'I'm looking for Aunt M.' She turned her gla.s.s round and round on its coaster, setting the ice clinking like little silver bells.

'Well, she ain't here. You know what she thinks about the casino.'

'I thought she was all for it.'

'Says she prefers the old bingo days; that they were more fun.'

'What about the money it generates? Gambling is helping to pay me through college.'

'Yeah, I know, I know, and for medicine and housing, a place for the old folks to go. But there's plans for more expansion and she worries where that will take us. She wants to know how long before we all fall to squabbling and fighting like a pack of dogs over a pile of meat, or before some real big hound comes along and drives us all off.'

'Do you think that'll happen?'

'You can't stay still.' Sim shrugged. 'If we don't do it, somebody else will.'

'She been active about it?'

'Let's say her views are known.'

'That where she is? At a meeting or something?'

Sim shook his head. 'She's up at the lake.'

'Looking Gla.s.s? What's she doing there?'

'Waiting for you. I gotta take you. You set? Finish your drink. We need to go. Gotta get something first, though.'

He stood up and led her past the gaming tables, down through an avenue of slots to the smoke shop.

'Carton of Marlboros, please, Denise.'

The woman behind the counter reached one down for him. He pa.s.sed it to Agnes.

'I don't smoke.' Agnes gave him a puzzled look.

Sim laughed. 'They ain't for you. It's for her. You gotta give tobacco, remember? When you go see the medicine woman, tobacco is the traditional gift. I take it you're not just here on a family visit?'

Agnes shook her head.

'So put them in your pack and let's go.'

She shrugged and followed him to the parking lot.

'How'd you get here, anyway?' Sim asked as he unlocked the doors to his battered, mud-spattered pickup.

'Woman called Alison Ellman gave me a ride.'

'All the way from Boston? Some ride.'

'She said she didn't mind.'

'Where's she now?'

'She went on to Montreal.'

'This time? She must like to drive. What she do?'

'She works in a museum.' Agnes grinned at Sim's expression. 'You wouldn't think it to look at her. She's different from the average.'

'She cool?'

'Yes. I guess she is.'

Sim nodded, taking that in. 'Excuse the mess,' he added as Agnes levered herself into the pa.s.senger seat. 'Me and some of the boys took a trip up to Kahnawake.'

Agnes cleared the empty candy wrappers and chip bags and found a place for her feet among the crushed and crumpled drink cans which littered the floor. Sim took off at speed from the casino parking lot and it wasn't long before the reservation sign loomed up and pa.s.sed. The scattered houses were thinning, the pools of porch light placed more spa.r.s.ely. Once or twice a dog barked at their pa.s.sing, but they were heading into darkness, the only ones on the road. The night was cold and Sim had turned up the heating. Agnes struggled out of her jacket. He'd also turned up the music. Some local band, Native hip-hop; a voice soft, insistent, merging and emerging, backed by what could be a water drum. The effect was kind of hypnotic. Agnes made her jacket into a pillow and stared out of her window. The moon was rising. A sliver of moon, white as bone, shone through the bare-leafed birches. It flashed in and out of view, in and out, in out, now you see it, now you ...

'Hey, Agnes, you like this? Agnes?'

When Sim got no reply the second time, he looked over to see how she was doing. She seemed to be sleeping. So he turned the volume down, his quick fingers fluttering to the rhythm of the background beats as he spoke softly along with the track.

9.

Mary Movement behind the snow's swirling curtain, a shape forming, grey on grey. It looked like a dog, leaping this way, that way. I thought it was Tom back again, but this creature was bigger in the chest and head, the muzzle longer, the eyes smaller, the s.p.a.ce between them broader. This was no dog, this was a wolf. Great paws reared and fell, throwing up puffs of powdery snow. She was female, I saw her dugs as she pounced again and again, seeking some small creature, a rabbit or a mouse perhaps, trapped beneath the surface. She was toying with it, waiting to seize it, to snap its neck between her long white teeth.

I blinked the snow from my eyelids, seeking to see better, and she, alert to the smallest of movements, left off her pouncing and came forward. The red tongue hung from her open mouth. Her breath plumed in the freezing air. Suddenly I knew. There was no mouse, no rabbit. I was the hunted one. She had come for me.

