Belladonna by Anne Bishop
We have no time for a battle of wills. Can’t you feel it, Brighid? Evil is already drifting among us.
“Heart’s hope—and belladonna,” Merrill replied.
The small jerk of Brighid’s body gave Merrill hope, but Caitlin’s expression showed no sign of yielding.
“Those plants don’t grow around here,” Caitlin said, as if that ended all possibility.
“But there is a place nearby where unusual plants grow,” Merrill insisted. “I could accompany you and help—”
“You aren’t welcome there.”
“Caitlin Marie!” Brighid turned on her niece. “I understand your disappointments and why a wounded heart makes for a bitter tongue, but that is no reason to forget your manners.”
“So they should get whatever they want from me just for the asking?”
Girl and aunt stared at each other, and Merrill had the uneasy feeling they were no longer talking about plants.
Then Brighid sighed and rested a hand against Caitlin’s cheek. “No,” she said. “You should get the Ladies what they need because I’m asking. And because this is more important than any one person.”
Caitlin hesitated, then bobbed her head once in agreement. “For you, then.” She disappeared into the cottage. A few moments later, they all heard the back door slam.
“We came at a difficult time,” Merrill said soothingly, wondering if she and Shaela were going to stand outside for however long it took Caitlin to retrieve the plants, or if Brighid would stand by her own words and remember her manners.
“Manure has its uses, Merrill, but it never smells sweet,” Brighid replied tartly. “Don’t spread it here.”
So much for stepping around the point of contention that had bruised their friendship. Not broken it, though. She wouldn’t believe it was truly broken. Someday Brighid would be free to come back to the White Isle…and Lighthaven. “The girl doesn’t belong on the White Isle. I stand by the decision I made three years ago. She isn’t one of us, Brighid. She never will be.”
Brighid leaned against the door frame. “A young man from the village called last week. Asked Caitlin to go walking in the moonlight—the first who has ever done that since she’s considered ‘strange.’ He made her an offer.”
“Oh.” Merrill smiled. A wounded heart and an offer? Yes, that could explain the sharpness of Caitlin’s temper. “Well, young women are often afflicted with nerves and quarrel with their lover before the wed—”
“He made her the kind of offer no woman with pride or heart would accept.”
“Ah.” Merrill’s face heated with embarrassment, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Shaela turn away, head down, clearly uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.
“Your presence here today is salt on a fresh wound,” Brighid said, her voice sad and quiet. “You come asking for favors from one you turned away and offer nothing in return.”
“There’s nothing I can offer. And you know why we’ve come.”
“Yes, I know why. As I said when I answered your letter, I, too, heard the voice in a dream. The words are a riddle, and I have found no answer.” Brighid hesitated. “But I think the answer is more than an answer for whoever discovers the meaning of the riddle.”
Shaela looked up, alert. “What do you think it is meant to be?”
“A door.”
Reaching the spot on the hillside that she had decided years ago was the end of the path, despite the path continuing on up and over the hill, Caitlin closed her eyes and sent out that silent call: I’m here.
When she opened her eyes, the path ended at the walled garden that branded her a sorceress and was her only comfort and friend—the walled garden that didn’t exist for anyone except her.
Slipping through the rusty gate that never closed properly, she hugged the two pots she’d brought with her and slowly examined the beds. She didn’t know what belladonna looked like, but she was certain she’d know the feel of it.
And there it was, tucked in the corner of the garden that never managed to grow anything well. Beside it was a heart’s hope plant she knew hadn’t been there a few days ago.
Kneeling in front of the plants, she put the pots aside, then brushed her fingers over the plants’ leaves.
Something here. Something strange.
Her fingers brushed leaves, but she had the sensation of a warm hand clasping hers. An accepting hand.
She understands me.
The thought made no sense. Neither was the certainty that she had almost managed to touch someone who wasn’t there.
She sat back on her heels and studied the plants. Aunt Brighid had been acting odd, uneasy. As if she’d had a premonition of bad news and was expecting it to be confirmed every time someone came to the door.
Well, bad news did come knocking, didn’t it?
“Prayer circle,” Caitlin muttered as she pulled a trowel out of her skirt pocket and carefully dug up the heart’s hope. “I’ll bet it’s going to be an interesting prayer circle.”
An important one, anyway, she thought as she settled the heart’s hope into one of the pots. Merrill wouldn’t have come to Raven’s Hill unless it was important. She didn’t think Aunt Brighid had expected Merrill to show up, but Brighid had understood why Merrill was asking for these particular plants.
Caitlin transplanted the belladonna—and shivered as if she’d suddenly stepped into a deep, cold shadow.
Something important. And I’m part of it.
Following impulse, she loosened her braid of waist-length brown hair. She pulled out two hairs, wrapped one around the base of each stem at the dirt line, then added a little more dirt to hide what she had done.
She wasn’t welcome at precious Lighthaven, but she would be part of whatever ceremony the Ladies of Light performed with the plants.
