China Garden

by Liz Berry

  “Mark, there are still so many terrible diseases… cholera, cancer, motor neuron disease, Aids. All the poor sick people of the whole world. There must be a way we can use the water to help in some way.”

  Mark rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.“We could farm the herbs, of course. Make special medicines. But we don’t know what the water can do. Maybe it could develop new disease-resistant strains of crops and healing plants. Animal foods. Make herbal fertilizers to regenerate the earth ...”

  “The trouble is, we don’t know enough,” said Clare, frustrated.“I’m definitely going to university to read Medicine. Oh don’t look like that, I’m not leaving Ravensmere. I’ll just commute each day to Bristol or Southampton.”

  Mark said slowly,“And I need to know more about agricultural research and estate management.”

  She turned to him, excited.“Mark! We could go together!” He laughed and kissed her nose.“We’ll talk about it.”

  They sat on, watching the mist thicken and rise, dissolving the walls of the China Garden. Tabitha sat up, alert, staring into the mist, her ears bent forward.

  Clare said quietly,“It’s not just the water. It’s the place too. You can feel the difference. The water heals your body, but the place heals your spirit and mind. We could have a healing sanctuary here again. There’s plenty of room.”

  She thought of the healing secret she had been given in the cavern. She could teach it to everybody. Even if you hadn’t got the spring water you could still imagine it. You could remember to let go of all the darkness in you, all the pain, anger, fear, anxiety, hatred, so that it flowed away from you like a dark stain dissolving in the light. The golden light flooding over and around you, so that you became part of it, golden and transparent yourself, flowing up and fusing with the greater white light of the universe.

  She must remember to tell Mark, or maybe he already knew. It was something everybody could do to help themselves. You only had to imagine.

  There was a stirring, a movement. The ground mist swirled and parted, and looking up Clare saw, disbelieving, Mr Aylward, sitting in his wheelchair.

  “I came to see the China Garden again,” he said. He looked better, Clare noted with relief, well wrapped up in his rugs. His voice sounded stronger too.

  “I think, if you gave me your arm, I might be able to walk to the Pavilion.”

  Astonished, she helped him from the chair. Once he was on his feet he seemed to gain strength, and although they stopped several times along the path to the centre, he grew stronger all the time, and eventually lowered himself slowly to the top step.

  “Are you warm enough?” Clare asked.“Do you want me to fetch the blankets? This really is absolutely crazy. My mother will murder me.”

  He gave his harsh croaking laugh.“I think not.”

  She saw that he was staring at the Fourth Gate. Could he see the Leper Stone shining irridescent, as she could? There were tears in his eyes.

  She said,“I saw Brandon. He smiled and waved to me.”

  He turned his head slowly and looked at her.“You have opened all the Moon Gates?”

  Clare said firmly,“The past is healed. All the Gates are open.”

  “All the Gates except one. Do the Maze Dance for me, Clare. You found the Benison and survived. I’m free to go. Open the Seventh Moon Gate.”

  “But we can bring you water from the cave.”

  “Do the Maze Dance. Open the Gate.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She looked at him uncertainly. Looked into his shadowy eyes, shining in the starlight like a cat’s, and understood.

  She stood up stiffly, reluctantly, the tears running down her cheeks uncontrollably. The pipe music came. It was very clear tonight. Her body swayed into the Maze Dance.

  Mark watched her. Who was she talking to? What could she see? He felt himself shuddering with a cold terror. She was moving weightlessly, like a shadow through the silver mist, swirling and wreathing her. Who was dancing there? Clare, or some strange goddess, aeons old, weaving her labyrinth web?

  She turned and turned again, ever nearer the centre, then spun into the return, swinging outwards to the Seventh Moon Gate, the imitation Gate that had been no more than a patterning in the stones of the wall.

  The Gate was open now, but stretched across the space were almost invisible filaments, a cobweb, strong and flexible. She pushed at the silken strands, trying to force them away to part them, but they merely gave to her touch like elastic before springing back.

  Beyond the web the sky shone deep blue and silver, shimmering with ice blue and green shot with violet. And hanging in the sky in line were three glowing moons.

  She realized then, that Mr Aylward was standing next to her, leaning on his stick, staring through the Gate.

  “You can’t go through,” she said.“There’s a web or something.”

  But he wasn’t listening. His eyes were fixed on the glory of the central moon.

  The web was parting—she could see it now, shining, throbbing with its own internal light—the golden cobweb was unravelling. Mr Aylward moved forward and suddenly the Moon Gate was dark and long, like a tunnel, rather than a gate. He seemed a long way away.

  There were lights on the moons. A rich, comforting ruby on the right, a green light, soothing and peaceful on the left. But the centre shone with splendour, a diamond-bright effulgence.

  Clare took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the explosion of light and took a step forward.

  “Wait for me,” she said, and took another step. Freedom was there. No responsibility.

  “No!” Fierce hands clamped to her shoulders, dragging her back, while she fought to be free to go to the white moon.

  Mark held her against him convulsively, hurting her with his strength and fear.“For God’s sake, Clare. You can’t go yet. We’re the Guardians. We’ve got work to do. It isn’t the time.”

  Mr Aylward had turned at the end of the tunnel and they heard his croaking laugh. He raised his hand in a gesture like the figure on the stable clock. A blessing. Then he turned and walked on energetically, like a young man.

  Clare drew a deep, sobbing breath, and felt under her hands the rough garden wall. The Seventh Moon Gate had faded back into the stone. Closed. She felt the tears wet on her cheeks.

  “We get another chance,” Mark said.“When we want it. When we’ve done our work.”

  Clare looked ahead, down the years of her life, years of learning and work, of love and achievement, of guarding the Benison with Mark. She thought of all the uncounted generations of female Guardians, women who had created and danced, birthed and healed and felt a sudden strength and pride. She was a woman too, like the clay figures in the cave, inheritor of all their intelligence and knowledge. She was strong and powerful. She would experience life as fully as she could and one day she would be like the wise old woman turning into spirit, and the Seventh Gate would open for her again.

  A strange wind blew through the China Garden, invigorating, sharp with the scent of lavender, mint, herbs. The sky lightened, reflecting the glow of the rising sun.

  Mark took her hand.“Come on. Let’s get some breakfast. There’s a lot to do today.”

  They walked back through the First Moon Gate.

  A single bird started to sing.