Nightfall Gardens (11 page)

“I stayed until my father learned to live in his new sightless world. Neither he nor my mother ever forgave me. I can't say I blame them. When I was sure that they were able to get by, I ran away. They no longer wanted me there and he could no longer hurt her. I wandered the mountains for many months until I began to dream of this place.”

Arfast followed the signposts in those dreams until he arrived one afternoon at the gates of
Nightfall Gardens, a filthy boy covered in rags. “I walked through them and your uncle was the first to greet me. I've never regretted my decision. We’re the ones that protect the world from the evils slumbering here.”

The trickster finished his story and clambered down the tree. When he and Silas were on the ground, Arfast wiped his hands on his breeches. After the last few nights of restlessness, the gardens seemed unusually quiet. The smell of bittershade carried on the wind from nearby.

“Why'd you bring me here?” Silas asked. “I know it wasn't to tell your story.”

Arfast's face was devoid of the good humor it usually carried. “We have to save Jonquil. If someone as lazy and gluttonous as Larkspur should take charge of the riders, this whole place will be in trouble.”

“Wouldn't Skuld be next in command?” Silas asked. “My uncle placed him in charge before he left for the mist lands.”

“It doesn't work that way. When the dusk rider leader passes, a vote is taken for who will be the next in charge. It's a popularity contest, not who would actually do the best job. Skuld is crafty but dour. He wouldn't stand a chance against a backslapper like Larkspur.”

“What can we do, then? The Eldritch poison is eating away at my uncle. Nothing Mr. Hawthorne gives him does more than slow it for a little while,” Silas said.

“And nothing he can give him will. Eldritch poison always kills. The cure for what ails Jonquil can only be found in one place.”

“Where?”

“There's the danger,” Arfast said. “Fairy Bells only grow inside the
White Garden.”

“Fairy Bells?”

“The milk from this plant can cure any ill, but only once. It’s guarded by Cerberus, the guardian of the underworld— A nasty three-headed dog that consumes the blood of the living and makes sure that none escape to live again.”

Silas wanted to laugh. It sounded absurd, but then he thought of the Shade that had pretended to be his sister to draw him into the
White Garden. Mr. Hawthorne had warned him never to leave the path and enter the gardens themselves.

“How would we survive in the
White Garden? As soon as we set foot in there, wouldn’t the spirits be on us? Even if we endured that, how would we find our way to where these Fairy Bells grow? And then how would we get past this flesh-eating three-headed dog you're talking about?”

“I have my ways,” Arfast said. “But if you're not up to the challenge, we could let your uncle continue to waste away until he dies and Larkspur is made head of the dusk riders.”

They crossed the dew-covered field toward the bunkhouse. Inside, they heard the raucous sound of the riders drinking and making merry. Arfast and Silas nodded at the stone-faced sentry and entered to find a group gathered around Larkspur as he drained another calfskin of wine and told them a bawdy story.

“I said, I'd rather sleep on a feather bed, but this'll do just fine,” the giant said, telling the punchline of a joke. The riders broke into laughter around him. Skuld sat away from the merriment and watched through slitted eyes. Silas saw this and realized what a disaster it would be if Larkspur were in charge of leading the men.
'They'll fall apart in months,'
he thought.
'And then who will protect Lily?'

“How do we do this?” Silas said to Arfast.

The trickster grinned. “There's the old Blackwood spirit. Meet me tomorrow afternoon when the crow flies at the Stone Circle and we'll ready ourselves to enter the White Garden.”

Silas slept with a troubled mind, dreaming of the spirits of the
White Garden tearing at his flesh. When he woke early the next morning, he felt exhausted and splashed a cold pail of water over his head to clear his thoughts. Only a handful of the riders were up and about; most were still too drunk from last night's revelry to be up yet. Skuld and a small group were about to make their morning rounds when he came onto the porch.

