Somewhere to Dream (Berkley Sensation) (2 page)

CHAPTER
2

Tsalagi

I do recall waking up at the end of it. The voices of the people around me came and went in confusing melodies, most of them round and reassuring, cut occasionally by clipped guttural syllables. The words meant nothing. I needed to see what was happening; I couldn’t stay in the dark, much as it beckoned. The process of opening my eyes was torturous, but I fought my heavy lids until I could make out the shapes and colours looming around me. Forced to keep still by the bruised proof of our nightmare stomped into my face, I said nothing and moved only my eyes.

The light was dim, gold, soothing, and the air was still, whisked occasionally by the passing of a blurred figure. I was indoors, lying beneath a ceiling of smoke-darkened thatch, my aching body cradled by something soft. Faces visited me, peering into my line of sight, dark eyes deep with concern, brows angled with curiosity. I felt tentatively safe, bundled in my cocoon. They hadn’t killed us yet, after all. But that could change as quickly as a leaf overturning in a breeze. Because I knew who these people were, these saviours who had flown from the trees, arrows singing. These soft-spoken people who had tended us, encouraged us to sleep, carried us home.

Tsalagi.
My defences were down, crumbled to useless mounds of rock in the back of my mind, so I didn’t know if the word had come from that forbidden voice inside me, or if it had been spoken by one of the dark-skinned people gathered around me.

Tsalagi.
I knew that word. Our father had used it, spitting it out with disgust.

Tsalagi.
Cherokee. People who ate their victims’ hearts while they still beat, who peeled back the scalps of white people as easily as if they peeled a pear.

But not us. Not Maggie and me. The Cherokee had leapt to our rescue as if they’d been called, appearing out of nowhere with an obvious goal: to bring us back alive.

I lost track of time in that long, low house. I slept with the aid of their teas, gave in to their healing touch. Growing up, I had learned the healing arts from my mother, but these people knew so much more. If I had been thinking more clearly, I would have learned a lot.

I based the passing of hours, of days, on the coming and going of visitors. Some became familiar, like the girl who seemed the same age as we were, and the two healing women who had first arrived along with the rain of arrows. I began to relax, which was an alien feeling for me. The Cherokee were taking care of Maggie and me as if we were special guests, and it made no sense to fear them. Not yet, anyway.

Fear had served as a useful tool for every one of my sixteen years. No one ever expected poor, timid Adelaide to step out on her own, to venture into the unknown. But the Cherokee didn’t know that. As our health improved, they gathered around Maggie and me, chattering, staring, and pointing, occasionally prodding with a curious finger. But though they might have been invasive, not one touch, not one glance was done out of malevolence. Their earth-brown eyes were filled with a childlike fascination at seeing something new and different, and yet their guileless interest seemed tempered, merged with the wisdom of the ancients. They tended us with the utmost care, healing as much as they could of both our bodies and our hearts.

I was shocked when Maggie revealed her secret to them, and I told her so. Before then, we had never told anyone outside of our family about Maggie’s dreams. Our grandmother, who had been burned at the stake for speaking of her own dreams, had passed the gift to Maggie from beyond the grave. So we’d always kept quiet about what Maggie could do with her mind. Selfishly, I feared not only that Maggie would be put to death if she were discovered, but that her persecutors would kill her family as well. Or worse, they might discover Maggie’s quiet sister, Adelaide, had her own secrets. The image of flames snapping in a pile of tinder at my feet, crawling up my body with a broiling hunger, kept me quiet. I’d told no one of my selfish fear, but Maggie knew.

“Why would you do that?” I demanded. “Telling them only puts us in danger.”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think so. The feeling here is . . . I don’t know.” She looked at me, her eyes lit with that strange, dreamy look she sometimes carried. She knew I understood some of what she lived with, though she didn’t know how deeply. No one did. Not even me. But she knew she could talk to me about it, if no one else. “Can you hear it, Addy? The wind? How it flows through everyone here, connects them all?”

