by Gail Merritt
With my sobs came thicker mist. It climbed out of the dark pools like vaporous, foul wraiths. It flowed about my feet and licked at my knees. The marsh was I enemy and it was going to destroy me. I felt the terrible urge to drop to my knees and weep. I might have done so too, if I had not found something deep inside that whispered another thought.
I was Green Mantle, maker of the earth magic, healer of the land. I took a deep breath and held my hands out to my sides. From the dank earth struggled the shoots of trees, young willows whose thirst immediately began to absorb the rich moisture in the pools about them. More and more began to sprout from the ground, reaching the size of samplings as even more shoots began to grow. I could see them appearing as far as the mist allowed me and I knew they were spreading far beyond my sight.
‘There is more than one way to threaten!’ I spoke to my invisible audience. The willows dug deep into the brackish waters, drinking the marsh dry. ‘I can plant trees for longer than you can keep me prisoner. I will make a mighty forest here and destroy this marsh forever!’ My voice echoed. I paused the magic and waited, listening to the restless whisper of the tussock grass.
Ahead of me, the mist divided. it created a pathway of dark dry peat. My way was being cleared and I followed quickly. From that moment until I could see the cottages once more, the marshes watched as I passed. Behind me, my willows began to disappear, all except one that I decided to leave there as a warning to the ancient guardians of the place that some travelers are best left alone. It was a relief to feel grass and solid ground again and be free of the marsh. I suspect it was glad to see the back of me.
In the safety of the cottage, I explained to Matt and Mari that I had not realised how far I had wandered but I had not been lost. Matt shook his head and muttered something about taking unnecessary risks. Only Sandor heard the full story. As I listened to the wind coming off the marshes in the darkness of night, I fought down the occasional shiver. The old magic still lingered in some parts of the land. It was best not to disturb it. I vowed I would not return there unless the situation was desperate. As I curled in my warm bed I could not imagine that any situation would be quite so desperate.
10. - Call for Help
The heavy drumming of rain on the roof woke me before dawn when the sky was black with storm. I dozed for a while, listening to the branches of the yew tree at the window. Many folk dislike the yew for it often grows near graves and solemn places but it is a cheerful tree at heart, and I could feel its merriment as it twisted in the storm, the rain washing the wind-borne salt from its foliage and branches. I cannot speak with plants as I speak to animals, but I can detect their moods sometimes and dispositions. On rare occasions I have had something that might be called a rudimentary conversation with certain garden shrubs whose long existence close to humans have developed their understanding of us sufficiently to convey meaning. Trees live such long lives that their emotions are slow to change and tend to be dictated by their species. I was sharing the yew trees delight when I realised that someone was beating on the cottage door. Matt and Mari were standing in their nightgowns at the open door by the time I reached the top of the stair.
‘I don’t know if she can help but I know she’ll try.’ Matt ushered the stranger into kitchen. From where I stood, all I could see was a heavy riding coat with a deep hood, dripping rain and making puddles as it moved.
‘My name is Rosen,’ he said, clutching a cup of hot brew. I had hastily dressed and joined them in the kitchen. I’ve ridden all night in the storm to find you. The gypsies who passed through our village a few days ago said you were staying here. I could have gone to Vellin but that might be too late.’ He shivered and drew Mari’s blanket tightly around his shoulders. ‘Will you help us?’
He began to tell me about his village on the south-western edge of the marshes. They were basket weavers and simple farmers who lived off the wild fowl they caught in basket traps and the meagre vegetables their grew in their gardens.
‘Two have died already.’ He sipped brew. The next part of his story was hard for him to retell, ‘My daughter Lista and two others are near to death and our village wise-woman has no cure for it. She says she doesn’t know what ails them.’
Mari set her hand gently on his shoulder as she refilled his mug with brew.
‘Our wise-woman thinks it has come from the marshes,’ Rosen looked uncertain. ‘A contagion of the soul, she called it.’ He gulped down the warm tea and I felt a chill run up my back in memory of my own experience on the marsh, but I doubted that whatever had pursued me would ever enter a village. It was bound to the land that spawned it.
