Barberry for Atonement

by MM Schreier

On the mountain, winter was eternal and so was I. I’d fled here for solitude, to escape the past. But the interlopers kept coming. Sometimes one in a generation, sometimes a dozen. I tried to remember when the last came, seeking to add a voice to the frozen chorus.

Expanding my senses, I felt for the newcomer. I wonder what this one would leave behind.

He wasn’t far off. If he kept up his dogged climb, he’d be here before long.

I shook my head and returned to the here and now.

Blinding sunlight glistened across snow. I felt, rather than saw, the diamond pinpricks reflecting off unrelieved white. A few paces away, a cliff towered over my tiny log cabin with a waterfall of milky turquoise and violet ice poised in a motionless cascade. At its base, a field rippled in snow-capped waves. My footprints had already been scoured away by the wind. 

Somewhere, a dire wolf howled. Her hungry voice echoed across the pass. I scanned the tree line, mountain pine draping the rise in a dozen shades of green and shadow, but I saw no movement. Would the beast catch her prey, or would my solitude be compromised?

I chanted under my breath and an uncanny fog materialized. The haze roiled in lazy curls like a giant’s breath puffing white. It consumed the sunlight and obscured the waterfall of ice, just a few steps away. Waving a mittened hand, I pushed the dense fog toward the forest. Another line of defense if the coming visitor escaped the wolf’s hungry fangs. 

Lantern light shone from the cabin window, spilling golden on the snow. The gabled, second story was dark—with my rickety knees I rarely climbed the stairs—but smoke puffed cheerily from the fieldstone chimney. I sighed and curled my fingers inside their fur-lined mittens, left hand balling into a fist.

How many times must I cross the line to keep my refuge safe? 

A shiver ran through me as I glanced back at the frozen waterfall. Voices called on the wind. Forgotten memories chattered as if they knew what was coming and were ready to welcome another to the fold.

Scowling, I tore my eyes from the fall of ice, stomped the snow from my boots, and went inside. 

Warmth tingled across my chilled face as I unwrapped layers of wool and fur. I laid my soggy mittens on the hearth to dry and stoked the fire. After checking the pot-bellied kettle was full, I swung it over the flames. For a moment, I spread my hands out, letting the right one soak up the delicious heat, skin turning pink. The left one, in its form-fitting black glove, felt numb, deadened by the silk shield. 

Even after all the years, it astounded me the sheer fabric could keep the void contained. Wish that I had known back when I’d lived amongst humans, pretending to be one of them. Accidents had happened. I shook my head and reminded myself the place for the past was in the past. This frozen solitude wasn’t penance; it was refuge.

As the kettle heated, I sorted through tins of dried herbs. Adder's tongue to hinder gossip. Primrose for truth. Lavender for protection. I hesitated, then added barberry for atonement. Just in case. 

On the mountain, the dire wolf cried. I knew her well enough to hear the lament in her voice. The prey had proven elusive. It shouldn't have been a surprise. He’d be determined, probably desperate. All who made the trek were.

I closed my eyes and breathed, sending my awareness beyond my body—out the window, across the snowy incline, skimming over the icy waterfall, and into the swirling fog. I bypassed a snoozing porcupine. Skittered past the frost drake’s den. A thick-coated mountain lion paused, sniffing the air. I touched them each with my senses, acknowledged them as brethren, then passed them by, searching for the one who didn’t belong.

There.

A broad-shouldered man staggered up the mountainside. Frost rimmed his beard and eyelashes. He smelled of persistence, shot through with the sour stench of despair. 

The kettle hissed, bringing me back to myself. I set out the teapot and strainer. Resigned, I placed two blue-patterned cups on saucers. The honey jar was nearly empty. I ground my teeth, but I set it in the center of the table. If I must play host, I would be a gracious one. 

With my gloved hand, I grabbed the kettle and poured steaming water into the teapot, waiting for the delicate porcelain to warm before adding the herbs to steep. I wondered if the man would appreciate the priceless china. Spoils of a war I hadn’t wanted to fight.

I answered the door before he knocked. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“General, I’ve come a long way—”

“Call me Grandmother.” I cut him off. The General was long dead. “Come in, then. The tea is nearly ready.” I stepped back and motioned him inside. “And stomp the snow off your boots. I don’t want puddles on the floor.”

The whispers in the frozen waterfall grew louder, but I shut the door on them. They could wait. All things in their time.

I led the stranger to the table and poured the tea. Without asking, I scooped up a dollop of honey to add to his cup. The spoon scraped the bottom of the jar. Taking in his sad blue eyes and the grey veins marbling his aura, I sighed and added a second spoonful.

As I served the tea, the man’s gaze never strayed from my gloved hand, like a starving dog salivating over a gristled piece of meat. He couldn’t see the danger, the hollowness that could destroy him.

“Please, Grandmother. I’ve come seeking peace.” Tea untouched, he dug in his pocket and dropped a pouch on the table. It jangled, heavy with coins. “I beg you, take away this torment.”

What did I need gold for? All I wanted was my solitude. 

“Are you sure? There is no going back after.” 

The man opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing, then nodded. I sniffed as his pain crept across the table, like a snail oozing from its shell. The stench of loss grew so strong I feared it would linger long after the man left.

