Belladonna (7 page)

Closing her eyes, she focused on the dissonance, and as the first shock that anything could have invaded her garden wore off, she caught the faintest hint of anxiety — rather like a puppy who had caught a small creature and brought it home but wasn't receiving the expected praise.

Ephemera
had done this? Why?

She opened her eyes and strode to that unsettling spot. The placement of the thing, tucked in an empty piece of the garden that connected with Sanctuary, sent a new jolt of uneasiness rushing through her, but she crouched down to study this unasked-for

"gift."

This particular spot had been filled with nothing but clover to protect the rich soil. Now, in the center of that clover, was a stone shaped like a natural basin shallow enough to provide birds with a place to drink and bathe. In the basin, just beneath the water, was a silver cuff bracelet with an intricate design of knots that flowed one to the next.

She reached out, resting her hand on the stone so her fingertips dipped into the water.

Turmoil. Ambivalence. Need and denial. Powerful emotions that tugged at her and also pushed her away.

This stone didn't come from a place of darkness but a Place of Light. She could feel the Light's currents singing in the stone and the water. There was some comfort in that, but it didn't explain why Ephemera had plunked down an access point to an unknown landscape that was connected to who knew where.

Focus, Glorianna. This wasn't idly done.

Someone had cried out with a heart wish strong enough to produce this response from the world, but bringing this stone here to her was as far as Ephemera could take that heart wish.

At another time, she would have used that access point to cross over to the unknown landscape. Standing in that place would have given her a better feel for what that part of Ephemera needed. Except ...

This Place of Light resonated with her and yet it didn't. It was tangled up somehow, and the reason for that was outside her experience.

The currents of power that flowed through Ephemera circled around her, anxious, eager.

Sighing, Glorianna rose. "All right. It can stay."
For now.
"Let's see if we can get through the rest of the day without any more excitement, all right?"

The currents of power drifted away from her, making her think, again, of a puppy who had already done the very thing she just told it not to do. Not a good sign.

So she wasn't surprised when she saw Lee hurrying up to the garden's gate.

"This is supposed to be your rest day," she called as she hurried to meet him.

"I know. Yours too."

He looked pale and troubled — and his suppressed anger was strong enough to produce a shimmer in the island's Dark currents.

"What's wrong?" Glorianna asked. "Is everything all right at home?"

"It's fine. Home is fine." Lee raked a hand through his hair.

"Lee."

"A handful of Landscapers and three Bridges have found their way to Sanctuary. They're ... distraught... and a bit too quick to start casting blame when — "

She raised a hand, silencing him. Not a surprise

that the others would find a way to blame her for the

Eater of the World's escape and the destruction of the

Landscapers' School. No, not a surprise. But it still

hurt that any of them thought her capable of such a

heinous act.

"If their landscapes have been compromised ..."

"I know, Glorianna. I
know!'
Lee looked away. "We need to find out how they got to Sanctuary: what bridges were created and where."

"We may have to shut them out of Sanctuary in order to protect the Places of Light."

"I know that, too. But Yoshani thinks it's best to let them rest for a day, let their emotions settle a bit. Then he thinks you should talk to them."

Yoshani was a holy man who came from a Place of Light in a distant landscape. She had stumbled into that landscape when she was fifteen, had used the access point Ephemera had created and crossed over to that distant place. That choice had saved her from the Dark Guides and prevented them from walling her up inside her garden at the school. After she brought the Places of Light together and formed Sanctuary, Yoshani began dividing his time between his own community of Light and the part of Sanctuary that was more accessible to visitors. People felt easy around him, so he had become an informal listener and counselor to the weary hearts that reached Sanctuary.

He was one of the few people she trusted without reservation. But...

"They don't want to talk to me."

Lee looked at her, his temper shining in his green eyes. "They don't have a choice, Belladonna. The leaders of the Places of Light were very clear about that.
All
the leaders."

You're not without friends,
Glorianna thought.
And you're not without family. Those are blessings you need to hold in your
heart and remember.

"Are you going back to the guest house in Sanctuary?" Glorianna asked.

"I'd rather not."

She figured as much and would welcome his company, but she was worried about the depth of his anger and bitterness. So the best thing for both of them was to fall back on a simple ploy that had never failed her: treat him like the younger brother he was.

"Did you bring something to eat? The last time you were here, you cleaned out the pantry and didn't bother to tell me."

He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Yes, I brought something to eat. And I did
not
clean out the pantry, just that last bit of cake Mother had made — which was stale by the way since you'd left it so long, so that doesn't count."

"Does too."

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Does —" Lee glared at her.

"Do either of us have to cook this food you brought?"

"We'll have to heat it up and slice the bread and cheese. Even I can manage
that,
Glorianna."

Satisfied that he was now focused on being an annoyed sibling, she smiled sweetly. "In that case, you can stay. Want to make yourself useful and help me weed?"

"Not a chance." He gave her the look that always made her want to smack him. "It's my rest day. Remember?"

C
aitlin dug her pitchfork into the compost heap that was tucked away in one corner of her secret garden. Pull out the weeds that choke the flowers and form a messy tangle around the bushes, let them simmer in a corner where sun, water, and air turned them into a rotting stew, and gradually they become a rich loam that fed the same flowers and bushes they had tried to usurp.

