Crow Of Thorns

by Richard Mosses

  “You still need to finish the skin and make the drum,” Corbie says. “Then we can try again taking you to the Lower World.”

  “We already did that.”

  “No. Think again.”

  “That was the Underworld.” I crawl out of my sleeping bag, pull on my trousers. “We've got my outfit to do as well.”

  “Then there's no time to waste.”

  “You remind me of my Dad – he never let me have a lie in either.”

  I'm about to make porridge when I recall the brains cooking. Beans are off the menu too. I make noodles again before going to the toilet block.

  When I get back I lug down the toolbox from the surface and take out the hide. Corbie tells me to twist it and rope it up to squeeze out as much moisture as I can. The brain stuff seems to have been absorbed into the skin like moisturiser. There are a couple of tufts of red still left. This will make a good drum head, not that I'm an expert. Not bad for something done in the dark.

  Removing the stray hairs, I also get rid of any bits of fat that got missed last night. Stretching the skin and rubbing it with a large stone softens it. Soon it is supple and dry.

  “You'll need to smoke it before it's done,” Corbie says.

  “I doubt we'll get anything to burn,” I say. “Any twigs will be wet and I don't want the police to be called because of the smoke.”

  “If you set it up deep in the tunnel then maybe the smoke won't come out this side.”

  I explore the tunnel heading south to Kelvinbridge. There are pockets of water on the floor further in and what looks like the start of stalagmites forming on the ceiling. Here and there is a blackened circle of an old fire and a few bits of left over wood. Timber liberated from building sites by the look of it. I go back for the skin and set it up so that it envelopes the fire, like a chimney. The wood is damp and takes a while to catch, but when it does a lazy smoke comes off it and rises up to meet the skin.

  “How long will it take?”

  “Half an hour should do it.”

  Back at my camp I look at the leather jeans and car coat and root through the toolbox taking out spanners or screwdrivers and holding them against the sections between joints seeing what fits well, iron ulnas and steel tibia.

  Returning to the smoked skin, I put out the fire. Back in the daylight the skin has gone a dark golden colour. With reluctance I remove the skin from my drum and start measuring the right sized cut from my fox hide. Having done this once I'm less hesitant, but wary of tearing the newly tanned hide. Once I've stretched out the new skin onto the bicycle wheel and secured it in place I have to concede that it sounds like a real bodhran. There's a deeper timbre to each beat which also lasts longer. It resonates in my head and in my torso. I don't know if it is a matter of there being more life in the fox skin so much as it just being a more effective material. I smile, satisfied with a job well done.

  Using the waxed twine from the toolbox and a small screwdriver to punch tiny holes I secure metal bones onto the outside of the jeans and along the arms of the car coat. “Do I need ribs and a spine too?”

  Corbie cocks his head to one side. “A coupla ribs won't do you any harm.”

  I fix a series of spanners in descending size across the front of the coat. They look more like the ornate braids on Hussar's uniforms in the Napoleonic era than a skeletal ribcage. Once done there's only one thing for it – time to strut my stuff on the shaman catwalk.

  The leather jeans pull on without a problem and I tie them tightly in place with a belt. The jacket already weighed a lot, with the additional iron it feels like lifting weights at the gym. I tug it on, the metal clanking. It isn't as bad as I thought, but my shoulders feel the strain.

  “Not bad. Not bad at all,” Corbie says. “Not what I was expecting, but it'll work. Now pick up your drum and let's go to work.”

  I get my new drum and without any further edicts from the thorny emperor I begin to find a rhythm I can keep too. Raising the pace, the beat starts to infect my limbs, resonating in my chest and loins. It is hard to move in the leather and the added extras don't help. I expect the trousers to fall down any minute.

  The pace of the beat increases and my feet begin to shuffle, my arms spasm and I feel an even bigger tit than before. I'm praying no one suddenly decides to visit while I'm doing this. But this is keeping me from concentrating on what I'm doing. I absorb myself in the beat and nothing else. I'm twirling around stamping my feet beating my drum sweating clanking moonlight.

