The Book of Dreams

by O. R. Melling

  Dana’s head throbbed. She could hardly breathe. Swirls of tobacco smoked the air. She was getting closer, she could feel it.

  The markings on the Medicine Wheel began to quiver. They looked like stars spiraling in a galaxy. No, like birds in flight, high in the atmosphere. Or were they clouds racing across the sky? She kept her eyes on the designs as they played over the deerskin. She had seen these patterns only a short while ago, in the ice and the moss and the wild run of the caribou. She struggled to understand them, to decipher their code. If she could read the patterns, she would have the answer.

  “Roth Mór an tSaoil,” she murmured. “This is the great wheel of Life. My life.”

  Suddenly the pieces fitted together. They made the shape of a book.

  “The Book of Dreams!” she cried, reaching out to grasp it.

  But before she could touch it, the book fell open and the pages of white paper fluttered like wings. They flew upward in a flurry of white leaves, white feathers. Whitewinged birds were swirling around the tent, around Dana’s head. They sang in a beautiful tongue, a language she didn’t know, though it was strangely familiar. Painfully so. Her ears ached to hear the words. Her heart longed to understand them.

  She caught the gist of what they were singing, something about a Promise and a Faraway Country.

  Tears filled her eyes. The song was so grand, so beautiful, so true.

  And now another marvel in that marvelous journey. She was so taken by surprise, she let out a cry. The caribou hide suddenly leaped to its feet, a great wild deer with antlers branching. It still bore the designs of the Medicine Wheel on its flanks. For one quivering moment, it stood there paralyzed, nostrils flared, eyes wild with terror. Then it bounded out of the Lodge and into the night.

  Dana didn’t stop to think. She jumped to her feet and chased after it.

  Outside the tent, she paused at the sight of Jean and Roy. They stood guard by the fire, watching the trees around them. They didn’t appear to see her, but grandpère hunkered down and growled low in his throat.

  “Qu’est-ce que c’est?” Jean asked him.

  But Dana was already away, racing into the trees, after the caribou.

  At first she thought she was a wild deer herself, running on four legs with speed and agility. Hind’s feet in high places. But she didn’t feel like a deer. She felt savage and ferocious, propelled by a hunger that raged through her blood. She was beginning to realize what she was when she saw the others, running alongside her. Hair bristling gray and black, they streaked through the trees: two fierce wolves with fiery eyes. She was hunting in a pack with grand-père and Jean! Above the treetops, cawing loudly, were the birds known to hunt with wolves, two black ravens.

  Dana’s blood was afire. She could smell her prey, smell its fear and its death. In the heel of the hunt, it all made sense. The deer was the answer, the secret she sought. She had to pursue it, to track it down, to eat and drink it.

  Both were caught, the Hunter and the Hunted, on the Great Wheel of Life.

  The trees began to thin out. Dana was gaining on her quarry. She could hear it panting. There were flecks of foam on its flanks. Her heart almost burst with the strain of the chase. It was just ahead of her now. Something huge and nameless, but she could almost name it. Something on the tip of her tongue, at the edges of her vision, in the back of her mind. She was approaching the answer.

  The deer ran into a clearing. The mists of morning rose from the ground like the breath of the earth. A fire had been lit. An early breakfast was being cooked. There were figures seated around the fire, faint shapes barely visible like trails of sunlight. They turned at the sound of her arrival.

  She couldn’t see them clearly. They were already being dispelled, all flickering and flashing and fluttering in the air, a spray of white feathers, white leaves, white pages.

  “Please!” she cried. “Don’t leave me! Tell me!”

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The drum was loud and rapid. Like someone hammering on the door, banging to be let in. She knew it was Grandfather calling her back from the journey, calling her home.

  “No, wait!” she cried. “I’ve almost got it! I’m almost there!”

  Her wail quickly changed to a howl when the caribou suddenly crashed out of the trees. Antlers lowered, it charged at Dana. She didn’t stop to fight. She turned and ran, back through the woods the way she had come.