Humming a folk tune that was currently popular in one of her landscapes, Glorianna headed for her walled garden, a basket of gardening tools in one hand and a watering can in the other. When she and her mother, Nadia, had ganged up on her brother Lee to insist that he take one day out of each seven-day for rest and renewal, she hadn’t expected him to surrender so quickly—and she hadn’t expected the two of them to then turn on her and make the same demand! But, like Lee, she had been working too hard, pushing too hard. That had been understandable when the threat of the Eater of the World finding a way into her landscapes had been so immediate. After all, It had found Its way into two of her dark landscapes. But there had been no sign of It for weeks, and while the danger to Ephemera hadn’t lessened, there was less she or Lee could do until they found some sign of where It had gone.
So today was for pleasure and, for her, that pleasure meant tending the earth, not as a Landscaper who was always vigilantly aware of the balance of Light and Dark currents that flowed through her landscapes but as a woman performing the simple chore of looking after her plants and cleaning out the weeds.
Even here on her small island, the autumn day was unseasonably—and delightfully—warm, so she wore an old pair of trousers she had cut off just below the knees and one of Lee’s old cotton shirts—with the sleeves cut short—that her mother would have thrown in the rag basket if Glorianna hadn’t snuck it out of the family home after deciding it was perfect for warm-weather gardening. Her shoes were worn at the heels and so broken-down that her striped sock poked up through a hole in the toe, and her black hair was bundled up under a battered straw hat whose ribbons fluttered in the light breeze. Nadia called it her urchin attire, but the garden—and Ephemera itself—didn’t care if she was fashionably dressed and looked pretty.
No one really cared how she dressed or if she ever looked pretty.
If I ever fall in love, she’d told Lee once, it will be with a man who can see me dressed like this and still think I look beautiful.
Of course, the man would have to overlook the fact that she was a rogue Landscaper and was feared and reviled by all the other Landscapers who protected their world.
Then she froze, all thoughts of a pleasant day in the garden and imagined romance forgotten, as the shock of what brushed against her senses caused her to drop the watering can and basket.
“Guardians and Guides,” she whispered.
A dissonance in her garden. Something here that didn’t belong. Something that didn’t resonate with her.
She plucked the short-handled hoe and tines from the basket, wanting something she could use as a weapon. A quick look around convinced her there was nothing out of order in the beds closest to her, so she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. Her garden covered almost two acres of land, but what it represented was the safety and well-being of thousands of people who lived in the landscapes in her care. She had to find the dissonance and weed out the source before it contaminated everything.
Despite her vigilance, had the Eater of the World found an anchor point in one of her landscapes that connected with this garden? Had It burrowed in somewhere like a dark, malevolent weed, waiting until she got close enough before unleashing one of its nightmarish creatures in hope of destroying her?
Then she felt Ephemera stirring, trying to align itself to the emotions and wishes churning inside her. The world trusted her as it had trusted few others since the time of the first Landscapers, who had been known as Guides of the Heart. It would manifest her emotions, thinking that was what she wanted—even if that meant creating an access point through which the Eater of the World could enter.
She had to regain control of herself. She had to think instead of feel. She had to think for both of them, because that was her purpose; that was why the world had shaped her kind in the first place.
Closing her eyes, she focused on the dissonance, and as the first shock that anything could have invaded her garden wore off, she caught the faintest hint of anxiety—rather like a puppy who had caught a small creature and brought it home but wasn’t receiving the expected praise.
Ephemera had done this? Why?
She opened her eyes and strode to that unsettling spot. The placement of the thing, tucked in an empty piece of the garden that connected with Sanctuary, sent a new jolt of uneasiness rushing through her, but she crouched down to study this unasked for “gift.”
This particular spot had been filled with nothing but clover to protect the rich soil. Now, in the center of that clover, was a stone shaped like a natural basin shallow enough to provide birds with a place to drink and bathe. In the basin, just beneath the water, was a silver cuff bracelet with an intricate design of knots that flowed one to the next.
She reached out, resting her hand on the stone so her fingertips dipped into the water.
Turmoil. Ambivalence. Need and denial. Powerful emotions that tugged at her and also pushed her away.
This stone didn’t come from a place of darkness but a Place of Light. She could feel the Light’s currents singing in the stone and the water. There was some comfort in that, but it didn’t explain why Ephemera had plunked down an access point to an unknown landscape that was connected to who knew where.
Focus, Glorianna. This wasn’t idly done.
Someone had cried out with a heart wish strong enough to produce this response from the world, but bringing this stone here to her was as far as Ephemera could take that heart wish.
At another time, she would have used that access point to cross over to the unknown landscape. Standing in that place would have given her a better feel for what that part of Ephemera needed. Except…
This Place of Light resonated with her and yet it didn’t. It was tangled up somehow, and the reason for that was outside her experience.
The currents of power that flowed through Ephemera circled around her, anxious, eager.
Sighing, Glorianna rose. “All right. It can stay.” For now. “Let’s see if we can get through the rest of the day without any more excitement, all right?”
