Belladonna by Anne Bishop
A beautiful bed in a garden. A piece of granite, the stone of strength, with veins of quartz that sparkled in sunlight. Rich earth. And flowers that rose out of the ground in a dazzle of colors that delighted the eye—and made the scar in her chest ache and ache and ache until…
That was better. Much better. Those beautiful flowers were nothing more than a lure. As they bloomed, the nectar dripped down the petals and poisoned the rich earth, killing the beauty.
And despair moaned through the dying trees, and sorrow was a bed of stones.
And somewhere, just out of sight, a boy laughed, his delight at being included, at being accepted, producing a shimmer of Light.
She woke, her hand pressed against her chest to ease the terrible ache.
Something stirred in her landscape. Something that didn’t belong here.
Something she couldn’t want here.
She rose, feeling stiff, feeling achy, feeling angry. She would strip away any pretties that had crept into her landscape. She would crush anything that fed the weeds of Light, those damned currents she couldn’t eliminate completely, no matter how often she tore at the roots.
Time to find the Eater again. It gave her a savage pleasure to use those remaining flickers of Light to manifest something desirable and watch It try to belong, to fit in with the very creatures It had once wanted to destroy.
Boo, hoo, boo, hoo, little Eater. Belladonna has a treat for you. Poison in the pretties.
Or maybe just a pretty. The hearts in this landscape would tear each other apart to possess something truly pretty. Or tasty. Or desirable.
She laughed, and the sound was a blight on the land.
But as she prepared to leave the lair she had created from a garden a girl had abandoned long ago, she stopped and listened.
For a moment, she thought she heard music. And then there was only the wind.
Sebastian rubbed the back of his neck to ease the ache.
Michael tucked his whistle in his pocket and ignored the stiffness in his hands—and wondered how long they’d been at this before neither had been able to sustain the effort.
“What do you think?” Sebastian finally asked. “Did anything happen?”
“I don’t know,” Michael replied wearily. “I don’t know.”
Sebastian stood up and stretched. Then he looked at Michael. “Then I guess we do this again tomorrow.”
“I guess we do.”
He walked with Sebastian to the stationary bridge that would take the incubus to Sanctuary and the first step on the journey home. Alone again, he stopped at the bed near the house—and smiled.
“Something happened,” he whispered. “Something did.”
The bud on his little heart’s hope plant had bloomed, and another bud was starting to grow.
Chapter Thirty-four
Michael half turned when he heard the brisk knock on the kitchen door, but before he could step away from the stove, Sebastian was inside, closing the door against the wind and the wet weather.
“You got rain.” Sebastian set the market basket on the table, then stripped off his coat and hung it on a peg by the door.
“Not the best of days to be trying the music,” Michael said, “but there’s an umbrella here. We can stuff ourselves under it for a little while.”
“Won’t that be cozy?” Sebastian rubbed his hands as if he were trying to warm them up. “It’s not raining in Aurora.”
There was a message in those words. “I’m making tea,” Michael said. “If you want koffee…”
“I’ll make it myself,” Sebastian finished, taking a few things out of the market basket.
“I can make it,” Michael said, feeling as if his hospitality had been called into question.
“No,” Sebastian said firmly. “You can’t.”
Ah. So it wasn’t his hospitality that was being called into question but his ability to make an acceptable—according to Sebastian—cup of koffee.
“Fine then,” Michael grumbled. “Make it yourself.”
“I’ve got two jars of Aunt Nadia’s soup, and Lynnea made a couple of beef sandwiches.”
Bribery. And since that would make a far better meal than anything he would have scrounged for himself, he got a pot out of the cupboard to heat up one jar of soup, then set two places at the table.
“It’s been a few days now, Michael,” Sebastian said after he ground the koffea beans and got the brew started. “I couldn’t keep sliding around the question of where I was going each day. So I told Lynnea where I’ve been going—and that led to telling her why.”
Michael ladled the soup into bowls while Sebastian put the sandwiches on plates. “And she told Nadia.” Which explained the food.
“It’s made them hopeful—and that has given them all a lot of energy.”
The way Sebastian smiled gave him a very bad feeling.
“So who else knows?”
“Just the people you’d expect. Family—and close friends.”
Lady’s mercy. That wasn’t all of it. He sensed there was more, but whatever else Sebastian wanted to tell him was something he really didn’t want to know.
When they were halfway through the soup, Sebastian said, “It’s spring. I was told it’s time to tidy up the gardens.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That means it’s not going to rain here tomorrow, Magician, so you’d better be home and you’d better be prepared.”
Michael blinked. “For what?”
Sebastian shook his head and sighed. “Four women, which includes your aunt Brighid, who like to play in the dirt and grow green things.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They will be here tomorrow—along with me, Teaser, Jeb, Yoshani, and Lee—to help you tidy up the walled garden, and plant a few flowers in the personal garden.”
Michael plopped his spoon in the bowl, slumped in his chair, and stared at Sebastian. “There’s close to two acres of land in the walled garden, and that much or more that could be considered the formal grounds around the house.”
