The Book of Dreams

by O. R. Melling

  In a chair beside the stove, an old man sat hunched over his cup of tea, smoking a pipe. He wore denim jeans and a heavy plaid shirt. His silver-gray hair was twisted in long braids. A red-and-black blanket was draped over his shoulders like a mantle. The edges of the blanket were woven with the same designs that were carved on the door.

  It was the blanket that Dana noticed first, then she met his eyes.

  The room fell away. Dana staggered slightly. It was as if she had suddenly come to the edge of a precipice. She felt weak and dizzy. Never had she encountered such a powerful force, not even in Faerie. But though his gaze showed something profoundly deep and ancient, at the same time there was great humor in it. Dana found herself wondering if life wasn’t some huge joke being played on humanity.

  He looked away from her and greeted Jean.

  “Bienvenue, Loup. I been waitin’ for you. I had a dream. We got work to do, eh?”

  His voice was like his gaze, deep and grave yet full of laughter.

  Before Jean could answer, the old man stood up and nodded solemnly to Dana. She was overwhelmed by a desire to bow or curtsey, to show him respect. She knew how he would be addressed in the formal courtesy of Faerie. Lord. King. Majesty. But how to approach him here, in this world?

  She stooped to take the edge of his blanket and brought it to her lips.

  “I am honored to meet you, Sire.”

  The dark eyes crinkled. His laughter rumbled like thunder.

  “Don’t be too humble. It lacks dignity. Call me Neemoo-soom. Grandfather. The boys call me the Old Man.”

  He took hold of her hands. She felt the rough rasp of his skin, like the bark of a tree, felt also his immense strength. He turned her palms upward and stared at them intently. Though she made no effort to call it herself, the golden light shimmered. He let out a grunt, then gently dropped her hands and gestured her to sit.

  “Welcome, Sky-Woman’s Daughter. You got news of the Summer Land?”

  Though Dana had recognized that he was special, she was still astounded. Tears pricked her eyes. This was the first time another human being had known exactly who and what she was, had recognized and greeted her as herself. The irony that it should happen in Canada—and not Ireland—was not lost on her. She sat down shakily in the chair beside him. Jean had already drawn up a stool, while Roy pottered around, filling the kettle with water, getting mugs from the cupboard, setting out milk and sugar. When the tea was made, everyone sat quietly sipping the hot brew.

  Grandfather regarded Dana with calm dark eyes. He puffed on his pipe, waiting for her to speak. When she did, her voice shook with emotion.

  “Yes, my mother is a spéirbhean. A sky-woman. And she lives in the Summer Country that has many names. I am of fairy blood, but I’m also human. The news isn’t good. That’s why I’m here. To ask for your help.”

  The Old Man nodded. “My people tell stories about the ma-ma-kwa-se-suk who come as if from nowhere, who live underground and in the rivers and the hills. They are also called u-pes-chi-yi-ne-suk. ‘The little people.’ Some say they are the ones who make the flint arrowheads you find in the ground.”

  “Elf-darts!” Dana exclaimed. “We say the same thing in Ireland!”

  Grandfather tapped his pipe against the stove.

  “When I was a young man, I went off with my uncle across the country. We wanted to see the land, test our skills with strangers, and hear the stories of other nations. In the east we sat at the fires of the people called Mi’kmaq. There I heard the tale of how summer came to Canada. How their hero-spirit Glooskap—like the one we call We’sa-ka-cha’k—went to the Summer Land to ask their queen for help. He wanted her to chase away Old Man Winter, who was killing the people with too much cold. Glooskap sang her a song and she liked it. He was handsome and she liked that too. So she came back with him. Everywhere she walked, sunshine spread out from her feet. She melted the frozen ground and the snow and the ice. And she melted the cold heart of Old Man Winter. They sat down together and had a talk. He promised he wouldn’t stay all the time and he’d let the summer come every year.”

  Dana was amazed by the story. She recognized it as yet another tale of Faerie, a land whose history could never be fathomed.

  “That explains something,” she said, grinning suddenly.

  “What?” asked Roy.

