The Book of Dreams (47 page)

Her aunts looked shocked.

“That would be a violation of our basic human rights,” Dee declared.

“And this has got nothing to do with humans!” Dana argued. “There are monsters, and you can’t fight them off. Please don’t make me use magic on you. I’d rather you agreed of your own free will.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to us,” Dee said with open admiration.

“She’s right, but,” Yvonne sighed, “we’d only get in her way. You know the plot. We’d be captured and held hostage, weakening her position et cetera et cetera.”

They looked so dejected, Dana almost relented.

“I guess you didn’t meet any heroes?” she asked, with a little grin.

“Oh but we did!” Dee cried.

She and Yvonne looked at each other, astonished.

“How could we have forgotten them?” Yvonne wondered. “Shock? Magic?”

They described their rescuers to Dana.

“Native guys, I think,” said Yvonne. “With knives.”

“
Gorgeous
guys,” Dee said, nodding. “I wonder what they were doing there.”

“The Old Ones must have sent them,” Dana said.

It was her turn to tell her story. Her aunts listened awestruck as she described the Sasquatch and wind-walking and dream-speaking across the Great Plains. The two were also amazed by the rescue of Laurel in the Brule; but as soon as Dana mentioned the woman in the field, they were on familiar ground.

“I’ll be damned,” said Dee. “You met Sharon Butala!”

“Who?”

“She’s a writer, well, a mystic really,” Yvonne explained. “She writes about the land. We’ve read her books. The best is
The Perfection of the Morning
.”

“
Wild Stone Heart
,” argued Dee.

“The whole quest is about books,” Dana said thought-fully. “Like Grandfather said. We’re all part of the Great Tale. And thanks to the Old Ones, the story is a bit clearer to me. I know where I’m going now.”

“Where?” asked Yvonne, then she added quickly, “not that we’ll follow.”

Her assurance was unnecessary. Dana’s answer was simple.

“Home.”

D
ana and Jean sat together in the cafeteria, talking as usual in low voices. She was overjoyed to have him back. When he met her in the hall that morning, she had hugged him without thinking and he had held her tightly. Though she heard a few gasps around her, she didn’t care. She was also happy and relieved to know that
grand-père
was safe and on Cree lands again.

“I find him first in the Shaking Tent,” Jean told her. “Then I track him with Roy. He go near to Labrador City.” The words were caught in his throat. “He try to go home.”

“Oh, that’s sad,” Dana said softly.

“It is necessary I visit him more. He forget who he is and then he fight to remember.”

Jean sat back in his chair and stared at Dana. There was a puzzled look on his face.

“You are
différente
. I feel it. What happen?”

Dana’s heart skipped a beat. This wasn’t going to be easy, but she couldn’t avoid it. She had to tell him. Taking a deep breath, she plunged in.

“I went into the West. I met the Old Ones, the spirits of the land. They showed me things about my power, to help me on my mission.”

She saw him register that she had broken her promise to do nothing till he returned. His eyes flashed. His lips pressed closer together. Things were about to get worse. She had thought long and hard about Jean in his absence. The attack on her aunts had confirmed her decision about others being involved. Laurel was the one who had first argued the point, but now Dana herself fully agreed.

“I’m sorry, Jean, but I’ve got to do the rest of this by myself. Believe me, I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I can’t put you in danger anymore. If anything happened to you, it would be my fault. I just can’t do that.”

Though she had expected him to be angry, she wasn’t prepared for the explosion that followed. He was already standing before she had finished, and he was furious.

“
Tabernac
, you decide for me? Who you are, eh? You think I don’t know for myself that I go to danger or not?
Maudit, câlisse.
I don’t like this! I don’t like
you
!”

As he stormed away, Dana sat as still as stone. She was in shock. Her insides were twisted into a knot. Her world was collapsing around her.

“Boy trouble?” Georgia’s voice was kind as she took the chair Jean had just vacated. “I caught the end of it. And you look as if you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks.”

“I … I have,” Dana said. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She wanted to run away and hide, to cry herself to sleep. “Oh Georgia, I’ve done something really bad. I’ve ruined everything!”

“Have you gone with another guy?” Georgia asked her directly.

“
No!
I don’t even know anyone else!”

“Then you’re okay. That’s the only thing they won’t forgive. Come on, we’ll be late for class. Tell me what happened on the way.”

Dana was already feeling a little better. Shamefaced, she realized she had barely said hello to Georgia since Jean’s return.

“Where did you go at lunch?” Dana asked her guiltily.

“I sat with some other friends. Don’t sweat it. You looked pretty intense. Two’s company, three can be a crowd.”

As they walked through the halls, Dana hurriedly explained that she had broken a promise—for very good reasons—and had then tried to exclude Jean from something she thought wouldn’t be good for him.

“The situation sounds serious, but not hopeless,” Georgia said thoughtfully. “I recommend some damage control. Groveling and apologies. With regards to the broken promise, you owe him one. You need to restore his trust. As for you deciding what’s best for him, have to say I’m on his side there. One look at that guy should tell you he’s man enough to make his own decisions. Will I call you tonight?”

“Please,” said Dana, with relief. “And thank you so much. You’ve saved my life!”

“What are friends for?” Georgia laughed.

When Dana left for home that afternoon, she was more than grateful to Georgia. Her friend had kept giving her pep talks in between classes, and she had needed them. Jean ignored her throughout the day and turned away whenever she tried to approach and apologize. When the final bell rang, he disappeared without a backward glance.

Outside the school, Georgia’s good-bye was heartening. “I’ll call you after supper!”