  The Great Wheel had turned. It was her time to be hunted, her turn to feel the terror of the stalker, Death.

  Ears flattened against her head, eyes white with fear, she fled the thunder of the hooves behind her. At any moment the horns could impale her.

  With a final gasp of desperation, she broke from the trees where the Medicine Lodge stood and flung herself through the door into the tent.

  The drum was silent.

  She opened her eyes.

  Grandfather was rolling up his bundle. The air was thick with stale smoke.

  “I was so close!” she sobbed. “I almost had the answer!”

  There was no time for tears or regrets. No time for reflection. The tent was shaking violently. The ropes that bound it together were coming undone. The hide was flapping against the framework. The poles strained and snapped. Things were falling apart.

  “What is it?” Dana said, though she had already guessed.

  Grandfather finished wrapping his bundle. He stood up. A storm was raging outside the Lodge. Gusts of wind battered the tent. The cry of the gale grew louder, moved closer.

  The Old Man’s eyes were dark.

  “Your enemy is here.”

  Outside the tent, the three guardians were still on duty. The fire had gone out in the lashing rain. The ground was being churned into an icy sludge. Both Jean and Roy were drenched, while grand-père’s fur clung to his skin. Each time the wind gusted, all three were whipped with streaks of water, like cat-o’-nine-tails. Heedless of their misery, they stayed at their posts.

  “Home!” Grandfather shouted as thunder rumbled in the distance.

  They all ran for the jeep and piled inside. Though morning had broken, the storm darkened the air. Trees tossed and swayed in threatening motions around them. Trunks creaked, branches snapped. As soon as Roy attempted to move the vehicle, the wheels spun vainly, spewing up snow and ice and mud. The storm was pitched to a frenzy. Lightning raked the sky. Peals of thunder crashed above. Grand-père buried his head in his paws with a whine of pain. The wheels continued to spin.

  “We push!” Jean swore, climbing back out of the vehicle.

  Grandfather went to follow, but Roy caught his arm.

  “Take the wheel, Old Man.”

  Roy got out behind Jean. Dana came after him.

  “Stay inside!” the boys shouted.

  “No!” she yelled back.

  The three of them pushed with all their might as Grandfather put his foot to the gas. At last the jeep leaped out of the rut. A bolt of lightning suddenly hit the Medicine Lodge. First came the strike, like the report of a gun. Then the explosion as the tent burst into flames.

  Everyone scrambled back into the jeep.

  “I’m so sorry, Grandfather!” Dana said as the Lodge burned.

  Roy was behind the wheel again. Grandfather took out his rattle.

  “Ce n’est rien. It’s only a thing of hide and wood. The power is here and here,” he said, touching his head and his heart.

  Now came the full brunt of the assault.

  A blast of wind struck the jeep. It was as if a rhinoceros had charged them. The vehicle juddered like a wounded animal. The headlights burst.

  “Go!” Grandfather cried to Roy.

  Roy sped away as fast as possible, though he could hardly see in front of him. A gray fog had descended and the headlights were out. Trees kept looming up as if to attack. As he veered to avoid them, his passengers were flung from side to side.

  “I can’t see the trail!” he shouted.

  The Old Man began to chant as he shook his rat
tle.

  “We need light,” he called over his shoulder.

  Jean was already rummaging wildly in the back of the jeep. Under the tools and tarpaulin, the hunting and fishing gear, he found a flashlight.

  The battery was dead.

  “Tabernac!”

  The jeep grazed a tree and bounced off sideways. Again they were hit by a deadly fist of wind. Already off balance, the vehicle tipped dangerously, about to turn over.

  Grandfather’s song rose higher. His rattle shook louder.

  Using all his strength and then some, Roy pulled at the wheel to steady them. Onward he drove, cursing the darkness.

  “We need light,” Grandfather called again, looking directly at Dana.

  Despite all the times she had called on her light, Dana couldn’t imagine having enough power to counter this darkness. Yet she had to try. Putting her palms together, she produced only enough to brighten the inside of the jeep. She caught Roy’s surprise in the rearview mirror, but there wasn’t enough light.

