The Book of Dreams (44 page)

A
fter her aunts left, Dana made a fitful attempt to do as Dee suggested. With the television on, a chocolate milkshake, and french fries with vinegar, she told herself to be patient and wait for news. Some part of her wanted to be the kid, to let the older ones look after matters, but it wasn’t long before she knew that simply wasn’t possible. Inside, the urgings grew stronger and stronger. This was her quest, and while she was disappointed that she couldn’t meet the Fair Folk that night, they were not the chief reason she had come west. She began to pace the floor. There was something else she had to do here. What was it? Grandfather’s words echoed in her mind.

It is important to encounter and acknowledge the life of the land. From such encounters come power.

Well, she had done the thing he encouraged her to do, traveling around Canada and meeting its spirits. And just as he had promised, she had learned much and gained in strength and power.

Dana’s pacing increased. Things were growing clearer.

The land won’t yield its secrets to a stranger.

And there in her hotel room in Vancouver, Dana suddenly caught sight of a huge truth. The spirits of the land knew all about the Book of Dreams. They knew what it was and where it could be found. But they would not reveal that secret to an outsider.

She had to convince them somehow. She had to make them understand she was not a stranger. That she belonged here.

Dana didn’t stop to write a note. She had to go quickly. They were waiting for her. Throwing on her coat, she ran out of the room.

• • •

It was a balmy evening, much warmer than Toronto at that time of year. Dana strode determinedly along the boardwalk. Though it was less crowded than earlier, there were still a few strollers. Behind her rose the city towers. Ahead, the green shadows of Stanley Park. The sun had set over English Bay to drown in the waters of the Strait of Georgia. A flock of white gulls bobbed sleepily on the waves. Clouds moved in the sky to reveal a clear moon with a silver corona.

Traveler, do not tarry

For the moon shines so bright

The song was drifting on the breeze, whispered by the trees that bordered the path, leaves whispering and singing like dark tongues in the night. The farther she walked, the fewer people she passed. Alarm bells sounded in the back of her mind but she ignored them. There was no question of turning back. She had business there that night.

Traveler, be not wary

For the Old Ones call tonight.

The forest loomed ahead. Hurrying toward it, she plunged into the trees. The darkness inside was warm and inviting. A hush had fallen over the foliage. Slowly things began to move around her, to slip out of place, to shift and change. Colors competed with the darkness. Various shapes seemed to creep in her direction, then scurry away as if too shy to meet.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

The trees replied with a susurrus of sound: the crepitation of leaves, the crackle of twigs, the snap of branches. The night pressed against her ears like a seashell, whispering and sighing. She heard the scuttle of small creatures in the undergrowth and the rustle of wings in the boughs overhead. Her eyes darted here and there to catch sight of what moved. They were quick as a heartbeat! Everything was in motion yet somehow invisible.

She walked quietly, carefully, stalking her prey. Deep in the Canadian woods that night, she was hunting the answer.

Wandering through the park, Dana reached a clearing. Before her rose a stand of totem poles. Even in the darkness the carved features were striking; yellow beaks, white wings, black eyes, and red lips. She was able to make out the different animal beings—Raven, Eagle, and Bear. They looked proud and lonely. As she gazed upon them, she heard a loud crack on the wind.

There was no time to feel fear. The totem animals were waking up, moving, yawning, stretching. It was Raven who flew down from the top of the pole, no longer carved from wood, but flesh and bone. His wings closed around her in a flurry of black feathers. In the distance came the sound of a rattle and the beating of drums. Then a voice raised in song. There was something familiar in Raven’s look, the wisdom and kindness that shone in his eyes.

“Grandfather!”

Like a small child she reached out to accept his embrace, to be lifted upward. He didn’t hold her for long. She had no sooner been raised from the ground to the uppermost height of the totem than she was flung into the sky and far away. She flew through the night. The sensation was exquisite, far more wonderful than even
la chasse-galerie
. For there was nothing between her and the swift currents of air. She knew what it was like to be a bird. The stars hurtled above her. The land sped past below. Beyond the forest, over gorge and narrow passage, she crossed the North Shore Mountains and the craggy coast. Now the great islands slid away to the west as she journeyed deep into the interior of British Columbia.

