Nightshade and Oak

by Molly O'Neill

Genres: Historical Fantasy; Romantic Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

An Iron Age goddess must grapple with becoming human in this delightful historical fantasy of myth and magic from the author of the instant hit Greenteeth.
 
When Malt, the goddess of death, is accidentally turned into a human by a wayward spell, she finds she's ill-equipped to deal with the trials of a mortal life.

After all, why would a goddess need to know how to gather food or light a fire?
 
Trapped in a body that's frustratingly feeble, she's forced to team up with Bellis, warrior daughter of Boudicca on a perilous journey across Roman-occupied Britain to the afterlife to try to restore her powers. As animosity turns to attraction, these two very different women must learn to work together if they are to have any hope of surviving their quest.

Release date: February 3, 2026

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 400

Sample

I had run a hundred leagues by the time the moon had risen. The night sky glittered above me as I paused at the eastern end of the Chalk, listening to the wind whistle along the escarpment. The dogs settled around me, flopping to the ground and panting loudly. I stretched, reaching up to the harvest moon so that all the vertebrae in my back seemed to pop apart. I dropped my arms and swung them around, bouncing on the balls of my bare feet.

The dogs formed a white fur carpet along the ground and the leader, Dormath, snuffled at the pockets of my tunic, hoping for a snack. I pulled them out to show him they were empty, and he yawned in disgust and plopped down next to me. I laughed, the wind catching the sound and whipping it away from me, down the slopes of the high Chalk towards the bloodstained grass of the valley below us.

I could feel them, the dead and the dying, out there in the darkness. Many had passed on swiftly, but some had lingered, lost and confused, not knowing the way. Any humans still living would be fleeing the battlefield, seeking out shelter in tents and around campfires. They feared the wandering souls of the fallen, the cold hands of ghosts both Roman and Briton creeping through the night. But I feared nothing, not even the dead. I was here for them.

Since I was called into being, many seasons past, I have guided untold numbers of exhausted souls, setting them on the path to Annwn, the afterworld. Most go easily, eager to find rest. Some fight, some curse, some threaten. They all go west in the end, for I am Mallt Y Nos, the Nightshade, Goddess of Death, and no soul on this island has ever escaped me. They go west, beyond the sinking sun, and none have ever returned to this mortal world.

I lingered a little longer on the hillside. Not because I dreaded the work ahead of me in the valley – blood worried me as little as water. No, I stayed because the night was beautiful, the wind was clear and cool, and the dead would wait for me. I had passed innumerable nights like this, perched up on the high places of the world, the dogs at my feet, the wind tugging at my clothes and rippling through my long black hair.

I dug my toes into the thin grass of the Chalk, enjoying the softness of the dusty rock.

Dormath shuffled a little closer to my side and I rested my hand on his back, stroking the pale, silky fur. The others pricked up their red ears, always alert for any special treatment their brother might be getting. I knew that they would already be smelling the blood on the battlefield – the iron and earth stench of it.

I heard a horn blowing in the distance, deep and eerie, and glimpsed huge, elongated shadows moving along the horizon. The Wild Hunt were abroad tonight. I strained my eyes but even my immortal sight couldn’t discern more than the vague feeling of their shapes against the sky. I knew Gwyn ap Nudd would be leading them home from the battle. There would be feasting at his court tonight, as there always was after the mortals battled. I flexed my toes again and stood up. I had a long night’s work ahead of me, but time moved differently with the Hunt. If I finished my task before dawn, I could run down the Wild Roads to wherever he and his queen had made camp and join in the celebrations. I wouldn’t mind spending a little time with the Hunt this evening, perhaps courting one or two of the beautiful and unkind fae.

I ruffled Dormath’s ears.

“Come on, boy, we’ve tarried long enough. There is much to do.”

He yawned again at me then stretched out luxuriously and barked at his fellows. They jumped up, yipping and yelping at each other and causing general confusion. I stepped through them, sniffing the air for the scent of souls and blood. I gazed out at the glittering plains and considered my approach.

I would go down to the south-eastern corner of the battlefield and wind my way west and north as I tended to the dead. I called to the dogs, and they fell silent, forming a long line at my side. I took one last breath of the clean Chalk air and took off down the hill at a sprint.

The world tilted around me as I ran, down steep slopes and sharp river gullies. I didn’t fall, I sprinted, each bound propelling me forward as I ran faster and faster. A human would have tripped, breaking an ankle at the least, a neck at worst, but my feet were sure. I felt the wind lift my hair and stream it behind me, rippling like a war banner.

The dogs trailed after me, baying as loud as Gwyn’s war horns with the joy of the Hunt. They galloped along, legs outstretched, trying to overtake me. I laughed for the joy of the chase and sped up, pulling away from them though they howled.

