She laughs. ‘It’s twice my size, Weed. I’ll trip over it. I’ve never needed a weapon before and so I’ll say no. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a bash to the head but I’ll try to be more careful. I promise.’
I throw the fork to the side. ‘Well, the echo of that weapon is likely to have broadcast our arrival to anyone listening.’ Jessica gives me a straight look. ‘Not that I’m complaining, Jessica. I suggest we retreat to the incline and try to make our way eastward and at speed.’
‘Agreed,’ says Ruth, looking up at the sky again.
Now bearing arms and a bruise or two, we race together towards the slope that skirts the island’s coast. I notice that Ruth’s gaze keeps flitting to the great flocks of wren that circle overhead. ‘Do the flights of birds worry you?’ I ask.
‘Not at all. In truth I like them. It is calming to see them up there moving at their own will. Do you know all the while we journeyed, every beast and bird that I saw seemed to show some strangeness in behaviour. All except the wrens. I do not believe they are here under Malina’s sway.’
‘Then why do they flock in such great numbers?’ Jessica asks, but Ruth makes no answer.
Chapter 38
As the sun rises higher in the sky we tear through bush and shrub, speeding as best we can and meet no further challenge. After a spell of travelling in silence I stop the party, reckoning that from here we may be able to see the grove of trees, if it still grows. Keeping low, I ascend the steep cant and once I get a view of the plain I see those same old Oaks and Yews as in my dream. There is no crowd of Druids or anybody else for that matter to mark it. From this vantage point I cannot see north unhindered to the cairn. I turn to my fellows: ‘We are at our destination.’
‘Anyone around?’ asks Issa.
‘Not a soul. No animals either.’
‘The birds still watch from their flight above us,’ says Ruth. ‘Let’s make a break for it while the coast is clear. This hidden cairn may be a good hiding spot if trouble comes looking.’
‘No. We absolutely must not enter the cairn. Hear me when I tell you that I saw deadly, dangerous things in there.’ I remember the Roman master’s madness and the Druid’s dreadful warning. ‘But the grove itself might afford us some protection.’
I peek again and still I see no movement. I nod to Issa and we take pole position, dashing towards the trees with Jessica and Ruth on our heels. The grove is no more than fifty feet from us and we cover the ground in seconds. Once we are within its protective green circle we halt. The scene is just as I remember it; I see the altar amid the Oaks and Yews. The trees are dashed in more blood than in my dream and the altar is similarly drenched.
‘There’s a stink of sacrifice in the air. Malina has been here,’ says Ruth.
I look northwards and see the cairn, a grass-covered mound that might easily be overlooked. I lead our party toward it, searching again for its hidden entranceway. Finally I find the arched opening concealed at the cairn’s base. I approach it warily, carefully, until I am close enough to peer within its gloom. I see nothing; there are no whipping shadows. No threats of any kind. And then I see the rostrum and I know we are too late. I motion to my friends to follow me and we enter the dark cairn. The stone is gone and so are its guardians. Malina has stolen it. ‘She has beaten us to the prize.’
We return outside together and walk back to the glade of trees. ‘So what now?’ asks Ruth. There is a loud rustling noise coming from the trees overhead. I look up to see many wrens perching in the branches, preening themselves and looking at us. ‘That’s not a good sign.’
‘Why? I thought they were a comforting sight?’ asks Issa.
‘The first lesson of augury is to see inconsistencies. Whenever an animal does something peculiar it’s for a reason.’
I hear the tramp of a foot, and then another. Steely fear grips the back of my throat. Moments later and there is no denying it. A heavy rumbling of boots approaches. I look to the southern opening of the glade and remember the sight of the awful druids in my vision. But the sight that greets me is much worse than that: a huge mob of men and women. When they see us their steady pace quickens and they break into a run. ‘Good God, there must be fifty of them at least.’ I look with panic at Jessica.
‘I think I should have kept that hay fork after all,’ says Ruth quietly, looking into the branches above us. ‘Issa? You say you don’t like dogs. But how do you feel about birds?’ She lifts her face to the sky and makes a queer set of calls with pursed lips. The branches around us mutter strangely. I watch the horde; many of them bear clubs, knives and other scavenged weapons. Ruth’s calls change their timbre, reaching notes so high that I can barely hear them. The mob is only two dozen paces from us by the time Ruth stops her chirping. She looks at me and there is a split second of perfect silence before the trees explode around us in a roar of birdcall and song. I look up and the branches are quaking as the birds tremble with the efforts of their great din. When the first glaring red-eyed man reaches the margin of our glade the wrens begin their flight.