Dazed but excited, Dana landed on her feet in another forest. The size of the trees was overwhelming, so too the sense of their age. Arboreal giants, centuries old. The air was rich with the scent of red cedar, Douglas fir, sitka spruce, and hemlock. It wasn’t night here. Viridescent light filtered through the interlace of leaves. This forest was greener than any woods she had known in Ireland, more emerald than the Emerald Isle. Massive draperies of leafage cascaded from the boughs. The great trunks were shrouded with ivy and moss. Underfoot was a thick mat of old leaves, needles, and bracts laid down in layers over countless seasons.

Was this a forest in Canada or a primeval wood? The First Forest that begat all forests? It had an air of innocence, of paradise. A sense that no man had ever walked there. Black crows cawed from high in the treetops. Gray squirrels scrabbled in their dreys. A great spotted slug crawled over a leaf. As raccoons and skunks ambled past, some stopped to sniff her as if in greeting. They showed no fear. A black-tailed deer let Dana stroke its flank.

She could hardly describe how she felt in that forest. Somehow she felt very old and very young at the same time; new upon the earth and yet, as if she had always been there. For as long as life had existed so too had she; but now she was seeing it for the first time with new eyes.

Dana was attempting to orient herself when something rushed out of the trees to grab her. Though her mind cried “bear,” she knew it wasn’t. She had glimpsed features in the hairy face just before it threw her over its shoulders. The flat nose and lipless mouth were simian, like a gorilla or an orangutan. More than eight feet tall, with shaggy reddish-brown hair, it had broad shoulders, a barrel chest, and no visible neck. Against the first stab of terror, she had caught the apologetic look in its eyes.

The furry giant carried her along the trails, moving with the ease of one who dwelled in the forest. When they reached a wide clearing beside a river, Dana was set down.

Before her was a camp inhabited by similar creatures. Makeshift huts were arranged around a large campfire. The structures of leaves and branches had the temporary look of nomadic shelters. While the adults went about their work, gathering water from the river or tending the fire, children of all ages played nearby. They appeared to be a quiet and peaceful race. Dana could hear in their low murmurings a snuffling kind of language that involved grunts and snorts. As they glanced at her with big curious eyes, she found herself hoping they weren’t carnivorous. Was she on the menu? There were no pots or cooking utensils to be seen.

Her captor had left her sitting on a rock. No one approached her. She wondered whether she should try to escape. A quick glance at the huge forest that crouched around her discouraged the thought. Where would she go? When more of the creatures entered the camp with baskets of roots, greens, nuts, and berries, she breathed a sigh of relief. Herbivores.

One of the children ran toward her to drop a bunch of wild strawberries into her lap. Caught off guard, Dana let out a yelp that sent her benefactress scampering away, yelping also.

“Oh, sorry, sorry,” Dana called out, too late.

The longer she remained in the camp, the more relaxed Dana grew. She could see that the creatures were friendly, if shy. They showed no signs of aggression, either against her or amongst themselves. She noticed they kept looking into the trees. After a while she realized they were waiting for someone.

When he arrived at last, Dana thought she might faint with fear.

The ground trembled beneath him as he strode into the clearing. Even stooped with age he was much bigger than the others—at least twelve feet tall. There was no doubt he was ancient, the Elder of the tribe. Where the others had abundant red or brown fur, his hair was white and thin, even bald in patches. As he drew near, Dana caught the faint whiff of decay. His face was wrinkled like a dried riverbed. The dark eyes were wet and rheumy. Yet he was terrifying, far more so than the others. For while they were domesticated, he was obviously a wild man of the woods.

He did not sit down. His manner was brusque and impatient, like a king or a politician. He had come to perform a task and would leave again as soon as it was done.

He stood in front of Dana and pointed to the others around the fire.

