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 guesthouse 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?”
Chapter Seven
Caitlin 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.