They don’t fly away. Instead they dive at the intruders, pecking at eyes and mouths. The air is filled with their darting feathers and in the chaos Issa wields his cleaver at the men and women who enter the circle of trees. I look at Ruth. She stands ready to fight even as she resumes her strange birdcall. I must help Ruth but before I know what I am doing I grab Jessica, lifting her bodily from the ground, and flee. I run with her to the cairn’s hidden entrance and I put her down inside. ‘Stay here. Don’t move or even make a sound,’ I shout, before returning outside and to the battle.
Issa and Ruth are still in the grove. Despite the wrens’ attack faceless men surround them. They fall on Issa and I can hear his screams of pain. I see Ruth jump on an assailant and with strong hands she digs deeply into the flesh of his neck, tearing at his throat. The steel of Issa’s blade flashes among a blur of fists and I remember my weapon. I lift the hoe high in my hands and join the fray, stabbing and cutting with the blade and pummelling with the blunt end. There are so many targets that one may simply lash out in any direction to find an enemy, but as quickly as I take them down, more arrive to replace them. There is no hope for us, I think desperately. I curse myself for bringing my friends to this unwinnable fight.
The battle rages and before long I am exhausted and yet the horde keeps coming. I look at Ruth and she has a deep gash in her cheek. She is now wielding the cleaver and I wonder where is Issa? There is not time to look for my friend. I swipe with my hoe in a clean arc around me at neck height; I clear the top of Ruth’s head and cut down three of the mob in one go. A man approaches with a club and swings, winding me. Before I feel the pain I stab him with the bladed weapon. I look down and see Issa on the ground, a great wet wound pouring blood at his chest. Ruth comes to stand at my back as we face the enemy. ‘YOU LEFT US!’ she shouts through her cleaved cheek.
I bring down four more men but there is no end to their number. ‘We can’t hope to defeat them all.’
‘Keep them away from me. I have to concentrate. Take this. It’s better.’ Ruth hands me the cleaver, good for up close.
An approaching attacker swings a fist at Ruth but I catch his hand, pulling him towards my blade, slicing the tendons of his shoulder. I know that he will not stop his charge, but maimed he can do less damage. The horde is relentless but they fight like animals. Half of their blows hit their fellows. I cleave the line, trying to protect Ruth when I notice distractedly a change in the quality of sunlight. It is as if evening approaches at midday. Then I hear terrific noise, a great whipping roar like a hurricane. I look up into the sky and three huge flocks of birds converge overhead.
I turn to see Ruth, her eyes tightly closed as small brown wrens whip past her. One flies at the man in front of me, leaving a bloody rip across his forehead. Another alights on his shoulder and stabs him in the eye before flying off again into the storm. It feels like stones are falling into the scrum, small hard birds raining dow
n in the glade. And then, as if a mighty building collapses around us, a wall of claws and beaks surge into the fight. I cannot breathe in the buffeting wind of their wings and I hear Ruth cry out to me: ‘Get down, Weed! The rest are coming!’ The sun is utterly blocked as a strange night falls.
I join Ruth crouching on the grass. Together we drag Issa’s body from out of the bloody battle, taking shelter behind the trunk of an Oak tree. ‘Issa! Can you hear me?’ I shout.
‘Weed, my friend.’ His voice is weak and cracking, but still he smiles through red teeth. ‘How do I look?’
There is blood seeping in waves from the wound at his chest. ‘I will find something to help you.’ I look about the woody bracken desperately, but I see nothing but chaos, blood and the bodies of fallen men. ‘I will find some Yarrow and Houseleek to bind the wound!’
Issa grabs my hand with surprising force. ‘No, don’t go, Weed. Stay with me a while.’ Ruth is next to us with tears in her eyes. ‘And you, sweet Ruth. I once said that you couldn’t save the world any more than you could call the butterflies to your hands. Do you remember that day in Hackney Marshes?’
‘Of course I do, Issa.’ She smiles and her gashed cheek creases. I can see the bone of her jaw beneath it. ‘How we sang together! And how you hounded me for scraps of bread!’
