I think of the dead man drowned in his own pool and of the six men killed at the causeway. Nothing compelled me to treat against them; I could have left at any time. So maybe I am bad, destined to hurt and destroy. I think about choices and endings. I think of a leaf blowing in the wind. I sweep aside a stray root that brushes my shoulder and when I do a strange vibration ripples up its length. I see the countless root strands tremble together in the grotto although I feel no breeze against my skin.
‘Wassit? Wassit?’ A magnificent voice pierces through the room. ‘Patch of grass on a hill, under the grass there’s a pair of stumps, under the stumps a cairn, under the cairn a pothole.’
‘Even I heard that.’ There is terror in Malina’s face. ‘I can’t feel my own blood flowing. You must do something and fast. I don’t want to die here, Weed.’
‘But what does it mean?’
‘She means us.’ A high crack is in Malina’s voice. I almost don’t recognise it. ‘It means us. Grass on a hill, that’s hair, stumps are eyes, cairn, nose and hole, mouth. She means us. We’re not welcome here. Get the blasted thing and get out of here before it’s too late.’
The roots shiver again. The room shakes around us and the voice returns, louder than before and full of rage: ‘Wilt the grass, rot the stumps, break the cairn, fill the hole! Wassit here?’
Ruth turns on her heels and runs madly for the door. I find this chilling. This encounter has turned her stomach and I’ve seen her kill strong warriors at a moment’s notice. Malina edges backwards towards the entranceway and a thundering roar fills the hollow interior. My head is splitting beneath the volume. I hear Malina’s voice cry out desperately. ‘Please, Weed! Cut the root and throw it to me. Do it!’
I can’t think in the din. Before I know what is happening I am dashing to the middle of the chamber, feet slipping on the dampness beneath me. My sword is out. It flashes in the air and I harvest a thick strand from the plaited root as it grows between floor and ceiling. An apoplectic scream assaults my ears. I stare in wonder as the frayed strands, hanging now limp before me, uncoil themselves in a slow dance all the way up its length to the ceiling. The braided growth browns and cracks as it unknits, dying. Before I have time to blink, Malina is at my side, snatching the cut root from my fingers, and I watch as she sprints, quick as a hunted animal, to the open door, the blessed exit. All I can think is ‘She left me!’ as a great and terrible agony sharpens inside my head. I feel like I’m falling when a weight strikes me on my chest. The physical sensation is almost welcome. The pain in the body to replace the pain the mind. Blinking into and out of consciousness, I fade in the blue light.
Chapter 17
At first there is only darkness. I cannot move but my body does not feel pinned; rather I feel bodiless. I float carelessly and painlessly. It is a sweet sensation to be utterly alone. Unharassed by men and plants. And then a thought occurs to me: I wonder if I am dead. I know not for how long I have been here, wherever here is. It could be moments or hours or weeks. Can this be what death is? A quiet chasm beneath the earth. Then so be it. Peace and quiet. Rest and stillness forever.
Kill or be killed. That is the way of animals and beasts. I remember Malina’s terrible fear of death. I don’t understand her dread; this doesn’t seem so bad. I have always asked myself where I should fit in nature. Am I of the growing world, born of the everlasting root, or am I simply a red-blooded man, born to die and end finally? Well, if I am dead at least that question is answered. It is a comfort to me in the enveloping blackness.
Nothing gives way to something. I sense movement in the periphery of sensation and a lick of familiarity reaches out to me in the void. The softness of a pleasant touch. A mother’s loving embrace. I hear kind words whispered sadly in my ear: ‘Best Beloved.’ The warm caress holds me close and I never want to be without it. To exist eternally so cherished is better than life, better than love in the world. For an instant I contemplate such happiness and then without warning I am cruelly released into surrounding emptiness. A terrible pang of loss sweeps over me, drowning me, and the same mother’s voice utters a sharp cry ‘MAB.’