  “We get awful summers in Ireland. That fairy queen must have given you ours!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “And I thought Faerie only belonged to Ireland,” she added, shaking her head.

  “We are all part of the Great Tale,” Grandfather said. “We are all family.”

  Dana felt her soul shiver at his words. She knew it was time to tell her story. Hesitating at first, because she was ashamed of parts, yet knowing she couldn’t leave anything out, she related everything. When she came to the part where she left Jean on the road with the monster that was Crowley, her voice faltered. Roy looked surprised and angry, but Jean interrupted to tell how she had fought the feux follets to save him. His friend was satisfied with that, and the Old Man looked pleased.

  “In the long ago past,” Grandfather said, “we would make many preparations before going on a difficult journey. There was little time for you to prepare, SkyWoman’s Daughter, but you did well and you have grown in your travels.”

  Dana felt like crying. She had come for his help; his praise and approval was more than she could have hoped for.

  Grandfather stood up slowly. It was obvious he had come to a decision.

  “Since we have been fenced into reserves, ours is a different life now. But the council fires have not gone out and we still have our medicine. Pu-wa-mi-win—the spirit power that comes through dreams—is with us still. You’ve come to me for counsel. Some would say it’s not our battle, it’s for your people only. But we all got duties and obligations to each other. When bad times come, they strike where they will. Only last week, word came that strange footprints were seen near the Peawanuck Nation on the Hudson Bay. It’s been a long time since rumors of the We-ti-ko traveled. Dark spirits are walking the land.”

  Dana was guilt-stricken. “This is all my fault …”

  Grandfather waved her words away. “No use saying it’s your fault or anybody else’s. Evil comes when things are out of balance. We all got to deal with it. Comprendstu?” Grandfather said to Jean.

  “Je comprends,” said Jean.

  “Moi aussi,” said Roy.

  They were all standing now. Dana knew without being told that a pact had been made. Whatever might come, these three were with her.

  “We go to the Medicine Lodge,” Grandfather said. “The girl will journey. You boys will stand guard.”

  “Grand-père is here too,” Jean told him.

  “Good,” said the Old Man. “We need all the power we can get right now.”

  He glanced out the window at the darkness beyond.

  “It’s coming.”

  Roy moved the jeep to the front of the house and let the engine run. Jean did not climb in immediately. The air was cold and his breath streamed like mist in front of him. In the east, a wintry light was seeping into the sky. He looked around with an anxious frown.

  Roy caught his look. “A wolf smells his own kind over a mile away. You know that. He’ll follow.”

  “C’est vrai,” Jean said with a sigh. “Still, I worry.”

  “Je comprends.” The other nodded.

  Roy stayed behind the wheel as Dana and Jean climbed in the back. They left the front seat for Grandfather, who had told them to wait while he made his preparations. Though the heaters were on full blast, the jeep was freezing. When Dana shivered, Jean put his arm around her. Caught by surprise, she stiffened. He quickly removed it, to her regret. The earlier awkwardness returned. She tried to shake it off.

  “Thanks for bringing me here,” she said to him. “I couldn’t get better help than Grandfather.”

  “He has power,” Jean agreed.

  “He got it
young,” said Roy, leaning over the front seat. “There are many stories about my grandfather. Remember what he said about traveling across the country? That was back in the 1930s. He was sixteen years old and his uncle was twenty-four. First they went east and then they went west. Between freeze-up and spring break-up, they walked and snowshoed over three thousand miles. Before they came home, they sat at the fires of many nations.”

  Roy and Jean sighed together. Dana knew they were wishing they had been there with him.

  “Even before that,” Roy continued, “the Elders saw he was stabo, a man who stands alone, who has no need of others. Some dreamed it. Others felt weak when they came near him. Those are the signs.”

  “That’s what I felt!” Dana broke in. “When I met him, I felt dizzy!”

  “It’s his power,” Roy explained. “He has it from the mista’bow, the spirit who guides him. Today, when he sings and drums in the Lodge, he’ll ask his guide to help you.”

  Dana was overcome with awe. A brief silence filled the jeep, then Roy changed the subject.

