Catherine Knutsson - Shadows Cast by Stars

He trembles at my touch. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself.” I wait for him to draw me into his arms, and when he doesn’t, I take him in mine. He smells terrible, but I don’t care. He’s alive.

“Okay.” I turn my attention to the man on the ground. “Who is this?”

“This,” Cedar says, “is Arthur Eagleson.”

“Your father?” I whisper.

Bran nods. “He’s hurt bad.”

I unsling the medicine kit from my back and drop to my knees beside the man. “What happened?” I ask as I check his father’s pulse. Fluttery. Weak. Not good.

Bran just shakes his head. He’s on the verge of tears.

“Bran,” I say as I touch his hand, “if you want me to help him, you’ll have to tell me what happened. And where’s Paul?”

Bran furiously rubs his eyes as if that’ll make the tears go away. “He’s not here.”

My heart stops. “Bran, where is he? Where’s my brother?”

“Cass,” he whispers, “they came and took us. Took us all. They took us north. They had my father…” His voice breaks and he turns away so we can’t see him cry. “Paul offered himself for us,” Bran finally says. “So my father and I could come home.”

“Who took you, Bran? Who?”

A sound comes from Bran’s throat, a growl, primal and bizarre. “They call themselves the sea wolves,” he says through bared teeth. “And they’re hunting you, too.”

I treat the cuts and abrasions as best I can, and then we get everyone on the boat and out to sea before the tide’s completely gone. It’s a long way back to the estuary, and the sea isn’t happy to see us go. The ocean is whitewashed with waves. The skiff lurches over them, slamming into each trough so the whole boat shudders. I know I should feel this, but I don’t. My entire body has gone numb. All I can think of is that my brother is gone.

My brother is gone .

My brother is gone .

Cedar struggles into the dodger and tries to help Helen keep the skiff on course. Bran huddles beside me and stares at his father with vacant eyes. His shade fades in and out, guttering like damp tinder. He needs spirit healing as much as his father, but I can’t help either of them until we’re back on land.

The skiff hits another swell. The engine shrieks as we hover in midair before crashing down, throwing everyone off balance again.

“Put into shore,” Cedar finally yells over the wind. “Over there!” He points to a sandy spit. “There’s a burial ground there, and an old longhouse. We can get out of the wind, at least.”

Helen turns the wheel and the skiff banks, cutting through the water, drenching us with spray. My stomach can’t stand it any longer, and I vomit over the side. Cedar grabs hold of the waistband of my pants so I don’t fall overboard.

Helen runs the skiff up onto a beach. The waves lick at our heels. The ocean’s hungry today, and not happy that we’ve managed to elude her.

Cedar and Bran lift Bran’s father from the skiff as Helen and I frantically try to figure out a way to moor it. I have no idea how far we are from home, but if we get stuck here, that’s that. We finally decide to wrap the mooring line around the biggest log we can find and hope the storm’s not bad enough to take the log out to sea. It’s the best we can do.

The longhouse is a little way off, set into scrub pines just beyond the beach. It’s in a bad state. Most of the roof has fallen away, but enough remains to keep us out of the worst of the weather. Cedar’s already left to search for wood, taking Helen with him, leaving me alone with Bran and his unconscious father.

We sit on the ground, staring at our feet. I want to ask Bran a thousand questions, but I fight to keep quiet. He’s not ready to talk yet. I’ll have to be patient. I know how to do that. I’ve done it a hundred times with my brother.

Who is gone.

A sob lodges in my throat, but I swallow it away. Not now. Later . Paul will have to wait for later, even though all I want to do is scream at the skies that my brother is gone.

I glance up to find Bran watching me. For a moment he looks like he’s going to take me in his arms, but then Cedar and Helen arrive with driftwood and the moment passes. Bran returns to looking at his feet. I rise to help Helen and Cedar with the fire.

We are strangers once again.

R ain slashes sideways through the gaps in the roof. We huddle in the only dry space as the fire hisses and pops in the strange, shifting wind. Bran’s father lies on the ground, bookended by Bran and me. His breathing is slow and shallow. His heartbeat? Jumpy and faint. It could be his heart that’s the problem, but there’s no way for me to tell for certain. He’s not running a fever, nor does he bear any major physical injury that I can find. That means one thing: If I’m to help him, I’ll have to cross into the spirit world to do it, and the last time I had an audience? It didn’t go so well.

I sit back on my heels and rub my eyes. I can feel Bran watching me. Hope radiates from him. But what if I can’t fix his father? I couldn’t help Saul.

“Cass?” Helen says. “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I’m going to have to cross over.”

Helen bites her lip. Bran clenches his jaw and drops his gaze. Cedar sits back in the shadows so I can’t see him at all.

I try not to think about any of them. There’s a man beside me who’s really hurt, so hurt that I can’t let myself think of last time. My gaze drifts out of focus as I look for where his totem should be, but it’s gone. He had one once, though. I know because I can feel it, and I can also feel the wound left behind, a raw, gaping hole in his being, a wound that must be stanched before it bleeds him dry.

I draw a deep breath and force my gaze back into focus. Delaying isn’t going to make this any easier. “Bran,” I say. “What happened to your father? Do you know?”

He won’t look at me.

“Bran, please,” I say. I want to touch him so badly, but he draws away from me. “I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

Bran drops his head. He’s on the verge of tears again.

In the shadows, Cedar groans.

“Shut up,” I snap at him. “Just shut up.” I slide closer to Bran. “I need to know what I’m looking for when I cross.”

He raises his gaze to mine. His expression is blank, but in his eyes, I see the shadow of fear. “There’s a man. The leader of the sea wolves.” His voice is weak and hoarse. He’s fighting for every word.

“Go on,” I say, giving him a smile.

He clears his throat, making way for his voice. “They’ve broken away from the Bix’iula. They live on their own, somewhere up north, along the coast.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to be patient. I’m not sure what this has to do with his father. “Just take your time.”

He coughs again, and I start to worry. The cough is heavy and thick. I want to check him out, but I force myself to sit there like a rock and wait for him to speak.

“They came for us when we were patrolling the boundary,” Bran finally says. “Put us in the hold of a ship. Beat us, but the beating wasn’t as bad as what came later. That’s when the man came.” He draws his knees into his chest. “We stopped somewhere, I don’t know where. There weren’t any windows in the hold. That’s when he took our men out one by one, and when he brought them back… they didn’t talk anymore. They didn’t even look like men-more like… shells. Like their life was burned out of them.” His gaze shifts to his father. “Paul said the man was taking their souls. Paul… he spoke with… ghosts, and that’s what they told him. That’s what they had done to my father. That’s what they were going to do to us. I don’t know what they do with the souls, Cass, but our men… we should have killed them. I should have. Put them out of their misery.” He finally looks at me, eyes so full of agony that I have to force myself not to look away. “Except I didn’t have the courage.”