‘On Mam’s good floor. He used to love you though.’
Mam nods. ‘Sure, who wouldn’t love Maddy?’ She kisses the top of my head and stirs the spoon round and round in the fat red teapot. Listening to the rhythm of their voices, I can’t quite put away the harsh reality. I don’t think Lon should be alive, but what came out of him – the stuff that was his blood but wasn’t blood – the smell of it all wrong – it’s on our hands. And that’s the kind of thing that changes people. Button cringing out of rooms and hating me. I lost my soul, but apparently my conscience is still around to nag me. I wonder …
‘Madeline?’ Mam says. They are both looking at me, across the table. Their expressions mirroring each other. It’s a little weird, I think. Aren’t Catlin and I supposed to do that? Maybe that’s what Mam has every day. I try to force my thoughts away from darker places and join in, but my eyes are getting heavier and heavier.
Eventually I drift off into sleep. I feel Catlin’s breath against my ear. ‘I’ll say a prayer for you tonight, Mad. Love you.’
Mam lifting up my head, sliding a pillow gently underneath.
‘Put her to bed.’
‘If she gets up, she’ll only go downstairs. To that … that woman.’
Feet move, lights click.
They leave me.
I’m alone.
49
Navelwort
Mamó comes for me in the half-light. The moon and sun are both in the sky, two pale, one shining. We are going to find a blessed tree and cut off bits of that and then do the same thing with a cursed tree. I’m to look for acorns as well. For anything that’s useful. Dying insects, feathers. Special rain. When we get back, I’m going to weed the physic garden, while she sees some clients. I might fit in some study if I’m quick.
I’m building up to helping her with people. She’s easing me in slowly, so she says. My muscles ache. It doesn’t feel that slow. The air is bright and cold. I kind of like this, working all the time. Being bone tired, always learning more. It kind of suits me. Weirdly.
The mountains hazy. Somewhere up there, Oona is swimming. I wonder if she’s thinking about me, as she flickers through the wet. The place where she feels safe. She’s been in touch. I haven’t called her back. Catlin’s still in bed, Button curled around her. He loves her now, as much as he hates me. Her hair and nails and eyebrows growing back, millimetre by millimetre. Piece by piece. My sister sleeps a lot. I used to sleep a lot. Before all this.
Before I worked for Mamó.
The raven flies above. Mamó is fairly sure she thinks there will be food. The raven is a she. Badb, not Bob. Mamó feeds her well. She doesn’t think it’s loyalty, but I amn’t sure. I offered her a slice of ham yesterday. She flew it far away before she ate it.
Mamó looks behind her, making sure I’m there. I give a nod. The air’s too thin for voices. She strides ahead, so my short legs can’t catch up. I need to hasten. Seven years. I sigh. I don’t like thinking about it. Still, I’m here. I want to do this right. I want to learn.
What we’ve done so far has been about herbs, and ointments. Ingredients. Mamó says the best way to learn magic is through doing. She says that I’m not ready. Says I’m weak. I have to grow a little stronger first. It almost killed me, saving Catlin’s life. The shining thread.
I think about the little orange seed inside the marble sometimes. Wonder if she’s using it at all. What would you need a soul for? The little missing shimmer bit of me. ‘It’s somewhere safe’ and, if I watch and listen, maybe someday I could get it back. Be me again. Be whole.
My hands deep in my pockets, I rustle the salt packets from cafes, the rowan berries, little bits of twigs. My pockets are always full. My hands are dirty. I paint my nails to try to hide the stains.
Mamó’s back is straight and proud ahead. I feel like I’m alone with all my thoughts. Two thousand, five hundred and forty more days to go. A flash of something foxy through the gorse. Bright copper fur and eyes. Something ending, something else beginning.
And all of it is strange but so am I.
The morning bright, I feel like I belong.
Epilogue Yew
You’re tired in the forest and you’re running. Your breath catches in your throat. The woods around you, clean and fresh. You see the tiny oak, new growing from the earth. The soft things starting, like your baby girls. The two are there. They’re coming for you now. You cannot stop them, but you try to hide. You are exhausted.
It was supposed to be a normal life. A wife. Two daughters. Clever little things, her mouth, your eyes. Catlin has her hair and Maddy yours. They’re perfect. Sheila’s face. There are so many good things in your world.
Checks and balances.
The steps come slower now. You try to move so silently away. Oak and ash and elm. Little flecks of bark and leaf to help. You say the words. You try to say the words. It doesn’t help. You see a raven land and then another. Something’s different here. There’s something wrong.
You were always quiet. She liked that in you. Steady. She trusted you, and almost right away. There is a sort of love that is like magic. And it grows, it draws in other people. You’re kinder in your life because of her. And it will be OK. The little girls. You hope they’re not like you. You hope they are.
There’s goodness and there’s badness in the world.
You turn. They are there. The old one and the young. There’s something in his hand – the young one’s hand – it’s hard and heavy. Moving down towards you.
Once your legs are broken, you know what’s going to happen next. It’s what they do. It’s what they’ve always done. You cannot move. When they are done with you, you cannot move. All you are is chunks of flesh on bone. The canopy of trees, the wavy oak, the fat lopsided beech. The lovely ash.
The old one takes a book out, starts to chant. The young one pours.
You close your eyes. It’s warm on you and wet. Like being Christened. You can remember things. Moments of love. Eyes and little hands. Two babies in one cot, and curled together. They cannot sleep when they are kept apart. Two hands flexing around your index fingers. They grasped you right away. Such different souls, but something in them knew that you were theirs.
The young one pauses, and you see him look at your face for a long time. So long that his father stops the chant to make him carry on.
You haven’t told them what they want to know. It wasn’t hard; you’re used to being quiet. You felt the secrets rising in your mouth sometimes with Sheila. The parts of it she didn’t, couldn’t, know. The weight of love from her. Those hazel eyes that look at you. That looked.
Love is hard to hide from.
You won’t see her again. You know that now. He watches you on fire. Oak and ash. Elm and beech. All the living creatures. You clutch at what you can get. The earth. Blood. Bone. You spend it all. Everything you’ve left, one perfect coin.
You’re burning and it hurts and, oh, it hurts like nothing’s ever hurt. And that is something. Channel it.