I don’t know how my father did it, but an hour later, I’m wearing a wrinkle-free dress, the only dress I own. My mother wore this dress once, and gave it to me before she passed. It was too big then, but it isn’t now, and I wonder what she would think, me standing here, old enough to wear a dress she wore when she was my age. When I come down the stairs, my father’s there in the kitchen, looking up at me with tears in his eyes. He brushes them away, and clears his throat. “Tickle from the dust,” he mumbles. “You know.”
I smile. I do know.
Just then the kitchen door creaks open. I turn, expecting Paul, but it’s Bran-Bran like I’ve never seen him before, with a collared shirt and clean shorts. He’s even slicked his hair back out of his eyes.
I don’t know what to do. The last time I saw him, I blamed him for Paul getting involved with the Band. The time before that, I kissed him.
“I was hoping,” he says. He pauses to swallow, and I realize this is new to him. But then again, this is new to me, too. “I was hoping I could take Cassandra to the gathering,” he finally says, forcing the words out so quickly that my father can scarcely stop himself from laughing.
I look at my father. He looks at me, arching an eyebrow as if to say, Is this what you want? Are you sure?
Yes, Dad. I’m sure.
“Well, I guess that’s okay. Go on. Have her home sometime tonight.”
I kiss my father’s cheek and follow Bran outside.
We walk down the hill in silence, both too shy to speak. He holds the canoe for me, and once we’re both seated, paddles us out into the lake. Bran’s humming, just under his breath, a sound that should calm me, but it doesn’t. My hands have found the sides of the canoe and grip it so tightly that I can’t feel my fingers anymore, but not because of Bran. It’s the shadow I saw in the water. I’m looking for it now, and I can’t shake the feeling that it’s looking for me, too.
Bran taps my shoulder. “Are you nervous?”
For a moment I wonder how he could know, until I realize he’s talking about the gathering. “A little,” I admit.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you have a good time.”
From somewhere on the other side of the lake, a raven cackles. If Bran hears it, he gives no sign. “You don’t mind, do you?” he asks.
“Mind?”
“About me coming to get you?”
“No,” I say. He can’t see my smile. I don’t mind at all.
Bran continues to talk while he paddles. My brother is a good wood worker, he says. That’s what they’ve been up to while I’ve been with Madda. He tells me about the totem pole they’ve been working on, the images he’s carved, the paints he’s using. I close my eyes and the pole appears in my mind, an enormous grizzly holding a salmon in its mouth, a raven, a kingfisher. I wonder if Bran is aware that he’s talking about his own totem, and Paul’s, too.
“Would you like to see it?” he asks. I look back at him and nod. He grins as a blush stains his cheeks. Something in my chest tightens at the sight of it. “Good. Maybe Paul’s surprise will be ready by then.”
“Surprise?”
“Oh. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
Maybe not, but that’s okay. I like surprises.
We arrive at the beach all too soon. Bran stows the canoe under the lazy boughs of a willow before taking my hand and leading me toward the park.
Dozens of people mill about. Someone is playing a drum, but everyone else is talking, waiting. Tents have been erected near the road, and the aroma of food wafts toward us. “Hungry?” he asks. I nod. “Good.” Bran holds the flap to the nearest tent open for me. “Inside. Ms. Adelaide will feed us.”
“How can you be so sure?” I say, poking him.
“Just go.” He pokes me back. “You impressed her when you helped out after the earthquake. She likes you.”
Ms. Adelaide mans a cook fire out the other side of the tent. Stacks of venison ribs are arranged over a metal grate, sizzling as fat drips onto the coals. “Meat’s not ready yet, kids,” she says with a broad smile, twisting her massive body to push past a table.
“Doesn’t matter.” Bran settles himself on a crate.
“Hiding out then, are you?” Ms. Adelaide gives us a cockeyed stare and laughs.
Bran shrugs. “Nope. Got any of your doughnuts kicking around, looking for a home?”