‘Then sing to me again, Ruth. Sing to me about that place where we danced and played in London.’
Ruth takes his hand, holds it to her and through her broken cheek she sings:
‘“Oh it really was a very pretty garden,
And Ching-ford to the East-ward could be seen.
With a ladder and some glasses
We could see to Hackney Marshes
If it wasn’t for the houses in between!”’
And Issa joins in the verse, swinging our hands in his, ‘“If it wasn’t for the houses in between!”’ But he can’t stop coughing and there is blood in his mouth. ‘What fun we had that day, Ruth.’ And then he looks serious. ‘I shan’t forget it.’
‘You look fine, Issa. You’ll be alright. We’ll be home soon,’ I say, even as the storm of birds whips behind us. ‘And then we’ll have a fine breakfast. With fresh bread.’
‘And eggs!’ says Issa.
‘Yes! Two eggs, hard-boiled! And bacon! And cake! Why not?!’
‘Why not? Why not indeed?’ gurgles Issa. He still has our hands in his. ‘I said it before and I was right, Ruth. You are a wonder child. You called down the butterflies in Hackney marshes and you call down the birds here. You make it rain birds. I’ve never seen such a thing. I’ve travelled in my life, but the things I’ve seen with you two. And, Weed, when you punched that pompous oaf at the party! Then shot him straight in the park! Drunk as you were. Why, I shall split my sides of laughing.’
‘Just try to relax, Issa. Try to keep still.’ My own tears are coming fast.
‘Lean down to me, Ruth.’ She bends to Issa’s face and he kisses her rent cheek once. ‘You are so beautiful, girl. And Weed. Please, Green whisperer.’ He kisses me on the forehead. He looks up at the eclipsed sun. ‘Look at that! Night-time in the middle of the day. “And there was darkness over the whole land.” That’s from your bible, from when Jesus died. My name means Jesus in Arabic, did you know that? So I was well named.’ He blinks once and a tear runs a line of shining darkness down his brown cheek. ‘Inna lillah hi wa inna ilaihi rajioon. “To Him we belong and to Him we shall return”.’ And Ruth and I watch together as the spark of Issa’s life is stolen away. I am unable to move. I can’t think or speak. I just lamely hold Ruth as she lies weeping on our friend. I do not know how long we sit there and I do not even notice the silence in the glade until it is broken by a dry laugh. I turn. The birds have flown and left in their wake heaps of dead. The sun is shining again and I discern, moving deep within the dappled shade of trees, the shadow of a figure lurching. ‘Nice little wrens for you, Ruth. You haven’t forgotten your studies, child. But I have learned some new lessons.’
‘Oh Weed. I’m so sorry.’ Jessica’s voice is choked and thin as Malina emerges to stand at the altar with my sweet love’s neck held fast in her grip.
‘Look who I found.’ Jessica wrestles hard, kicking at Malina’s legs and grappling with the fingers closed at her throat. I watch in terror as Malina tightens her strangle hold. ‘Be still, woman. Might as well struggle with the trunk of an Oak or unpick its roots from the earth.’
Malina’s slight frame is immovable under Jessica’s assault; her straight silver hair hangs motionless, covering her face. I stand quickly and see at her waist are tied three long sticks of bamboo and strung at her breast, the great hollow heart of the Uroborus threaded on a necklace. ‘What has happened to you?’
‘You are weak, Weed. I used to think that with your roots in the soil you were stronger than me, but I am your match now. You’re nothing. I’ll bury you and you’ll still be nothing.’
‘Malina. Throw the Adder Stone away. It is dangerous.’
‘What do you mean, dangerous? It has given me what I always wished for. Death will not come to me. I burn with the energy of the sun. I grow with the power of the Earth.’ As I approach her I can see her flesh through her torn dress. Great dark patches moulder on the once porcelain skin. She is rotting from the inside.
‘That stone is not your property, no matter how prized. It governs the cycle of the growing world. You corrupt the Green law. Don’t you see what it’s doing to you?’
‘Do you mean my beautiful skin? Life and death are within me. I rot and renew all at once.’
‘It must be replaced in the cairn of Bryn Celli Ddu.’
A fire of rage burns through the earth and the soil moves beneath my feet. ‘Don’t speak the name of that place.’
I remember the shades that guarded the stone. ‘So the shadows touched you.’
