Shadows Cast by Stars

shouldn’t be gone long-a week, at most, and all we’ll be doing is looking for refugees. Searchers hardly ever show up after this sort of thing.” He draws a deep breath. “I’ll see him safe.”

I want to believe him. “You promise?”

Bran laughs. “Of course I promise. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this, you know.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Everyone in this family seems to think nothing of breaking promises.” I say the words loud enough for my father to hear.

“He’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” Paul echoes.

“And who’ll make sure you’re safe?” I demand, poking Bran smack-dab in the center of his chest.

“Finally!” Bran flings his head back and whoops so I can’t help but smile. “The girl is worried about me!” He grins as he rubs the spot where I poked him, and heads inside.

And that’s that.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll remain inside with those guns. I meant what I said. My father promised me. Paul promised me. I’ve never asked anything of them except this one thing.

And now that promise is broken.

Later, at dusk, Paul joins me down on the dock. “I’m sorry” is the first thing out of his mouth. “I have to do this,” he says.

A hatch of gnats hovers over the lake. “Why, Paul?” I ask. “Tell me why you have to go.”

He doesn’t answer at first. I can tell he feels he doesn’t owe me an explanation, and yet he’ll offer it anyhow. “Do you remember,” he says finally, in the pained tone of memory, “when Mom was still here, when she would make me wash my face and I’d cry and cry?”

I nod. I do. It wasn’t that Paul was a dirty child. It was that he painted his face with mud, in stripes and circles, a mask of dirt. It was his way to hide, he used to claim, but hide from what?

He never said.

“It’s like that,” he says. “I know you hate guns, Cass, and I do too, but you don’t know what it’s like to be lost all the time, to never know what’s inside of yourself.”

I do, Paul. I know that feeling all too well.

“If I go,” Paul says, “maybe I’ll learn something. Maybe I’ll figure out a way to leave all the lost ones behind. Maybe I’ll figure out how to read my visions. Maybe I’ll come back someone else. You know, different.”

“I don’t want a different brother,” I whisper, but Paul has already stood up and turned away. I watch him leave, my younger brother by four thin minutes, tall and brooding and haunted, and wonder just who it is he wishes he could be.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I’m awake and out the door before the sun has even crept over the trees. I can’t wait to get to Madda’s, but more than that, I want to be away from the house, from the weight of Paul’s absence.

I try to think of what Madda’s going to teach me as I walk into town, but no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep turning to Bran. What was I thinking? What was he thinking? I kissed him. What does he think of me now?

Robins accompany me part of the way, swooping ahead in search of worms, and a jaybird takes over where they leave off, hopping from tree to tree, cackling at me.

“What do you want?” I say to it. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

The jay tips its head to one side, listening, and then flies off.

Another hatch of gnats rises over the road where it dips close to the lake, so I break off a branch of cedar, using it as a broom to clear a path. I like cedar, its strong, resiny scent, so I keep the branch, swinging it back and forth until I reach Madda’s.

“You’re here early,” she calls from a patch of dill as I step through the gate. “What you got there?”

“Oh.” I toss the cedar branch aside. “Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing to me. Go get it and bring it back inside. You’ve just chosen your very first lesson.”

That doesn’t sound good, I think as I go back outside and retrieve the cedar branch, shaking it free of dust. Madda points at the kitchen table where Helen sits, spinning a length of wool. I set the cedar bough in front of Helen, who gives me a worried look before rising and heading outside, taking her spinning with her.

“So, cedar. A very useful tree.” Madda motions for me to sit. “What can you tell me about it?”

“It smells nice,” I say, picking my words carefully. Madda’s setting me up for something. “It grows near water. People use it for houses and canoes.”

“Yes, this is all true. Cedar is a good tree, a helpful tree.” She narrows her eyes. “So, did you ask to take that branch from it? And, did you say thank you once you did?”

“Ask?”

“Yeah.” She picks up the cedar branch and shakes it at me. “Before you picked it, this branch was alive. Now, it’s not. If you’re going to kill something, the least you can do is ask first, and then give thanks afterward. The trees, they have long memories, and they talk to each other, you know. They’ll remember you, and next time you take something without permission, they might not be as willing to just let you go. So your first lesson is to go back to this tree and apologize.”

“Apologize to the tree?” I echo.

“Yep. Trees have spirits too, and going around breaking bits of them off without giving them a bit of common courtesy is rude. You’ve got some dark roads to walk, Cassandra, and you need all the friends you can get. So make amends. A little gratitude goes a long way, and the trees, they remember.” She picks up the cedar branch and runs her hands over it. “Just think of what this branch might have become if you hadn’t taken it-a nest for a bird, for example. Its cones might have fed a squirrel. Maybe, one day, if the tree was tall enough, this branch might have held someone’s body after they passed over. That’s a mighty powerful thing, don’t you think?”

I make myself nod. Madda sets a hand on my shoulder as if to say it’s okay, but her touch just leaves me feeling worse. She gives me a kind smile. “If you want to be my apprentice, you’ve got to know that you are responsible for all your actions now, and spirit holds you to higher standards than it does other people. That’s the price you pay for what you’re going to learn. Best decide now whether you’re willing to do that or if you’d like to go back to being like everyone else. So?” She sets the branch back down on the table. “What’s your decision?”

“I want to be your apprentice.” I can barely speak the words, I feel so stupid.

“Good.” She taps the branch. “When you go home this afternoon, stop and bury the branch when you find the tree you took it from. And, tomorrow, I want to hear about every single living thing you encounter once you leave here. Not just the obvious ones, like birds and bees, but other things too. Here’s a piece of paper. Take notes.”

I stuff the paper and a pencil into my pocket. This wasn’t how my first day was supposed to go. Tomorrow I’ll have to do better.

For the rest of the morning, I’m assigned the task of weeding Madda’s garden. Helen sits not far off, working on her spinning, watching me work. I’m not sure whether we’re allowed to talk or not, so I don’t. I’m already in trouble. I don’t want to find myself more.

As the day approaches noon, Madda comes outside, bringing a large basket along with her. She sets it next to me and squats down. “So, weeding. Why do we weed?” She holds up a length of ivy that I’ve just ripped from the rosemary. “Why is it okay to rip this plant out of the ground, but not to take the branch of the cedar tree without asking?”

I sit back, but keep my hands rooted in the dirt. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I know you don’t know. But you’ve got a brain, don’t you?” She shakes her head. “A perfectly good one, I’m assuming. What good is that if you don’t use it? Think, girl.”

My cheeks go hot. Behind Madda, Helen gives me a sympathetic look. “Because,” I say as I grapple for words, “of what the ivy does? It takes over and chokes out the other plants?”