Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments by T. L. Huchu

Author:T. L. Huchu [Huchu, T. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tor
Published: 2021-12-22T17:00:00+00:00

XXII

As far as grisly ends go, death by hedge creature menagerie never once factored into my calculations. Brother Musashi says stuff like ‘Don’t fear death’, but the way my ticker’s kicking, I’m likely to go down with a myocardial infarction before them plants turn me into fertilizer.

They’ve slowed down, surrounding the sandpit below us. Watching? They ain’t got eyes, but they sure as hell know where we’re at.

Their roots trail on the lawn.

Sharp thorns ready to dig into our flesh.

The badass nuckelavee’s at the head of this whole thing. If I had to go up against a half-man, half-horse situation, I’d have taken my chances with a centaur; they’re always seen as wise and reasonable. The nuckelavee’s a whole different league of bampottary, a mashed-up horse-rider combo stripped of flesh so you can see the muscles and sinew. The rider’s torso has no legs, and he’s grafted onto his horse’s back. His arms are long enough to reach the ground and the claws on them are sharp. They say its breath alone was enough to wilt crops and bring disease upon your livestock. And its name was only ever spoken in fearful whispers. Right now, its topiary incarnation’s coming towards me, claws reaching out.

I whip out the scarf from my pocket.

‘Grab the other end of Cruickshank and pull me up,’ I say.

‘Ha?’

‘My scarf’s called Cruickshank,’ I yell, tossing one end up to Priya. No time to explain that I figured it was old, crooked and a bit of a mad ninja, hence the moniker.

Priya engages the brakes on her chair, precariously positioned on the floating slab. She grabs the scarf with both hands.

‘Quickly, Ropa, it’s right behind you.’

That rustling noise, so close.

‘Come on, Cruickshank, help me out,’ I say.

I leap off my slab, feeling a gust of air from the hedge creature’s attempted grasp. But my scarf doesn’t disappoint. It loops me in an incredible arc through the air until I land right on Priya’s lap.

The floating slab wobbles but holds firm all the same.

A gruesome smile appears on the nuckelavee’s face. It’s a hole drawn through the leaves, and it fills me with dread. Some of the leaves are singed from the Promethean sparks, making him look like something dragged out of hell. You can sense the malice coming off him, from all of these hedge creatures. It’s fucked up.

‘We’ve got ourselves in a right nippleskimpel,’ Priya says.

‘I honestly hadn’t noticed.’ Lowest form of humour, I know. ‘Seriously, I thought you did botany and stuff. Can’t you do an Aquaman and talk to these guys?’

‘That’s fish – plants are a huge difference, involving a central nervous system. You must not have been listening when I told you about counterspells . . . Oh oh. This is bad. Very, very bad.’

I look down and see the nuckelavee rustle an order to the menagerie. The herd parts to create a path, and from the ranks, something walks up that looks like cow parsley. It’s a plant nearly two metres tall with thick, bristly stems, and crowning its head are white flowers in umbels.

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