She looked at me with yellow eyes, head on one side, as if deciding whether to kill me now or later. I wished for now. I beckoned her to me. I would rather die fast than slow.

She approached bit by little bit, crouched low to the ground, like a dog herding sheep. Finally she was in front of me. I thought now she will take me. Now. I could feel her breath hot on me, smell the rankness of it. I closed my eyes ready for the bite. It never came. Instead of ripping out my throat, she licked my face again and again. Her rough tongue melted the ice glaze from my cheeks, chafing sensation back into skin numbed beyond feeling.

She pulled at me, tugging at my coat, worrying my sleeve. Darkness was coming on and the snow was getting thicker. She was trying to tell me that it was time to leave, that I must follow her. I tried to stand, but I could not walk. My feet had lost all feeling. They would not hold me. As soon as I tried to take a step, I tumbled headlong in the snow. This happened again and then again, until I felt what little strength I had ebbing from me. She looked at me, head on one side, for all the world as if she was judging the situation, deciding what to do, and all the time the snow fell faster and faster until I could hardly see her. It was as if the very air thickened like a sauce to a seething whiteness.

At last she stood up. I thought she would leave me then, for night was upon us, but she did not. She began to turn round and round, like a puppy chasing its tail. This seemed no weather for games, but then I saw what she was about. She was creating a den, a depression in the snow. She carved deeper and deeper until she had hollowed out a veritable cave. When she was satisfied, she came to the place where I was and began pulling me across.

I could barely crawl, but managed to get to the spot. She fussed around me, nosing the snow back and pawing at it, as nice as any goodwife tending to her house. At last she seemed satisfied. She gave a large yawn to show this was so and stretched out as if in readiness for retiring. I pulled my satchel to me and tried to undo the catches, but my fingers were frozen, as unbending and useless as wooden pegs. I had to use my teeth, but at last I got it open. I fished inside for bacon and bread soaked in grease, the provender given to me by Sarah Rivers. I had not thought to eat before now. I unwrapped the cloth and tossed the bacon to her. She did not gulp it down, but accepted it carefully, holding it between her paws and chewing at it most delicately. I held the bread between my wrists, tore on the crust of it, getting it into my mouth to melt and chew bit by bit.

Food brought some warmth and strength back into me. She finished the bacon and curled up next to me, her back to the driving snow. I huddled in the shelter of her body, snuggling into her long winter coat, reaching my fingers through the coa.r.s.e guard hairs of grey and black to clutch the soft fur which lay thick and white underneath. Her body gave off great heat. I held my face against the pale soft fur of her chest and neck and tucked my feet up into her belly. I felt better than I had since I left the settlement. Her warmth brought life to me and hope.

We lay curled round each other as night fell and the wind howled, forcing the snow up and over us until we became a mere hump, a drift among drifts.

10.

Tehionehkateh Bright Waters/Shining Waters Looking Gla.s.s Lake The next thing Agnes knew, a bunch of smouldering twigs was being wafted under her nose. She jerked back with a yell from the pungent burnt-herb smell.

'Easy!' Her aunt held her gently cradled. 'Easy now.'

'I thought she was just sleeping,' Sim said, a deep frown arrowed into his forehead. 'I had the heater up high, but when I reached over she was so cold.'

'You weren't to know. Help me get her into the house.'

Sim carried Agnes in his arms and laid her down on the cot in the corner. He remembered sleeping here when he was a kid. He covered her with the worn patchwork counterpane, brushing back a wing of her hair, touching his hand to her cheek. Her skin felt warm now, he noted with relief. She looked so vulnerable; he'd hate it if anything hurt her. His mouth moved in a silent charm to keep her from harm. He loved her like a sister and had been looking out for her ever since she'd moved back to the Res, and before that when she used to come on vacation.

Sim stepped away quietly into the middle of the room. The cabin never changed. His great-grandfather had built it solid out of thick-sawed beams caulked between with moss and clay to keep the winter winds away. It comprised one room, with a kitchen lean-to at the back and a porch at the front facing down to the dock.

Most of the furniture had been made by the old man as well. Sim had never known him, he had died long before Sim was even born, but Sim always felt especially close to the old guy. He was called Karonhiahkeson, Along the Clouds. The name had been pa.s.sed on at the midwinter naming ceremony; it was Sim's name now. Sim was glad that nothing changed in his cabin. There was no electricity; the interior was lit by soft oil light and heated by a wood stove. He looked round. It could be when he was a kid. It could be a hundred years ago. He liked to think that if the old man stepped back he would know his place straight away and still feel right at home.