  Moonlight on my face, as I lie on the ground. I was in the tunnel when I started. Once more summer is in full bloom and it is a warm night. Butterflies flit between flowers. Bats dart overhead. Small white clouds drift across the midnight sky.

  “No time to be lying about.” Corbie nudges me with his head, piercing me with a thorn as my coat lies on the platform beneath me.

  I explore my side underneath my shirt and t-shirt, it feels sore, but there's no blood. I stand up and follow the bird up to the Gardens. “Where are we going?”

  “We need to find a tree,” Corbie says.

  “There are plenty of those around.”

  “Not like this.”

  We head toward the back of the Gardens where there are more trees.

  “Anything in particular we're looking for?” I say.

  “You'll know it when you see it. We're lookin for a way down into the ground.”

  “We could have stayed in the tunnel.” There's a particularly old and wide tree ahead. It resembles an oak, but is a lot taller. Near the base there is a dark hole. The closer I get, the larger the tree appears to be. On the lower trunk there is something clinging to it and around its base is a pool.

  I've not seen anything in the Gardens like this before. The tree is growing breasts. All shapes and sizes – some have long nipples like tubes, some are colossal mammaries suitable for a porn star, many are ordinary shapely breasts. There are all shades of skin; dark red-brown, white as porcelain with blue veins, green dusky olive. All of them are swollen with a thin white fluid which oozes out of the nipples, glistens on the skin as it dribbles down to congregate in the pool at the base of the tree. A pool of translucent, opalescent white, liquid silver in the moonlight.

  I remember Kathryn's breasts when she was feeding Lucas and then Samantha, and the warm sweet nutty taste of her milk. Nothing like what is packaged in bottles. The whole thing is slightly arousing and gross.

  The hole I saw is down in the base of the tree, nestled between roots and breasts. It looks more human than tree, more ovoid than round. It's like a sheela-na-gig I saw in Ireland with the whole doorway being parted between her legs.

  “Down the rabbit hole, eh?” I say.

  “Aye,” Corbie says.

  There's no other way to get there than to walk through the milky pool. I can't tell how deep it is and sink up to my knees in the fluid. It's not far to wade and the milk is slightly warm. It soaks into my socks and clings to my legs beneath the leather trousers.

  When I clamber out at the base of the tree I'm on my knees which seems the easiest way to enter the hole. I crawl forward into the narrow tunnel beyond. The fluid oozes down my legs. The grass turns to a dark black soil. Roots hang down from the top of the tunnel, poke out of the sides and floor. It's a real challenge to make my way round and through them. This is like potholing. As I go deeper thick sticky earthworms appear writhing through the soil, and a faint green glow emerges from the tunnel walls. The tunnel gets narrower and I've no idea where I'm going or how far I need to go. I don't normally think twice about enclosed spaces, but I can't turn around now. The roots are pushing down on me squeezing me forward. I start to panic, my breathing gets faster, my heart working hard, and the pit of my stomach is hollow. What have I done? Why did I blindly crawl into here?

  The only way is forward, with less and less space to move. Then my arm misses the ground and I tumble out of the tunnel into a riot of animals and plants. It's like a jungle gone mad.

  A hazy lig
ht, filtered through green leaves, dapples everything. Brightly coloured flies swarm, the light on their wings iridescent. Birds swoop past me chasing dragon flies. Any of them could fall foul of the insects with webs, the lizards with long sticky tongues, or the plants able to snap shut and drown them in digestive pools. Furred animals with arms and tails run along branches snatching at the passing buffet. The trees are wide with large heavy roots and thick branches garlanded in orchids, ivies and other climbing plants. The ground is a sea with moving waves of soil, insect armies carrying their spoils home, small rodents carrying out guerrilla attacks on their supply lines and snakes ready to strike. Further into the jungle I see yellow eyes that look suspended in the air like a Cheshire cat before their owner blends into the background. Something roars deeper in the madness of an ecosystem in overdrive. The air smells heavy and green, tinged with vegetal and fleshly decay. Thick scents from flowers dripping nectar mingle with the copper of fresh blood.

  I'm scared. Something, whether flying, crawling or creeping, will eat me up.

