sea,
While I’m lying on my pillow, come and take my pain from me…
Hell would be an eternity of Nuala’s lyrics, thought Toby. Anyway it wasn’t the Weeping Willow, it was the White Willow, salix alba, with its available salicylic acid. That’s what killed the pain.
Pilar was lying in her cubicle, on her bed, with her beeswax candle still burning in its tin container. She stretched out her thin brown fingers. “Dearest Toby,” she said. “Thank you for coming. I wanted to see you.”
“You did it yourself!” said Toby. “You didn’t tell me!” She was so sad she was angry.
“I didn’t want you to waste your time in worrying,” said Pilar. Her voice had dwindled to a whisper. “I wanted you to have your nice Vigil. Now come and sit beside me, and tell me what you saw last night.”
“An animal,” said Toby. “Sort of like a lion, but not a lion.”
“Good,” whispered Pilar. “That’s a good sign. You’ll be helped with strength when you need it. I’m glad it wasn’t a slug.” She gave a tiny laugh; then her face contorted in pain.
“Why?” said Toby. “Why did you?”
“I got the diagnosis,” said Pilar. “It’s cancer. Very advanced. So, best to go now, while I still know what I’m doing. Why linger?” “What diagnosis?” said Toby.
“I sent in some biopsy samples,” said Pilar. “Katuro did it for me — took the tissue samples. We hid them in a jar of honey and smuggled them to the diagnostic labs at HelthWyzer West — under a different identity, of course.”
“Who smuggled them?” said Toby. “Was it Zeb?”
Pilar smiled as if enjoying a private joke. “A friend,” she said. “We have many friends.”
“We could take you to a hospital,” said Toby. “I’m sure Adam One would authorize — ”
“Don’t backslide, my Toby,” said Pilar. “You know our views on hospitals. I might as well be thrown into a cesspool. Anyway, there’s no cure for what I’ve taken. Now, please hand me that glass — the blue one.”
“Not yet!” said Toby. How to postpone, delay? Keep Pilar with her.
“It’s just water, and a little Willow and Poppy,” Pilar whispered. “Deadens the pain without knocking you out. I want to stay awake as long as possible. I’m good for a while.”
Toby watched while Pilar drank. “Another pillow,” said Pilar.
Toby handed her one of the husk-filled sacks from the bottom of the bed. “You’ve been my family here,” she said. “More than the others.” She was finding it hard to talk, but she refused to cry.
“And you’ve been mine,” said Pilar simply. “Remember to tend the Buenavista Ararat. Keep it renewed.”
Toby didn’t want to tell her that the Buenavista Ararat was lost to them because of Burt. Why upset her? She propped Pilar up with the pillow: she was strangely heavy. “What did you use?” she asked. Her throat was tightening.
“I’ve trained you well,” said Pilar. Her eyes crinkled at the edges, as if the whole thing was a prank. “Let’s see if you can guess. Symptoms: cramps and vomiting. Then a respite period during which the patient appears to improve. But meanwhile, the liver is slowly being destroyed. No antidote.”
“One of the amanitas,” said Toby.
“Clever girl,” Pilar whispered. “The Death Angel, a friend in need.”
“But it will be so painful,” said Toby.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Pilar. “There’s always the Poppy concentrate. It’s the red bottle — that one. I’ll let you know when. Now, listen to me carefully. This is my will. As we say, shrouds have no pockets — all earthly things must be passed from the dying to the living, and that includes our knowledge. I want you to have everything I’ve assembled here — all my materials. It’s a good collection, and it confers great power. Guard it well and use it well. I trust you to do that. You’re familiar with some of these bottles. I’ve made a paper list of the rest, which you must memorize and then destroy. The list is inside the green jar — that one. Do you promise?”
“Yes,” said Toby. “I promise.”
“Deathbed promises are sacred among us,” said Pilar. “You know that. Don’t cry. Look at me. I’m not sad.”
Toby knew the theory: Pilar believed that she was donating herself to the matrix of Life through her own volition, and she also believed that this should be a matter for celebration.
But what about me? thought Toby. I’m being deserted. It was like the time her mother died, and then her father. How many times did she