I reached the base of the Chalk and rocketed forward, finding my pace over the rolling fields, dodging between hedges and great spreading oaks. I felt cold stone beneath my feet as we passed over the new Roman road that pointed north and heard the claws of the dogs skittering on the stone slabs. We were close now, the iron stench of blood burning in my nostrils. I could feel the dogs’ energy change and sensed my own heartbeat quickening in my chest in anticipation. Then we were there and even the dogs pulled up in shock.

The field of battle was wide, tilted down towards the north from where I stood. I thought I recognised the place. A few weeks before it had been a meadow full of long grass and waist-high wildflowers. Now it was a marsh, the grass ripped up and the soil churned into a mire of mud and blood. Broken chariots were scattered across the field, wheels still spinning in the wind.

Spears and javelins forested the ground, forming spiky clusters where once cornflowers had bloomed. The smell was terrible, blood and shit and sweat, all mixed in with smoke and the bitter reek of the earth. Bodies were strewn everywhere, still fresh enough to twitch. A few were Roman, their gleaming metal armour and proud crests of horsehair spattered with mud. Most of them were Britons, men and women both, dressed in woollen trousers and leather boots.

Moonlight glinted on golden torcs, silver earrings, red blood.

There were thousands of them, tens of thousands. This was the end of the Firebrand’s rising, I thought to myself. The Romans had crushed the rebellious tribes of the Iceni and the Trinovantes, ground any hope of resistance into the dirt for a generation at least. That cheered me a little: the massacres at Londinium and Camulodunum had resulted in months of long nights for me. Tonight was the worst of it, but would be the last of those for years to come.

There was a mewling sound by my feet. I looked down. A Briton was half curled into a ball, cradling the bloody stump where his left hand had been. From the shield still clutched in his right I could see he was one of the Trinovantes, and I remembered all of his clan brothers and sisters that I had helped over the past thousand years. He turned to peer up at me and I saw he had lost half his face, the exposed eyeball swivelling in the night air. I crouched down and laid a hand on his cheek.

“Come,” I whispered, then strengthened my voice into a command. “Come.” I lifted my hand from his face and pulled. His soul came free easily and his body shuddered and fell still, now no more than so much cooling flesh. I cupped the silvery fragment of light that had been the man’s hopes and dreams, his shame and his fury, everything that had brought him here to die in this field of ruined flowers. I lifted it to my mouth and blew. The breeze caught the soul and carried it up and away. I watched as it floated off, slow at first, but then the pull of the afterworld caught it, and it vanished from sight. I could still feel it as it drifted, flowing westwards, riding the wind to Annwn.

An easy start. The man had wanted to be free of his agony but had not known how to let go. I clicked my tongue and the dogs fanned out around me in a wide arc. I whistled and they leapt forward, fae-quick, running in looping circles around the battlefield. Even all two dozen of them could not cover the whole space but they barked as they ran, snapping at the air. I sensed the lingering spirits drawing back from the edges of the carnage. Good. I had enough to do tonight without traipsing after some poor tribesman’s soul before it twisted itself into something dark and horrific and started eating his countrymen.

I squared my shoulders and set off across the field. On average only one in twenty or so dead or dying had trouble departing and needed my assistance, but when the slain were as numerous as this I had thousands to release. I passed quickly, trailing my long fingers over hideous wounds and shattered bones, helping the souls trapped by pain to find their way out of their bodies and into the cool night air. I had stopped noticing the foul smell of the slaughter, focusing only on my work.

A handful of the Roman casualties were also in need of my aid. I paused at the first of them and looked down. He looked no older than twenty and a bronze amulet dangled from his fingers, bloody from where he had tried to hold in his intestines. I trapped his soul in my hands and called for Dormath. He broke off from the loop and padded over to me, his jaws dripping with gore.

“That better have been from one of the horses,” I said to him sternly. He wagged his tail, and I decided not to check.

“Here, watch this for me,” I said, floating over the Roman’s soul. He bounced it off the top of his head and whined as I turned back to look for more.

Dormath shepherded the Roman souls in a separate group as I picked my way through the field, dashing around and preventing them from wandering. When I was satisfied I had found them all, I whistled to him again and he sat down, following the wispy shapes with a yellow-eyed gaze in case one dared make a break for it. I reached out and touched them. They were panicked, lost in a foreign land. I could tell these were soldiers who had not expected to die, they had not prepared themselves for death. I used a little of my magic to summon a breeze and lifted each of the souls onto it. Then I took a deep breath and pushed out, sending all of them south, back over the sea to the continent, to whatever afterlife they had believed in.

I watched them disappear then turned back. Dormath was rummaging in the ruins of a gilded chariot. I could tell from the way he was moving that he had found something else to eat. I sighed and went over. The owner of the chariot had apparently decided to take half a roasted chicken into the battle, presumably against the risk of feeling peckish as he rode down the legions. Dormath was wolfing it down as if he hadn’t eaten in days. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and tried to fish the chicken out.

“Give me that, you’ll choke on the bones!”