With that word echoing in my ears I am reborn in pain. Searing red-hot agony wrenches my ribs and I can’t breathe. Jealous pressure squeezes the life out of me. A mass of fungus, hard as masonry, is twisting like a knife in my chest. Pure white torment has me in its grip. I am a chamber of vibrating hurt. This feeling is too extreme to be born. I imagine the horror of escalating pain without the escape of death. For surely I am dead already; then suddenly there is release. Something is dislocated from atop me and cast aside. I feel my broken body lying on the ground gasping air into bruised lungs. I open my eyes. As the room swims lazily into focus I see Connell standing above me. He grasps me in strong hands and I am lifted from the floor. Then darkness takes me again. I am thankful when it comes.
Chapter 18
I wake up under the bright sun. I’m lying on a wooden platform and I can smell the salt sea and hear the sound of waves. I try to get up but the pain in my chest rings hollowly though my body. I count to ten, waiting for the worst of it to subside. I look down and there are dressings on my torso but I am alone. Malina is gone and so is Ruth. There was someone else here before as well. Who was it?
‘Connell?’ I shout as loudly as possible but nothing more than a feeble croak issues from my dry throat.
‘Yes, my boy. Please don’t shout. You’ll strain yourself.’ It sounds as if the voice is coming from the sea. I feel nauseated.
‘I would do anything to talk to a simple plant or even a vile man if they would just appear before me and speak. Riddles and voices from the seas! People climbing walls! Dying and words from the darkness! Pierced to the quick! Enough.’ I shout to the world.
‘Calm yourself. All is well and natural. Natural as it ever can be here on the Holy Isle.’ Connell’s voice seems closer now and behind me. I turn back and see him, a man. He is wading in chest-high water, his robes floating in his wake. Behind him, a distance away, is the shore of the island.
‘Where am I now?’ The wooden platform I lie on is small, with room for two or three men to lie abreast. It seems rough-hewn. I look at the iron nails and splintered wood; it is pleasantly home-made.
‘You’ve been out of it for a couple of days, Weed. But I’ve bought you down to the waters whenever the sun’s been shining. I made this platform myself,’ Connell replies cheerfully. ‘Under the surface just here is an ancient stone consecrated to Llŷr, that’s a God of the old sea, but don’t worry about the details. This place is a good place to come if you’re a Druid and it’ll do you good too. You took a nasty turn in that strange place where all the walls glow green. I personally don’t like it in there. But each to their own.’
‘I thought you were drowned.’ I am now sitting up. My body is stiff and sore and there are marks of blood on the white bandages that clothe my body.
‘Drowned in my own little fish pond? I shouldn’t think so. I told you and that witch that I was protected from violence there. Didn’t stop her giving it a good go, mind you. Vicious one, that one.’ Connell is now at the side of the platform, smiling at me. He deftly places his hands on the old wood and pushes himself up. He swivels and sits next me, his legs dangling in the water. ‘How did you get mixed up in all this, Weed?’
‘I wish I knew. My head has been uncommonly foggy of late. I came here on Malina’s request, to help Ruth and cure her muteness. Only once we were on the road Malina seemed to change into another person. I didn’t recognise her anymore.’ I need to tend to my injuries. I need to find healing plants. I gingerly touch the dressings.
‘People like her have lots of faces. Lots of names. Ha! But which is the right one? Don’t worry about your wounds. Pretty nasty cut you got. Pierced by a huge growth of fungus! But I’ve given you a great dose of Liverwort and Woundwort. All grown on this island so the effects are fast. I’ve numbed you up with coca too. Plus out here with the sun above and Llŷr’s stone below
. You’ll be good as new soon.’ I am exhausted but Connell’s calmness in the face of all that has transpired is almost as healing as the herbs.
‘How do you know about plant lore and the properties of medicine?’ I ask.
‘You’re not the only one with knowledge of the gardens hereabouts.’ He gently touches the bandages that swathe my pale torso. ‘But I think you’re special too. I’m surprised you weren’t done for after the blow you took in that chamber of horrors.’ The afternoon sun is hot on my skin and I slide over to sit next to Connell. My legs hang in the clear water beneath us.
