The Dawn Country(51)

“What’s in the bags?” I ask.

Wakdanek sets the bags and cup aside, and smiles gently. “Among my people, touching a dead body can cause ghost sickness. Many of the dead are angry. Especially those who die violently. They know they can’t travel to the Land of the Dead to be with their Ancestors, and they’re lonely and lost. That’s why they come around in the afternoon and at night to rattle the cooking pots. They want others to die and join them. But there are Spirit plants that drive ghosts away, and keep them away.”

Wakdanek gently places his hand on the bag with the red spiral. “This is a powder from the root of the bear’s foot plant.” His hand moves to the green lightning bolt bag. “And this is dried water lily root. Both are powerful ghost medicines.”

I wipe my nose on my sleeve. It’s running, and I have tears in my eyes, though I do not know when this happened. I choke out the words, “What do I have to do?”

Wakdanek pats the shore. “Sit beside me. We’ll get started.”

I cautiously ease down to the shore and pull my stiletto from my belt again. It comforts me to hold it.

Wakdanek glances at the stiletto as he removes a small pot and empties some coals from the morning’s fire onto the sand. “We need to purify you first,” he says as he gathers up a handful of white pine needles. While he sprinkles them over the coals, he blows until the needles catch and flames leap through the tinder. “Please come closer, Odion.”

I slide across the sand until I’m practically on top of the tiny blaze. As the dark smoke rises, he instructs, “Lean over the smoke and use your hands to smooth it over your face and arms. It will purify your skin.”

“My skin?” I cup my hands and pull the smoke toward me so that it soaks my hair and clothing. My movements are awkward with the stiletto held between my thumb and forefinger.

“Yes, when a ghost touches you, or anything else, it’s like a poison. It seeps inside you, trying to drive out your soul.”

I blink. He is blurry. “I knew it. I feel the poison. It’s been climbing up my arms ever since I touched—”

“We’re going to stop it.”

Relief surges through me. “You can do that?”

“I’ve known how to cure ghost sickness since I was ten summers.”

“Why? Were you sick?”

“No, my mother was. A fever went through our village, killing many people. She was helping carry the dead to a place behind the houses when she took sick. Our village Healer brought ghost medicine to cure her.”

He opens the two leather bags and pours small amounts of powder from each into the chipped cup. Then he dips up a little water from the river and uses a piece of driftwood to stir in the powder. He adds more water, and stirs again. “All right, drink this slowly.” He hands me the cup.

I drink. It has an earthy bitter flavor. “Did she live?”

“My mother? Yes, she lived a long happy life.”

The other children are watching us. Tutelo’s eyes are wide, but Baji wears a suspicious expression, as though she fears the Dawnland Healer might be trying to kill me. Our people have been at war for so long, there is no trust between us. That’s why the slightest, unintended insult becomes a reason for battle. Hehaka’s beady eyes are fixed on my face like a hungry dog’s.

I tip the cup up and swallow the last dregs. By the time I hand the cup back, I’m breathing better. The creeping numbness is fading.

Wakdanek examines my face. “Are you feeling a little better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Odion.” He begins tucking the bags back into his belt pouch. “In another hand of time, you should feel just fine. But if not, tell me, and I’ll make a stronger potion.”

He starts to rise, and I touch his hand. “Wait. Why did you help me? I am not of your people.”

A smile warms his face. “As I told Sindak earlier, we all have an amnesia of the heart. We’ve forgotten that we were once the same people.”

“We were?”

“Yes, our legends say it was a long time ago. But I believe we are still bound together by blood memory. You are my relative. It is my duty to help you.”

As he uses the driftwood to push the coals back into his fire-starting pot, I rise to my feet. My legs are stronger. They no longer tremble with weakness.

“Is it all right if I go back to my friends now?”

“Definitely.”

I tramp up the bank and slump down beside Tutelo again. My sister chews on her lower lip for a while before she asks, “What did he do?”

“He said I had ghost sickness. He gave me ghost medicine.”