NINE
brYNDIS ASHGLO
Known to be one of the deadliest plants in existence, it is highly toxic and should be handled with care. In lower doses, Deadly Nightshade can sedate those who ingest it to an extent where inner turmoil settles.
The Herbal Healer’s Handbook by Agnes O’Connell
It hurts.
Every inch of my body hurts. Every piece of torn skin, every stiff muscle.
Hurts.
I don’t want to move, not even as an icy breeze blows over my body, nipping at my exposed skin.
With my dress still pulled down around my hips, I feel cold, yet so numb inside that I don’t shiver.
Instead, I remain on the floor, mourning my miserable existence.
A warm tear spills from the inner corner of my eye and rolls over the bridge of my nose to flood the other.
Next time, I’ll fight. Damn the repercussions. Next time…
Tick, tick, tick.
I ignore the sound.
A moment of silence passes.
Tick, tick, tick.
Tap, tap, tap.
Something knocks against my silver ring, sending vibrations up my index finger. Against my will, I force my eyes open. The room is dark, cast in shades of blue and black. Moonlight spears into my room from the open window.
Tap, tap, tap.
My eyes finally focus on a raven standing beside my hand.
I pull away from its beak and wince. The movement is too sudden, too much.
A burning, like fire across my skin, causes sweat to bead on my brow.
Feathers rustle as three more ravens land beside their friend, sending four sideways glances my way.
“Go away,” I croak, tucking my hand underneath me and squeezing my eyes shut. I don’t have the energy to chase them away or the willpower to try. Their guttural rattles are like foreign gossip, bringing my blood to a boil.
Tick, tick, tick.
Tick, tick, tick.
Tick, tick, tick, and more wings flap. My room swims with the sound of wind whistling through feathers, blowing my hair from my face.
“Just bloody let me be!” I scream. Pain, deeper than flesh, tears its way through my chest, my throat, my stomach, pinning me to the floor. My lungs tighten. My breathing grows shallow. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe!
“Go away!” I cry out, and it’s enough to break the walls holding my tears at bay.
Like a crack in a dam, I allow white hot tears to stream down my face as I push myself upright to sit cross-legged beside my bed.
Dried blood streaks my exposed ribs like war paint.
My nipples bead under the caress of the cool breeze.
Searching the concealed pocket in my skirt, I find a small vial of poppy extract, the one I used on Laoise.
White like milk, the liquid beads at the top before I empty it onto my tongue.
Sobs wrack my body as I allow myself to cry.
For the first time since my mother’s death, I truly allow myself to be torn apart by my grief, alone and on the floor, while the opium in my concoction burns my tongue.
When I open my swollen eyes, I see ravens everywhere.
From my windowsill to my dresser, my desk to my chair in the far corner, every inch of my room is filled with ravens as dark as coal.
And they’re all staring directly at me. Their joint rattle is almost musical, low and deep, sending goosebumps across my skin.
Their feathers shine like a dark rainbow in the moonlight.
One hops onto my knee, turning its head sideways to inspect me.
For the longest moment, it stares at me, and I stare back at it.
As it blinks up at me, I’m relieved not to be all on my own the way I usually am.
I frown, looking deeply into its eye. Its iris is as grey as the clouds before a storm, held captive by a dark-rimmed pupil.
The desire to touch its feathers tingles my fingertips, but I’m too tired to reach for them.
Without warning, they all take flight, swarming out of my window in a gush of whistling wind.
Not so much as a feather is left behind when I push to my knees, bracing a hand against the side of my bed to help me stand.
I continue toward my window, covering my nakedness with one arm.
They left as quickly as they came, no trace of them in sight.
My doorknob twists, and its dreadful creak renews the knot in my stomach. I don’t turn, nor do I try to hide the damage done to my back and shoulders. I reach forward and shut the window, sealing myself into my room before I close my heavy curtains, leaving me in a darkness that matches my mood.
“Oh, Brynney.” A small voice gasps behind me. A warm glow fills the darkness around me as she allows the wick of her lantern to lengthen, causing the flame to grow.
“I’ve brought you some stew,” she says sweetly. “It’s what was left over from supper.” They had all sat down around the table to break bread while I lay unconscious and bleeding on the floor above them.
