Shadows Cast by Stars

I don’t even have to think about the answer. Yes, I would. I would tell Bran anything he wanted to know.

Madda marches into the house, bringing the scent of sun-warmed earth with her. “Well?” she demands. “See anything?”

I glare at the water. “Nothing.”

Madda grunts, picks the bowl up, and dumps the water out the window. “Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Good. You weren’t supposed to see anything. It’s just an exercise in concentration. You’ve got a busy mind, girl. Gotta learn to get it under control, just like a cowboy taming a wild horse.”

I groan in frustration.

“Oh, none of that,” Madda says. She pulls two mugs from a cupboard and sets them on the table before filling them with sun-tea. “Gotta earn your stripes, you know? Besides, you haven’t exactly had success on your own, have you?”

“No.”

“Oh, stop being so sullen, for god’s sake.”

I draw a deep breath. “Sorry.”

“And stop saying sorry.” She sits down and scratches her head. “You’re just going to have to trust me. This isn’t an easy process, especially with someone like you who’s been fiddlefarting along on your own. Oh, don’t worry.” She holds up a hand. “I know you’ve done the best you could, and that’s why going back to basics is hard for you. Hard on me, too, you know. It’s been a long time since I’ve had an apprentice. The last one…” She pushes her chair away from the table and I can tell what she’s about to say next is really important. “Well, the less said about that, the better. What counts is now.” Madda stares out at the garden where the wind ripples the purple heads of the lavender.

Minutes pass, and still Madda stares outside. She looks lost, and that’s when I begin to worry. I clear my throat, and then reach out and touch her hand. “Madda? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Just thinking. The last one, well, I didn’t do such a good job. We’ll just have to do it right this time.” Her words come out full of breath, like she’s not talking to me anymore. She blinks, and then rubs her eyes, and she’s back in the room. “So, patience. Patience for me, patience for you. Nothing good happens quickly. When it seems things are taking too long, remind yourself of that.”

“Right.” I yawn. It’s been a long day. My eyes feel dry and itchy. “So, what’s next?”

“Next is to start walking the spirit paths, but I need you to promise me something.” She clenches her hands into fists and then releases them, spreading her fingers wide on the tabletop. “I need you to promise not to go into the spirit world until we’ve worked through a few things. You can probably tell spirit runs a little different here on the Island, hey?”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

Madda chuckles. “Yes. Yes, it is. That’s the boundary at work.”

“But, Madda,” I say as I push my mug away from me, “sometimes I have no choice.” I think about when I touched the petroglyph on the rock by my house, about how it almost drew me under, and about the sparks that overwhelm me whenever spirit comes to call. “Sometimes spirit comes for me.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.” She reaches behind her, takes a book down from the shelf, and pushes it across the table to me. “I don’t mean to scare you, but there are powerful creatures in the spirit world, and not all of them are nice. Right now, you don’t have any control there, and if you cross, they’ll be able to use you as they want.” A frown pinches her brow. “We might not have a lot here in this world, but one of the most precious things we do have is the right to choose how we live, and part of that is choosing the paths we walk on. If you choose to walk on over to spirit, that’s one thing, but how often have you done that?”

A lump forms in my throat. “Not often.”

“That’s what I thought.” She pats the book before me. “I want you to read this. I had planned on giving it to you when you were a little further along in your studies, but some things can’t wait.”

I pick up the book. It’s old and worn and the cover is missing. The title page reads: Medicine Country: A Guide to Healing. “But I know how to heal,” I say.

“No.” Madda shakes her head. “You know how to fix. There’s a difference. It talks about it in there, but what I really need you to read is the chapter on grounding, on attaching yourself to the earth so that nothing can break you free. The book has some exercises, too. Try them on your own, and when you come back, you can tell me about them.” She rubs her eyes and I realize that she’s tired too. “Time for you to go. I need to spend a little time with my own spirit guides tonight. Lots to think about. Lots to consider.” She tries to smile. “You’re going to make a very good healer. Just take your time. Time is one thing we have an abundance of right now.”

“Okay.” I tuck the book under my arm and move to get up, but change my mind. “Madda,” I say slowly, “something happened with Helen.”

“Oh, the basket-making incident? Yeah, I heard about that. She wants to apologize, but she’s afraid, you know?”

I nod. “Did something happen to Helen?”

Madda draws a deep breath. “Yes. Something did.”

“Something bad?”

Madda nods again. “Something very bad. Look, Cassandra, I can’t tell you. Right now, Helen and you are friends, and if I tell you, that’ll change-not that you’ll think any different of her, but you will pity her, and Helen, well, she doesn’t want that. She just wants a friend. She needs a friend. One day, she’ll tell you; I’m pretty sure of that. But for right now? Let it be. You’ve got enough to think about, and Helen, she does too. Trust me, all right?”

“Okay.” This time I do get up. “Though, would you mind telling Helen I’m not mad? That there’s nothing to apologize for?”

Madda smiles. “Sure. I will.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she says. “That’ll be good.”

When I reach the end of the path that leads away from the cottage, I look back. Madda’s still sitting at the table, her head cradled by her arms. I hope it’s just fatigue, but I suspect something’s troubling Madda, and I have a funny feeling that something is me.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I dream.

I dream of Paul sitting on a rock. His raven has wrapped its wings around his shoulders so I’m not sure where the raven stops and my brother begins. One eye is swollen, and from time to time Paul touches it, gingerly, and smiles.

Bran joins him. They talk, but what they say, I can’t make out. Then Bran produces a knife, his hunting blade. He makes an incision in his forearm, right in the spot where a chip scar would be if he had one, and as blood wells up and drips onto the rock, he hands the blade to Paul, who embeds the point right into his chip scar. They press their forearms together, melding their blood, the water of their body.

Then Paul’s raven looks at me, and with a blur of wings, forces me away.

• • •

I have always dreamed like this. The next day, when I arrive at Madda’s, it’s the first thing I tell her.

“That’s your soul walking,” she says. “Powerful stuff, that is.”

“So, what I saw, was it real?” I rub the chip scar on my arm. It began to hurt this morning and hasn’t stopped since.

“Real?” Madda sets down the bowl she’s been drying and turns to me. “Define ‘real’ for me.”

Define “real.” I roll the words over in my head, and realize I can’t. “I don’t know how,” I say. “I mean, I had my dream, so it was real to me. Did it actually happen, what I saw? That I don’t know, but that doesn’t make the dream unreal, I guess.”

“True that,” Madda says. “Dreams are real, but some dreams are more real than others, if you know what I