‘The sea feels good.’ I say to Connell.
‘This island and the water around it are healing. Do you think an old man like me would wade around in anything less?’ he asks grinning at me.
‘You don’t look old.’
‘Well I am. But Lindisfarne takes care of me. It’s alive, you know, and pretty sharp too. When that witch came ashore it told me all about it better than any Haruspex could. Forget about watching dogs chase their tails and birds flying overhead. Bloody augurs intoning their spooky nonsense: “We shall have rain when the birds fly low. Oh, you’re right. That bird shat right on my head!” Ha! You need to be careful hanging around with people like Malina. They’ll bring you trouble and they’re no fun.’
‘Malina, Ruth and I were like a family together on the mainland. But she left me to my fate the minute her hands closed on that damned sprouting root.’
‘Yes. She wants it for herself, not for the poor child. It’s trouble, my lad. Deadly trouble in her hands. Come on.’ Connell eases himself into the water and lifts me from the platform. As he wades across the waters he holds me above the lapping waves, bone dry. ‘The root with no name is a queer one. Mighty queer. It doesn’t grow in the wild world and it’s hateful to men and beasts. I’ve never seen its flower or seed.’
‘You said it would hurt her, burn her.’ I look down at Connell. His face is open and honest and he breathes easily, like I weigh nothing at all.
‘A root that opens the mind in the hands of a seer? It’ll amplify her power like a glass amplifies the sun’s rays. It might do her a deal of damage but it’ll show her what she wants to see. It’s a chilling thought.’ He grins up at me as we reach the shore. Connell is stronger than he looks and he simply carries me inland towards the castle.
‘I trusted her and she lied to me.’ My body tenses in rage, but in truth I feel like a fool.
‘Never fret over what can’t be undone.’ We are halfway up the escarpment now and I can see the castle. Even from this distance the Green voices from within the courtyard ring loudly in my ear. When I ascended this hill with Malina my mind must have been truly numb for me to have been deaf to them. ‘She’s gone and taken the little bairn with her.’
At the thought of the child I groan inwardly. Whether the root can cure her muteness or not I have utterly failed to help Ruth. Now she is abandoned once more to the hands of Malina. ‘So I was not able to protect Ruth after all.’ I say quietly.
‘There’s plenty of time to make amends! You’ll make it alright again, Weed. I’m glad we’ve got you on our side.’
I feel weak and tired in body, bone and soul when Connell says that. I don’t wish to be on anyone’s side but my own. I’m sick of playing another’s game, blown in the breeze. ‘What can I do about it? And who is “we”?’
‘You’re stronger than you know, Weed. You’re waxing like the Moon to full brilliance. There is yet time for you to get the better of Malina.’ We reach the castle’s curtain wall and Connell opens the door to the courtyard without letting me go. ‘And as for your second question: perhaps you’d like to meet them. I welcome you to the gardens of Linsidfarne, old Medcaut. They haven’t been destroyed. Just moved here inside the bailey so I can care for them more easily. I’m sure you understand.’
He lays me down amongst the thickness of vegetation in the green courtyard. I am pleased to feel its loamy soil in my fingers. ‘Without Malina this place feels blessed.’
‘Aye, it is. The growing chamber where you trespassed is the true heart of the Holy Isle, a great terminus of the deep veins. The power there is awesome. I almost never go in there; it doesn’t feel right to somehow. But when I saw the Haruspex and her charge run off, I knew you were in danger.’
‘I’m sorry for the trouble we have brought you.’
‘Ha! I didn’t drown in that pool but I can’t say it was a lot of fun. That witch! In my younger days I’d hunt her down and sacrifice her under a blood moon for what she did. But she’s off the island now and I can’t follow. It’s going to be up to you, Weed.’ He brushes my dark hair from my face and then lies back in the tall grasses. ‘Take what comfort you can from the growing things.’
‘Weed! My lad, how are you? You finally shook her off. Oi, everyone! Weed’s back!’ Cannabis’ voice is full of welcome. ‘You’re hurt. Here have a taste of my buds. They’re full grown and a cure for all things!’ I break off a bright green growth and pop it in my mouth.