Aunt M came in carrying Agnes's bag and jacket. She laid the coat over the back of a chair. As she did so, she suddenly bent forward, carefully hooking something off the collar.

'What's that you got?'

'An earring.' She held it out for him to see. 'Must've got caught when she took off her coat.'

She went over to the cot where her niece was sleeping.

'She be OK?' Sim's frown returned.

'She'll be fine now she's with me. You want something? I got coffee on the stove.'

'Nah, I'm good. I'm meeting Joannie. I'd better be getting back. Here.' He reached in his pocket and took out his mobile phone. 'I want you to have this.' He held up his hand to ward off her protests. 'I know you don't want phones up here but I'd be happier, OK?'

To his great surprise she took it from him.

'How do you use it?' His mother regarded it suspiciously.

'The way to use it is simple. Press here to switch on, punch in the number and then press this one, see? Any problems, anything you want, you call. You promise me?'

His mother nodded and put the phone in her pocket.

11.

Looking Gla.s.s Lake, day one Agnes woke in a strange bed; the mattress was lumpy, the frame narrow. She put her hand out to grab her watch off the table and her fingers closed on empty s.p.a.ce. She opened her eyes and saw bare boards instead of carpet. She had no idea where she was. Panic grabbed at her stomach, then she looked up. Bundles of sage and braids of sweet gra.s.s hung from the shelf above her bed along with a couple of rattles, one made from a gourd, the other from a turtle sh.e.l.l. Right along from them hung a tobacco pouch made from a whole otter skin, the claws engaged to act as catches, folded nose over chin. Either she'd been transported to some shaman's den, or she was at Aunt M's place.

'How are you this morning?' Aunt M saw she was awake and came over with a cup of some steaming brew. 'How many times has it happened?'

Agnes knew what she was talking about.

'Twice. Just before I contacted Alison and on my way here.'

She had an idea she was just confirming what Aunt M already knew.

'Drink this.' Aunt M handed her the cup. 'How are you feeling?'

'Strange.' The black herbal tea smelt good but tasted bitter. 'Kind of tired. And empty. Like part of me is not really here.'

It was hard to explain, but everything seemed flat around her. Her life seemed pale, with no meaning. It was like waking from a dream and wanting to stay dreaming. It was a desire, but more than that, a need. A kind of hunger. Agnes wanted to be back with her.

'Hmm.' Aunt M sipped her own tea and thought for a minute. 'You did right coming to me. She might be kin, and mean you no harm, but ... '

Aunt M did not have to say it; fear and concern showed in her eyes. The dead don't see the value we place on this life. She might just take the girl with her when she left next time. One more episode like that and Agnes might not survive.

'You know why I've come?'

'Sure do. And you know what I'll say, don't you? Can't be close as us and not know what the other one's thinking on most given subjects.'

'So the answer's no?'

Aunt M shrugged. 'Depends what you want. My guess is things have moved on. This Alison woman, she still wants the medicine objects, but you're not sure you want that now. Am I right?'

Agnes nodded. No matter how hard she tried to disguise her thinking, Aunt M always knew.

'In that case, I got to tell you, she's powerful. You can't go unprotected. That's why I put the quilt round you that first time it happened.'

'And the earring?'

'That too.'

'How did you know about Mary? Was that more shaman stuff?'

Her aunt cackled. 'Not really. Saw that Alison Ellman on the History Channel, talking about this project, asking for information about her. Read the book, too. We got stores up here, you know.'

'So you think there could be a connection?'

'Between this Mary and Katsitsaionneh, Bringing Flowers? I'd say most certainly. From the story; from what she brought with her. I even held a ceremony using the ring and the locket, figuring that she's kin and if we have the gift of medicine power, it has come from her in no small measure. I thought she might come to me, but instead she went to you.'

'Why? Why did that happen?'

Her aunt thought before answering.

'Words are powerful. Hers had been hidden for all that time. Suddenly they're alive again and out in the world. You are near the age she was when she wrote them, that could be the reason. These dreams you've been having, these visions, how do you know she does not dream of you? What happens in our world can reach into the spirit world too.'