Free Shadows Cast by Stars by Catherine Knutsson Page A

about it.
    When I open my eyes again, I look for Paul. He stands at the edge of the group, kicking at a tuft of grass. Blood still oozes from his lip and his left eye is already swelling shut again. Tomorrow it will be purple. Before I can take a step toward him, he glares and shakes his head.
    I stay where I am.
    “You the Mercredi girl?” the scar-faced man asks. I nod. “Good work.” He turns his gaze to the boys. “No more football. Get.”
    The boys scatter, save for Bran and the muskrat boy. The men stroll off, their leather boots leaving a trail of dust to chase after them.
    Bran whistles under his breath. “Not often the Elders say something nice to anyone. I was sure we’d get hauled down to the slurry and put to work.”
    “Best place for half-breeds,” the muskrat boy says.
    “I think you’d better leave,” Bran says.
    “Or what, Eagleson?”
    Bran’s smile is cold and feral. The other boy tries to return it, but he blinks first, and stalks away.
    The remaining boys head to the lake to soak their war wounds, Paul included. When I move to follow, Bran catches my arm. “I’d like to show you something,” he says.
    “But Paul …”
    “He’ll be fine,” Bran insists, brushing his hair away from his eyes. “Paul needs some time with them. Without me. He did well against Cedar. They’ll honor that.” His eyes meet mine. “Where’s your book?”
    It still lies in the shade, tossed aside. I run to retrieve it. Bran watches. A small, guarded smile crosses his lips, a smile that gives me the feeling that the gray feather was a gift after all.

CHAPTER NINE
     
    E ddies of heat shimmer around us. We walk side by side, making small talk and carefully avoiding mention of the fight. I’m not sure why, but I can sense Bran doesn’t want to talk about it. But I do. I’m practically itching to know who the muskrat boy is. No friend of Bran’s, that’s for certain, and no friend of my brother’s, either. All the more reason to learn about him— know thine enemy , my father says. Well, I plan to.
    “Warm today,” Bran says, breaking my thoughts. “You’re not used to it.” He points to a bead of sweat winding its way down my forehead.
    “Not yet. The rain keeps the Corridor pretty cool most of the time.”
    “We’ll go this way, then.” He steps off the road. “It’s nicer in the forest.”
    We follow the narrow, twisting path through stands of fir and cottonwood. Bran sets a fast pace, and though I don’t want to admit it, I’m struggling to keep up. “Sorry,” he says as he stops to help me over a log that blocks our path. “I keep forgetting you’re not from here, that this is new to you.” He purses his lips. “It just seems like I’ve always known you, you know?”
    I nod. I do know.
    “Close your eyes,” he says. “Tell me what you hear.”
    I do as he asks. The stiff leaves of a poplar rustle in the wind. A jay cackles in the cottonwoods, and if I concentrate hard enough I can make out a subtle hum just below the level of hearing, as if the earth is singing a song of its own. It’s … beautiful. “It’s like a hymn,” I say.
    “See? You belong here.” His bangs drop in front of his eyes; I wish I could see them. “Come on. It’s not much farther.”
    The trees fall behind as we climb a granite ridge worn smooth eons ago by the slow slip and slide of a glacier. The lake opens out below the ridge like a blue fan. On a whim, I wander to the edge. The wind rushes past, begging me to take flight.
    Bran’s hand steadies me. “Don’t want you to fall. Your brother would kill me.”
    “He probably will anyhow, once he notices we’re gone.”
    “Nope. He knows to meet us at my house later.”
    I try to prevent my eyebrow from arching, but it pops up anyhow.
    Bran doesn’t notice. He pushes his hair out of his face before taking a seat and patting the spot beside him. “Sit. We can talk up here.”
    “Only up here?” I ask, plucking some grass before settling