“Have you ever seen such a sorry lot,” Skuld said. “Your uncle would’ve had them on patrol by now. I’d drag ‘em out myself, but Larkspur says I have no claim to do so and an extra couple of hours of sleep will hurt no one. We'll see how he feels when this place falls, the fool.” With that, the one-armed man turned and rode away toward the
Shadow Garden.

Silas happened on a strange sight when he approached the
Hawthornes’ cottage not long afterward. As he walked toward the front door to meet the groundskeeper, he heard sobbing coming from the side of the house.

“Mr. Hawthorne?” Silas asked. When he heard no response, he went around the side of the house and almost walked into Cassandra, who was standing over a dead rabbit. Tears streaked her green face. Osbold was perched on her shoulder cooing while nipping gently at her ear.

“Are you all right?” he asked reaching out to touch her arm. Cassandra jumped as though she'd been touched with a hot poker. “What do you want, ugly boy?” she said, lashing out at him.

Silas was overwhelmed by the rage coming from her. He looked at the brown rabbit lifeless on the ground. There were no marks or signs of wrong doing upon it. The green girl wiped away the tears in her eyes.

“I — I'm sorry. I heard you crying. Was — was that your pet?” He asked.

“My father brought it to me the last time the gates were open. It chewed through its rabbit hutch somehow. I was trying to catch it.”

“How did it die?” Silas asked puzzled.

Cassandra rubbed her hands together in nervousness. “I don't know. All I did was —.” She caught herself. “It — it just fell over before I could do anything.”

“Can I look?” Silas asked. He got down on his knees and turned the rabbit over. The last of its warmth was fading even as he stroked the fur looking for injury.

Cassandra regained her composure. Osbold flew from her shoulder onto the roof of the cottage, where the gargoyle walked along the gutter on the roof. “Maybe you should mind your own business,” she said.

Silas stood and wiped his hands on his pants. “I was only trying to help.”

“The same as you're helping your sister,” she said with a wicked sneer to her face.

The comment stung and anger bubbled inside of him. “What do you know of my sister?”

“More than you think. While you're playing at being a rider, she's trying to find a way out of this place,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

Before Cassandra could reply, Mr. Hawthorne ambled around the side of the house. “I thought I heard your voice,” he said to Silas. “You ready to finish digging that irrigation ditch?”

The groundskeeper looked down and saw the dead rabbit on the ground. “Oh Cassie, what happened. What have you done?”

While Silas was puzzling over Mr. Hawthorne's words, Cassandra began crying again. “I didn't mean to. I was trying to put him back in his hutch. I barely touched him.” Tears streamed down her face. She took off charging towards the mist. Osbold flew from his perch and followed her into the shifting whiteness that enveloped the nearby woods.

Mr. Hawthorne stared pensively at the ground. “She'll be all right,” he said. “I've warned her about touching living things.”

“What does that mean?” Silas asked. He thought of how Cassandra jumped away from his touch.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, lad,” Mr. Hawthorne said. “Let’s bury this rabbit and then we have a full day of work ahead of us. We need to finish the irrigation ditch and plant more Dragonbreath flowers around the house. They’re dying more quickly than they should. Miss Deiva must be growing weak indeed.”

Silas threw himself into the rest of the day with such energy that there was little time to think of anything else. He and Mr. Hawthorne finished the ditch by afternoon and then went to work on planting a new bed of Dragonbreath flowers. Two thoughts preyed on his mind: the dead rabbit and Cassandra, and Arfast and the
White Garden.
'I don't know why I should care about her anyway,'
he thought of Cassandra. He pushed that to the back of his mind for later. For now, he could only worry about the challenge that lay ahead of him.

When the sky turned from numbing gray to dark, he set off toward the
Shadow Garden. A strange quietness hung over everything, like the expectation before a massive storm arrives. The stone circle was a meeting place for the Blackwoods so old that no one remembered its purpose anymore. It was built in a clearing between the Shadow Gardens and the Labyrinth and was made up of twelve stone pillars each the size of a carriage. The pillars glowed white from the 10,000 rains that had washed them. In the middle of the clearing was the ethereal imprint of a body that no amount of planting could cover over. “Some ancient evil must have happened there,” Mr. Hawthorne told him once as they poured seed on the dead spot of the body's outline. “Been trying to get something to grow here since I was a lad little older than you and nothing ever takes.”