  Corbie emerges from the tunnel behind me. “It's a lot to take in, isn't it? Come on.” He flaps his wings and heads into the jungle a few feet off the ground.

  Following, I step over branches and rows of insects. Many just crawl over my feet and carry on their business. Fanning my hand to bat away things flying too close to my face, I also duck in reaction to something coming too close. I have that back of the neck tingling of something watching me. No doubt sizing me up for dinner.

  After walking deeper into the jungle for ten minutes I'm sweating profusely. We emerge into a clearing in which a small waterfall forms a pool and a stream empties out of it. Kneeling beside the clear cool water, I cup some in my hands.

  Corbie tries to interrupt me as I lift it up. “I wouldn't do that if I were,” I splash it over my head, “you.” The water patters onto the surface of the pool.

  I can think more clearly. The humid atmosphere releases its push down on my skull for a little while.

  There is movement beside me in the pool. I roll back out of the way, heart suddenly fast, expecting a piranha or crocodile to leap at me. Instead a figure emerges gracefully from the water. Hair of fine grasses and reeds, a face mask of dark polished mahogany, almond eyes looking through the holes, the shoulders and then the rest of a body composed of branches, leaves and flowers. A rivulet runs from the plant woman's shoulder, around her breast, like milk on the Tree, and down her waist and slender legs.

  My embarrassment must be plain to see. I get up out of the dirt and brush myself down trying to get back some level of dignity.

  Corbie flaps up onto my shoulder. His voice is a whisper. It is hard to hear over the noise of the rainforest. “Be on your guard, Nik. Treat this one like royalty.”

  “Hello, my lady.” This sounds like nonsense and is clumsy on my tongue. “I am Nikolai Munro and this is my mentor Corbie. Please accept my apologies for disturbing you.” I hold out my hand.

  The plant person steps out of the pool. Her feet have rose thorns for nails. When she grips my hand I find that it does too. They scratch my skin, drawing thin lines of blood. “Shaman?” Her voice is the soughing of barley. Her grip strengthens and the thorns dig deeper.

  I don't cry out with the pain or snatch my hand back. “Corbie is. I'm learning.”

  The plant person's eyes, all white and expressionless, appear blind, but they follow my movement. “Why have you come here?”

  Did we disturb her sleep? Is she angry with me? Her tone is neutral but I still detect an undercurrent of menace. “Er, well, to visit the Lower World. It's my first time here. I really am sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

  “Do not worry. You can make amends,” she says.

  “Careful, Nik,” Corbie says.

  “I doubt I have anything of value to you.”

  “I would like a kiss.”

  No harm in that. It wouldn't be cheating on my soon to be ex-wife. A simple peck on the cheek.

  “Nik, don't do this,” Corbie says.

  “It's okay. It's just a kiss. I thought you were all for free love.”

  “It ain't ever just a kiss, and this one's love ain't free.” Corbie jumps off my shoulder and lands on the grass.

  Stepping in closer to the plant woman, I tilt my head to come in close to her cheek. She releases my hand and pushes her body close to mine. It feels like flesh. She wraps her arms behind me and I try to pull back. Branches and vines wrap around me and pull me in closer. Her breath smells of nuts and nectar. One hand holds the back of my neck scratching it with the thorns. She tilts her head. Our lips touch. I expected solid wood, but it is soft and yielding. Despite my entrapment I find myself aroused kissing an essentially naked woman. Something darts quickly between my lips. Did she just slip me some tongue? I break the kiss and try not to cough. My tongue feels numb where it was jabbed. The vines and branches release me, her arms let me go. I am light headed and feel the need to sit down.

  The woman sits cross-legged in front of me. “I am Midori. I am pleased to meet you.” The menace has gone, but like a cat that has sheathed its claws, the threat is still there. “Welcome to the Green World. This is where you will find the animal and plant spirits. Many come here to find animal guides.”

  Corbie walks over and stands just in front of me. “We're pleased to meet you too.”

  The words are thick as I try to get my mouth to work. “I have Corbie, so I doubt I'll need any animal spirits.”

  Midori chuckles. “The greater the shaman, the more spirits he commands.”

