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Nanabush. A name that has a certain weight on the tongue—a taste. Like lit sage in a windowless room or aluminum foil on a metal filling.
Trickster. Storyteller. Shape-shifter. An ancient troublemaker with the power to do great things, only he doesn’t want to put in the work.
Since coming home to Spirit Bear Point First Nation, Hazel Ellis has been dreaming of an old crow. He tells her he’s here to help her, save her. From what, exactly? Sure, her dad’s been dead for almost two years and she hasn’t quite reconciled that grief, but is that worth the time of an Algonquin demigod?
Soon Hazel learns that there’s more at play than just her own sadness and doubt. The quarry that’s been lying unsullied for over a century on her father’s property is stirring the old magic that crosses the boundaries between this world and the next. With the aid of Nanabush, Hazel must unravel a web of deceit that, if left untouched, could destroy her family and her home on both sides of the Medicine Wheel.
314 pages, Kindle Edition
First published September 17, 2019
"The sky. The way the clouds keep hanging out by the horizon. I think we might get a crow winter this year...That's what it's called when it snows too soon for it to be called winter. Like, the second week in October, or maybe even earlier...It's real annoying because everything dies before it's supposed to."
With every word he speaks, the sky darkens as Nanabush's shadow grows larger. I can feel some primal part of me screaming that I need to either fall to my knees or run. I shouldn't be able to commune with someone like him. But I can't move. The wind picks up again and tosses the few pieces of loose hair around my face until each touch feels like lashes from a whip. For the first time, I see the echo of the old powers of Nanabush. As if I know that he's not what he was. I understand him. Something connects us and I see him for the tired, unworshipped, forgotten soul that he is.
It's a beautiful day. Hot, sunny, with the right amount of wind, so I've got the windows rolled down – which seemed like a good decision when I set out but isn't great now that I'm nearing the actual heap. There's no other way to describe the smell of garbage. It's awful. The epitome of rot. I'd roll the windows up but that would only lock it in with me. This way I have a bit of air flow, even if it's nasty, hot garbage air.
Until recently, he worked as part of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Helping those of us still suffering from second-wave cultural genocide to find peace. Which is a fancy way of saying he helped people apply for the money that was owed to them by the Canadian government.