The red moon shined upon the outline of the body in the circle as Silas approached the stones. He had never stopped to tarry here after a day of work because Mr. Hawthorne said it wasn't safe to be near the gardens after dark. He touched one of the smooth stones and felt an odd thrumming through his body, as if great energy was stored inside them.

Arfast stepped from behind one of the stones. His wolf cloak was pulled tight over his head and its jaws dripped red in the light. “Let us prepare,” he said with no humor in his face. “For tonight we journey to the land of death.”

11

Deiva Enters the Clearing

They walked for so long that Lily wondered if they would ever see the outside world again. Cassandra was in front of her, holding a sputtering yellow candle that was little more than a nub. Lily followed, Abigail's journal tucked under one arm. Cobwebs hung like confetti from the ceiling of the secret passage. Occasionally, streams of light appeared on the walls, allowing them to peer into some rooms of the house. Cassandra made a rule against that as soon as they set out. “We'll only see things that frighten us,” she said. “No matter how hard it is, we have to ignore whatever we hear.” They'd done well so far. The crying, hooting, gibbering, and strange music coming from the other side of the walls only made them travel faster down the narrow corridor. Lily listened for the scuttling of spider legs on the stones behind them, but it was quiet. Still, when a cobweb tickled her neck, she had to bite down to keep from screaming out loud. When they came to an intersection where one secret passage met with another, they stopped to examine Abigail's map.

“We go this way,” Cassandra said, pointing down the left-hand path. “We should get to Raga's and be back in plenty of time before we’re missed.”

“Do you think anyone else knows about these tunnels?” Lily asked as they set off again.

“From the dust on the floor, I'd say no. Nightfall Manor is impossible to know completely,” Cassandra said. “It’s like the Gardens that way.”

“Don't you ever dream of leaving?” Lily asked.

“Where would I go? A green girl that — ,” Cassandra cut herself off as she was about to say more. “No, the most I dream of is clearing the Gardens so Osbold, Father and I can live in peace.”

“I don't mean to be rude — ,” Lily said tentatively. She wanted to step lightly because she knew how easily Cassandra angered.

“But you're going to be. Go ahead,” Cassandra said stopping.

“Why — why exactly are you green?” Lily asked and she cringed, waiting for Cassandra to explode at her.

The green girl tilted her head as if reflecting philosophically. “My mother was infected by an Angel Trumpet flower. What do you know about them?”

“Nothing,” Lily said.

“Well, there’s no reason you should. The only place they grow is in the shade of the
Shadow Garden. Angel Trumpet is one of the most lovely and deadly plants. It has purple petals that hang like tentacles and white star-shaped flowers that can hypnotize a person if you stare too long at them.”

“Hypnotize?” Lily said. They were walking along the musty passage again. The pounding and banging coming from under the house was growing distant now that they were going down a different tunnel.

“Angel Trumpet has a consciousness and thinks like a person, which makes it extra lethal. It’s also incredibly patient. Angel Trumpet can wait for years to spring a trap. That was what happened with my mother. She passed the Shadow Garden every day on her way home and the Angel Trumpet watched and waited until its chance came. It hypnotized my mother into thinking there was gold in the high grass and when she went for it, the leaves grasped her, penetrating her skin until the stems wound their way to her heart.”

“That’s terrible,” Lily said.

“By the time my father cut the vines loose, it was too late. She’d been poisoned and was dying. A week later, I was born… green. No one knows why, but my father swears it was because of the poison from the Angel Trumpet.”

“I’m sorry,” Lily said.

The passage was starting to smell of fresh earth. A slight breeze stirred somewhere. The walls turned from stone to ancient mortar and then to dirt as they continued south.

“We’re getting close,” Cassandra said.