Her head ticks and when her hair shifts in front of her face, I see dark red marks where her eyes once shone. ‘They have touched me, Weed. But I am their master. They punished me with dark visions, but they found within me a darkness to match their own. I see them in my mind and so I have removed my eyes. I don’t need them anymore.’ With her free hand she takes the Uroburus where it hangs at her neck. ‘I can see with this. I see everything. With this trinket I command the creatures of blood and sap. The earth trembles for me, Weed.’ She turns to the child with her unseeing eyes. ‘Little Ruth. Your face is ruined. You were never maimed so under my protection, but I offer it no more.’
‘Touch her and I’ll kill you.’ Jessica croaks and with the last of her strength she claws at the Adder Stone, pulling on its binding at Malina’s neck.
‘This one has spirit.’ Quick as lightning, Malina takes her hand from Jessica’s throat to protect the Uroborus, breaking Jessica’s wrist where it grabs at the stone. ‘But her bones break like twigs.’
Jessica screams in pain but, free of Malina’s hold, she breaks away, stumbling to my side. I step in front of her and Ruth. ‘All can still be saved. If you just cast away the Uroborus.’
Malina, still holding the stone in both hands, quiets for a moment regarding us. Jessica is panting and cradling her shattered wrist. She whispers raggedly, ‘We can’t beat her. She’s not human. The ground shakes at her will and her grip is like rock.’
‘Then go, both of you, now. You’ve bought me this far, but I must remain. Remember, I’m not quite human myself.’ I whisper back.
I feel Ruth grip my hand; her fingers are still wet with Issa’s blood. I look down at her and she nods at me sadly before spinning on her heel in a heartbeat and sprinting south, her legs a blur. Malina lifts one of the bamboo stalks from her waist and raises it to her lips. A strange sound, like a dull thudding whistle, is carried on the wind and I turn to see Ruth sprawl to the earth. I reach out to her but hear the sound again and watch in horror as Jessica collapses at my side. I drop to my knees, frantically searching my lover’s body. There at her neck, a neck I have kisses so many times, I see a sharpened splinter of bamb
oo wood. I yank it out and raise it my lips. ‘Hemlock’
‘Yes. It paralyses from the ground up.’ Malina laughs. I look at Ruth lying inert on the grass. ‘Weak Weed doesn’t know what do. Who can he save? Who does he want to save?’
I run to Ruth and pull a chip of the same poisoned wood from her leg. Malina is cackling now and my blood rises. I see red and grab the butcher’s cleaver from the ground where it lies and rush at her. I swing the blade down into the flesh of Malina’s shoulder with all my strength but it glances off, blunted.
‘Who are you to stab at me with man’s crude weapon? Stab the earth beneath you and see what good it does you!’ She thrusts her palms against me, breaking ribs, and I go flying to the mud next to Jessica. I’m dazed by the force of the blow and my chest is crushed, my breath spiked agony. When my focus returns I look in panic to see vines are growing from the ground around us. They’re snaking up Jessica’s ankle and legs. I recognise the plant immediately. It is Egaria Densa, Waterweed. It will crawl up her body, searching for moisture in which to root. Already I see filaments growing around her neck, keen for the dampness of her eyes, mouth and throat.
I look up at Ruth. Green vines are latching onto her as well. I see them find the gash in her cheek and wind inside. ‘Stop it! You’re killing her!’ I want to help Ruth, but I cannot leave Jessica. My hands are a whirlwind as I claw at the encroaching shoots, but each time I rip at a green tendril another sprouts in its place. Jessica moves beneath me but the Hemlock has crippled her body, frozen her blood. The clasping fibres are growing thicker around her, twisting at Malina’s will. I cannot keep them at bay. I hear muffled words coming from Jessica’s mouth. ‘Please. Help us.’
How can I stop this? As I shred and pull at the stalks I think on my vision. The Druid said that here, in this place, is the only power to tame the Uroborus. The prism of the cairn to focus the light of the Sol Invictus. But the moment has passed. Even if I can wrest the stone from Malina I cannot turn back time and bring midsummer into that lens again. I wish that Connell were here; he understood the relic better than any. He said he’d be thinking of me, but where is he now? At the thought of my old friend meditating in his strange library, I remember his words. They speak in my mind: Be the lens for the Sol Invictus.
Weed: The Poison Diaries Page 25
