“I understand,” I choked out. My father was still bent double, weeping. I felt something brush me, as if Mum had touched me with her hand, and as she faded away, I saw a flash of her beautiful face.
“Fiona! No!” Da cried, reaching futilely for her, then collapsing again. When she was gone, I swallowed hard and rubbed the sleeve of my shirt against my face. Then, getting to my feet, I grabbed hold of my father’s arm and dragged him outside, into the cold air. As awful as it was outside, it was still better than the wretched sickness of the hut.
Daniel crumpled to the ground, and I stumbled, trying to catch him. I felt weak, light-headed, and sick, as if someone had dosed me with poison. At first I didn’t understand why I felt so terrible, but then I realized that Mum had meant her words literally: contacting the shadow world saps one’s life force. I looked at my father, facedown on the ground, clawing at the snow-encrusted dirt, and realized exactly why Daniel looked so awful—who knew how long he’d been doing this? Two months? It was a wonder he was alive at all, if I felt like this after only one time, and I was a young, strong, healthy man.
It came to me that I might have to turn Daniel in to the council to save his life. I wondered whether I would have the strength. I staggered to my feet and pulled my father up by one arm. Then, with him leaning heavily on me, we headed back to the cabin.
10. Shadows
There is something coming.
I first became aware of it this morning as I tried to concentrate on my work down in the library. I had laid out the salt, I had lit the candles, and I felt like I had been chanting for hours but to no avail. I wasn’t breaking through. My shadow friends seemed hesitant to meet me. It was almost as if they were afraid-of something or somebody. I went upstairs to scry, and there I had my vision. A Seeker, coming here. I had a vague sense of youth, of emotional turmoil. Whoever this Seeker is, I do not fear him. He has his own troubles. He will not sway me from my life's work.
On Wednesday, I made an amazing breakthrough. I have developed a host of friends in the shadow world-many of them fellow Rowanwands who see the value of my research and are eager to help. One of these friends, an older man who will only give the name Bearnard, brought to me a new and eager associate, a woman who calls herself Maible and who brought with her a wealth of knowledge. Never before have I come across anyone-in the living world or the shadow world- who has such an extensive knowledge of true names as this woman. From her I obtained nearly twenty true names that day, and she has promised to return with more knowledge, more names. Oh, Goddess, I have only gratitude for this generous woman and her love of knowledge. I wish that I had known her while she was among the living, what a remarkable team we would have made.
The Seeker is coming, and once he arrives, I will not be able to continue my research until he is gone. Goddess, give me the courage to remember my objectives and the intelligence to prevent this Seeker from truly learning what I seek. If only Maible could give me the true name of this Seeker… then he would stand no chance against me.
— J.C.
On Sunday, I woke up to find my father’s bed empty. Hell! I had been right: it was like living with a junkie, and I always had to be on alert in case he tried to score. I immediately threw on some clothes, feeling a mixture of anger, a reluctant empathy, and a tight impatience.
It was amazing what desperation could lead a man to do, I thought twenty minutes later. My father was so weak that a trip to the grocery store could exhaust him for hours, but here, in his overwhelming desire to reach his bith dearc, he was able to trudge for miles through a Canadian forest in winter.
As I neared the place of darkness, feeling the familiar senses of nausea and fear, I wondered bleakly what I was going to do with my father—let him kill himself? Try to save him? Steeling myself, drawing on any strength I had, I ducked into the low opening of the hut and found my father, his face lighting with ecstasy. As my eyes focused, I felt my mother’s spirit take shape above the glowing opening into the shadow world. Daniel looked up, joy making him seem twenty years younger. He reached out his hands to her ethereal form.
I crept close, awed by my mother’s presence as I had been the first time. Kneeling by Daniel, I couldn’t help allowing myself to enjoy the feel of her presence, which would be all I could have until I joined her one day in the shadow world.
“Daniel,” Mum said, “I’m telling you that you must stop this. You must remain among the living. It is not your time.” Her voice sounded more firm, and I was glad. If she had been truly needy or welcoming, Da would have been dead a month ago.
“I don’t know how, Fi,” Da answered, shaking his head. “I only know how to be with you.”
“That isn’t true,” my mother said. “You had a lifetime of other people before me.” I felt a warmth from her directed at me, almost like a smile, and I smiled back, though I was feeling queasy and weakened by the bith dearc.
“I don’t want other people,” Da said stubbornly.
“You will learn to want other people,” Mum said firmly, taking on a tone that was so familiar to me—the one she took when one of us kids had persisted too long in lame excuses for a wrongdoing. “Now I’m telling you, Daniel, you must not call me back again. You are hurting me. My spirit must move on. You’re not letting that happen. Do you want to hurt me?”
“Goddess, Fiona, no!” said my father, looking appalled.
My mother’s voice softened. “Daniel, you were the strong one in our marriage. You kept us going when I would have given up. It was your strength I relied on. I need to rely on that strength now. You must be strong enough not to call me back, to stay with the living. Do you understand?”
Da looked at the ground, seeming lost, bereft. Finally he gave a broken nod and covered his face with his hands.
Once again I felt the warmth from my mother, but tinged with sadness—a sadness borne of understanding and empathy. She knew how much my father was suffering; she knew how much I had suffered. She loved us both with all her heart, and in return I felt an intense love for her, the mother I had lost.
Silently Fiona’s spirit brushed a shadowy kiss across us both, and floated through the bith dearc. As soon as she was gone, my father collapsed on his side on the ground. I sagged myself, hating the feeling of weakness and sickness that pulled me down. But I struggled to sit up and quickly performed the rite that would shut the bith dearc down. When the last of it had faded and I could see solid, frozen ground again, I sat back, trying not to throw up.
As soon as I could, I got Da out of there, and again we sank down outside in the snow, too weak to move. Ten minutes later I felt together enough to call to my da, who was lying, gray-faced, on the ground a few feet away from me.
“I can’t believe you!” I said, letting fly with my frustration. “Could you possibly be more stupid, more self-destructive? Could you be a little more selfish?”
Da’s eyes fluttered open, and he sat up slowly, with difficulty. If he had been the old da, he would have come over and backhanded me. But this da was weak, in mind, body, and spirit.
“Why are you choosing death over being with your live children?” I went on, feeling my anger ignite. “I’m the only son you have left! Alwyn’s the only daughter you’ll ever have! You don’t think you should stick around for our sakes? Not only that, but you’re deliberately hurting Mum. Every time you contact her, every time you draw her to the bith dearc, you’re slowing down her spirit’s progress. She needs to move on. She must go on to the next phase of her existence. But you don’t give a bloody flip! Because you can only think about yourself!”