Returning the nod, I stood and limped over to the rickety desk in the corner. My joints protested, annoyed to be put to use so soon after sitting down. What was the point of being immortal if you just kept growing older and more decrepit? 

I gathered my supplies and brought them back to the table—parchment, ink, quill, and a bit of twine. Such mundane things to make powerful magic.

“Are you certain, then laddie?” 

The set of his jaw told me all I needed to know. He wouldn’t leave until he got what he came for. Cosmic law said the price of magic was to give freely when asked. I could retreat to this frozen outpost and make myself nearly inaccessible, but even I did not have the power to say no to an earnest plea. Who was I to defy the stars? 

“Brace yourself, then. Once I begin, there’s no stopping.”

I stripped the glove off my left hand. The nothingness caught fire. My glowing fingers reached for him, grazing his temple.

She laughed and spun, her embroidered wedding gown twirling around her ankles. 

My hand throbbed as I took up the quill and transferred the memory to the page. It always started with the happy ones, even though they came to unburden their pain.

Dark curls spilled over her shoulders as she cradled the child to her breast. She leaned close and smelled the boy’s downy hair. 

A tremor ran through me as I pulled more memories from the man’s head. I didn’t pick and choose. He offered and the magic took.

Man, woman, and child sprawled on the bank of a river; the remnants of a picnic lunch spread on a plaid blanket. They laughed, pointing out shapes in the clouds—a dog, a face, a flower.

The quill scratched on the parchment as images disappeared from his mind. Joy and love flowed through me as if it were my own. My hand flared brighter. 

Plague spread across the land and her eyes burned with fever. In the small bed, the boy no longer cried. 

A tear traced the dry riverbed of my wrinkled cheek. I consumed his grief. I lived it.

I could have stopped there. It was what he wanted. 

But he’d bring others, those who would use me. Force me back into their pointless war and use my magic to devour the world. My stomach churned, but I had no choice. One life to save many. 

The magic gorged on him. Memory after memory covered the page.

When it was over, I took a sip of lukewarm tea. The barberry tasted bitter on my tongue. His face was slack as I pulled the glove back onto my hand, hiding the light, and masking the power.

“Grandmother?” Confusion clouded his eyes, and he rubbed his chest. “I feel empty.”

I rolled the page into a scroll and tied it with a neat twine bow.

“Come now, young man. There’s still work to do.”

With a click of my tongue, I bustled him towards the door. He looked lost, and pity pricked my conscience. I grabbed my fire-warmed mittens from the hearth and helped him tug them on. 

Together we walked outside to the base of the waterfall. The voices babbled, each trying to make themselves heard; a thousand stories begging to be remembered. The man leaned closer and put an ear up to the ice as if trying to listen to a muted conversation through a wall. His eyes grew wide.

I snapped my fingers and the whispers fell silent.

“Grandmother? I don’t understand.” His words came out cracked and hesitant. “I’m afraid.” 

“Be brave, dearie. There’s only one thing left to do.”

Trust shone in his eyes. I didn’t deserve it. 

There was no choice.

“Take off your mitten, son. Just for a moment, then you can put it back on.”

The bone dagger was small and sharp. He didn’t make a sound when it sliced across his palm. My gloved hand guided his bare one, splaying bloody fingers flat across the icebound waterfall. This time, the magic came from him, deep in the place regular people denied.

A hole melted in the ice, just the right size to slip the scroll inside.

“You need to do this part, too.” Again, I guided his hand.

In the scrap of eternity between breaths, the hole covered over, sealing the memory inside.

Two new voices danced in the wind.

The man cocked his head, an overgrown hound, as he listened. His kind couldn’t hear like I could—the constant retellings of things best forgotten—but some could catch a word, here and there.

“Collin? Mary?” A dazed expression crossed his face. “Why do they sound familiar?”

I was a fool, a damned sentimental fool for leaving him their names. It wouldn’t matter. There was nothing left but Fate for him now.

“Time you were going, lad.” I gestured to where the sun slipped below the cliff face, the dying light turning the ice a ghostly navy. “You’ll want to be away from here before dark.”

It took several tries to get the mitten back onto his blood-slicked hand. There’d be no recovering the pair now, but I could knit more. I had nothing but time. 

After making sure his scarf covered his ears and his parka buttoned up, I gave him a gentle shove toward the woods. Snow puffed beneath his boots with every step, and he giggled with childlike whimsy. A few more seconds, and he was nothing but another shadow amongst the trees.

A woman’s voice chittered in my ear, an angry chipmunk scolding me for letting him go off alone. 

“Hush, Mary. He made his choice.”

In their icy coffins, more voices cried out.

Remember me.

The sun died as I kept the memories company, old and new. One by one, the stars appeared. They approved of my vigil. Together, we listened to every voice. Someone had to remember. It took all night to relive them all.

It was morning before the voices fell silent, having been heard they once again slumbered. My old bones felt frozen through, but I patted the wall off ice, like an old friend. 

In the small yard, the wind had smoothed away the man's footsteps in the snow, as if he was a phantom that had faded with the morning sun. I welcomed the return of solitude. How far had he gone? Casting my awareness beyond the waterfall and onto the tree-covered mountainside, all I found was the slumbering dire wolf. Crimson stained her muzzle as she slept with the comfort of a creature well sated.