Shadows Cast by Stars

fingers go numb. Despite what Henry could do, despite what he is doing, I am capable of far, far worse.

Henry steps back from the men and storms over to us. He points at me. “You,” he snarls, “are to keep your mouth shut.”

“We need to be quarantined,” I say, every word as pointed as his.

“Do we? I say we don’t. None of us shows signs and the incubation period is just about over. You’ve been so out of it that you’ve got no idea how much time has passed.”

Is that true? Maybe. Possibly, but still… “But we’ve never seen this before, Plague in Others. What if this is a new strain? What if it behaves differently?”

He doesn’t allow me to continue. “There’s been no new cases since the earthquake. No new cases. We’re safe. Got it?” He leans in close, so close I can smell his stinking breath. “And, in case you need reminding, don’t forget who allowed your family to come here and gave you that nice house of yours. I can change my mind about that, you know.”

“Go ahead,” I say, though fear is thick in my throat and it’s hard to force words past it. “See how well you do without a healer.”

“Oh, I won’t send you away.” His smile deepens. “I need you. I’ve seen what you can do. But your father? Your brother? They’re expendable.” He leans on the last word, and I draw back. “I think you know what I mean.” He waves a couple of the newcomers over. “Relieve Cedar and Joe. They’ve been carrying this stretcher all morning.”

The stretcher swings as the men lift it up. I know what Henry is doing. He’s keeping me from those who might listen. These new men, they don’t care about me one bit. But why? Why is he doing this? Yes, it’s true that the incubation period could be over, but why put the entire community at risk? How can he not understand this?

But, as we enter town, it’s clear that it no longer matters. It’s too late. People are waiting for us, and the moment we’re sighted they come running over, hugging their husbands and sons, kissing their cheeks, welcoming them home. I turn my head and refuse to watch. What did this trip accomplish? Nothing. No refugees arrived at the outpost. The searchcraft? As far as I know, it’s still in the woods. Maybe it’s salvageable, but probably not. Madda? Dead, along with how many others? I still don’t know. So what was it that we were supposed to have done? It doesn’t make sense. None of this-my burns, the earthquake in my feet, the sisiutl in my mind-none of it makes any sense at all, especially when I open my eyes to see Henry Crawford throw his arms around a woman and a little girl.

I look away, sickened.

“Where are we taking you?” one of my stretcher-bearers says.

“Home.” I want to go home. My father isn’t here. I want to see him before I quarantine myself.

They lift the stretcher up and set out. The man at the foot of my stretcher keeps sneaking glances at me, until finally he says, “Pretty sorry to hear about your brother. I was out on the water with him. Nice guy.”

“My brother?”

His gaze drops to his feet. “Oh. Um… well… he was in the canoe that didn’t come back.”

My heart stops. “What?” I whisper. Paul’s canoe? It didn’t come back? Are you sure? I try to ask, but when I open my mouth, nothing comes out. This man is wrong. He must be wrong. Paul? Missing? Does that mean Bran’s missing too? I try to get up so I can run back to town, but my arm gives out and I almost fall off the stretcher.

“Whoa,” the man says. “Take it easy. You’ll hurt yourself.”

I’m already hurt. I can’t tell you how hurt. “Tell me what you know,” I finally manage to say. My shoulder is aching so badly that my vision’s gone spotty and my ears are ringing, but I force myself past it. I must listen. I need to know.

“Well… we’re not sure what happened,” the man says. “The canoe went out on patrol and didn’t report back when it was supposed to. No one thought anything of it at first, because sometimes currents can mess things up.” He won’t look at me. “By the time we figured out that something was wrong, too much time had passed. There was nothing to find.”

“So what’s been done?” I blink, hard, trying to clear the spots from my eyes. “Who’s trying to find them?”

I wait. And wait. And when no answer comes, I tip myself off the stretcher and fall in the dirt, but I don’t care. I have to go back to town. Paul and Bran are missing. We need to go find them. We need to get them back.

All I manage is two steps before the blackness overtakes me.

• • •

Sometime later, I wake. They’ve bound me to the stretcher, so I’m forced to stare at the sky as they carry me toward our house. A few puffs of clouds cling to the blue. I want to touch them. I want to touch what’s untouchable.

“No,” I say when they start down the driveway. “No, leave me here.”

The men exchange puzzled looks. “Here?” one of them says. “You sure?”

I nod. “Just go down and tell my father I’m up here, okay?”

He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. “All right,” he says. “Will do.”

A few minutes later, my father jogs up the hill toward me. My stretcher-bearers head off without a word, leaving my father and I to stare at each other. He’s trying not to cry. So am I.

“Don’t come closer,” I manage to say. “I’ve been exposed to Plague.”

“But you can’t catch Plague.” He’s clearly puzzled. “None of us can.”

“We can now.” Something inside of me cracks. I think I’m going to cry, but instead, it’s laughter that spills from my mouth. My ribs hurt and my stomach is clenched in knots and all I want is to stop, but I can’t. No matter what I do, I can’t stop-until I do. Just like that. But the tears streaming down my cheeks? They don’t. They keep on coming.

My father kneels at my side and unbinds my hands. “Oh, Cass.” He’s about to say something else but can’t, so instead, before I can stop him, he leans in and kisses both of my cheeks.

And that’s that. Whatever happens next, we’ll face it together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

We sit in the living room. A pool of sunlight surrounds us. I wear one of my father’s old flannel shirts and a pair of his woolen socks, for despite the summer heat, I just can’t get warm. My bones are so cold.

No pocks yet. No fever. No Plague. We both pretend we aren’t waiting for its arrival, but I catch my father searching his arms whenever he thinks I’m not looking. I do the same. How long, how long?

My father tries to smile. “So far, so good,” he says. “I went into town this morning, and before you ask, I was careful. I didn’t go near anyone. As far as I can tell, no one there has come down with Plague yet either.” He shrugs. “Maybe it was nothing.”

What he means is maybe I was wrong. Maybe. That certainly would be the easy answer. But I’m not ready to dwell on that longer than necessary. I have other things I need to know about first. “What did they say about Paul?” I ask.

He gazes out at the lake. “Not much. They don’t seem too worried, or maybe they just don’t care.” His voice is bitter. “Grace has been hassling them too. I don’t like that woman, but I have to admit, she’s a force to be reckoned with. But the Elders, they’re not budging. Not one bit. I get that it takes time to mount a rescue and that they don’t know where to look and all that…” He takes a sip of his tea, but chokes on it. When he stops coughing, his words are raspy. “If it was their kid out there, I wonder if they’d be doing what they’re doing right now.”

“Dad,” I say carefully, “did they tell you about Madda?”

“Yeah.”

The lake is watching us, gauging our responses, mocking us with its serenity.

“She had a feeling, you know.” One corner of his mouth curls up in a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but it fails