I shook my head and looked away. I didn’t even try to listen. If I’d opened myself up to it, I would have sensed the messages in the breeze. My gift was strong enough for that. But I didn’t want to know the messages. My life was complicated enough without throwing in more threats.

“Well, I do,” she insisted. “It feels as if someone holds my hands here. As if they believe in me—in
us
, Addy.”

Lying in the quiet dimness of the council house those first few days, I had time to think. I came to the conclusion that Maggie’s gift had somehow sounded the call that had brought them to our rescue in the woods. These people heard more than just sounds, and I believe they sensed her plea for help. From the beginning, they accepted us as part of the village, teaching us their language and lessons as we became more comfortable with this new world. The women came to Maggie in the mornings, asking about her dreams, wondering how what she’d seen might affect them or their families. I stayed silent in the corner of our house, or in my bed, listening.

Then Grandmother Wah-Li took Maggie under her aged wing. She had been taken to the old woman’s house after two days, leaving me to sleep and mend. When she returned to our house, she glowed. She sat with me and held my hands, beaming like the sun.

“It’s all right, Addy. We’re meant to be here.”

“Oh? What does that mean?” The words came out shorter than I’d intended, but she made me nervous with her grand words.

“Addy, don’t be angry. And I’m not crazy. But being here means so much. We belong with these people. They’ll take care of us. Oh, Addy. I wish I could tell you how wonderful I feel. I met Grandmother Wah-Li, and she is . . .” She hesitated, her sparkling eyes looking skyward as she searched her thoughts. She grinned, then flinched as one of the cuts on her lip split. “She is a magical being. It’s as if her spirit is tied to mine. Addy,
I felt her inside my head.
”

I stared at her, lost for words. What did that mean? When I didn’t speak, she did, waving her bandaged hands and pacing the room while she talked about what had happened.

“And Addy,” she said, coming back to sit in front of me. “She gave me a gift.”

“What? Where is it?”

Maggie pointed to her head and grinned. “I can understand their language. She did something to me when she was inside my mind, and now I understand what the people are saying. I’ll teach you, and we’ll be fine here.”

Just like that, Maggie practically became
Tsalagi
.

The Cherokee girl who had visited us throughout the first few days became Maggie’s closest friend. I watched in agony as I was replaced. But I couldn’t hate the girl, no matter how I tried. She said her name was Kokila, and she was sweet and kind. To be fair, Kokila spent hours with both of us, watching, learning, teaching, chattering in her foreign words. But because of Wah-Li’s gift to Maggie, my sister shared her jokes, laughed when she did, followed along, translating as if she’d always known the words. And I watched.

Two days after Maggie met Grandmother Wah-Li, it appeared the old woman decided I’d had enough rest. Kokila told Maggie, “Grandmother Wah-Li wishes to see your sister.” And Maggie translated smoothly, but I shook my head. Kokila, her smile warm and friendly, tugged my arm and led me toward the outside. She seemed not to notice my panic. I glanced over my shoulder at my sister, who had turned toward the other women already, not bothered for me at all. Had she forgotten? This would mean stepping into a dark place with strangers. This was something I simply couldn’t do.

“Come with me, Maggie,” I begged.

“I can’t,” she told me, and the calm in her voice smoothed her face into a soft smile. “It’s you she wants to see.”

At her refusal, I felt suddenly exposed. As if someone had peeled off my clothing and stood me in front of a crowd. I was very alone, and I wasn’t used to being alone. The one time I had been separated from my sisters—but no. I couldn’t think of that. This was nothing like that. Besides, those memories were safely hidden away behind the wall in my mind. Still, my voice shook.

“Please, Maggie? I can’t go in there alone.”

“Kokila will be with you. You’ll be fine.” Finally her eyes filled with a familiar reassurance, and she pressed my hand between hers, trying to share her strength. If only she could have. “Go on. Then come back and tell me what happened. I promise you’ll feel good about her. It’s a new beginning for us, Addy. Don’t be afraid.”