Half-glad, half-sad, Dana walked to the subway. While things couldn’t be worse with Jean, things were great between Georgia and her. At the same time, Dana knew she couldn’t get bogged down in her personal life. She had work to do. During her time with the Old Ones, she had learned a lot, including the fact that the Book of Dreams was to be found in the South, the final direction.
Like all things sought, it is near you,
they had said. That made sense, of course. The quest had brought her full circle. A journey was not completed until you returned home.

She would go hunting that night. She would journey out into the land around her.

Lost in thought, Dana didn’t notice the bag lady right away. Seated on a bench in front of the subway station, the old woman was surrounded by plastic bags stuffed with clothes, bric-a-brac, dishes, and blankets. All her worldly possessions. Dana rummaged in her school bag for some money.

The bag lady appeared to be napping. Her head rested on her chest and her eyes were closed. She wore a tatty coat of glossy black fur that looked like old feathers. Wisps of gray hair escaped from a floppy wool hat. Her face was crinkled like a dried apple.

As Dana slipped the dollars into her hand, the old woman opened one eye to peep at her. A black beady eye.

“Stay out of the tunnels, dearie. There’ll be trolls today.”

“What! What did you say?”

The eye fluttered shut again. The bag lady tucked her chin into her shoulder, the way a bird tucks its head underwing.

Dana entered the TTC station and made her way through the turnstiles. Had she heard right? Did the old lady say “trolls” or “tolls”?

On the train, Dana looked around with more attention than usual. Everything seemed normal. It was a new train, sleek and silver, with plush red seats and a gray-and-white speckled floor. As if to prove its worth and youthfulness, it hurtled through the tunnels at high speed. The metallic wheels squealed and scraped, the carriages tipped sideways as they careened around corners. The passengers looked normal, too, all ages and races, casually dressed as Canadians tended to be, some more muffled than others against the fall weather. The interior of the train was warm. Dana unbuttoned her jacket. Two kids ran up and down the aisle, swinging on the poles. Across from her, a young man petted the huge dog seated on the floor beside him. The animal had an intelligent face and was watching everyone closely. It gave Dana a particularly knowing look.

The train arrived in each station on a blast of wind and left the same way. After several stops with no surprises, Dana relaxed her guard. The rocking motion of the carriage lulled her into the train’s routine: stopping and starting, doors swishing open and closed, automatic chimes heralding the recorded warnings.
The doors are now closing! Stand clear of the doors!
She fell into a half-doze. Shortly after St Patrick’s station, she came to with a start.

The train had come to a halt inside the tunnel.

Darkness pressed against the windows like black water. In a calm flat voice, the conductor announced over the intercom that the delay was due to a mechanical fault. He asked for patience and would keep them informed. The other passengers seemed unconcerned, continuing to do what they were doing to pass time in transit. Some read newspapers or books. Others stared blindly at the floor or ceiling. A few read the ads for the umpteenth time, while one or two studied the other passengers surreptitiously. Most wore a look of patient boredom. A few were asleep.

Only Dana showed any anxiety. She knew something was wrong.

Peering out the window, she craned her neck in an attempt to see down the track.

A familiar voice sounded behind her.

“Troll attack, eh? They’re always causing delays on the subway. They get bored and up to mischief. Idle hands are the devil’s work, as my old mother used to say.”

Dana spun round. The little brown man was grinning at her. He still had the Walkman and the dark glasses, but now he was dressed bizarrely in pink. A pink coat with padded shoulders and silver buttons matched pink baggy pants. He also sported a pink hat and kid gloves of pink leather. Even his running shoes were pink, with sparkly laces. Her jaw dropped as she gaped at his outfit.

“A secure man wears pink,” he said, catching her look.

“I’ve been so hoping to meet you again! I’m always looking out for you. I wanted to thank you for the advice about my friend. What’s your name?”

“Trew,” he said. “That’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Dana,” she answered. “But I thought you’d know that.”

He peered over the rim of his sunglasses. The eyes were wide and innocent.

“How would I know your name? Aren’t you a complete stranger to me?”

Dana was nonplussed. Were her suspicions wrong, or was he being coy?

“We gotta go,” he said. “They’re comin’ for ya.”

She jumped up immediately. The warning sounded sincere as well as ominous. She didn’t think to doubt him.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that trolls are bad,” he explained. “They just get their kicks stallin’ the trains. They like to watch people get all frustrated, lookin’ at their watches, swearin’ and whatnot.” He did a good imitation of a harassed commuter. When Dana laughed he said, “See? Trolls find it even more hilarious.”

All the time he was talking he led her through the train, opening the doors between carriages officially used by transit staff only. No one paid them any attention. Teenagers were always walking between the cars. When they reached the last carriage, Trew opened the door at the end of the car and jumped onto the tracks. He offered his hand to help Dana down.

“Don’t go anywhere near that bar on the side or you’ll be electrocuted. ‘Fire-fried’ as the trolls say.”

The tracks were black as soot. With the fluorescent lighting, the tunnel glowed eerily, like a secret labyrinth. The walls crawled with wires and cables. A musty wind blew down the passageway. Trains rumbled like thunder in the distance. Far ahead, at the end of the darkness, the light of the next station flickered like a beacon.

Trew frowned as he looked up and down the track. A new sound echoed through the dimness. The low boom of drums. It was a threatening sound. The beat of ill intent.

Trew grabbed Dana’s hand.

“As I was saying”—he puffed as they ran down the track, away from the drumming—“usually the trolls are not much more than a big fat nuisance. But they’re easily influenced. And right now the troll patrol are under a very bad influence indeed.”

“Crowley!”

“Who?”

“The monster who wants to kill me.”

“That sounds about right.”

Running hard to keep up with the little man, Dana was glad to note that he knew the tunnels well. He rushed her over tracks, around bends and twists, and along workmen’s walkways. When the drums died out behind them, she sighed with relief.