  “Can you help me?” she asked Grandfather.

  His reply was stern. “Sky-Woman’s Daughter, your friends are in danger. Those who stood guard and helped you on your journey. O nobly born, remember who you are!”

  His words were the catalyst. Acting on instinct, Dana clapped her hands with sudden fury. Like a shooting star, the light flew out from her palms. Piercing the windshield in a fiery arc, it lit up the woods beyond and revealed their trail.

  Roy let out a whoop as he steered the jeep onto the track. Jean clapped her back with approval and a quick “magnifique!” With the way shining before them, the jeep sped through the trees. As they broke from the forest, leaving the storm behind them, howls of delight mingled with the real howls of the wolf.

  • • •

  It was wonderful to return to Grandfather’s house, where wet clothes were changed and hot tea brewed, where there was toast and sardines and cheddar cheese. Grandfather sat down by the stove and took out his pipe. Grand-père stretched out on the floor, flank to the heat. As his fur dried, the air thickened with the smell of steamed wolf. The others sat down in a half-circle. All looked satisfied with the night’s work.

  Grandfather spoke first. “Now, Sky-Woman’s Daughter, the best hunters dream the way to heaven and on their return they make a map. Tell us your journey.”

  “You were there, all of you,” she said, looking around at them. “Grand-père as well. Don’t you remember?”

  Roy and Jean looked amazed.

  “Our spirits were with you,” the Old Man agreed, “but the journey was yours. You must have got a good one. Your enemy’s real mad.”

  “I know who it is now!” she cried. “He tried to kill me in Ireland.” She shook her head. “But I don’t understand. He was defeated. The Mountain King drowned him in the Irish Sea.”

  Grandfather’s voice was firm. “He is not dead. And he has great power. He called up a storm demon.”

  A thought in the back of Dana’s mind rang like an alarm bell. Something her father had told her about the Irish Sea. The sickly green color of the monster suddenly made sense.

  “It’s radioactive,” she said suddenly. “The Irish Sea! England dumps nuclear waste into it every day. That must be how the monster survived and why it changed.”

  “Then it come after you?” Jean said. “Across the ocean?” Dana’s face paled as she nodded. “To finish what it didn’t do in Ireland.”

  Sitting beside her, Jean reached to take her hand. As he gripped it she gave him a grateful smile.

  “So you know your enemy,” Grandfather said. “This is good. Did you see the thing you seek?”

  “Yes! The Book of Dreams. But it kept shape-shifting. It was part of the patterns and the white birds and the land. Oh it’s all so mixed up …” She floundered.

  “Was there a song?” the Old Man persisted.

  “Yes!” she cried again. “How could I forget? The white birds were singing it! It was so beautiful, but I couldn’t understand the words.” She struggled to remember. “The words were in the land as well. The patterns I kept seeing everywhere; the secret language in everything.” She looked lost again. “This doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

  Grandfather’s pipe was empty. Roy and Jean had taken turns to offer him tobacco from a pouch near the stove; now they signaled to Dana to do the same.

  “You give tobacco to him,” Jean told her quietly, “when he give you a teaching.”

  As the sweet scent of the smoke filled the room, the Old Man spoke in a measured tone.

  “It has always been the way of the First Peoples to live in harmony with the land. The land, the plants, the animals, and the people all have spirit. It is important to encounter and acknowledge the life of the land. From such encounters come power, as the power of the spirits rises up from the land.

  “You’ve lost two homelands, Sky-Woman’s Daughter: the land of your birth and the land of your spirit. And you lost power because of that. Now you want power from this land ’cause what you’re looking for is here and this is the place where you live. But you don’t know the land and you don’t know its spirits. When the land tries to speak to you, you can’t hear. You’re deaf to the words. You don’t know the language.

  “You’re an outsider here, Sky-Woman’s Daughter, and you learned that truth in your journey. The land won’t yield its secrets to a stranger.”