“I knew you were after something, Bran Eagleson.” She shakes a finger at him, and then draws a large box out from under the table. “Here. One each. Just don’t tell anyone where you got them from. This is a special batch for the Elders-for after.”
Bran hands me his doughnut so he can fumble for something in his pocket. “Stay here,” he says to me as he retrieves the doughnut from my hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Where are you going?”
“Need to give something to someone. I’ll be right back. It’s okay if she stays with you, isn’t it, Ms. Adelaide?”
“Sure, if she doesn’t mind doing some work-and eat that doughnut before anyone sees!” she hollers, waving a basting brush at Bran’s back. She hands me the brush and a bowl of sauce. “Go on, that meat won’t cook itself.” She sits down on a crate with a groan, and mops her brow. “So, you going around with him?”
I slather the sauce on the meat, thinking of her question, then take a seat beside her. She smells of heat and blood and perspiration. “I don’t know.” Because I don’t. But if not, what is this, then? Just Bran being nice?
She waves her hand in front of her as if the answer’s obvious. “You aren’t sure, huh? Well, if you ask me, you are. He wants to, at least. What about you?” She peers at me. “What do you want?”
What do I want. I look outside. Paul is making his way through the grounds, walking with Avalon. “What I want,” I say slowly, “is for my brother to be happy.”
“Ah.” Ms. Adelaide follows my gaze. “And you think he’ll be happy with her?”
“No. I don’t.” But he looks happy, and that’s got to count for something.
“So, now I know what you want for your brother. How about you?” She laughs. “Look at me, pestering you with questions. But if I could go back to your age, there is one thing I’d do.” She fixes her gaze on me with such intensity that I can’t look away. Her shade is a bear, a great mother bear, reaching over her shoulder to touch me. “It would be to listen to my gut and follow it, no matter what. You’re a thinker, I can tell, and thinking is good, but if you don’t listen to your gut, well, you don’t got much.” She pokes me in the stomach. “You ask your gut what it thinks about Bran, and you follow its advice, and don’t let anyone, not Avalon or Bran’s fool mother tell you otherwise.” She pushes herself up, taking the bowl of sauce with her to slop more on the ribs.
Listen to my gut. I want to. It’s what told me to kiss Bran the day of the earthquake, but the trouble is, what if it’s wrong?
“Talk to him,” Ms. Adelaide says, though she doesn’t look at me. “Going ’round and ’round in your head will get you nowhere at all. Talk to him, and then you’ll know what’s what.”
“Talk to who?” Bran steps into the tent. He’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Speak of the devil,” Ms. Adelaide says. “You look like you just swallowed a canary.”
“Nope. I just found out my mother’s gone home with one of her headaches, so tonight, I’m free!” He pulls me to my feet and spins me around in a circle. “Free!”
“Go on then, free boy. You’re going to get into trouble if you stay around my kitchen. Out!” Ms. Adelaide shoos Bran from the tent, but grabs my elbow before I can leave. “Now, girl, listen to me,” she whispers. “They’ll be bringing out whiskey later-stay with Bran and don’t let him drink any. He’s just kicked it, and for him to go back to the bottle? Tragic.” She shakes her head. “Shame we have it here at all. Probably best if you just get Bran to take you home after Madda does her thing. The men, well, things can get out of hand, and you’re new-different.” She cups my chin with her wide, firm hand and gives me a searching look. “Promise?”
“I promise,” I say, shocked at everything she’s just implied. Is that why Bran’s shade is so strange? Because of whiskey? If so, what does that mean for Helen’s own newly healed shade? Did she have the same problem, or is it something else entirely?
“Good.” She squeezes my chin. “I knew you had a good head on your shoulders. Make sure you have a little fun tonight.”
Bran waits for me a few paces away, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “What did Ms. Adelaide want?”
“She said that things can get out of hand sometimes, and if they do, you’re to take me home.”
He nods. “That’s true. And I will. But for now let’s go and get a seat. The drumming will start soon, and then the dancing.”
“Do you dance?”
