The Tenevita

Every day I thought about throwing that plant into the water where it could never harm another person again. I was close, a few times. Going so far as dangling it over the lapping water where I stood on one of the forest hills that overlooked the lake. The waves struck the hill with ferocity each time this happened as if demanding the sacrifice I had brought. The almost too-perfect green of its leaves trembled from my fingers, its shoots seeming to wrap around my wrist to catch itself in case I dared drop it this time.

And every day I didn’t.

I glared at the potted plant from across the room as if that could cause the greenery to spontaneously combust. The morning sunbeams peeked through the curtains and illuminated the tiny, one-room cottage that lay hidden deep in these cursed woods. The sunlight never seemed to find its way into the corner of the room the plant rested. Tenevita was the name of it. By all appearances, it seemed harmless, one of the most beautiful foliage I’d ever laid eyes on, and that was how it roped me in and tore my life to shreds.

It was covered in a rich green that could only be obtained by being undisturbed by mortal hands. Deep within the forest, it lay, sprouting numerous spear-shaped leaves with netlike veins running along their thin surface that pulsated an ever so faint glow. Three blooms the color of alabaster tempted me with their silken presence. It seemed almost ethereal when I stumbled upon the growth—and an answer to my prayers.

I should have realized what it was the moment I saw it, but my hope squashed any doubts that pushed me to leave it be. I had believed it was a gift from the gods. A retched curse was more like it. You see, I used to be a healer, one of the best in these parts. Villagers would come from miles and miles, through rain or snow, to receive anything from me. Words of wisdom, poultices to heal their aches and wounds, or to call upon my aid for dire cases. I went where I was needed and helped as best I could.

In all honesty, saying I was the best might have been a stretch. My work was different from their land’s healers because of my training underneath the Meditus, a group of scholars gifted by the god Meditus centuries ago to heal. Only a handful of the founders were still alive, those with the Meditus Healing, and have since then taken apprentices.

Fortune favored me on the day of Choosing and I spent ten years of my life learning their ways. From there, I’ve healed and nurtured in the Meditus name. I’d done so proudly until one day that same pride destroyed an entire town. A sickness, unlike anything I had ever seen swept through the village that once skirted this very forest I now resided in. Everything had happened so fast, that it’s hard to piece together the memories racing through my mind from that time. Had it taken weeks, days, hours for the tragedy to happen? I couldn’t remember. All I knew was that plant was to blame.

No, that’s not right.

I was to blame.

A grimace twisted my features as the visions of that time tried to crack my defenses and come rushing back. My chair clattered to the ground as I stood, desperate to try and distract myself. I swept up the basket resting by the door and discarded its contents onto the well-worn table in the center of the cabin. Fragrances both bitter and sweet assaulted my nose as flowers and herbs of all assortments fell out. I don’t know why I bothered to collect them; I could never again walk the path of a healer … no matter how much my heart yearned for it. The cabin was littered with the remains of healing poultices that would never see their jobs finished.

What person would accept healing from someone whose hands were dripping with blood?

Lavender wafted into the air as the plant was crushed in my grip, my fingernails digging painfully into my palms. Ragged gasps pushed past my lips as I tried in vain to control myself, but as soon as my eyes slid over that cursed plant dwelling in the darkness, there was no stopping the memory.

It all happened three seasons ago. Word had reached my ear of a growing sickness that was ravaging these parts. The townsfolk had been desperate and my fellow Meditus Healers had yet to find a cure—or even a way to alleviate their suffering. Hoping I could provide aid, I’d set out at once. The air was foul with the stench of death and burning corpses. I can still smell the sickness. The smoke from numerous piles could be seen miles away, the smell stinging my eyes the closer I rode.

It seemed the living were not much better off than the dead. Many were forced to remain in makeshift camps outside of the villages away from their families until death took them. No one who had contracted this mysterious illness had yet to live from it. The Meditus Healers offered what little comforts they could—and little they were. By the time I arrived, the contents of my stomach were left a few miles back, and the desire to never have come brushed my mind. I had squashed that thought and reminded myself these people needed us—desperately. It was clear from the ashen, worn faces of the village healers, that this was beyond their skill. And I would have been lying if I didn’t think it was beyond the Meditus’s, yet we were their last hope.

Time blurred together. Dark clouds covered the sky so one could hardly tell when it was dawn or dusk. What was the smell of fresh air? Where was the healing warmth of the sun? It seemed as if even mother earth had deserted these people to their fate. In this cursed place, I’d performed more death rites than all my years prior. Things were becoming desperate. Some of the Meditus Healers claimed this was a lost cause and left while few others, such as myself, clung to the hope we could still do some good.