‘Tell me about this illness and how it starts.’ I knew enough about sickness and superstition to realise that the mix could prove unnecessarily lethal. If I could keep this unknown illness in the realms of reality then it would be easier to find the cause and the cure. It appeared that the malady struck overnight, its victims all young and healthy when they went to their beds. By morning, they were shriveled and decrepit, without the will to live. They would neither eat nor drink and within a short time they were dead.
The sky was pale yellow when we left. The storm had moved eastward, marked by a bank of angry clouds sitting on the seaward horizon. In its wake was a heavy silence that not even the dawn chorus could enliven. Rosen had rested barely half an hour, but he was eager to return with us. At first we rode at a furious pace, but Deric found it hard to keep up and reluctantly Rosen slowed. His own mount was almost spent, and it was only his devotion to his master that kept him going. When we paused at a small brook I spoke to the beast.
‘My human is the best of men,’ the old horse assured me. ‘Our village is poor and unimportant, but Rosen leads the people with justice and equality. He treats the least important with as much respect as he would a prince. I have never heard him speak harshly to anyone. This child of his means everything to him.’
As we rode there was little conversation between us, so I looked to the landscape. We skirted the inland reaches of the marsh, occasionally crossing it by raised embankments and ancient stone bridges. As we went south larger expanses of open water in the form of small lakes and even narrow rivers meandered across our path, but whether these were all the same river, snaking a tortured path to the sea, or many rivers, I did not know. Maps of this region are vague, and I have often promised myself that one day I will produce an accurate one.
About noon we came across two fishermen in their small boat, rowing slowly up a narrowing channel. They made their living catching what they could from the marsh and their catch showed how plentiful the wetlands were to those who knew them well. They had wild duck, along with saltwater and freshwater fish. Sandor dallied to ask them questions about their own village and when he caught up with us it was clear that his news was not good.
‘Six dead in the last month,’ he was breathing hard, ‘all young and healthy, most of them girls.’
‘What have they done about it?’ Rosen asked.
‘Nothing!’ Sandor did little to hide his disgust. ‘Their local healer gives them charms to ward off evil spirits and makes them drink goats’ milk. They had no idea that this was happening in other places.’
‘Perhaps it is happening all over the Five Kingdoms.’ Rosen hung his head.
‘Perhaps…’ I stopped, ‘and perhaps not. Wait for me. Make a brew. The horses need a rest and I need to walk alone.’ I left them and scrambled to the top of an overgrown dyke wall. From there I could see out across the marsh and feel the sea wind on my face. First I sent my mind to the Talarin, to Black Mantle as he roasted chestnuts on his hearth. No news of strange deaths had reached them in Vellin. He instructed me to take notice of certain things when I examined the sick and then speak with him again.
I sighed. It was not enough. Standing on the top of the crumbling earthworks I watched a pair of pelicans landing on a rush-lined pool. I sent thoughts out across the waste, seeking out all the creatures that lived there, asking them for news a
nd help to find the cause of this miserable plague. To my amazement, there was immediate response. From villages all along the wetlands margin came news of the sick and dead, all wasting away as their bodies grew dry as parchment. Rats squeaked of the injustice of being blamed and hunted to extinction in some places. Flocks of starlings told the story of many new graves, while superstitious bitterns whispered of strange rituals invented by village shamans to cure the sick. From their information I felt sure that the sickness was connected to the marshes and the inhabited lands that bounded them. I sighed again.
‘New Danger!’ came the whisper. It stung the back of my throat and I wondered if I had uttered the words myself. Was someone using my own voice to communicate with me. I relaxed to allow it easier access. ‘Not bogs. Not wet dirt, Near but not. Green Mantle find it! Make it go!’ This time I knew that the words came from across the wetlands, hissed and laboured, until it was hard to feel them at all.
‘Who are you?’
‘Mantle knows. One tree better than many.’ The pain in my throat made me cough. ‘Enough words. Make it go!’ Could this be my stalker from the marsh, the malevolent being who had driven me to tears? The marsh was silent, except for the moan of the wind and the cry of a gull.