They came to the end of the passage as the candle sputtered to an end. Up ahead, light filtered through vines and a locked iron gate.

“So how do we get out of here?” Cassandra said pulling on the thick gate. “It’d take 20 men to open this.”

“Let me have a look,” Lily said. She pulled the gate and a lock clicked. The gate swung back, groaning on heavy hinges.

“How did you — ?” Cassandra looked irked that Lily had opened the door when she hadn’t.

“I don’t know,” she said.
‘I’m a Blackwood, that’s how,’
Lily thought.
‘It wouldn’t work for anyone else, but it will always work for us.’

Cassandra hacked at the vines with a knife that she kept in her belt and soon they pushed their way onto a trail behind the
Shadow Garden.

Lily blinked in gray
light. It had been more than three months since she’d been outside and her heart raced with her newfound freedom.

“I wish Silas could have met us here,” she said.

“I’ve told you. It wouldn’t be safe. Something’s going on at the bunkhouse. Father’s been down there a few times but he won’t tell me what’s happening. It’s best if we do what we have to and get back. Your brother would only be a drag on us.”

“You don’t know Silas,” Lily said. “He could help.”

“The only way he could help is by staying out of our way,” Cassandra said as they started down the path.

“I don’t know what it is you have against him,” Lily said.

“Really? You’ve never realized how insufferable he is, with that long mop of hair and those eyes that are different as night and day.”

Lily laughed out loud, surprising herself at the sound. “So that’s it, then?”

“What?” Cassandra asked.

“You like him. You like my brother,” Lily teased.

“I do not. Why do you think that? Haven’t I told you how much I hate him?”

“It’s the way you say it,” Lily said. She put her hands over her chest and faked a swoon. “Oh, his long hair and those dreamy eyes.”

Cassandra’s face contorted with rage and the green girl’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not true. Take it back. I can’t stand him.”

“Whatever you say,” Lily said. “But you shouldn’t be shy. It’s just Silas. You’ll have to bop him over the head if you want him to notice.”

“I said I don’t like him,” Cassandra said through gritted teeth. She charged off ahead down the path and Lily had to run to catch up with her.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I’m only kidding.”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’m going to get you to Raga and back inside and then I’m done. You Blackwoods can take care of yourselves.”

Lily was about to respond when they heard the pounding of hooves coming toward them.

“Dusk riders,” Cassandra said. “If they find us, they'll send you back to the house. Come on.”

Before Lily could say anything, the green girl took off down the path. The impenetrable wall of the Labyrinth was to one side and open field stretching towards the mists to the other.

“Where are we going?” Lily said, gasping for breath.

“Don't worry, I know a place,” Cassandra said. The horses racing towards them grew louder and Lily realized that they would be on them any second unless they found a place to hide. She looked to her left and stopped running. Her mouth dropped open. The path was empty. Cassandra had disappeared. “What the — ?”

“Over here,” the green girl said, but all Lily saw was empty field with creeping mist that twisted and tumbled like curling smoke.

“Where?” Lily said. All she could see was the field, the mist, and the shadow of trees where the woods started.

“Here,” Cassandra said, and her head appeared from nowhere.

Lily jumped back in surprise. “How did you do that?”

“No time. Get in here now!” Cassandra hissed.

Lily rushed toward her friend. For a second it felt like she was pushing through molasses, and then she was with Cassandra, looking out at the trail as the riders approached.

“What is this place?” she asked.

The green girl was crouched next to her, close enough that Lily could smell the earth and flower scent that radiated from her.

“Camouflage bush,” she said. “They hide themselves out of defense. Try one of the berries and you'll see what I mean.”

Brilliant red berries with white hairs grew in clusters on the rich green leaves of the bush. Lily plucked one and popped it in her mouth. Her tongue exploded with the taste of sugar, cream, and fresh strawberries. It was the best thing she'd ever eaten. She jammed the berries into her mouth as quickly as she could.

“So good,” Lily said as red juice dribbled down her chin.