“No.” He purses his lips. “Not until my father returns.”
“Why is that?”
“Don’t know.” He picks a pinecone up off the ground and throws it as far as he can. It bounces into the trees. “Just doesn’t seem right without him. He’s the one who taught me.”
The longhouse is already full of people when we step inside, but space is made for us near the fire. This is my first time inside the longhouse. Heat rises from the coals in invisible ribbons, making the sisiutl, the double-headed mythical serpent, painted on the far wall look alive. Already the transformation from here to the time of myth has begun, and when I look around, I see that other people feel the shift too.
The drummers have all ceased playing, save for one lone man. He’s ancient, and as the shadows of the fire ripple across his face, I can see his shade, a raccoon, hovering so close I can’t tell where it ends and the man begins. He beats a slow rhythm on his drum-ba-bump, ba-bump-like a heartbeat. I feel it deep in my chest, deep in my bones. Those sitting around me feel it too. I can tell from the way their breathing shifts, the way they close their eyes and listen.
Above, through the smoke hole, the moon peers down at us: Cree, Dene, Anishinaabe, Métis, white, half-breeds, some with the names of their native tongues, some with the names given to them by the white man, some with names that I’ve never heard of before. We’re a strange stew, but we all wait together to see what the moon has to say. The Elders have been cloistered away in a sweat lodge all evening. The crowd’s on edge.
Never takes this long, someone nearby whispers.
I take it that’s not a good sign.
Bran leans into me. The solidity of his shoulder, the heat of his skin, settles into me, helping me stay attached to the ground. I set my hands there, not caring that they’ll come away dirty. In my mind, great roots creep down from my body. Tonight is not a night for spirit to overwhelm me. Tonight, I wish I had kept Madda’s pouch. I have a feeling I could use its strength, whispers or not.
The cadence of the drum changes and the crowd parts. The Elders, wrapped in cloaks of woven cedar bark, stagger up to the fire. Firelight glints off the shells sewn to the capes, shells that have become eyes of the creatures painted there. The Elder’s faces are covered with red ocher and soot, giving them a nightmarish, menacing look. Madda comes last. Her eyes are vacant, and I can tell just by looking at her that only her body is in this world. She looks exactly like Paul when he goes to his place of visions. I scan the crowd, looking for him, for my father. I can’t find them, but I know they’re here, hidden in the shadows.
A woman walks before the Elders, waving a branch of burning sage in the air as another woman hands out smudge sticks to the crowd.
“What do I do with this?” I ask Bran as he hands one to me.
“Wait and see.”
“We’ve been waiting all night,” I murmur.
He smiles. “Time moves differently in the spirit world. You should know that better than me.” He shifts his weight and wraps an arm around my shoulder. I close my eyes as he whispers, “We’ll light them in a bit, after Madda speaks to the Old Ones, asking them for guidance.”
“Guidance for what?”
“For the coming winter, for the path of our people, for healing the world around us-who knows, really. The Old Ones choose what they want to reveal. Madda will deliver their messages, and then the celebration will begin. Dancing, drumming, you know. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll take you home, safe and sound.”
The air around me stirs with a wind that doesn’t come from a natural source. This is the spirit wind, the breath of the world, come to the longhouse to speak its secrets to Madda. I feel it drift past me, then stop and double back. No, I think, I’m not the one you want. She’s over there, under that cape, waiting for you. Please, not me. I’m not ready.
In my mind, I see the wind nod and continue on, looking for the one who has given up her body for its purpose.
The drum changes cadence again and a man starts to sing. Others add their voices, and as Bran joins them I can feel the rumble of his bass coming through his chest, right into my back, echoing out through the longhouse, to the moon, the stars, the sky.
The Elders circle around the fire, supporting Madda as she takes shuffling steps. Her head droops to one side, her mouth slack. The singing grows louder and louder. Her eyes roll back, and every muscle in my body tenses. I know what’s happening. I know, because it’s happened to me. She’s about to have a seizure.
