Tania Carver - Cage of Bones

That left only one option.

She looked straight ahead and, not giving herself enough time to think, jumped straight down the opening into the cave.

The Gardener lunged for Phil, blade out.

Phil knew he had to do something, tried a gamble. He stepped back. Held up the hood. ‘Careful. You don’t want this damaged, do you?’

The Gardener stopped. Stared at him. Eyes glowing with a deep, dark hatred. ‘Give me that.’

‘What, this?’ Phil had thought the hood would be important to him. He held it higher up and further back. ‘You want this?’

‘Give it to me!’ The Gardener screaming, madness and rage in his voice. ‘Give it to me… ’ He broke down into a coughing fit.

Phil watched him. He didn’t look well. It seemed like it was only madness and hatred that was keeping him going.

‘Let me out of here,’ said Phil, his voice as calm and reasonable as he could make it, ‘and we’ll talk.’

Coughing was his only answer. The Gardener bent double, back heaving.

Eventually he straightened up. There was blood round his mouth. He ignored it, simply wiping it away on his sleeve. Stared at Phil.

‘Stay there,’ he said. ‘Give me my face back… ’

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘Talk first. Mask later.’

The Gardener continued to stare, mouth open, breathing heavily, wheezing like a Tardis. Bloodied strings of saliva crisscrossed his lips, oscillated with each breath.

‘I know who you are,’ said Phil.

The Gardener said nothing.

‘Richard Shaw, right? Tricky Dicky Shaw. Psychotic ex-gangster.’

The Gardener cocked his head on one side, frowned, as if remembering a song he hadn’t heard in years.

‘Well you might not be a gangster, but you’re still psychotic. What happened?’

‘Richard Shaw… is dead… ’

‘No,’ said Phil. ‘Paul Clunn is dead.’

‘No… ’ The Gardener shook his head. ‘Richard Shaw… no longer exists.’

‘Neither does Paul Clunn. I’ve seen the body.’

‘Paul was the best man I ever met. He… he saved my life… ’

‘And that’s how you repaid him.’

No… ’ His head shaking more violently now. ‘No… When Richard Shaw came here, came to the Garden, he was… destroyed. He needed help. Rebuilding. He was seeking the truth. And he found it. Paul showed him.’

‘And you killed him.’

Another shake of the head. ‘No. No. No. Wrong. All wrong.’

‘What happened, then?’

‘Took his soul. He lives.’ He hit his chest. Winced in pain, coughed. ‘In here. Keep him in the cave. In here.’

‘Of course. The cave. It’s inside you.’

‘He saved my life. Was a… a visionary. Made me an artist. And he was… he was… dying. Cancer. We tried to save him. Gave him drugs, chanted… But no. Nothing. That was why he did the Garden. He knew. Knew he was dying. Wanted to… to… make a difference… ’

The Gardener’s eyes were shining. Lost to the present. Phil waited, knew there would be more.

‘He spoke to me alone. Asked me to… to… to kill him. To pass him over, he said. Be one with the earth. The Garden was in good hands, he said. The Elders… So I did. I made sure he didn’t suffer. Did what he wanted. And I cried. Killing him. And then… ’ He turned his head upwards. Phil saw tears in his eyes. ‘Then here he was… in me… ’

Phil had no idea whether what the Gardener was telling him was true. He didn’t care. He just wanted to get out of there and take Finn with him.

‘Paul… was the greatest man who ever lived. He showed Richard Shaw what he could become. Opened the light that shone inside him. Turned him into… me. The Gardener.’

‘How?’

‘Told me I had to look out for the Garden. Tend it. Whatever happened, I had to tend the Garden.’

‘And this is your idea of tending the Garden. Killing the people in it.’

Another shake of the head, but more to himself this time. Like he was explaining it to himself. ‘No… no… you don’t understand. I had to. Sacrifice. There had to be… sacrifice. To the earth. The seasons. For the Garden to grow.’

‘So you sacrificed children all this time. You killed children.’ Phil couldn’t keep the anger and disgust from his voice. He looked down at Finn, saw the boy huddled shivering in the corner. Eyes wide, staring. Face wet from crying.

‘No,’ said the Gardener, ‘they’re passing over. Not killed. Just passing over.’

‘Where?’

‘The earth. Part of life itself. The glorious cycle. Paul went first. He knew. Made it right for the rest to follow… ’

Phil couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘And that’s how you justify it, is it? How many have you killed, Dicky?’

‘Don’t call me that!’

‘How many? You’ve been doing this for years, haven’t you?’

‘Needed to. To keep the Garden flourishing… ’

‘For years. And you’ve never been stopped, never been caught.’

‘No.’ The Gardener shook his head. A smile played on his lips. ‘I grew my own.’

Anger rose within Phil. ‘For sacrifice? You had children bred to kill?’

‘The Garden has to survive. You don’t understand… ’

‘Oh I understand that bit. I understand why you think you were doing it. But it wasn’t just that, was it?’ Phil grabbed the bars of the cage. Knuckles white. ‘You do it because you enjoy it.’

Another smile from the Gardener. Eyes wet and glittering and insane. ‘You’ve got to enjoy your work… ’

His words hit Phil almost physically. Like he had been punched in the stomach, the head. He thought of the calendar, the solstices and equinoxes marked. A sacrifice for each one. Four a year. And all those years…

He couldn’t come up with a number. Didn’t want to come up with a number.

All those bodies, those unmarked children’s graves…

While he was distracted, the Gardener made a grab for the hood. Phil noticed what he was doing in time, jumped back.

‘Stay where you are,’ he said. ‘Get back.’

‘Make me… ’ The blade shining in the light.

Phil picked up the hood, held it above his head. Began to pull it down. The Gardener saw what he was doing.

‘No… no… you can’t… can’t wear it… only… only me… ’

‘You killed your own son,’ said Phil, the hood on top of his head. ‘Adam Weaver. So don’t give me that bullshit about the Garden. You killed your own son.’

‘No! He was Richard Shaw’s son. Long ago. But not any more. He wanted the Garden ended. They told me. He had to be stopped. No son.’

‘So you killed him.’ Phil pulled the hood down further.

‘No!’

The Gardener jumped forward again. Phil wasn’t so fast this time. The Gardener made a grab for the hood, slashing through the bars with his blade. He caught Phil on the back of the hand. Phil let go of the hood. The Gardener grabbed it before it could fall to the floor. Scuttled away from the cage. Pulled it over his head once more.

Phil looked down at his hand. Blood was pouring out. He had to do something. Quickly.

‘The boy,’ said the Gardener, pointing his blade at Finn. ‘Now. It’s time.’ He swung the blade at Phil. ‘You, afterwards.’

Phil thought desperately. He located the spot in the bars that he had cracked with his twisting. Grabbed hold of it again. Tried to ignore the pain in his hand, his body. Twisted. Kept twisting.

It cracked once more. Louder this time.

‘No… ’

The Gardener turned, moved towards him.

Phil stared at him, watching him advancing. Saw his nightmare made real. Saw his past, his haunted childhood before him. Looked down at Finn. Knew that it could have been him there. If Don and Eileen hadn’t saved him. He could have been one of the dead children. Unknown in life, lying in an unmarked grave.