“No more,” Cassandra said. “That's why the bush hides itself. Its berries, its leaves, everything about it is useful in one way or another. People aren't able to help themselves and they strip them bare until the plant dies.”

Lily fought back an impulse to continue eating the berries and wiped her hands on the ground. Outside, the riders slowed. There were three men dressed in wolf cloaks. One of them was gargantuan. He barely fit on the poor horse whose legs buckled under his weight. The man had a big, pitted moon face and scraggily beard.

“If I were you, Larkspur, I would have taught One-Arm a lesson that he wouldn't forget,” a rider said.

“All in good time,” Larkspur said. He took a filthy knife from his belt and began picking his teeth. “Skuld will find his loyalty to Jonquil counts for nothing when Blackwood dies.”

He spit out the last part of the sentence and the others laughed. “Things will be different. You'll see. We work too hard and for what? The evils are trapped. The gates are closed and still we ride around and around these grounds until our heads spin.”

“What are you thinking, then?”

“Patience,” Larkspur said. “Deiva will be dead soon, as will Jonquil. That leaves only the boy and his sister. Old Larkspur fancies himself head of the manor house with the Blackwood girl as his bride.” The gelatinous dusk rider wetted his fingers with his lips and ran them through his greasy hair. “How could she resist me?”

The girls stayed hidden inside the bush until the last of the laughter faded, and then they crawled back out of the bush onto the path. Lily shuddered at the thought of what she'd heard.

“What did he mean about my uncle? Is something wrong with him?” she asked.

“I don't know,” Cassandra said. “My father tells me little of what happens at their camp.”

“And my brother?”

“Perhaps I'm not as cordial as I could be,” the green girl said. Her cheeks reddened again. “I could talk with him.”

“Please do,” Lily said. “If what this man, Larkspur, said is true, then there are greater dangers here than I thought.”

They hurried down the path into the mist until it felt as though they were walking through clouds. The fog hung in patches above the ground and the air was damp. The earth was wet and slick under their feet and moss grew along the sides of the giant trees. A path, barely big enough for one person, led further into the gloomy woods.

“Raga will expect a treat from us for the reading,” Cassandra said as they lost sight of the field and were enveloped by the mist. “She has a sweet tooth.”

“What are we going to give her?” Lily said. It was hard for her to believe some ancient witch would like cake and cookies.

Cassandra pulled out a handkerchief filled with berries from the camouflage bush. “Aren't you glad you have me as a friend?” she smiled.

They continued along the path until they were lost in a dreamscape of fog and darkness.

“Who is Raga? How'd she get here?” Lily asked shivering. Along with the mist that blocked the light, it was also much colder here than in the gardens.

“She came from New Salem, many years ago, when they burned anyone they thought to be a witch at the stake. One day, a little boy fell from a tree and broke his leg. Raga happened to be nearby and used her healing powers on him. When he told his father, the townspeople broke into her cabin and arrested her. They would have burned her as well, even though she was a healer, but Raga used her magic to escape and fled until she came to Nightfall Gardens.”

Cassandra turned to look at Lily. “Just a bit of advice when you meet her. Don't act shocked.”

“What do you mean?”

“Her head's on backwards,” Cassandra said as if embarrassed.

“Her head’s on backwards?” Lily repeated.

“It happened when she tried to cast a transmigration spell decades ago and she'
s never been able to fix it. She's really self-conscious about it. You'll see.”

A toadstool-
looking cottage appeared out of the haze. The roof was thick with ivy and the walls were curved and bloated. As they approached, the door opened and a teenage girl with red hair and milky skin exited, wrapping a blue coat about her. She saw the two girls approaching, gasped, and fled into the woods with the swiftness of a gazelle. Seconds later she was swallowed by the fog.

“Who was that?” Lily asked.

“One of the mist people,” Cassandra said. “Probably from Mare's Tail — that's the closest village to Nightfall Gardens.”

'She looked like my mother,'
Lily thought as they knocked on the front door.