Shadows Cast by Stars

passing.”

You’re wrong. My blood runs back to Louis Riel. My blood almost changed the fate of a nation, I think, but before I can say a word, someone near the door clears her throat.

Grace jumps, and then snarls, “What do you want?”

Madda’s standing there, frowning. “I think that’s enough,” she says.

Grace takes a quick, desperate drag of her cigarette. “Do you mind? We’re in the middle of a lesson here.”

“Last time I checked, Cassandra was my apprentice, not yours.” Madda locks eyes with Grace. “The only lessons she attends are with me.”

I press myself into the sofa, hoping that it’ll swallow me whole.

“This one knows nothing,” Grace says, dismissively flicking her ashes onto the floor.

“She knows more than you think, but how do you expect her to answer your questions when you’re doing all the talking?” Madda gives me a quick half-smile before returning her attention to Grace.

Grace’s eyes shift to me. They widen a little, as if seeing me for the first time. We sit like that for what seems like several minutes-Grace looking at me, Madda looking at Grace, and me wishing I was anywhere but stuck on the sofa in this library.

Finally Madda clears her throat again. “Grace, I’ve got a matter I need to discuss with you. Band business. Cassandra, would you wait for me outside?”

I force myself to take slow, even steps as I cross the room and slip into the hall, but when the library door doesn’t close all the way, I creep back to listen.

“How do you know she’s not the one?” Madda asks.

“She’s a half-breed. She said it herself.” Grace coughs. “Bran can do better. He will do better.”

“She might be a half-breed, but she’s also touched by spirit. I would have thought that would be enough for you.”

“I’m looking for pure blood. That’s what Bran needs to step into his inheritance-a woman whose lineage I can be sure of. Spirit has nothing to do with it. I am rebuilding what should never have been lost. I’d think you’d understand, considering you trade in myth and legend. The old myths are being reborn. You know that as well as I do.”

That’s when the door slams shut. When I press my ear to it, all I can make out is the murmur of their voices. I sigh, and go outside to wonder what it is that Bran is supposed to inherit, and why I’m not good enough to be part of the equation.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Well, that was a bloody waste of an afternoon,” Madda says as she comes storming out of the house. “Why I have to be the go-between for the Elders with that woman is beyond me. Come on, Cassandra. Keep up.”

I trot after her as she pounds her feet into the earth and fumes, leaving me to wish I could ask her what was going on without revealing I had been listening in. She glances back at me. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough.” More than enough.

She stops, glances at me, looks as if she’s about to set off again, but then shakes her head and takes a seat on a fallen log. She pats the spot beside her. “Look, you have to know Grace has had a bad go of things. When she first came here, she had a really hard time fitting in. Arthur wasn’t supposed to marry some white woman, especially not one like Grace, and it wasn’t long before she started talking about all this legend stuff. Arthur came and asked me to do some healing work with her. I can’t tell you what came of that, but I can say there’s a reason why Grace is as she is. She isn’t harmless, that’s for sure, but she doesn’t always mean to be unkind, either.”

“But what does that have to do with Bran? What’s he supposed to inherit?” I ask.

“Ah.” Madda closes her eyes and turns her face to the sun. At first I think she won’t answer me. I try to wait patiently, but my vision has begun to blur, just a little at the corners, like a starry night pushing its way through my eyes. I attempt to blink it away, and when that fails, my hands start to twitch. The need to set them in soil is overwhelming, so I take the only thing available-a section of my hair-and braid it. When that braid’s done, I begin another. What will I do when I run out? I don’t know. I only hope Madda begins to speak before then.

“I suppose,” Madda says at last, “that you’ll find out sooner or later. Grace believes Bran is the reincarnation of some dead king from her homeland. She thinks he’s destined to become a greater leader than his father, that he’ll save our people or something like that.”

I know the legend she’s talking about. I know because it’s in the book Bran gave me, marked by that gray feather. The once and future king, the one who is supposed to come again during the world’s greatest need. “Does Bran,” I say slowly, releasing the braid in my hand, “believe he’s this king?”

Madda purses her lips. “Not that he’s ever said. It’s not the sort of thing anyone would want to talk about, you know. Bad luck, for one thing, and for another, no quicker way to get branded as crazy than to start spouting that you’re some dead king come to life again. It’s not that people around here don’t believe a person can live more than once, but everyone’s got to make their own way in the world-no free passes. If Bran wants to lead the Band, he’s got to prove himself. The trouble is, his mother doesn’t believe that, and she’s made problems for Bran more than once.”

“Problems?” I look up at Madda. “Like what?”

“Like demanding the Elders make him chief in his father’s stead. That’s why I went to see her today. Henry Crawford’s the chief here now. I don’t care for him much, though he’s the best of the bunch. However, he’s not about to let some kid push him out of the way. Bran is a good soul-kind, smart, fair. Special, really. He tries to do the right thing, no matter what. He’ll make a good chief one day, but he has a lot to learn before that time, like the fact that compromise isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And besides, no one,” Madda says, nudging me, “should grow up too quickly. You included.” She yawns. “Speaking of which, don’t you go changing to fit with Grace’s crazy ideas. She’s been waiting a long time for some girl to arrive, the one she thinks will awaken the old stories within Bran.”

“So that’s why she hates me? Because I can’t do what she wants?”

Madda smiles a very sad smile. “She doesn’t hate you, Cassandra. If she hates anyone, it’s herself. She thought she was the one who could do all this awakening, and I don’t think she’s ever forgiven herself that she couldn’t. But that doesn’t mean you should just go along with whatever she wants. Why did you stay in there? Why didn’t you leave?”

“I don’t know. I thought it would be rude, I guess.”

“Rude? What Grace did was rude, Cass. You getting up and leaving is you taking care of yourself, and if you’re going to be my apprentice, if you’re going to be a healer, you have to learn that taking someone else’s crap because you’re afraid of hurting their feelings isn’t just wrong- it’s dangerous.”

She pushes herself up and we set off, walking in silence until we reach the cottage. Then, Madda instructs me to sit at the table and stare into a bowl of water while she works outside. Helen still hasn’t returned, and I find myself thinking about her. What is wrong with her shade? What could have done that to her? I wish I could ask Madda, but I’m supposed to be focusing. I try, over and over again. It’s hard to concentrate with the sound of Madda’s shears snipping as she does battle with her garden, a battle I’m pretty sure she’ll never win. The blackberries are determined, and every day they edge closer to the cottage. I wonder what’s so wrong with just letting them take over. As long as a person can avoid the thorns, what’s the harm if they climb up the walls and over the roof? An image of Madda doing just that pops into my mind, and I laugh.

“I hear that,” Madda hollers. “Get back to work! Nothing that you’re doing right now should be funny!”

“Sorry,” I say as I force my gaze back to the water that just sits there in the plain, chipped bowl, looking like water and nothing else at all. I try to keep my eyes on it, but they keep wandering away as Grace’s words echo through my mind. Half-breed, half-breed, half-breed.

I slump in the chair and wonder what Bran thinks about all of this. I could ask him, but would he answer? Would I, if I were the one carrying around such a burden? If he asked me about totems and shades and the spirit world, would I tell him how I can see people’s souls? How sometimes I’m here and then, I’m not?