  Dana nodded mutely. It was a hard lesson, but she understood it all too well. Weren’t these her own doubts? How could she quest in Canada the way she did in Ireland? She loved Ireland with all her heart and soul. Her new country was a foreign territory and she had made no effort to settle in it. Only because of Jean had she even begun to see its beauty.

  “I want to change that,” she declared, with sudden resolve. “I want to do what you and your uncle did. Like I did in Ireland, I want to travel the land so I can get to know it. Maybe, then, if I’m not a stranger anymore, it will tell me its secrets?”

  She could see that Grandfather was pleased even before he spoke.

  “This is a good plan. You will go on a vision quest, to acknowledge and encounter the land. Let the Four Directions be your map—North, South, East, and West. Go the road with heart, and the spirits will guide you.”

  There was a note of finality in his voice. The night had come to an end. The storm was long gone. From outside came the sounds of doors opening, voices calling through the air, engines starting up. The community was waking, coming to life.

  Grand-père sat up, alert and quivering.

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” Grandfather said to the wolf, “we’ll get you back to the forest. Is your spirit boat near?” he asked Jean.

  “Oui.”

  “Be careful when you fly. The one who hunts Dana will always be near. The demon of the canoe is his ally now.” Then he turned to Dana. “You have more than one enemy,” he warned her. “He has called up other bad spirits to join him. You saw the Bag o’ Bones when you journeyed. There are others who will come. The We-tiko who cries in the cold heart of winter, whose own heart is ice. D’Sonoqua who kills in the west and eats her prey. There are many dark spirits known to the First Nations. Then there are those of Jean’s people, les diablotins, les feux follets, les lutins, les fantômes, and more. When the white man came, he brought his devils too and he himself was le Diable to us. These will join with your enemy, for they are his brothers and sisters. In the spirit world, all are kin.”

  “So many against me!” Dana said, dismayed.

  There was great kindness in Grandfather’s eyes.

  “Be of good courage, Sky-Woman’s Daughter. You are not alone either. Others will come to your side. I dreamed this long ago. When darkness calls to darkness, light will go to light. For even as they are kin, so, too, we are family.”

  It was time for Dana and Jean to leave. Roy offered to drive them and grand-père into the woods where the canoe was hidden.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Dana
said. Her voice shook with emotion.

  She was reluctant to leave. She felt safe and at peace in the presence of the Old Man.

  He clasped her hands in his. “You got strong power, Sky-Woman’s Daughter. Make sure you use it.” Then he turned to embrace Jean. “A word to you, Loup. The place where a man lives shapes his character. Cities make men weak. Too many people, too much misery and bad spirit. The land of the forest with its lakes and rivers is the land of your heart. Keep its spirit with you.”

  Finally Grandfather laid his hand on grand-père’s head.

  “It’s good to have your kind under my roof. The raven and the wolf will hunt together again.”

  • • •

  Outside, the day was clear and frosty. Their breaths streamed like smoke in the air. The community looked worn and exhausted after the storm. The ground was littered with broken branches, loose stones, and clods of earth. The few people who were out were wrapped up warmly. A man called out a greeting to Roy, who waved back.

  In the jeep, they were all too tired to talk. Jean put his arm around Dana. She leaned against him. Roy grinned and winked at his friend.

  “How’s your girlfriend?” Jean asked him.

  “Which one?”

  Deep in the woods, Jean said good-bye to grand-père.

  “À bientôt,” he murmured, holding the wolf’s great head in his hands and staring deep into his eyes. “Don’t forget me. I return soon.”

  The beast shook his mane of gray hair and licked his grandson’s forehead. Then he loped away into the trees.

  Jean watched him go. Then he turned heavily to Roy.

  “J’ai peur … he forget one day. Who he is. What he is. Maybe I come back and find he’s all wolf. Maybe he forget me.”

  Roy mirrored his sorrow. “Me and the Old Man, we watch out for him.”

  “You’re a good friend.”

  “I’m your brother.”

  They embraced.

  Before Roy left, he chucked Dana’s chin and gave her a big smile.

  “Look after mon frère. ’Bout time he got himself a girl.”