  “I sent in the application to FNTI,” he told Jean.

  “Fantastique! I’m glad you do!”

  Jean punched his friend’s arm with delight. He told Dana that Roy had long been talking about entering the Aviation Program at the First Nations Technical Institute in Tyendinaga.

  “They got a residence and everything,” Roy said. “I don’t like to leave the Old Man but like he says, it’s only Ontario. I’ll get back as much as I can.”

  “I visit him too,” Jean promised.

  “It’ll be great,” Roy said happily. “After two years, I can go for my commercial pilot’s license. I’ll fly like a bird for Air Creebec!”

  There was more talk about the flight training program but everyone went quiet when Grandfather stepped from the house. He looked magnificent in his ceremonial garb. The coat and leggings of deerskin were embroidered with porcupine quills. His moccasins were sewn with blue and red beads. Most resplendent of all was the great black mantle of ravens’ feathers that hung from his shoulders. Under one arm was tucked a drum and under the other, a rolled bundle.

  When Roy and Jean hurried from the jeep to assist him, he waved them away.

  “Je suis ancien,” he said, “pas invalide.”

  The young men grinned.

  Soon the jeep was speeding down the road and out of the community.

  They drove north, around the lakeside, toward a range of hills cloaked with forest. Though the air had lightened to a milky fog, stars still gleamed in the sky.

  Grandfather turned to Jean in the backseat. “Have you told Sky-Woman’s Daughter how you and Roy came to be brothers?”

  Jean started to laugh even as Roy let out a whoop and slapped the steering wheel.

  “Will I tell her how you hunt me down?” Jean called to his friend.

  Roy and Grandfather laughed out loud.

  They were all so merry, Dana had to laugh too. She couldn’t have been happier, driving across the frozen north of Quebec in that jeep with those men.

  “When grand-père disappear,” Jean told her, “mes parents move from Trois-Rivières to Labrador City. My father search for many years. It’s sad but I can’t tell him the truth about his father. Grand-père he tell me always it is necessary to keep the secret. It is necessary to keep safe the wolf. But for him and me, the move is good. I run with grand-père all the time and he’s not so lonely. But sometime, because I am young, I want to go more far. To the north where there are no trees and sometime to the west. That is how I come here.”

  The jeep was approaching the dense forest that bristled with jack pine, black spruce, and birch. Though the trees looked like an impenetrable barrier, they were soon bumping onto a narrow trail and into the woods.

  “I come here,” Jean continued, oblivious to the jolting of the vehicle, “where live the best young hunter and trappeur in the land. Son nom? Roy Blackbird. He see me one night and the trouble begin.”

  “The black wolf with the white star on his chest!” Roy exclaimed. “He was magnifique. There he stood in the moonlight, a dream of power. I told the Old Man, ‘I got to hunt him.’”

  Grandfather shook his head. “I warned him. ‘This is sacred. For such an animal to appear can mean your life or your death. We don’t hunt our brother, the wolf, unless he takes our food.’” The Old Man shrugged. “Like most young, he didn’t listen.”

  “The black wolf was in my head and my heart,” Roy swore. “I couldn’t rest till I got him. I tracked him from dusk till dawn. He brought me deep into Nitassinan, the lands of the Innu.”

  “A good chase,” Jean agreed.

  “We were equals,” Roy said, grinning at Dana in the rearview mirror. “Cunning against cunning. Strength against strength. I would sing the song of the wolf. The song I made to help me catch him. The hunt went on for weeks until we headed into winter. Now I knew the time was coming, the hour of his death. For the wolf, like all animals, grows weaker in the winter. I began to regret the day I would kill him. It came to me that I would be sad in the world without him.”

  Grandfather nodded. “This is a truth the good hunter knows. Animals can live without humans, but we can’t live without animals. We’d die of lonesomeness.”

  “Why didn’t you stay away?” Dana asked Jean. “Why didn’t you stop being a wolf till he gave up the chase?”

  Jean shrugged. “I don’t think that. How to say? Something go between the hunter and the one that is hunted. I feel it with him. In my blood. For me, it’s not right to hide the wolf. It’s the coward act.”