If only her own life could be that simple. If only the rotting stew of her emotions could be changed into rich loam.

She worked until her muscles ached. Not because the compost heap needed that much work but because she didn't want to touch the rest of the garden while bitter anger churned inside her. When thirst became a torment, she gave the compost heap one last turn, then leaned the pitchfork against the garden wall and walked over to the little pool of water shaded by a willow tree. The ground around one side of the pool rose up chest high and was a tumble of stones and pieces of slate that created a series of small waterfalls. The spring that fed the pool had to start somewhere among the stones since there was no sign of it on the other side of the garden wall, but she had never found the source.

Taking the tin cup she kept tucked among the stones, she filled it under one of the little waterfalls and drank it dry once, twice. When she filled the cup a third time, she settled beside the pool, one hand moving idly through the water as she sipped from the cup and looked around the garden that had provided her with an odd kind of companionship most of her life.

The pool had been her first exhilarating — and later, frightening — example of her power over the physical world.

She'd been six years old when she'd found the garden hidden on the hill behind her family's cottage. Michael had just left for the first time to take up the wandering life, and she'd run off, heartbroken that her only friend and playmate had abandoned her.

She'd run and run and run. Aunt Brighid had told her she would make friends when she started school, but it hadn't happened. The other girls teased her and said cruel things, and she knew the teacher heard the girls and did nothing, encouraging them by keeping silent. So there were no friends, and without Michael to help her, school was hard. And Aunt Brighid hadn't wanted to admit that the same ... something ... that lived inside Michael and had driven him away from Raven's Hill lived inside her, too.

Her aunt would defend her against anyone — including the women who had been Brighid's Sisters on the White Isle — but privately, Brighid hadn't been able to hide the flinch, or the anger, whenever she saw evidence of Caitlin's and Michael's "gift."

So all Caitlin had known that day was that the difference that lived inside her and Michael was the reason Michael had gone away, and she ran, wishing with all her young heart that she could find someone, anyone, who would be her friend.

She'd tripped and ended up sprawled on the path. When she looked up, there was a stone wall in front of her and a rusted, broken gate.

She had found Darling's Garden.

Tangled and overgrown, desperately needing care, the garden tugged at her, and as she walked around it, her heartache eased.

Here was something that needed her, wanted her, welcomed her.

Spotting something small that looked pretty but was almost buried under weeds, she pulled up a weed to get a better look.

Then pulled up another. And another. When she finally cleaned out a circle of ground around the little plant, she still didn't know what it was, but it made her feel a little less lost and alone.

Years later, she learned the plant's name. Heart's hope.

She kept going back to the garden, escaping from school as soon she could to run up the hill to the secret place. Aunt Brighid's scolding and obvious worry about where a child that age was disappearing to for hours at a time couldn't eclipse the lure of a place where the light seemed to sparkle with happiness every time she slipped through the gate.

Then a girl at school invited all the other girls to see the expensive fountain her father had installed in the family's garden. All the girls except one.

Not you, the girl had said. I don't want you and your evil eye to look at our fountain.

Caitlin had stood outside the school, blinking back tears of shame as anger filled her.

"I wish your fountain looked as rotten as your heart," she whispered.

All the way up to the secret garden, she thought about a fountain and how lovely it would be to have one.

When she got to the garden, there it was — not the kind of fountain appropriate for a formal garden, but a tumble of stones forming a series of waterfalls into a knee-deep pool that was guarded by a young willow tree.

It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen — but it hadn't been there the day before. That was when she realized she could make things happen just because she wanted them to. She was excited, delighted, sure it was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

A week later, her aunt hauled her into their cottage, sat her down in a chair, and said, "Whatever it is you did, Caitlin Marie, I want you to undo it. There's enough talk about evil eyes without you causing trouble."

She didn't understand until Aunt Brighid told her about an expensive fountain that had turned foul. The water plants rotted overnight. The golden fish that had been bought from a merchant in Kendall and brought to Raven's Hill at great expense kept dying. And the water stank like a stagnant marsh no matter how often the groundskeeper cleaned the fountain and replaced the water. There was fear of sickness running through the village because of that foulness.

She'd cried and sworn she hadn't done anything bad, even though she suspected she
was
the one who had caused the change in the fountain, and she cried even more when Aunt Brighid yelled, "Where will we go if we're driven out of this cottage? This is all we have, and we have this much because it was your fathers legacy, the only tangible asset he left his children. If we don't have this, we have nothing, Caitlin. Nothing."

Then Aunt Brighid started to cry.

She'd seen Aunt Brighid cry happy tears and the "little sadness" tears that came over the older woman from time to time, but not this heart-tearing sorrow.

So that night she wished as hard as she could that the fountain in her classmate's garden would be wonderful and clean and make everyone happy.

It didn't happen. Oh, the next time that fountain was cleaned, it didn't turn foul, but the plants and fish never flourished, and the water never quite smelled clean. Finally, it was drained for the last time and had stood empty ever since.

After that, she kept her wishes contained to the garden and never wished something bad on anyone. Which was hard for a young girl who had no friends, who the teachers looked at with distrust, who knew she was an outsider because of a difference in which she had no choice.

She had kept the garden her secret until Michael came home the first time. He, at least, was like her. He would understand that special place.