Shadows Cast by Stars

Dusk tiptoes off, making way for the heavens. It’s a perfect night, this night without a moon. I close my eyes, inhale the smoke, and feel the shift. I’m no longer where I was a moment ago. When I open my eyes, I am in the strange twilight world of spirit.

A raven cackles and hops down from a tree. I know what you’re looking for. I can lead you to what you seek.

“For what price?” I ask. I know this raven-it’s not just a raven, but the raven, the one who found man, the one who is the monolith. He does nothing for free.

He cocks his head this way and that, considering me. I wouldn’t mind that stone at your throat, he says, bobbing his head.

I touch the spirit stone. “No.”

Croak, he says as he hops toward me. I thought as much. Perhaps a favor-not now, but when I need it most. A favor. That’s my price.

“And how do I know you won’t ask for my left eyeball, or my firstborn, or some other awful thing?” There’s no way I’m making an open-ended deal with this trickster.

You don’t, he says, flapping his wings as he begins to hop from foot to foot. But you and I have been friends for a long time, Cassandra. There was a time when no one would listen to you except for me. Have you forgotten that time? Should I help you remember?

I’m about to tell him that I don’t understand when he flies at me. Before I can cover my eyes, his wings strike my face and a flood of memory washes over me. I see a world torn to pieces by fire and war. I stand apart, watching as the gates to a mighty city open, admitting a wooden horse taller than the firs of the forest. I scream and scream to stop, to burn the horse where it stands, but no one listens to me, for I have no tongue.

The vision shifts and I see a man on a barge. I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. I slip into the water, shape- shifting to the sisiutl, and follow the barge. I know this man. Silver stains his auburn hair. It is Bran, an older Bran, worn thin and haggard by time. He is guarded by four women in black robes, and I know they are taking him to his resting place. He reaches out to me, but before I can touch him, someone strikes me with a sword and I sink back into the water, the sword embedded in my side.

The scene shifts again and again. I am a maiden standing in a field, calling the name of god. I am Sybil, Brigid, Skadi, a thousand names in a thousand tongues, proclaiming the truth of a thousand mysteries, and no one will listen to me.

The vision passes and I fall to my knees on the gravel shore beside the twilight lake.

The raven hops to my side. Did you find what you were looking for?

“I’m not sure. Do you know what I saw?”

Oh yes. He hops closer and pecks at my hand. You have much work to do. This time, we all have too much to lose.

“What does that mean?”

He cackles. You’ll see. The raven opens his mouth wide. It stretches into a gaping maw and when I look inside, I see he has no tongue. He snaps his bill shut. Even I am bound by laws, Cassandra. They bind you, too. But there’s a way around them, if you have the courage to break what cannot be broken.

“Stop speaking in riddles,” I say.

The raven croaks again and bobs his head, then takes to wing. I’ve spoken as plain as I’m permitted, he says, now circling around my head. Shall I show you what you’re looking for?

I don’t want to trust him. I know I shouldn’t, but in this world, I have just as much power as the raven, and if he tries to trick me, I’ll find a way to trick him right back. “Yes,” I say as I feel my body begin to change again. “Show me where my brother and Bran are.”

The raven waits as I lift from the ground and fly after him. We cross immense forests of thick fir, rising on warm currents, skimming the peaks of a mountain range. Beyond is the ocean and behind us, the mainland, with the yellow haze from the Corridor clinging to its coast like the slow creep of fungus.

There, the raven says, where the sea wolves swim. Find the sea wolves and you’ll find what you seek.

I turn to thank him but he’s gone, and I find the trees rushing up to impale me as I plummet back to earth.

When I wake, the fire is dead and my clothes are damp with dew. My head aches. My throat is raw and sore. I find my way to my feet, stumble toward the rain barrel, take a drink, and then go inside and fall into Madda’s bed.

My bed.

It’s my bed now, and I plan to stay here until I have slept away every last bit of fatigue and sorrow in my bones, because tomorrow, I will leave to find Bran and my brother-no matter what.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I’m awake well before dawn. The cottage is quiet. Outside, the sky is pink and gold. A good day for a journey.

I’ve just put away the breakfast dishes when someone knocks at the door. When I open it, Helen is standing there, a pack on her back.

“Helen,” I say, “you don’t need to knock. This is your house.” I move out of the way so she can step inside, aware that she knows the cottage better than I do. She’s the one who belongs here.

She sets the pack down on the table and turns to face me. “No, it isn’t. It’s your house, Cass. I have something I need to tell you.”

I open my mouth so I can apologize properly, so I can tell her all the things I’ve wanted to say since I got back, but she shakes her head. “No. Sit. Listen.”

So I do.

Helen takes a seat across from me and folds her hands on the table. “Cass, I knew. I said my good-bye to Madda before she left.”

“You knew?” I can scarcely believe what I’m hearing.

She nods.

“Madda told you?”

Helen shakes her head. “No. Do you remember that day at the store, the day you came to the Island? When I told you I knew you were coming?”

It’s my turn to nod. I had just assumed that Madda had told her.

“Sometimes I just know things. I can’t say how, exactly. Just… they pop into my head, and I know that they’ll happen. Not all the time, and not as often as when I was younger, before… well, before. But I knew about Madda. She told me not to tell you. She told me you’d try to find a way to stop it, or give yourself up in her place, or something like that.”

For several moments I can’t do anything but blink at Helen. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You knew,” I say again, because it’s all I can say. She knew.

Somehow that doesn’t help, and I find myself looking at a knot in the wooden tabletop so she doesn’t see my tears.

That’s when I remember the pack.

“What’s that for?” I say as I touch the stiff leather.

“You’re going on a trip. I’m coming too.”

I brush my tears away and look up at her. Her jaw is set, and even if I said no, I’m pretty sure she’d still follow. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll be glad to have you.” Though glad doesn’t even touch on the relief that I won’t be alone.

“You’ll need a boat,” she says.

I can’t help chuckling. “You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you?”