Let the Darkness In
Thirteen

Despite me trying to keep my gritty eyes open, I managed to give in to the warmth. I woke with a jerk, stiff and aching and my face resting on the splintered floor. I sat up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

My eyes took a moment to adjust to my surroundings. A chink of silver flooded in from a crack in the door, the beam expanding to illuminate some of the bottles and potions strewn on the table. If I held my breath, I could hear the house creaking around me and the measured intake of slumber from above.

I stood up, conscious that bottles lay everywhere. It would be no surprise for my foot to land on shards of glass or acidic liquid. I couldn’t light a candle and the fire had long since relinquished its warmth and light.

I fumbled over to the door, seeing a thick shape. My breath missed a beat as for a moment, I thought Ainesilver herself was watching me. No. Just the bundle of cloaks. I slipped one on and moved to the door. My fingers turned the key, inching it clockwise until I felt the pressure release.

As my fingers moved it loose, it emitted a grating squeal. I froze, the drumbeat in my heart quickening.

After a few seconds, after making sure the coast was clear, I continued to edge the latch free. Finally, it was loose. I pulled the door open, letting the crisp winter air flood in. Slipping out before the cold invaded the rest of the house, I stepped into the night.

Winter had dug its pincers into the town, cruelly heralding its arrival. Already, small patches of glistening silver had formed on the slick mud of the day. As my feet moved over it, the sharpness sunk through the thin sole of my shoes. I pulled the cloak tighter around me, watching my breath exhale like a dragon’s steam.

The streets seemed desolate. A few stray animals trotted around, uninterested and bold. I could see the dogs slinking between alleys, some with dangling prey in their mouths. Cats curled anywhere they could replace a spot of heat. Once or twice, I shrank back into the shadows of the houses as someone stumbled by.

I edged closer and closer to the gate and as the walls loomed up before me, the guards looking like tiny dolls, I felt a surge of nausea. Once again, I was trapped. When I had taken down the man before, he had not been wearing padded leather and holding a wicked sword. As I drew nearer, I could see they were squished together, their chests rising and falling as one.

Hugging the walls of the houses, I edged closer and closer. Were they asleep? I had heard of tactics used by soldiers - of ambushes where they pretended to be dead and leapt out at the last minute. I watched them for what felt like an age. There was no sign of life.

Pulling my hood up, I flitted across the gap between me and the gate. I darted into the arch, my breathing sounding abnormally loud. I stared one last time. The men had lodged a massive bar across the expanse of wood. My heart sank. This was a whole tree here. My fingers groped for magic, for any life inside but it had died a long time ago.

Realizing this was looking bleaker and bleaker, I scanned the entire door as best as I could. As clouds scudded over the moon, a blast of moonlight revealed itself, shaping the contours of a smaller door that hadn’t been blocked. I tiptoed closer, as it was inches away from the sleeping sentinels.

It was just a simple latch, no key, no bar, nothing. With shaking hands, I reached out and lifted it. It came free smoothly and I ducked through, my small frame just large enough.

It came rolling over me, leaving me breathing deep, filling my lungs. Everything was alive, in wonderous detail. I could feel the grass whispering and shifting, the small animals curled beneath the earth or working their way through the stalks. I stared ahead and could feel the whispers of the forest miles ahead. It was calling me home and I almost ran - ran back to Ysymay, back to the forest, back to where I belonged.

I stumbled onwards, my eyes fixed on the solid mass of wood. Another gap in the clouds and the hangman’s noose was illuminated in a haggard glory.

My feet moved, one after the other, my skirts swishing through the grass. The air went from freezing to dangerous as I grew nearer. The air seemed thick and heavy, and I could feel my hair rising. A moment’s hesitation and a fierce gust of wind rushed over me. I felt a presence - the hung men maybe? A man convicted of murder? Of theft? Or nothing at all?

The smoke shadow stood there, rippling in the small gust of wind that surrounded it. A hung man it wasn’t, I knew exactly who this was. A transient arm stretched out and pointed to the bottom of the gibbet. Even in the darkness, I knew what was needed.

Taking a deep breath, I knelt, feeling the iron earth beneath my knees. It was frozen solid but I could feel a thick noxious presence buried deep. I unclasped the cloak and laid it in a bundle to one side where I could reach it quickly.

My hands were shaking as I placed my hand above the mandrake’s resting place. The mandrake would be useful if all else failed. But the forest whispered and I looked up, craving its comfort. Could I just go back? I didn’t need to do this. I could maybe live as Ainesilver had. She had shown me that a life was possible with humans.

But she lived in fear. And she wasn’t safe if they found her true identity. I felt the familiar stab in the gut and went back to digging.