Almost half the townsfolk were dead, and the spread of this illness was reaching farther and farther. Soon we would lose control of the situation that was already on the precipice of shattering. The only place one could find a modicum of peace was the forest lining this quiet town. Large, ancient trees stood calmly against the plague. The air turned crisp and fresh only a few feet in as if the thick boughs of the pine trees blocked anything from entering—at least anything that wasn’t welcomed.

The Meditus Healers took turns collecting herbs and today was my turn. It was a welcome respite, peace always seemed to find me when I was foraging. I didn’t need to travel far to find what we needed to make the few poultices that helped the dying, but my feet led me deeper in. A little longer in the woods wouldn’t hurt, would it? No one would notice.

Farther I went until the branches grew so thick, hardly any sunlight could find its way through. The air was cool, causing goosebumps to travel up my arms. Quietness blanketed an opening I found myself stumbling into where one of the most beautiful plants I’d ever seen dwelt. No sunlight pierced this opening, a surprising fact I wished I’d noticed, the plant emitting its one internal glow. It was so faint, that I didn’t notice until I was inches away from it.

That moment forever grained in my mind.

Vitertor: The flower of life. It had to be! The legendary plant was believed to be sown by Meditus himself as a gift to his followers. Few were planted, only one rumored to have been found and used. But there was no mistaking the glow, those alabaster petals the color of healing. The descriptions in our tomes didn’t do Vitertor justice. This was the answer to our prayers. This was what I was meant to find.

So, I uprooted it and took it back to the village where we ground up the petals, the leaves, and anything it had to offer — except for the last flower. That we would keep for studying and growing. We distributed it to everyone, not just the sick, and we waited for the miracle that was sure to happen. Only it wasn’t a miracle. It was a massacre. The next day, we awoke refreshed and anxious to see how well the flower had worked. Yet once I stepped foot outside my tent, death greeted me, not life. The bodies of all those that had sipped of the plant lay scattered across the fields and town. Their faces were as white as the petal they drank, the streets as quiet as the opening where I’d found it.

And there, in the middle of the makeshift camp we’d made for the sick, was the Vitertor already growing back its gleaming leaves. I didn’t know what to do, my body and mind were numb with grief and guilt. How had they died? Had they suffered? How could the Vitertor have done this? It was with a shattered heart I realized this was no legendary flower crafted by the gods. No, Tenevita was a better name for it: Death Bringer.

It was then, out of fear, that I snatched the wicked object of so many deaths and ran. Ran as far as I could into the forest, leaving my comrades to mend what I’d broken. No one could discover it, only evil would come from it. Many times on that escape I tried to destroy it, but something always seemed to stop me. In my heart, I knew this Tenevita was not of the Earth and couldn’t be destroyed by mortal hands. Out of breath and options, I vowed as I ran to guard the world against it.

One day I would destroy it.

Three years later and I knew I was getting close. I could feel it. More so, I could tell by the way the plant began to dull and my attempts to rid it became more effective. A close call in the fireplace, the roots touching the unforgiving water of the lake, the trembling kitchen knife touching its glowing leaves. It was weakening.

Then it happened — quite by surprise. Just as I did every day, I dangled that horrid object over the water, my grip like iron against trembling leaves. I glared at the object that destroyed so many lives and forced me into hiding. It had taken so much, it deserved no more. It deserved to be where no one could find it, to rot away in its darkness. It deserved death.

As if my thoughts sprung to life, a glow sprouted from the plant, encasing it in golden light. It lasted only a moment, vanished, leaving a blackened, wilted plant behind. I blinked in surprise, my hand snapping open as if the force keeping it closed was gone, and Tenevita dropped into the water below with a plop.

I stood there in disbelief, almost afraid to breathe. After so long, so many attempts to destroy it, it ended just like that? I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Was this some act of Meditus on my behalf? Did I beat the plant at its own game? There would be no knowing, the forest was silent in response to my questions. Morning turned to evening before I dared to move.

For the next few days everything went by in slow motion, and I wondered if I was dreaming. Was I truly free of that evil? Could I go back to the living? To healing? I made no changes until I was certain. I wasn’t about to be tricked by a plant. But as the days turned into weeks, then months I was finally convinced. Tenevita was no more. I’d destroyed it and the lives it took could rest easy.

It took time to readjust back to society and to let go of the mistake I’d made. While their deaths still weighed heavily on my heart, I knew now I could move on. While I took back up the title of Meditus Healer, I stayed in the hut I’d found in the forest: a place where I now found peace and honored the memory of what brought me here.

My eyes slide once more to that corner where the Tenevita once dwelled. My grip tightened on the plant I’d discovered on my weekly trip to the market. It was the first one I’d gotten in years. Without hesitation, I laid it in the corner, burying any last memory of the Tenevita. And for the first time, the sun covered that corner of the cabin, illuminating the plant’s beautiful blue petals.