Ducking reluctantly out of our stuffy house, I followed Kokila across an open space to the council house and stooped through the low door. It was darker inside than where we were living, the space lit only by a pile of glowing embers in the centre of the room. Four women sat by the fire, their faces flickering orange, the shadows of their features giving me an eerie, skull-like impression of vacant spaces. Kokila nodded at me, smiling, then gestured toward the women. But I didn’t want to go. It wasn’t so much the fear of the unknown that paralyzed me. It was something deeper. Maggie had told them her secret, opened her mind and heart to total strangers. That had been her decision to make, I supposed, but I didn’t want to reveal any secrets to these women. My heart raced, and I fought the urge to shove Kokila aside so I could flee into the sunshine.

One of the women muttered something and pointed her crooked finger accusingly at me.

“I’m sorry?” I said. She repeated the odd syllables and her finger drifted, suggesting an empty place on the floor.

Kokila patted my hand as if I were a little girl and gently forced me down. “Sit.”

When I was seated, Kokila smiled again, then turned and left without a sound. My ability to breathe went with her. From deep within me rolled a series of tremors, forcing fear through my chest, through my throat, finally through my eyes, where it escaped and slid down my cheeks in hot, revealing tears. It was as if my bones wanted to shake me hard enough so my mind could escape whatever had me frightened.

I stared at the women through the dim light of the house, but the one who had spoken before only smiled. Finally, when no one moved, I took a deep breath of the sage-scented air. My damp hands pressed against my lap as I tried to control the shaking, and I stared down at where they linked. It was the only place I could look, unwilling as I was to meet the intense stares of the women. My heart beat so quickly that I feared it might burst into flames.

As I sat curled into myself, I felt a heavy breath of warm air waft over me, redolent with herbs, tickling like a summer breeze at the top of my head. Except there was no breeze in the stifling building, and I knew that. Regardless, I closed my eyes, feeling soothed, relieved to disappear in the growing warmth. The sensation embraced me, melting into what felt like a whisper-thin vapour on my cheeks, my chin, my neck.

And the air had a voice. Its strange, floating melody caressed my nerves, softening their tension, and though the notes and words seemed familiar, they came from somewhere I’d never been. A sensation of half-remembered lullabies cascaded over me, rolling in waves over my eyelids, my lips, tumbling over my shoulders and settling like an embrace in my chest. My heart slowed. I opened my eyes and stared at my hands. They were still.

I felt no fear.

I looked at the women but only truly saw one of them. She was ancient, with wrinkles crisscrossing deeper wrinkles, her lips folded under where teeth should have been. What was left of her silver hair was only strands, and those were as fine as a baby’s. But her eyes were alive, twinkling with youth and wisdom. They questioned, answered, offered, demanded, but expected nothing. She kept her gaze on mine, and I became aware of her actual voice. It was more of a croak than a normal voice, but I listened as she muttered words not meant for me. The other women made small sounds of assent, then, with some effort, roused themselves and followed Kokila’s silent exit.

I was alone with Grandmother Wah-Li, except I had never felt less alone. In truth, I felt as if I would never again be alone as long as she existed.

“I am Wah-Li,” I heard, and remembered Maggie’s stories.
The old woman was inside my head!
Now she was in mine, talking and listening at the same time. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

I believed her. My body felt light, almost fluid with relief. I felt absolutely no fear. I didn’t remember having ever, in my entire life, experienced that kind of freeing sensation.

“U li helisdi, Oohdeeyuhlee Ageyujah,”
she said, but her eyes spoke in a language I somehow understood. “Welcome, Shadow Girl. I see you as I saw your sister. You and she are new to our family but have been in my heart for many lifetimes. You do not wish it, but I see your Hidden Power, your
Guhsgaluh Ulaniguhguh
. You and I, we will find it together. It will not be the ugliness you fear.”