“I’m not hungry.” My words are cold and harsh, but I don’t care about her reaction.
There’s a long pause. “I also brought you fresh bandages and warm water to clean yourself with.” The silence is deafening between us.
“And nettle tea with one generous helping of honey, just the way you like it.” With a heavy sigh, I turn to face her.
She didn’t do this to me, but the thought of her knowing and eating before coming turns sideways in my throat.
Sitting on my bed, I inhale the sweet scent of the herbal tea. Then I take a sip, allowing the liquid to pool on my tongue. The warmed honey soothes me to my core. I love the way it tingles down my throat.
“I honestly don’t know how you drink such vile concoctions.” She scrunches her freckled nose.
“The ignorance of those not in touch with their roots,” a voice hums from inside while the shadows grow in the corner of the room, consuming a portion of the lantern’s glow. This time, I don’t shun it. I need the anger it brings, like I need the air I breathe.
“That’s just who she is. Sometimes I wish…”
“Don’t!” it growls so loud the sound reverberates down to my bones.
“Why not? It would’ve been so much easier.” A heaviness settles in my chest once more.
“She’s weak.”
“She’s young,” I counter, suddenly growing tired of the smooth, menacing voice.
“Stop defending her. She isn’t a child anymore,” it snaps at me. “She knew and did nothing. The girl doesn’t deserve defending.” The shadows in the room seem to pulse with every word.
I don’t answer because it isn’t entirely wrong.
Laoise rolls up her sleeves before picking up a water-drenched cloth from the bowl. Lavender and thyme fill the air around us. The sound of water dripping into the bowl is deafening, the only sound echoing through my room, amplifying the silence between Laoise and I.
“You should know better than to anger Mother this way.” Laoise presses the cloth to my back using her unbandaged hand. I bite down against the pain.
“She isn’t my mother,” I grit out.
Her intake of breath is sharp before she answers, “You don’t mean that. You know how much she loves this family. How hard she works to give us the best chance at a glorious life beyond these walls. It’s difficult running a home like this.”
“To give you the best chance, you mean?” There it is, out in the open, a truth I’ve never confessed.
She pauses for a moment. The continued sound of water dripping back into the bowl breaks the silence between us.
I stare into the darkness until she continues cleaning my wounds.
“She cares for you too,” she says softly.
The voice inside my head laughs cruelly, as though delighting in someone stubbing their toe.
“You think this is caring?” I say between clenched teeth. She pauses between dabs.
“Try, Brynney, just try to see her side in this. This is probably the most important week of our lives. She cares so much…”
I snort a sarcastic response to keep from gagging. I can’t sit here and listen to her spew lies and accept it with an agreeing smile. Turning to face her, I take the stained pale-red cloth from her hand.
“I’ll clean myself.”
“You know how she is and the home she was raised in. She doesn’t know how to be tender. Her heart is good; it’s just her execution…”
“I don’t recall seeing any scars on your body,” I hiss. Water runs onto my skirt when I stand.
She flinches, stepping back. “Just follow my example and stay out of trouble, please. You know how much it hurts me to see you like this.”
“How much it hurts her!” the voice snarls.
“Are you done?” I ask abruptly, clenching my jaw.
“Do you want me to help you with the bandage?” She speaks as if we are reading in the study, and I hate her a little because of it.
I hate the fact that I’m the only one to suffer under this roof.
How I’m punished for everything that goes wrong, whether it’s my doing or not.
I hate how I’m the only one given chores while Laoise gets none.
My other sister is still too young to be of any help and too isolated to know me at all.
I can’t hate her. I don’t even know her.
But I know Laoise, and I know she heard me cry.
I know she knew of my punishment, yet she chose to enjoy her supper before coming to see me.
There’s also a part of me, a part I wish to ignore, that knows she couldn’t stop this from happening even if she’d tried, but I need my anger like a cripple needs a crutch.
“I can do it,” I snap.
“Fine. You’re being particularly unpleasant, anyway.” She steps back even further, leaving her tray on the bed next to me. Although I want her to shut her mouth and leave, the room is empty without her. That emptiness creeps back into my heart when the door closes behind her.