The earth lapped up the warmth of my body like it was water. Each bead of ice began to soften, the water making my hand sink further and further into freezing, sludgy ground. As my hand went deeper and deeper into the darkness, I imagined being pulled down into the bowels of the earth.

As my thoughts drifted, something hard jarred against my palm. My fingers burrowed and scratched like earthworms, replaceing something solid and closing over it. A jolt ran through me. Here we go. My other hand flapped about for the cloak, finally replaceing it and holding it in readiness.

Gritting my teeth, I yanked. A high scream flooded the land around me. I pulled harder but the thing had roots going deep. Using the plant to channel my magic, I urged the dirt to split. I could feel the energy bursting out of me but this plant was a demon. My lungs were burning, my nerves fizzing but finally, the earth listened to me. I could hear the crack of dried earth and see tiny little funnels shoot out to the sides.

With a pop of released pressure, the mandrake broke free. The screams were reverberating through my head, my bones were aching and my fingers numb. I struggled to continue to hold the thing, still as it was. It was as if waves of sound were pumping out of it, a small tempest of power.

My frozen fingers grabbed the cloak and wrapped it around the plant. I could feel its muffled cries but only I could hear it, not the whole world. I needed something to mute it. My fists were white and puny...but they were all I had.

Hampered by layers of thick cloth, I fumbled for the stem of the thing. I could feel the explosion of thick leaves at its top and then the thick twisted body of its root. I found its centre and twisted. There was a snap and then the world fell blissfully silent. My ears still heard the remnants of sounds, my throat was dry and my whole body was ready to give up on me.

But I had done it.

I hardly remembered the way back but somehow I ended up collapsed on my palate. With the last vestiges of energy, I hung the cloak back up. The bottom was black with damp but the earth had been frozen, and my sleeves had taken the brunt of the mess.

The mandrake was vanquished...I could feel no pulse, no toxic life, just the haze of poison and dankness. Edged by moonlight, it did indeed look like just a flower. I picked up an empty box that had fallen under the table and folded the mandrake in. I could crush the stems but was careful not to crush the head. Tomorrow I would crush that into a noxious poison, meant for one man only.

I stuffed it between the palette and the wall, hidden by the bundle of my pillow and closed my eyes.

Despite being watched by the spirits of hundreds of dead men, I slept pretty well.

I was woken by a rough hand on my shoulder.

“Get up child...oh my lord, you look delightful.”

What was Ainesilver so het up about? Then I remembered the night before and my mind went into overdrive. I wasn’t sure if it was the tiredness or the adrenaline, but I pulled the nearest bowl lying on the floor to me and was sick until my stomach ached.

Ainesilver didn’t hang around long after. I could see why she managed to get through so many patients a day. Her parting gift was a mug of ale, a loaf of bread and some weird bitter tea, followed by instructions to rest.

I watched her vanish out of the door, no questions. My head was thumping and my eyes felt puffy but now was my only chance. I staggered upright, my legs immediately deciding no and dropping me back down with a thump.

I pulled myself up with the edge of the table, grasping my box as I came up. With the blankets draped around me, and perilously close to throwing my guts up again, I shuffled over to the pestle and mortar. Dry, flaky leaves had been left in there and I tossed them pathetically onto the floor. Unhinging the box, I could finally see the demon plant in its full light.

Its leaves were a dark, waxy green, its body brown. At the bottom, two long roots had twisted to make a hideous impression of dancing legs. I half expected to see fangs or a pair of eyes open but nothing. I knew it was dead but holding it like this made me feel vulnerable.

I quickly began tearing off the leaves and throwing them into the pestle and mortar. I began grinding furiously, gritting my teeth as my body shook with effort. I took a few and then put the rest to the side. My hands began to prickle and warmth surged to my palms and fingers. It began to niggle as I pounded. I ignored it as best I could until finally, it was too much. Screaming, I threw the pestle down and turned my hands over.

Blisters dotted my palm and my fingertips were an eruption of tiny red spots. The itch was relentless. My hands were useless until I found a way to stop this. Luckily, Ainesilver had shown me the aloe cream she kept in a tub. I nearly knocked over everything in my haste to it on my hands.

The effect was instant and I closed my eyes as the cool, slick cream worked its magic. The warmth receded and although the itch was still there, it was bearable, I tore a strip from the bottom of my skirt, around the back and wrapped my hand in the stained cloth.

Armed to fight this devil plant, I returned to my pounding and pummelling. The leaves turned into a sticky, oily paste. Once there was no remains of shape, I turned to the fire and began to sort it. On hands and knees, I scraped out the old coal and ash, piled it with some new wood, and struck the two small flint stones together. As my arms began to ache, I wish I had some of the magic that let me play with the elements. As it was, it took me a while to get the fire going.

