirit Glooskap—like the one we call We’sa-ka-cha’k—went to the Summer Land to ask their queen for help. He wanted her to chase away Old Man Winter, who was killing the people with too much cold. Glooskap sang her a song and she liked it. He was handsome and she liked that too. So she came back with him. Everywhere she walked, sunshine spread out from her feet. She melted the frozen ground and the snow and the ice. And she melted the cold heart of Old Man Winter. They sat down together and had a talk. He promised he wouldn’t stay all the time and he’d let the summer come every year.”

Dana was amazed by the story. She recognized it as yet another tale of Faerie, a land whose history could never be fathomed.

“That explains something,” she said, grinning suddenly.

“What?” asked Roy.

“We get awful summers in Ireland. That fairy queen must have given you ours!”