“Saskehavas.”

Dana stared at him dumbly. Her mouth was dry. She fought against her fear to pay attention. He was trying to tell her something, but what?

He made a sweeping gesture that took in the forest all around them.

“Klahanie.”

Dana shook her head.

The others had gathered around and were watching curiously.

Now he made a drinking motion followed by feigned laughter and an exaggerated look of merriment.

“Hootchinoo,”
he said, repeating the drinking gesture.

The furry audience burst into loud laughter, startling Dana. What madness was this?

“Hootch—?” Dana tried.

Another explosion of laughter. Dana was growing more confused by the minute.

Several more words were directed at her, each sounding so different from the last that she finally guessed what was going on. He was trying out various languages on her.

“I speak English,” she said, “and Irish. Also a bit of French.”

The exasperated look on his face was almost comical. Had the situation not been so bizarre she would have laughed.

“Why did you not say so?” he said in a deep rumbling voice.

“I … I … didn’t think—”

“Your kind never do,” he said with a grunt.

He indicated the others, who were looking pleased and excited now that Dana and the Elder were talking.

“They called me here to speak with you. Do you know of the Sasquatch?”

Dana was embarrassed. “I haven’t been very long in this country,” she told him. “I’ve only begun to learn—”

“Bigfoot is another name your people use.”

“Oh, wait! Yes! I know that one! You mean the North American version of the Abominable Snowman? The Yeti?”

“Tibetan cousins.” The Elder nodded.

“Are you Sasquatch as well?” Dana asked, amazed.

“I am of the Firstborn. That is why I can speak with you. We have all the languages that are upon the earth. There are only a few of us, and we are solitaries. We live alone in the mountains. The Bigfoot, our descendants, are more sociable. They like to live in tribes, but they are also clannish. They shun human company and speak only their own language.”

Dana smiled at the others, who smiled back shyly. Some still looked a little nervous of her. How could she have been afraid of them?

“Why did they bring me here?” she asked.

“They want to help you. Know this, even as the evil which has entered the land gathers allies to its cause, so those who oppose the darkness are called to your light.”

“Like an army?” Dana said worriedly. “I don’t want to drag people into a battle.”

“There is no neutral ground in this war,” the Elder said. “Battles must be fought, within and without, both big and small. You have been brought here for a reason. It is time for your initiation.”

A rush of fear swept through Dana, but she fought it down. Wasn’t this why she had set out that night?

“What must I do?” she asked the Elder.

“You will go into the forest. The Sasquatch will prepare you. You must seek out the Old Ones to ask their blessing.”

Another wave of anxiety. What if she failed? Dana steeled herself. She was at the heart of her quest, the core of her mission. If she proved her worth to the spirits of the land, she would find the Book of Dreams. It was up to her how she faced this test: coward or a hero?

“Is there something I should bring?” she asked calmly. “A gift or offering of some sort?”

The dark eyes assessed her. She couldn’t read the meaning of his gaze.

“You are the gift,” came his reply, at last.

Before Dana could ask what he meant, the Elder’s visit ended. With a grunt of farewell to the others, he stalked out of the camp.

As soon as he left, the preparations for Dana’s initiation began. The female Sasquatch led her to the river where they indicated she was to undress and bathe. The water was icy cold and took her breath away, but she felt invigorated when she climbed out. Her skin tingled, her blood sang. Once dry, she was given new clothes; a shirt and leggings of soft, supple deerskin. Neatly stitched, they were embroidered with white quills and blue beads. A knee-length apron of cedar bark went around her waist. Her feet were shorn with moccasin boots. When she returned to the fire, a younger female braided Dana’s hair into a single plait down her back. Then an older male painted her face with stripes of ochre. Two last things were given to her: a short cape of black feathers and a tall staff of carved pine.

When they were finished, the Bigfoot pressed around her with gentle noises of encouragement. For a moment Dana felt as if the forest were closing in on her. They were like tall shaggy trees with red-brown bark.