“Uh-huh.”
“All of it? We’re going to tidy up all of it?”
“Uh-huh.”
He felt the blood draining out of his head. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He wasn’t a gardener, and didn’t pretend to be, but the gardens didn’t look too bad to his untrained eye. “So what’s to be done then?”
Sebastian held up a hand and began ticking items off with his fingers. “Weeding, mulching, raking the leaves that were neglected last fall—”
“Raking leaves? Why?”
“Because they fell off the trees and are now on the ground. We can rake them up or we can tack them back onto the trees, every single one of them. That’s a direct quote.”
Michael braced his head in his hands. “Lee doesn’t want to come here. His arm has been out of the plaster for a while now, but I’d think he’d use the excuse of a healing bone to get out of coming here.”
“He tried,” Sebastian replied dryly. “He was told, and I quote, ‘You don’t need two hands to pull up weeds.’”
“Lady of Light, have mercy on us.”
“Well, I hope someone does, because Aunt Nadia is pretty ruthless when it comes to cleaning up the garden. And Lynnea isn’t much better,” Sebastian added under his breath.
Michael fiddled with the spoon for a moment, then pushed the bowl aside. “If you could go back and make that choice again, the one that has you tidying up gardens because a particular woman wants it of you…”
“I’d make the same choice,” Sebastian said. “I chose love, Magician. Just like you. Isn’t that why you’re here?”
He nodded. “That’s why I’m here.” He studied what was left of the soup in his bowl. “Did Glorianna like this soup?”
“It was her favorite. Aunt Nadia calls it comfort soup.” Sebastian looked at the other jar of soup on the counter and then looked at Michael. “Magician, I have an idea.”
Crying softly, the Eater of the
There had been bushes of ripe berries. Succulent. Sweet. It hadn’t wanted many, just a few. Just a taste of something good.
But the humans had found the berries too, and their minds had been too clotted with greed and viciousness to hear anything else. They trampled each other and tore at each other in order to get to the berries. They stabbed at each other and stoned each other as they fought to stuff handfuls of the ripe fruit in their mouths. They destroyed the bushes and mashed half the berries underfoot in their efforts to have as much as they could—more than anyone else.
And when It had tried to move among them and get Its own small share of the berries, they had turned on It, attacked It, ripped at Its clothes, and driven It away.
They had hurt It. And there was no one—no one—in this landscape who had the kind of heart that would have taken It in to tend the wounds and look after It.
Well, there were hearts in this landscape that were able to feel kindness and compassion, even if only a little, but those feelings just withered without…
World? It whimpered. World? Where is the Light?
“Come on, wild child, you can do this,” Michael said as he set the basket on the sand in the box. “You brought Caitlin’s hair to Aurora to help her, remember? This is the same thing. We just want you to take this basket to Belladonna. Just leave it where she’ll find it. It’s important. You can do this. We know you can.” Michael looked over his shoulder and made a circling “say something” gesture.
“If you could do this, it would mean a lot to the people who love her,” Sebastian said. He didn’t sound confident, even though this had been his idea, but at least the Justice Maker wasn’t trying to fool the world with false heartiness.
Stepping back, Michael tucked himself under the umbrella Sebastian held and gave the other man a minute to unfurl the power of the incubus. Then he pulled out his whistle and began to play.
There was a basket on the ground by the fountain, and a resonance flowing through the currents of this old garden.
She moved cautiously toward the basket, expecting some kind of trap, obscenely angry that anything would dare enter her lair. But there was nothing in the basket except a bowl, a spoon, and a jar of…soup.
Something prickled the edges of her memory, a painful tingle like a limb waking up. And that resonance. She felt it hook into the scar in her chest, felt it dig in and set. And from that hook the thinnest thread of Light flowed out to someplace beyond her landscapes. She should pull it out. Would pull it out. Except the thread flowed with that resonance.
She looked at the jar of food—and her belly growled, so she poured some of the soup into the bowl, then sealed up the jar before she picked up the spoon and took a taste.
The sound of chattering birds coming from the room beside the kitchen. Two boys at the table. Her brother Lee and…
So watchful, so wary, so wanting to belong. She felt a connection between his heart and hers, knew this now-stranger would resonate through her life.
Sebastian.
Watching him eat the soup her mother had made. Watching him savor the taste of it, the sensuality of soup and bread eaten at a table where love was served along with the food.
Lee. Sebastian. Nadia.
She flung the bowl away from her. Tried to fling the memory with it. But the memory was more tenacious, had already hooked into the scarred part of her.
“Mother.”
Nadia wasn’t here. Couldn’t be here. Nor Lee. Nor Sebastian. But the basket…
She heard it then. The music that matched the resonance of a boy who had sunk a hook into her heart so many years ago. Too late now. Too late. She had managed to tear that resonance out of her heart once before, but she couldn’t do it again. Not again.
In that moment, suspended between the Dark she could feel and that resonance called Sebastian that made her yearn for something, another resonance rippled through her. The faintest whisper, the merest tug.