  The jeep came to a stop in the heart of the forest. No one moved as Jean finished his tale.

  “That last night, he trap me in the mountains near to un escarpement. It’s too high to jump. I am too fatigué to run. I see him hold up the gun. Death is near. I don’t think to turn human. I am wolf. I wait to die.”

  Jean paused.

  Dana held her breath.

  “Rien,” he said at last, echoing his amazement from that time. “No shot. No bullet.”

  Dana let out her breath.

  “Couldn’t do it,” said Roy. “Even before I cornered him, I had a feeling I wouldn’t. Good thing, eh?”

  The two grinned at each other.

  “I see the gun point to the ground,” Jean concluded. “Then this hunter, this great enemy, he lift his hand to say farewell. Also, to salute me. Then I know he’s my friend. My brother. I make the decision. In front of him, I turn. Except for grand-père, I don’t do this before.”

  Roy let out a whoop to acknowledge that incredible moment when he saw a wolf change into a man. “Lucky I seen some strange things with the Old Man or I would need clean pants, eh?”

  When the laughter died down, Grandfather spoke quietly. “It’s good to tell stories of courage and friendship. And it’s good to laugh together. This gives us heart. Now we do what we came here to do.”

  Just beyond the jeep was a clearing in the trees and within the clearing stood the Medicine Lodge.

  The framework of the Lodge was made of saplings, strong and supple enough to bend without breaking. The slender poles were slanted to the middle and lashed together with lariats of shagganappi, tough twisted rawhide. A circular hoop on top of the structure positioned the canopy of moose hide that covered the frame. A corner flap was left open as a door.

  Beside the Lodge, a fire pit had been dug, with logs and kindling waiting to be lit.

  Jean let out a low whistle. “The Shaking Tent.”

  “We made it two weeks ago,” Roy said. “I asked the Old Man who it was for and he said, ‘We’ll know when they get here.’”

  There was enough room inside for several people, but Grandfather told the young men to stay outside and light the fire.

  “You guard the circle,” he told them gravely. “Allow no one or no thing to enter.”

  Roy and Jean stood shoulder to shoulder, a determined look in their eyes. Dana knew they would die before anythin
g came into that space. Once again, she sensed that she had always known these two and that they had always stood by her.

  A sudden noise could be heard in the underbrush. Out bounded the gray wolf that was grand-père. In the early morning light his coat shone like polished silver. He ran up to Grandfather and bowed his head in greeting. The two gazed at each other for a while. Grand-père let out a series of barks and whines. The Old Man frowned.

  “He has seen things in the woods. That is why he was delayed. He hid in the bushes and watched. Some of what he describes are known to me, esprits du mal of the northern lands. The Bag o’ Bones they are called, skeleton creatures who fly on the wind and perch in the treetops. But there is something else he speaks of that is unknown. It is like Ka-pa-ya-koot—‘he who is alone in the wilds’—but it is not the same. Grand-père says it comes first in the shape of a green cloud.”

  “Crowley!” said Dana. “My enemy!”

  “He is near,” Grandfather said. “Come.”

  The Old Man led Dana inside the tent and closed the flap behind her. The air smelled of damp earth and the musk of moose hide. Though the space was pitch-black, she was surprised to realize she wasn’t afraid. She felt strangely at home.

  A match was struck. The scent of sulfur grazed the air. Grandfather lit an oil lamp and shadows danced across the walls. He invited Dana to sit on the ground as he knelt to unravel his bundle. The hide unfurled in the shape of a deer leaping in flight. Feathers, pebbles, bones, and small carvings were arranged on top of it.

  “What is the sacred number of your people?” the Old Man asked her.

  “Three,” she answered, without hesitation.

  He lit a bunch of sage and sweetgrass and smudged the air three times around her. The smoke smelled sweet and soothing.

  “Four is the sacred number of my people,” he said, smudging the air around himself four times.

  Now he set fire to a little pile of tobacco in a bowl and placed it at the center of the hide. Humming and singing, he moved with quiet purpose. His words seemed to curl with the smoke that filled the Lodge.