‘Sweet Weed. Welcome to our gardens. We felt you pass through here when the sun was high before but you did not speak with us. How cruel of you.’ Lavender’s stems stiffen and bristle.
‘ Hush Lavender. He’s had a rough time.’ It’s Cannabis’ earthy tones playing the peacemaker.
‘Not rough enough!’ Strychnine’s voice roars through my ears and the garden shivers.
‘Strychnine. So you are here now.’
‘All plants grow here, Weed. You’d know that if you hadn’t abandoned the Green world for that woman.’ There is palpable rage in its voice. ‘Every plant grows here but one, now that you’ve cut the unnamed root. And now she has it. That walking, bleeding, breathing minute-counter.’
‘I received my own wounds in turn, Strychnine. The pain is with me still.’
‘That pain was nothing to the pain that is coming to you. Don’t look for sympathy and comfort here. Stamp on you! Rot take you and be dead forever!’
‘I thought I was dead. There was a strange voice and that dreadful chamber struck me down. I was in darkness, then I felt a kind embrace. Now I am renewed. I live again.’
‘Oh listen to him! I am renewed and live again. He talks like a plant now! You don’t even know where you are. Dreadful chamber? That was Mab’s house and you have violated her bed, uninvited. This is the fruitful womb Weed, wherein all of the Green take their cardinal root. Because of you the unnamed will never sprout back here again. His flower and seed do not grow in the wide world. Final death you’ve bought to it: Law Breaker! Corrupter! And that root of all roots to have killed like a guttering beast!’
I think of the plaited sprout and how it died in the cavern when I cut it. Its three thick strands unwinding and turning brittle. ‘I didn’t know. So the root is truly lost. I’m sorry.’
‘What is sorry? Sorry is not enough. Not enough by half.’ A sweep of rage echoes across the garden. The plants are subdued now, their friendliness muted. ‘Great mischief might that Blood Letter do with the root you plundered. We’re none of us safe.’
‘I didn’t know its significance when I cut it. Nor do I understand it now. Not fully.’
‘You claim ignorance and all is forgiven? Always getting second chances, Weed. You must repair your transgressions. Take some responsibility.’
How I hate that word: responsibility. ‘Malina is long gone with the root. I’ll never find her. I wish I could take it back.’ I feel cold.
A silence falls upon the garden. I look at Connell but if he is aware of the castigations occurring around me he does not show it. ‘Nothing is chance, Weed; all is choice. You may yet atone for your mistake.’ Angel’s Trumpet wafts through the grasses.
‘It has been too long since I heard your voice or tasted your fruits, Angel. If you know how I may return this stolen prize to its source then please tell me.’
‘Strychnine is right. The great chamber is Mab’s cardinal root and what is lost from that place will not grow there ag
ain. Mab struck you down for that crime and yet she gave you life anew. She favours you. But Weed, Mab has lived since before time could be measured. She knows many things. Don’t you see? She has already granted your deliverance.’
‘I don’t understand Angel. By what means may I absolve my sin?’
‘She has already sent you a sapling of the unnamed. You planted it yourself though you didn’t know its significance. It is the last remaining sprout of that herb in nature and it grows still.’
‘At Soutra Aisle?’
‘Not in the medicine garden.’
‘Then where? I beg you.’
‘It is close by the dead lands where you fought with Oleander.’
Strychnine’s rasp returns with unabated anger. ‘We have not forgiven you for that offense either. How the dirt did shriek when you outraged it so. You have sinned against the Green so frequently and so egregiously in your life, Weed.’
I ignore the poison’s deadly words as recollection blooms in the back of my mind’s eye.
‘I remember it. The braided root I planted at Alnwick Castle, the spiteful feathered sapling whose nature was unknown to me. It called me Meat Ears.’
‘Man is nothing but meat to it, Weed. And it withholds its name from man.’ Speaks Angel’s Trumpet.
Weed: The Poison Diaries Page 11