Deep Roots (Iris' Atlantis 2)

53: Moth

Master Green Heart took off his glasses and set them onto a rock. He rolled up his sleeves.

"Here, wouldn't you say? Doesn't it almost seem as if the trees left here before the reeds and rocks just this spot for her?"

I nodded and gave him one shovel.

Master Green Heart pushed the edge into the moss.

"How about I do the digging?"

I blinked. Shard straightened up and turned. Even Bramble uncrossed his arms.

Plume had taken off his high heels and left his white shirt in a pile on a moss covered rock. He had taken hold of the other shovel and was leaning onto it.

A sly smile played on his lips when he remarked to Bramble:

"If it is of any consolation to you, I really cannot see myself in a mirror. But your goggling is truly flattering."

Colour rose to Bramble's cheeks and he crossed his arms again, fixing his gaze to the branches of the tree he had chosen for support.

"Oh, I absolutely hate vampires," Master Green Heart sighed.

"I am going to pretend I didn't hear that... now. We can talk of the dozen other times you've said it while I have been living with you. But let's have that conversation tomorrow shall we? When this interesting business is concluded and Marigold is serving us those absolutely delightful cookies she makes. Do you mind?"

Master Green Heart did not mind Plume taking over his place. He came to me instead and drew me back.

Plume hit the shovel into the ground with a loud smack. It sailed in fully, so that even a part of the shaft went into the moss. He drove the shovel into the ground three more times and finally lifted free a tuft of earth, moss and roots. He hefted the trophy onto Bramble's feet.

That was the spot Plume chose to use for piling up his shovel fulls. He worked quickly and apparently effortlessly. The shovel smacked loose roots and dirt. But Plume wasn't afraid of getting his nails dirty either. Rocks he dug out with his bare hands.

Bramble wore a deep frown when the pale man dug out of the ground a rock that was bigger than a football. When Plume's back was turned, Bramble tried lifting it. I surveilled his valiant efforts from the corner of my eye. To his credit, he did get the rock moving. But he couldn't lift it. Not by himself. He looked at Plume and frowned, settling back against his tree.

It was a familiar little process I had seen my son go through thousands of times. He came in contact with the uncanny, inspected it, frowned a little and then shrugged the whole thing to the back of his memory where it wouldn't bother his busy mind that had fences to fix and closets to build. No time for magic when there were always more broken things to mend and all the time less young men to do the job.

Master Green Heart had drifted off from the grave digging and had found his way to an especially vibrant willow. He had placed his hand against the bark and inspected its emerald green leaves.

"I know it's this one," he muttered.

When I came to the tree, he turned to me to verify his suspicions, but I had questions of my own and beat him to it:

"You've seen a vampire before."

"Oh. Yes. Of course. The cities are full of them." He glanced behind his back to Plume. "Annoying creatures."

"You've never told me of them."

"I don't like them."

I waited in silence for the other man to realize I expected him to elaborate on the subject.

Master Green Heart made a face.

"They kill people. Not often. And to my understanding only those who are close to dying.

But they also control people. Just looking at one can be lightly intoxicating. But if they get a taste of your blood they can actually make you do almost anything."

I nodded.

"Daisy called it linking."

Master Green Heart crossed his arms in a gesture that was very uncharacteristic of him.

"I find it hard to imagine that the witch likes him any better than I do."

I looked at him for a long moment. It was clear he had had encounters with creatures like Plume that had somehow gone badly. There was a personal tale behind the coldness in his gaze.

I didn't pry further but directed my attention to the willow that had drawn us here.

"I think you are right. About the tree. It really is Lily, I say. We should maybe make a sign or..."

"It was Marigold." Shard interrupted me. "She was linked. And proud of it. She remembers some of it. She knows what Plume is. She knew it the moment she saw Nettle's painting of him. I fear... I fear terrible, petty things."

He seemed willing to sprain a muscle in exchange for a chance to kick the tree in front of him. Or, more likely, the tree beside it.

He looked at me fiercely.

"I hate the way he makes me feel. Old. Insecure. Scared. I want him out of the house almost as badly as I want my daughter back from the elves. Maybe more." He threw his hands in the air. "And he knows it!"

"You are not wrong."

We both started.

Plume had sneaked to stand right behind us. He still held the shovel in one hand and was streaked with earth from head to toe. I took an involuntary step back, putting distance between myself and his burning red eyes.

"So," Plume continued. "Let me tell you how I feel about all this. Because it is not out of the sheer pleasure of making old men uncomfortable that I am staying here drinking my afternoon tea with an old couple and digging graves. I don't especially enjoy your scorn, which I can feel every hour of my wakefulness, radiating from you, Master Green Heart. If I could do anything else than sit put, I would. That is why I am here. It is the only thing I can do to pass the time other than fiddle my thumbs.

"I want my Uncle back. And then I will be on my merry way, out of this despicable, narrow-minded little village that reminds me of my despicable childhood town and its narrow-minded, little people.

"If I make you feel old, or insecure, or scared, let me tell you that the elves make me feel young, insecure and scared. I hate every second of it. And I want out. But I want out with my best friend intact.

"The hole, by the way, is now deep and wide enough to put an old small woman inside. You can finish the task. I am going to swim. See you at home, Master Green Heart."

The vampire placed the shovel against the willow and turned tail. He plunged headlong into the lake and did not surface.

Even Bramble came to look at the water when the ripples had long died out.

"Do vampires breathe?" I asked Shard.

My friend shook his head.

"I don't think so."

Bramble was taking off his shoes. I put my hand on his shoulder. He let me direct him back to the hole in the ground.

"How about we lift now Fig in, say a few words, and then you cover him up... with that dirt you already shovelled from the ground."

Again I watched it: Bramble frowned. He looked at the hole, at the pile of dirt, at the apparently dead woman on the ground. He shuddered.

And then he got on with the task in front of him while Master Green Heart collected a white shirt from a tree branch.