The currents of power drifted away from her, making her think, again, of a puppy who had already done the very thing she just told it not to do. Not a good sign.
So she wasn’t surprised when she saw Lee hurrying up to the garden’s gate.
“This is supposed to be your rest day,” she called as she hurried to meet him.
“I know. Yours too.”
He looked pale and troubled—and his suppressed anger was strong enough to produce a shimmer in the island’s Dark currents.
“What’s wrong?” Glorianna asked. “Is everything all right at home?”
“It’s fine. Home is fine.” Lee raked a hand through his hair.
“Lee.”
“A handful of Landscapers and three Bridges have found their way to Sanctuary. They’re…distraught…and a bit too quick to start casting blame when—”
She raised a hand, silencing him. Not a surprise that the others would find a way to blame her for the Eater of the World’s escape and the destruction of the Landscapers’ School. No, not a surprise. But it still hurt that any of them thought her capable of such a heinous act.
“If their landscapes have been compromised…”
“I know, Glorianna. I know.” Lee looked away. “We need to find out how they got to Sanctuary: what bridges were created and where.”
“We may have to shut them out of Sanctuary in order to protect the Places of Light.”
“I know that, too. But Yoshani thinks it’s best to let them rest for a day, let their emotions settle a bit. Then he thinks you should talk to them.”
Yoshani was a holy man who came from a Place of Light in a distant landscape. She had stumbled into that landscape when she was fifteen, had used the access point Ephemera had created and crossed over to that distant place. That choice had saved her from the Dark Guides and prevented them from walling her up inside her garden at the school. After she brought the Places of Light together and formed Sanctuary, Yoshani began dividing his time between his own community of Light and the part of Sanctuary that was more accessible to visitors. People felt easy around him, so he had become an informal listener and counselor to the weary hearts that reached Sanctuary.
He was one of the few people she trusted without reservation. But…
“They don’t want to talk to me.”
Lee looked at her, his temper shining in his green eyes. “They don’t have a choice, Belladonna. The leaders of the Places of Light were very clear about that. All the leaders.”
You’re not without friends, Glorianna thought. And you’re not without family. Those are blessings you need to hold in your heart and remember.
“Are you going back to the guesthouse in Sanctuary?” Glorianna asked.
“I’d rather not.”
She figured as much and would welcome his company, but she was worried about the depth of his anger and bitterness. So the best thing for both of them was to fall back on a simple ploy that had never failed her: treat him like the younger brother he was. “Did you bring something to eat? The last time you were here, you cleaned out the pantry and didn’t bother to tell me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Yes, I brought something to eat. And I did not clean out the pantry, just that last bit of cake Mother had made—which was stale, by the way, since you’d left it so long, so that doesn’t count.”
“Does too.”
“Does not.”
“Does too.”
“Does—” Lee glared at her.
“Do either of us have to cook this food you brought?”
“We’ll have to heat it up and slice the bread and cheese. Even I can manage that, Glorianna.”
Satisfied that he was now focused on being an annoyed sibling, she smiled sweetly. “In that case, you can stay
“Not a chance.” He gave her the look that always made her want to smack him. “It’s my rest day. Remember?”
Chapter Seven
Caitlin dug her pitchfork into the compost heap that was tucked away in one corner of her secret garden. Pull out the weeds that choke the flowers and form a messy tangle around the bushes, let them simmer in a corner where sun, water, and air turned them into a rotting stew, and gradually they become a rich loam that fed the same flowers and bushes they had tried to usurp.
If only her own life could be that simple. If only the rotting stew of her emotions could be changed into rich loam.
She worked until her muscles ached. Not because the compost heap needed that much work but because she didn’t want to touch the rest of the garden while bitter anger churned inside her. When thirst became a torment, she gave the compost heap one last turn, then leaned the pitchfork against the garden wall and walked over to the little pool of water shaded by a willow tree. The ground around one side of the pool rose up chest high and was a tumble of stones and pieces of slate that created a series of small waterfalls. The spring that fed the pool had to start somewhere among the stones since there was no sign of it on the other side of the garden wall, but she had never found the source.
Taking the tin cup she kept tucked among the stones, she filled it under one of the little waterfalls and drank it dry once, twice. When she filled the cup a third time, she settled beside the pool, one hand moving idly through the water as she sipped from the cup and looked around the garden that had provided her with an odd kind of companionship most of her life.
The pool had been her first exhilarating—and later, frightening—example of her power over the physical world.
She’d been six years old when she’d found the garden hidden on the hill behind her family’s cottage. Michael had just left for the first time to take up the wandering life, and she’d run off, heartbroken that her only friend and playmate had abandoned her. She’d run and run and run. Aunt Brighid had told her she would make friends when she started school, but it hadn’t happened. The other girls teased her and said cruel things, and she knew the teacher heard the girls and did nothing, encouraging them by keeping silent. So there were no friends, and without Michael to help her, school was hard. And Aunt Brighid hadn’t wanted to admit that the same…something…that lived inside Michael and had driven him away from Raven’s Hill lived inside her, too.