I told Sandor and Rosen the news from Vellin and my own discoveries but said nothing about my contact with the unknown mind that insisted the marsh was not to blame for the sickness.
Rows of pollarded willows marked the farmland belonging to Rosen’s village, but we saw them only as ghostly silhouettes in the gloom and rising mist. The squat cottages were shuttered to the night, and the metal of horseshoes echoed on the cobbles. Occasionally , a beam of light would escape and dance in the fog but most of the buildings appeared as dead and inhospitable as the ruins of Ransom. The tavern doors were bolted and barred. No one had the heart to drink ale or make merry while the youth of their village wasted away.
Rosen’s wife met us at the door, her eyes red with tears. Another child had drifted away to death that afternoon and Lista clung to life by slender threads. Rosen buried his face in his hands and would have wept in his doorway if Sandor had not guided him to his own kitchen. He stared into the fire as his wife removed his boots, then she buried herself making supper for us. I left them and tiptoed up to the bedrooms. There were two. A dim light from a candle flickered under the door of one and there was faint odour of apples. I peeped around the door.
Lista’s eyes were closed. They had propped her up with pillows so she could see out of the window during the day. Now she slept, her parchment skin showing tinges of green in the hollows around her eyes. Her hair had been gently brushed and she wore a dainty, hand-stitched bed jacket over her shoulders. She reminded me of an old invalid that I had once visited with Channa. That woman had been ninety. This girl was fourteen. I was about to leave when she stirred.
‘Are you the Mantle?’ Her voice was a whisper that I knew was not to avoid disturbing those down-stairs. She was weak and on the edge of life.
‘I’m Megwin,’ I said taking her hand. ‘Your father brought me.’
‘Forgive him.’ She tried to squeeze my hand. ‘He should not have troubled you. I am on the brink of death. Only my stubbornness keeps me lingering here.’
‘Then we are thankful for your stubbornness.’ My heart sank. Even a Green Mantle knows when the spirit has decided to depart. ‘You must fight with all your heart Lista. I need you to help me make you well.’
‘There is no way back.’ She blinked slowly. ‘I am resigned. The terror is gone.’
‘What terror? Do you know what made you like this? Tell me.’
‘Wickedness.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I dreamed of strange things, things that sapped my life, but still I dreamed. I could not escape. I did not want to escape. All the pleasures of my life were laid before me. When I woke, I had lived my life in one night. Now I have to pay a price for that.’
Her hand reached for a flask of water. I helped her to sip enough to wet her lips then eased her back against the pillows. She closed her eyes and I feared that she was dead.
‘Lista, please stay. I need you to help me save others from your fate. Tell me everything that you can remember. Were you bitten by anything? Did you drink or eat anything unusual? Did you do anything unusual that night that might have caused this sickness?’
She beamed at me. ‘I remember smelling apples, beautiful apples. I can still smell them. Can you smell them?’
‘Yes, I can. I thought your parents stored them in your attic.’
‘We have no attic, and apples don’t grow here. We have to bring them from market. That’s why they are so special. I love the smell of them. I think that is why I dreamed so well.’
I looked about the room. It was full of simple treasures, a beloved doll, a favourite dress, pressed flowers in a wooden frame. I could not allow her to leave so meekly. I put my hand on her forehead, using the strength of the Mantle to fill her mind with hope and her body with strength.
‘You mean well, but you are wrong.’ The voice came from over my shoulder, but I did not turn for I knew no one would be there. Black Mantle’s mind could follow me anywhere, it seemed.
‘How can it be wrong?’ I fought back a sob. ‘When I healed the land, that was good. Why is bringing a girl back from death’s door so wrong?’
‘Because you do it against her wishes.’ His voice was firm but kind. ‘The land needed you. She no longer needs anything from this world. Let her go. Use your power to learn more about this sickness so that you can save others but let this little one go.’
