Steve grinned in a way that
was always worrying to anyone that knew him.
“Hey,” he said. “I think I
might have figured out why no one’s heard of the Spirits of the Black Water.”
“Why?”
“Well, I was looking at my
book about the bog people…”
“When?”
“In the back of chemistry.
Double lessons are so boring. So I was reading the book and it said that nobody
knows much about the culture of the bog people because they don’t seem to have
had a system of writing.”
“I’ve heard that before,”
said Belladonna, hoping that Steve couldn’t see how impressed she was. “I saw a
documentary about druids and stuff and it said they passed everything down by
word of mouth.”
“Right, which would explain
why no one’s heard of their gods or their demons. Once the last member of the
tribe, or whatever, died out, it was gone forever.”
“Except it isn’t,” said
Elsie, materializing near the classics, and looking more than usually pleased
with herself.
“It isn’t?” said Belladonna.
Elsie glanced to her left and
looked vaguely annoyed.
“Come on,” she said, a little
impatiently, to what appeared to be nothing. “It’ll be fine. They’re nice, I
promise.”
They stared at the space next
to Elsie and slowly, slowly, a dark form began to take shape. From Elsie’s tone
of voice, Belladonna had been expecting it to be a child, but it was a grown
man, small and muscular and very nervous.
“It’s the first time he’s
been back in over two thousand years,” explained Elsie. “He doesn’t have very
good memories of the place.”
By the time he’d finished
materializing, Belladonna found herself looking at a man with fine features and
a broad brow. He was wearing a simple leather top and trousers that looked like
they were made of the same rough-woven material as Branwyn’s dress. His hair
was brown and raggedly cut, and much of his body was stained with complex
whorls and patterns by some kind of dye. But the most striking thing about him
was the look of inconsolable sorrow on his face.
“This is Belladonna and
Steve,” explained Elsie. “Steve, Belladonna, this is Cradoe, Branwyn’s uncle.”
Belladonna had heard people
talk about being so surprised that their jaw dropped, but this was the first
time she actually experienced it.
“Seriously?” said Steve.
“This is really…wow.”
“The lady Elsie tells me that
you have seen my niece and that she is still bound.”
“Yes. I’m sorry.”
“And the Spirits of the Black
Water. They are still there?”
“Yes,” said Belladonna. “We
saw them. Branwyn said that was why she couldn’t leave. That she was part of
the binding.”
“She spoke the truth.”
Belladonna’s heart sank. It
looked like Mrs. Jay was right. There really are some things that can’t be
fixed.
“And…?” said Elsie. “Tell
them what you told me.”
“He lied,” said Cradoe
quietly. “Riagan lied to us all. It did not need to be a blood binding. He just
wanted to rid himself of those who were most favored of our Pennaeth.”
“Your what?”
“Our…leader, the chieftain of
our people.”
“But…what threat could
Branwyn have been? She was just a girl.”
“She was the last. I was told
by those that came when their time was run, that he broke the binding of my
blood himself, but let it be known that my mother had not been true and that
was why my blood was impure. It was untrue, but she was cast out and sent
across the shifting sands to die.”
“Yikes,” said Steve. “You
guys were strict!”
“You said the binding could
be done without blood,” said Belladonna. “Can you tell us how? Could we free
her?”
“I don’t know if she can be
freed, but I can tell you the charm,” said Cradoe, sadly. “So much time has
passed.”
Belladonna pulled a notebook
and pen out of her bag.
“Right,” she said. “Fire
away.”
“What?”
“They speak strangely
sometimes,” explained Eslie.
“Pots and kettles,” muttered
Steve.
“She wants you to tell them
the charm.”
“It is the Nine Herbs Charm,”
said Cradoe. “But with two additions. The Spirits of the Black Waters must be bound
with eleven.”
“The Nine Herbs Charm?”
Belladonna looked at him. “I’m sorry, we don’t know…”
“You do not know the Charm of
Nine? But how do you treat your sick or those poisoned by sorcery?”
“We use the Charm of
Antibiotics,” said Steve.
“And that is a strong magic?”
“Yes,” said Belladonna,
glaring at Steve. “But could you tell us what we need to free Branwyn?”
“Mugwyrt, attorlathe,
stune--”
“Hang on,” said Steve. “I’ve
never heard of any of these.”
“They’ll be old names,” said
Belladonna. “We can look them up. Go on, please.”
“Wegbrade, maethe, stithe,
wergulu, fille, and finule,” said Cradoe, as if he were reciting a familiar
verse. “The others are herriff and lasar. All must be crushed to a paste, mixed
with the juice of apples and poured around the perimeter of the place of
binding.”
“And you think this will
work?”
“I do not. But perhaps it is
worth the trying. She has been sitting in the marsh for a long time now.”
“It’s not actually a--”
“Thank you,” said Belladonna,
flashing Steve another glare. “We’ll try our best.”
“I must go now,” said Cradoe,
uneasily. “This place brings back too much pain, too much evil, too much
sorrow.”
“I’m sorry, old chap,” said
Elsie, patting him on the back. “It’s a rum do, alright, but you’ve shown real
pluck.”
“What?” Cradoe stared at her,
his miserable expression even more hangdog.
“She said we understand that
this was difficult for you, and we admire your bravery,” explained Belladonna.
“Seriously?” said Steve.
“That was what she said? Have you got some kind of phrase-book?”
“I wish you luck,” said
Cradoe, in a way that made it clear that the only kind of luck he had ever
encountered had been bad.
Belladonna started to thank
him, but he had already vanished.
“Well done, Elsie,” said
Steve. “How on earth did you find him?”
