Perfectly Preventable Deaths

49 Navelwort

Mamó comes for me in the half-light. The moon and sun are both in the sky, two pale, one shining. We are going to find a blessed tree and cut off bits of that and then do the same thing with a cursed tree. I’m to look for acorns as well. For anything that’s useful. Dying insects, feathers. Special rain. When we get back, I’m going to weed the physic garden, while she sees some clients. I might fit in some study if I’m quick.

I’m building up to helping her with people. She’s easing me in slowly, so she says. My muscles ache. It doesn’t feel that slow. The air is bright and cold. I kind of like this, working all the time. Being bone tired, always learning more. It kind of suits me. Weirdly.

The mountains hazy. Somewhere up there, Oona is swimming. I wonder if she’s thinking about me, as she flickers through the wet. The place where she feels safe. She’s been in touch. I haven’t called her back. Catlin’s still in bed, Button curled around her. He loves her now, as much as he hates me. Her hair and nails and eyebrows growing back, millimetre by millimetre. Piece by piece. My sister sleeps a lot. I used to sleep a lot. Before all this.

Before I worked for Mamó.

The raven flies above. Mamó is fairly sure she thinks there will be food. The raven is a she. Badb, not Bob. Mamó feeds her well. She doesn’t think it’s loyalty, but I amn’t sure. I offered her a slice of ham yesterday. She flew it far away before she ate it.

Mamó looks behind her, making sure I’m there. I give a nod. The air’s too thin for voices. She strides ahead, so my short legs can’t catch up. I need to hasten. Seven years. I sigh. I don’t like thinking about it. Still, I’m here. I want to do this right. I want to learn.

What we’ve done so far has been about herbs, and ointments. Ingredients. Mamó says the best way to learn magic is through doing. She says that I’m not ready. Says I’m weak. I have to grow a little stronger first. It almost killed me, saving Catlin’s life. The shining thread.

I think about the little orange seed inside the marble sometimes. Wonder if she’s using it at all. What would you need a soul for? The little missing shimmer bit of me. ‘It’s somewhere safe’ and, if I watch and listen, maybe someday I could get it back. Be me again. Be whole.

My hands deep in my pockets, I rustle the salt packets from cafes, the rowan berries, little bits of twigs. My pockets are always full. My hands are dirty. I paint my nails to try to hide the stains.

Mamó’s back is straight and proud ahead. I feel like I’m alone with all my thoughts. Two thousand, five hundred and forty more days to go. A flash of something foxy through the gorse. Bright copper fur and eyes. Something ending, something else beginning.

And all of it is strange but so am I.

The morning bright, I feel like I belong.