3 Cold Root

Isla

Something wakes me.

False dawn has not even broken, but something is prodding me awake. I have felt this before. A burning pain is radiating from the mark on my arm. Reaching for the salve, I feel the other sensation.

There is no other way to describe it. Claws are poking around at my mind. This is worse than the burning of my mark.

I use my knife and cut a thin slice of the cold root. As I chew on it, I pull the sleeve of my underdress down my arm. The mark is pulsing and I can see it rippling as if it’s calling out to someone. Or something. I get some salve on my fingers and start to rub it onto my arm.

Hissing at the pain that radiates out from the mark, I pull my hand back. It’s never hurt so bad before, not even when I was marked in Londinium. Even touching it makes my fingers burn.

Quickly, I smear the salve over the mark on my arm, ignoring the pain, and cut off a larger piece of the cold root. Grandmother told me that when this happens, I’m going to need to get more roots and herbs. Scooping up more salve, I put it on my arm and wrap it with a clean wool cloth.

Moving as quietly as I can, I pull on my kirtle and slip out of the small root cellar and into the kitchen. The house is silent and I do not know if my father’s family came home or stayed at the manor house. I stoke the embers and coal in the fireplace knowing that I will want the fire when I get back. Outside the wind is cold and I will not need to go far into the woods to get the cold root.

I slide my feet into the muddy shoes and pull on my thin cloak before quietly going outside. The rooster sits on the low roosting bar outside the chicken pen. He watches me as I go by, obviously not happy with me since I trimmed his wings. Not that I care.

Entering the woods, I notice the deep silence. Nothing moves through the trees. The night birds do not call. I don’t even hear the insects crawling through the leaves and dense undergrowth.

Above me, there are the sounds of large wings as two creatures are on the hunt. They are working in tandem, searching for the prey that they must have sensed. If they are this close, I will need a lot more of the cold root.

Stopping at the first black tree, I dig through the cold ground to the root that I need. After thanking it for the sacrifice, I take what it lets me have and rebury the roots. I repeat this at the next several black trees.

The creatures above me call out to each other and the mark on my arm burns again. Sharp claws prod at my mind again, different ones from before. The original claws scratch at the edge of my mind. I know what they are searching for.

Begging for protection from the black tree, I pull off some bark and gather the black sap on my knife. Ripping my sleeve off, I smear the sap over the mark.

Extreme pain courses through me.

I bite down on a whole root spur to keep from crying out in pain. 

The black sap and the cold root seem to do the trick, protective walls go up around my mind, pushing the claws away. Above me, the creatures cry out in frustration. I huddle close to the black tree, pulling my cloak tightly around me and over my head. The only thing that I can hope for is that it helps me to blend in with the protective tree. 

Loud bellows and cries come from the other side of the tree canopy. They dive down, barely missing the tree tops as they search for me. I have to stay here until they leave. I can’t run, the risk of them seeing me is too great. Or even sensing me again. Leaning against the tree, I close my eyes with the intention of resting until they give up and leave.

My father is too stupid to know that they are here. Like so many others, he believes them to be childish stories. Something that you tell misbehaving children to get them to fall in line.

The next time that I open my eyes, the sun is preparing to rise. I stay still and listen. The normal sounds of the woods surround me. Birds call out to each other. Small animals scurry across the cold ground and through the treetops above me. There are even soft sounds of insects as they crawl through the fallen leaves.

Sighing with relief, I uncurl and push away from the tree. Looking at my arm, I see that my sleeve is still torn. Not sure what I was expecting, perhaps the material to spontaneously reconnect itself to my dress. Snickering at this thought, I go back to collecting the roots and then I search out the herbs that I need.

My leg is stiff and painful. Moving a little further into the trees, I find a white tree and press a hand to the smooth bark as I thank it for the sacrifice. Peeling off a strip of bark, I pop it into my mouth. I’ll make tea with the other pieces and herbs to relieve the pain.

Before I head back to the house, I gather some black tree sap and place it in a hastily made cup created from large green leaves. I will need that for the salve. The black tree bark will need to be boiled down to add to my new batch of perfume. Arriving back at the house, I go to let the chickens out and gather the eggs, but this has already been done.

I enter the kitchen and know that something has changed. Father sits at the worktable where I make the meals. A woman from the village is already preparing the morning meal. I take off my shoes, but leave my cloak on, thankfully it’s cold in the room and no one will think anything of it.

“Give us a moment,” he says and the woman leaves the room.

I hobble over and stand at the place that he indicates. He looks at how I’m standing, my right knee bent slightly to compensate for my left leg being slightly longer. Even if he kicks me as he is prone to do, I will never let him know that I am in pain.

He sat a small stack of my books on the table. “Fight me on this and I will destroy the only things that you hold dear.”

Those books have my mother’s ancestral knowledge in them. Most of it is memorized and I could retain the information for future generations. But some…. There are some passages in an ancient language that I do not know how to translate. That knowledge would be lost forever.

“I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Good. At midday, we’re going to the city. Gather your things, tonight you are a bride.”