A promise.
Chapter Thirty-five
The next morning, Michael stepped outside and looked at the two men waiting for him.
“You here already?” he asked.
Teaser grinned. “You are a lollygagger, a layabout, and a…What was the other word?” He raised his eyebrows at Sebastian.
“I think Michael gets the idea,” Sebastian said. “We’ve been here long enough for the ladies to have made an assessment of people’s gardening skills.” He handed Michael a rake. “They have taken the sensible men and are working in the walled garden. We—”
“The garden idiots,” Teaser said gleefully.
“—get to rake the leaves around the house and do the weeding in the flower beds where our efforts will cause the least harm,” Sebastian finished. “Unsupervised.”
Michael looked at the two incubi, who looked extraordinarily pleased about this arrangement. And he was beginning to understand the gleam in Sebastian’s eyes. “Well, I guess that tells us our place in the pecking order, doesn’t it?”
“You do some luck-wishing for us this morning, Magician?” Sebastian asked.
“Maybe a little.” Michael grinned. “Maybe just a little.”
She shivered in the chilly air. Because being cold and unhappy made her vengeful, the deserts within her landscape baked under a merciless sun, and the surviving bonelovers couldn’t cross the burning sand. The river in the death rollers’ landscape got so hot fish cooked in the water—and even the death rollers were driven out of the water by the heat. But fog shrouded the plateau where the Wizards’ Hall stood, and fog filled the corridors, brushing against the Dark Guides’ skins like damp, clingy fingers. And rain, tasting like bitter tears, poured down on the rest of Wizard City.
She walked beneath the merciless sun, walked along the banks of that simmering river, walked through the fog and the bitter rain. Her heart poured out Dark purity, and Ephemera manifested everything that came from that heart.
And all the dark things that had once wanted nothing more than to chew up the Light and spit it out now huddled in their mounds, in their caves, in their houses—and shivered in fear.
“They went home,” Michael muttered as he made his way down to the sandbox. “They all went home. Lady of Light, my thanks for small favors.” And it was a small favor, since they were all coming back tomorrow to finish the work.
He stepped into the part of the box that held the gravel, set a little clutch of violets on the sand, then sat down on the bench.
Those women were ferocious when they set their minds to a task. It scared him a little to see how well Caitlin Marie fit in with Nadia and Lynnea. And Aunt Brighid, whom he’d always thought of as a formidable woman, didn’t seem intimidating at all compared with those two.
“They mean well. It’s a small comfort to my aching body, but they mean well.” He took out his whistle and sighed. “Just you and me tonight, wild child. Sebastian is done in, so I sent him on home.” And part of that decision was the growing doubt that their efforts were making any difference. “If you could take that little clutch of flowers to the same place you took the basket, I’ll play a little while and then we’ll all get some rest.”
He waited. Felt nothing.
“Wild child?”
Ephemera finally answered his call, but the world wasn’t happy. He couldn’t prove it, but he suspected that the Dark currents in all parts of the world were a little swollen, and little bits of unhappiness were occurring to a lot of people—a lost brooch, a broken dish, a missing toy. Each thing wasn’t more than an extra drop of unhappiness, but all those extra drops eventually could change the tone of a family or a village.
“You can do this, wild child. I know you can.”
Gone. A flurry of notes that sounded in his mind like a child blaming him for some unhappiness, and Ephemera was gone.
He could think of one reason why the world would be unhappy with him. “Did something happen when you took the basket??
No response. He couldn’t even do that much.
The violets looked sad in the waning light. A lover’s token, rejected before it was received.
Since he was playing for no one but himself, he played the music he called “Glorianna’s Light.” Then he played the music of love. The music that remembered the touch of her hand, the feel of her lips, the wonder of being inside her.
Tears slipped down his face, and his heart ached with the remembering, but he kept playing.
And never noticed when the little clutch of violets disappeared.
She picked up the little clutch of violets and felt the resonances that had names, faces, memories. Pretty little flowers with savage hooks that dug in and dug in until she wept from the pain of remembering those names, those faces. Screamed out the agony of wanting to touch those names, those faces.
Don’t belong there. Not anymore.
But the hooks dug in, dug in, dug in. And from the thin threads that were anchored in another landscape, Light flowed.
World? It whispered. World? Is there Light?
Chapter Thirty-six
World? It whispered. World? Is there Light?
Ephemera flowed through the currents of the Island in the Mist. It did not listen to the Eater of the World. Would not listen. But the question, flowing from the currents in the forbidden part of itself, brought it back to the sandbox where the Music played with it every day.
A heart wish had flowed out of the forbidden place. Her heart wish. But the Music did not answer, did not ask the world to send the proper answer. The Music was still learning to be Guide. Maybe the Music did not know?
She had been the last one at the school who had talked to it, had played with it and helped it shape itself. Who had understood how to be Guide to the World. Unlike the others before her, when the Dark Ones had come, she had listened to it when it tried to save her. It had found Light, and she had followed.