  The feeling of numbness passes. “I'm no great shaman, madam. I'm just trying to get the Great Spirits off my back.”

  “I could make you a great shaman, if you wished.” Midori smiles. It is the smile of a tiger. “How else will you counteract the Great Spirits' influence?”

  It's tempting. All this could be so much easier. But I've gone down the easy road before. This is the Devil's deal. How to get out of this while keeping face for everyone? “That is a wonderful offer. I'm sure you are a powerful supporter of many shamans greater than those the Great Spirits patronise. I need to find my talents and strengths in order to be worthy of your interest. I'm sure your advice here would be invaluable, however I have no currency and 'neither a borrower or lender be' as my Dad used to say.”

  She laughs again. “You flatter me, sir. I think you have talents you don't recognise within yourself. If not a protégé, perhaps you would be my ally?”

  “It would be an uneven alliance. I wouldn't wish you to feel our relationship was one sided. Besides, why would you want to ally with a shaman who has nothing?”

  “I've not heard anyone speak out so bravely against the Great Spirits. Perhaps we have mutual goals.”

  “I wouldn't want to find later that we did not. My enemy's enemy is not necessarily my friend. It already sounds like shamans and spirits work in some kind of feudal system. I don't think that would rest comfortably with me.”

  “There are some who feel enslaved. Some are happy with their yokes.”

  “I would have preferred a choice in being a shaman. I might have accepted, if anyone asked. Instead my family and I have been subjected to thuggery and intimidation that I would expect from a street gang.”

  “You have a family?”

  Why should Midori be interested in this? “Two kids and a wife, technically.”

  “You either you do or you don't.”

  “With the greatest of respect we haven't even agreed to be allies and this is rather personal.”

  “I am disappointed. We seem to agree on so much. I thought we were comrades in arms. Should be draw up a contract?” Midori says.

  “Lady, I mean no offence. I just got here. You're the first spirit I've spoken to. We appear to have common aims, it remains to be seen if we have common purpose.”

  “Very well, Nikolai Munro. Perhaps we will meet again.” Midori stands and walks away, submerging smoothly into the water. I thought I was doing ok
ay, yet somehow I offended her.

  “Dude, that was well played. I thought she'd eat you for breakfast. Let's go home before you start a diplomatic incident.”

  I turn and head back the way I think we came.

  “You don't need to walk,” Corbie says. “Just think yourself back the way we came.”

  I imagine myself speeding along like a bullet through the jungle, along the tunnel, out into the pool beneath the breasted tree and back down beneath the station to where I started underneath the air vent.

  My body is covered in a fine layer of snow. I feel stiff and cold. And ravenous. It is getting dark. Standing up, I try to shake some life into my limbs, my metal bones clanging. I try to come back to this world, to feel grounded here.

  There are small footprints in the snow. They lead to my tent, inside there's the warm glow of a lamp. Who would walk past me lying out in the open, but stay instead of robbing me? “Hello?” I say.

  “Hi. Are you okay?” Rachael unzips the tent and comes out. She is wrapped in a thick woollen coat with a tailored waist and long skirt – it has a Victorian military great coat look to it. “I could tell you were still alive,” she says. “But wasn't sure if it was part of being a shaman or if you'd had a seizure. I didn't realise you were serious.”

  Why do I suddenly feel guilty about a kiss with a plant spirit? “Not that I had much choice.” I pick up my drum and brush the snow off it. I'm sure getting the new skin damp will not be good for it. “It must be a bit disturbing to keep finding me delirious every time you visit.”

  “Given your outfit, I figured it was more likely you were in a trance.”

  My face goes hot. “Yeah. It weighs a ton.” Moving towards the tent, I smell my own sweat soaked into the clothes underneath. “You'll have to excuse me. I'm a bit fragrant.”

  “You're forgetting I deal with hordes of pre-pubescent kids. I'm used to all sorts of smells.”

  “What brings you to town?”

  “I came in to do some shopping and found myself in the West End,” Rachael says. “Since I saved your life, and presumed the authority of the gods, I'm now responsible for you. Seemed a good opportunity to check in on my responsibility.”