“Won’t be long now,” Bran whispers in my ear.
But then Madda lifts her face to the moon and shrieks. The men let go and she falls to the ground, crawling on her hands and knees, grasping at things only she can see. Then, she whirls around and points at me. All I can see are the whites of her eyes as she bleats, Hoo, hoo.
Bran nudges me. “She’s calling you.”
Everyone’s looking at me as I push myself back, but with Bran right behind me, there’s nowhere to go. This creature isn’t Madda. She’s someone else, someone who terrifies me.
“You must go,” Bran says, more insistent this time as Madda shakes her finger in my direction.
I creep forward. She lunges at me, wrapping me in her arms and cackling. I don’t know what to do. Her grasp is firm and tight, and I can’t breathe. She rocks me back and forth, faster and faster, until the world blurs before my eyes. The singing becomes chanting as the earth tilts and whirls. I squeeze my eyes shut because I feel like I’m falling, falling…
Madda howls. She releases me now and I drop to the ground, panting, as she bays at the moon.
And then, without warning, she collapses in a heap.
That’s when I notice the silence. Everyone stares at us as I crawl forward and check Madda’s breathing. It’s shallow, but regular. “What do I do?” I ask the Elder nearest me. He’s staring at Madda, his eyes wide with fright. “Please-what do I do?”
Madda groans and sits up. “Start the dancing,” she croaks. “Go on, start. Start!” she barks at the nearest person and the drumming begins again. “Henry, help me up.”
Henry Crawford rushes over and lifts Madda to her feet. “You did good, kid,” she says to me as I follow them outside, half-running to keep up with Henry’s long strides. He stops when he reaches the back of the long-house and gestures for me to open a door that leads into a meeting room. There, he sets Madda down on a table.
“You did real good,” she says to me as she struggles to sit up. Henry presses a cup of water into my hands, and I hold it to her mouth. She drinks, coughs, then blinks at me.
“Was that calling down the moon?” I ask.
“No,” Madda says. Her voice is tight with concern. “I’m sorry.” She looks at Henry. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
I agree, though I wish I knew what it was that happened. “But you didn’t do that on purpose,” I say.
Madda shakes her head. “No, I didn’t, and let that be a warning to you not to go messing with things that aren’t yours to mess with. Now, go on back. I’m fine,” she says, giving me a push. “The dancing’s started, and I need to talk to Henry. Alone. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassandra.”
Madda gives me another push. I don’t want to go. I want to stay. I want to make sure Madda is all right, that she’s truly back in her body and attached to the earth. I want to ask her what happened to make her scream like that. What could the Old Ones have told her that would have brought that madness to her eyes? And, is that what will happen to me if I go walking in spirit unprepared? I’ll go mad and not even know it?
I make my way back toward the longhouse. The dancing has spilled outside and with it, whiskey. I can smell its scent on the air. Bran’s nowhere in sight. I look inside the longhouse for him, but right away I’m overwhelmed with the sparks of spirit. There is no barrier between our world and theirs tonight, and one glance at the dancers, whirling so fast that I can’t tell where dancer stops and spirit begins, tells me what I already know: I am not ready for this yet.
You have no choice, the thunderbird guarding the door seems to say. This is what has been given to you. You cannot give it back. Ready or not, here it comes.
I turn and rush outside, bumping right into Paul. “Hey,” he says, taking my arm and steering me into the park. “You okay?”
“No.” I look over my shoulder at the longhouse. “Were you there? Did you see?”
“Yeah,” Paul says. “Not the best way to introduce you to everyone, was it?”
“No.” I cross my arms. Suddenly I’m very cold. “Do you know where Bran is?”
“No,” he says a little too quickly, and when I follow his gaze, I see two shadows just a little ways off. Firelight flickers across them. It’s Avalon and Bran. She passes him a bottle and leans in, kissing his neck.
“Cass,” Paul calls as I pull away from him. “Cass, come back!”
But I don’t. I find my feet and run into the night.