A sweating shaking mess with snarled hair, I sloshed the paste into the small cauldron and added two drops of nightshade oil. The purple globules hissed as they made contact with the dark green. Two scoops of water from the bucket that stood near the fire and the whole thing turned into a thick syrup. The air smelt like foliage and bitterness and I began to feel lightheaded but after years of breathing in noxious fumes with Ysymay, there was little harm to me.

I rummaged in the small box that held all the spare bottles, searching for the perfect one. Light shining in from the paned window hit a tiny bottle, able to contain a few drops at best. It was just right.

I went back to the cauldron and using a small metal spoon, began to tip the mixture into the bottle. It dribbled to the bottom in a dark mess, slowly filling until it could take no more. I made sure to scrape out every last part of the cauldron - it would be okay to clean once dried.

I stowed the bottle under the belt I wore and began to clean up. I poured some more water into the cauldron and let it heat till it was bubbling. Once I could see the bits of dried paste lift free, I kicked open the door. Peering left and right, I made sure the street was empty. Apart from a man further up the alley with his back turned, there was no one. I quickly sloshed the mixture out onto the street and pulled the door to.

Ainesilver had taught me something new in the short time I had been here. She kept a small bundle of hay in a bag underneath the table. The hay was used to scrub out any stubborn stains in the bottles and pots, and even the cauldrons. I took a handful, bent it and began to work it around the black circle. Small flakes of mottled green came loose. I collected them in the folds of my skirt and repeated the throwing out of used water.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I had finished everything and I knew I didn’t have long until Ainesilver returned. I threw some dried leaves into the boiling water, along with a drizzle of honey and a pinch of cinnamon. This was the most basic remedy but something even Ainesilver did not know.

As the mixture simmered, I began to tidy up, finishing with myself. I scrubbed my sleeves with hay, picking off the dried mud with bits of hay and a small knife. For the remaining stains, I poured a little bit of water before scrubbing some more. My sleeves were a mess at the moment but at least they would dry clean and it merely looked like I had splashed some water on them.

The rest of the mandrake was shoved back in the box and buried deep under the clothes on the palette. As I raised my hand to sweep back my lank hair, I realised I was still wearing the bandage. My mind raced. Would Ainesilver ask questions?

Just then I heard the scuff of feet outside. I grabbed a horn tumbler from the mantlepiece and just as I poured the first drop of my medicine in, the door opened. The onslaught of light slammed into me, blinding me and refiring the headache I had woken with.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Ainesilver squeaked, bustling in and slamming the door behind her. I winced, seeing stars. This broth before me hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. With a sigh, she came and sat on one of the chairs by the fire, looking around contentedly. I tried not to freeze, immediately thinking I had forgotten to hide something or had been sloppy in covering my tracks. Her eyes falling back on the pot, she sniffed. Perhaps the air still smelt of dirt and darkness, and I had merely grown immune over the course of the day.

“Cinnamon…rosemary...honey….What a great remedy. I may have to steal that from you.” I emitted a hysterical laugh. Ainesilver’s nose twitched and her eyebrows rose.

“It’s the fever,” I mumbled, feeling the warmth of the cup spread through the bandages. I quickly set it down on the floor and sat down on the stool.

Ainesilver gazed contentedly at the fire as she shed the old woman who became the beautiful elf once more, the shadows flicking over her face. Two men walked past outside and somewhere a dog barked.

“Oh!” I jumped out of my skin, nearly kicking over my drink. My companion shot up and went over to where she had dumped her satchel. I groaned inwardly. Here we go again.

I shakily gulped down the first few mouthfuls of drink, praying the herbs worked quickly. How the people trusted her and asked her to return to the bedsides of the sick was beyond me. Finally, she pulled out a bundle wrapped in a cloth.

She slammed it down on the table and pulled off the wrappings like a small child with a toy. As the present was revealed, I saw a golden pastry, deep and strong.

“Beef and onion….a hearty meal for an overworked healer and a sick apprentice. Hungry?”

My stomach answered for me as it woke up to the fact I had not eaten a crumb all day. Now I felt my gut twisting as if trying to get to the pie.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.” Her eyes fell on my cloth-bound hand. For a split second, I considered hiding it but there was no point.

“I burnt it making this. It’s all under control.” I knew she would rip the cloth off and investigate if she could.

Luckily all I got from her was a huge slab of pie dumped on a wooden plate. I tucked in. The renewing effects of a solid meal and the warm fizz of herbs and a hot drink through my veins, and I was finally feeling better. The mandrake had been driven out of me.

Now all I had to do was replace its next victim.

As if reading my thoughts, an explosion of crumbs came from the elf’s mouth. “Oh I bumped into the castle’s cook today.” Despite the close-up view of mashed-up food, I sat closer, all thoughts of my own meal forgotten.

“The king is suffering...again...he needs me to go up tomorrow afternoon. Want to accompany me?”