“It was easy,” said Elsie,
smiling. “A friend told me that there are some people that never go to the
parties. I guessed that he’d be one of them. Edward the Confessor never goes,
so I just popped over to the House of Mists to ask him where Cradoe might be…and
bobs-your-uncle!”
“That still leaves us with
this list,” said Belladonna, looking at the column of unfamiliar names.
“Maybe this will be one of
the times when this stupid library is actually useful,” said Steve. “What do
you bet there’s some old herbal or something here?”
“Let’s split up,” said
Belladonna. “I’ll take gardening. Steve and Elsie, you take history ‘cause
there’s more of that.”
For the next ten minutes, all
was silent as they each scanned the shelves for anything that might be useful.
“Ha!” said Belladonna.
“There’s a book here called “The Complete Book of Herbs” and it’s got
pictures!”
She took the book over to one
of the tables and was soon joined by Steve with an old book on the languages of
ancient Britain.
“Look,” he said. “There’s a
glossary in the back.” He pointed to a word. “Isn’t that one of the herbs?”
Belladonna checked the list.
“Stune…yes!”
“It says here it’s Lamb’s
Cress or Hairy Bittercress.”
“Oh, it’s not in the herb
book.”
“Uh oh.”
“Wait,” said Elsie. “I’ve
heard of that. It’s some kind of mustard. My grandmother used to add it to
stews sometimes.”
She ran over to the tiny food
section, followed by Steve.
“There! Try that one!” she
said, pointing at the oldest book on the shelf. “Look up stews or casseroles.”
Steve did as he was told, and
a smile slowly spread across his face.
“She’s right. It looks like
some kind of weed, though.”
He showed the page to
Belladonna, who sketched the plant as well as she could, and drew an arrow
connecting it to the word.
“Let’s start at the
beginning,” she said. “Mucgwyrt.”
“That’s got to be mugwort,”
said Steve.
Belladonna looked it up in
the book. The picture showed a silvery-leafed shrub.
“I’ve seen that,” she said,
amazed that something so seemingly arcane could just be a common garden plant. “Our
neighbors have a bush of it in their front garden. Okay, next is…attorlathe…”
“Betony,” said Steve. “It
says here that it used to be planted in churchyards to discourage ghosts.”
“Honestly,” laughed Elsie,
“Why on earth would we want to hang around churchyards? The living really are
daft sometimes!”
“I bet there’s some in St.
Abelard’s,” said Belladonna. “Aya should know it. Right…um…wegbrade.”
“Hosta.”
“Mrs. Naylor next door has
some of those too – in the herbaceous border next to the mugwort.”
“Jolly useful neighbor!” said
Elsie.
“Maethe.”
“Uh…chamomile.”
Belladonna looked it up in
the herb book.
“Yes! It looks sort of like a
yellow daisy. Oh, it’s what they use to make chamomile tea—I think my mum has
some of that in the kitchen cupboard. Next…stithe.”
“Nettle,” read Steve. “Well,
that’s easy, there’s a big patch of them over by the football pitch.”
“Wergulu.”
“Crab-apple.”
“There’s a tree in the garden
of the convent next door,” said Elsie. “I can see it from the attic. I think
it’s still got some fruit on it.”
“How on earth are we going to
get into a convent?” asked Steve.
“Over the wall, perhaps,”
suggested Elsie.
“Or maybe we could just ring
the bell and ask them for some,” said Belladonna, rolling her eyes.
“Right…fille.”
“Thyme. That’s easy.”
“Finule.”
“Fennel. Yuck. Hate that
stuff. Too aniseedy.”
“Yes, but they’ll have it at
the shops. Okay, last two…herrif.”
“Burdock.”
“That’s easy, too,” said Elsie.
“Burdock always grows near nettles.”
“Last one – lasar.”
“Laserpiciferis…oh.”
“What?”
“It says here that it’s
extinct.”
“It can’t be,” gasped
Belladonna, grabbing the book off Steve, before frantically scanning the index
in her herbs book.
“Maybe you can miss that one
out,” suggested Elsie.
“You know that won’t work,”
said Steve. “If we’ve learned anything, it’s that a single change to a potion
completely alters what it does. Remember the manticore?”
“I wasn’t actually there, but
I get your point. It won’t work, then, will it? We’ll have to find another
way.”
“No, wait,” said Belladonna.
“It’s extinct.”
“Not getting your point, old
thing,” said Elsie.
“Extinct,” repeated
Belladonna. “Like dinosaurs and mammoths…and you.”
“Wait…you think it might be
growing in the Land of the Dead?”
“Why not? The Queen of the
Abyss, Miss Parker, that is, said that everything that has ever lived and died
was somewhere on the Other Side.”
“You’re joking, right?” said
Steve. “You want us to go to the Other Side to find a plant we’ve never seen?”
“We don’t even know what it
looks like,” said Elsie.
“We’ll ask,” said Belladonna.
“Who wrote your book, Steve?”
“Ummm…Gertrude Jekyll.”
“Is she dead?”
Steve flipped to the front of
the book and scanned the biography.
“Yes. 1932. She was born in
1843. It says she was a really famous garden designer.”
“Garden designer?” said
Elsie. “Can I see?”
Steve stepped aside and
turned the pages for her, as a smile spread slowly across her face.
“I know exactly where she’ll
be! See you there!”
“Wait,” yelled Belladonna,
stopping Elsie mid-dematerialization. “Why do we have to come? Can’t you just
bring it? We’ve got all these other things to find.”
“If I bring it, it’ll just
vanish when I hand it to you. If it’s going to exist in the Land of the Living,
a living person has to fetch it.”
Steve marched over to the
Classics shelves, rearranged the books in alphabetical order and stood back as
the door to the Sibyl’s temple slid open.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s
get this done.”