‘No!’ I clamped my teeth tight. This was an innocent child. How could I let her die without fighting for her? Black Mantle countered that innocent children died every day from hunger, from illness that could be cured, from neglect and from an army of unknown causes. His mind filled the room with sympathy and reason.
‘I want to see my parents,’ Lista whispered, pleading. Black Mantle forced me to my feet and when I reached the door, Rosen and his wife were already there. I left them alone, finding Sandor warming his back before the fire.
‘I was too late.’ I could not stop my lip from trembling. Without a word, he took me into his arms and held me tightly as I wept. I wept for Lista and for her family and I wept for myself. Lista would die and others might follow. Would I have the strength of purpose to uncover and destroy this malignancy? As I allowed Sandor to usher me to the warm stable where Rosen had prepared a bed for me, all I wanted to do was to hide in the familiar comfort of Sandor’s jacket, smelling the warmth of his body and the oil-rich wool.
11. - Apples
The sun had already risen when Rosen woke us. His news brought no comfort. During the night Lista had died. She looked so peaceful in her little bed jacket that it was easy to imagine that she might wake from a restful night’s sleep. The green pallor had left her and there was almost a smile on her lips. Rosen’s wife pulled me by the hand.
‘She asked me to tell you not to blame yourself. She said she had already told you there was nothing you could do but she thought you would blame yourself anyway. I wish I could forgive you as easily. You’re a Mantle. Why couldn’t you save her?’ The woman bit her lip, well aware that such an outburst could bring down the wrath of the Talarin upon her. ‘She was my sweet child and now she’s dead, and you did nothing.’
‘Come away woman, and hold your tongue,’ Rosen scolded. He pulled her out of the room, leaving me alone. I heard them arguing on the stair until she broke down and cried. I looked down at Lista, wondering if I had done the right thing in obeying the Mantle oath. Perhaps Gwythin was right. She would have saved Lista, I knew that.
‘That’s why the Souran chooses its members carefully.’ Black Mantle’s voice flowed over the body. ‘Suppose that you restored this child, would you have learnt more about her cure? Your priority now is to find the cause of the contagion and destroy it.’
I touched Lista’s cold hand and was about to leave her when I noticed her arm. I
t appeared bruised and yet I did not remember seeing the mark earlier. Her wrist and palm were livid purple. Carefully, I examined the rest of her body. There was an unusual mark in the center of her ribcage, which might have been a birthmark and a slight swelling in her armpit. I wondered if this was the seat of the infection.
Rosen and Sandor were waiting in the kitchen. I asked Rosen about the bruising and the birthmark. His eyebrow rose. ‘Forgive me for speaking of this when your heart is breaking, Rosen but these might be signs of the illness.’ I spoke as a Mantle would speak but with kindness. He assured me that Lista had no birthmark or any other signs of bruising when she died. I showed him what I had found.
‘I must see another sick child and perhaps they can tell me more. The more I know of this sickness the quicker I can fight it.’ I rested my hand on his arm. ‘Will you take me to see another child?’
Mechanically Rosen took his coat from the hook and opened the door. I could sense Sandor’s confusion. Perhaps he expected me to grieve with the family. I fixed him with my eyes and attempted to speak to his mind. ‘I will honour Lista in the best way that I can, by finding what killed her.’ He gripped his temple in pain and would have fallen if I had not held his arm. His look of horror turned to amazement, but I gave him no time to question as I followed Rosen into the street.
The cottage was almost identical to Rosen’s but in this home the sick child was on a couch beside the fire. Her parents regarded me with fear and obsequiousness, despite the news having reached them of Lista’s death. Such veneration for a stranger, even if they did wear a Mantle, made me uncomfortable but I was learning to accept it as the way ordinary folk regarded the Talarin. I recalled the time when I myself was afraid of the word ‘Mantle’.
They left me alone with their daughter while they waited in their tiny kitchen. First, I examined the girl, who was about the same age as Lista. I found no strange birthmark on her chest or bruising. She had the same green pallor, highlighted in her case by her mass of red hair. She gasped when she spoke but had not resigned herself to dearth as Lista had done. She told me that she had fallen ill the day after Lista.