Dormath wriggled out of my grip and streaked away from me, rejoining his brothers as they ran endless circuits. A chicken leg dangled from his jaws. I considered going and catching him. I was the faster even if he was more agile, but there was still so much to do. I gave him the eye and turned back to my labour.

I soon gave up on my hopes of joining the Wild Hunt’s celebrations as it was becoming clear that I would be working all night, would struggle even to finish before the sun came up. I was as at ease in daylight as in the dark, but soon the humans would start to trickle back to the battlefield, looking to loot the bodies or search for loved ones. I disliked live humans; I had no business with them before they died, and the dogs were prone to chasing them.

The eastern sky was beginning to blush with the light of a red dawn by the time I had finished combing the battlefield. Crows and ravens were clustering in the trees to the west of me, waiting for the dogs and me to leave. They would have a feast ahead of them, I thought, there would be enough meat to stuff every bird south of the Pennines. The thought didn’t bother me, death would always lead to life. I straightened up from the last body, a pale-haired Iceni woman who had been split almost in half.

I sent her soul into the air and called the dogs to heel. They rushed at me, panting and wagging their tails. I bent down and patted them, enjoying how the doggish smell blocked out the stink of blood.

“Come on then, are we done? Ready to go again?” In my mind I was already planning out the next journey, intending to head north. Boudica’s rebellion had occupied so much of my time of late that I had been forced to neglect the northern and western lands and there were bound to be souls there who needed my help. I would run through the woods taking a more circuitous path than I would at night, in order to avoid settlements. I flexed my toes and bobbed up and down again. The sun was threatening to rise at any moment, so I put the battlefield to my back and set off.

I had barely reached the edge of the trees when I felt something. A soul in pain, near death but too tangled up in itself to die. I slowed and looked back at the dogs.

“One more, then.”

I followed the sense of anguish into the woods. The morning light was quickly blocked out by the leaves, and I found myself darting between the trees in almost total darkness. There was something else alongside the pain I was sensing, a kind of pressure, causing my ears to pop repeatedly as I approached. Dormath growled a little and I almost tripped over as he dashed in front of me, a pale blur in the gloom.

I moved closer and identified the cause of the pressure. It was magic. A strange kind of magic but magic nevertheless. I was used to my own power, and I knew well the enchantments and tricks of the fae, both high and low. This was different, imprecise and weak, though its meagre strength was building. It reminded me of the earth spells the druids had woven, using blood and tree sap to paint ancient symbols through which to channel their incantations. Ah! I knew it now. Witchcraft. I rarely saw witches or wizards; they almost never needed my assistance in finding the final path. I had heard of them, though, and I was surprised to find one whose power hadn’t been diminished by whatever was killing her.

It was nothing to worry me, though, so I kept going, crunching twigs and leaves under my feet. The magic was growing as I neared, building in my ears and in my nose. Dormath sneezed and growled again.

A small glade appeared in front of me, well grassed and open to the dawn sky above. The light was a pinkish gold, bathing the slender elm trees and making the beads of dew sparkle like quartz in granite. I searched for the dying witch. A tall woman sprawled at the base of one of the trees, her long red hair splayed out around her. I moved out into the open and sniffed but her soul had long since gone. There was a sharp intake of breath from the side of me and I turned.

There were two more women in the shadows, one stretched on the ground beneath a spreading oak, her hand pressed to a bloody wound in the front of her dress, the other, barely more than a girl, crouched by her head. I moved a little closer, tasting the agony and confusion of death on the air. I had not bothered to glamour myself or the dogs and I heard the dying woman’s breath catch in her throat. I waved to the dogs to stay back and knelt in front of her, reaching out a hand to touch her face. I noticed she was muttering something, her lips moving in a blur even as she stared at me.

I smiled at her, thinking she was probably praying. A calming habit for humans, though it didn’t make much difference to me. The other girl leaned forward just as I laid my hand on the dying woman’s forehead. I saw her open her mouth to protest, even as my palm brushed the skin.

There was a huge crash as the magic I had sensed exploded, ballooning out to encompass the three of us. I reached for the woman’s soul, but it pulled back at me, draining power through the channel I had opened. I wrenched my hand back and there was a great cracking sound. I smelled burned metal and salt as I was flung backwards, my body arcing through the air until I hit something solid, and then there was nothing but blackness.

A human was groaning in pain somewhere close to me. They were making a terrible fuss; the sound was like an injured cow. I wished they would stop. There was some kind of problem with my head, and I needed to focus on it. I opened my mouth to tell them to be quiet when I realised the moaning was coming from me. This feeling in my head was… pain? It was different from the sympathetic agony I was used to sensing from the dying, sharper and more debilitating. I could barely focus my thoughts. They seemed blurred and slow.

I reached up a hand and felt a new bump on the back of my head. It was sore, sending fresh waves of discomfort through me when I poked at it. I prodded it again, just to confirm I wasn’t imagining it. I groaned again, without meaning to. No, it was definitely real. How strange, I had never injured myself before.

I cracked open my eyes and looked up. The sky was a very bright, very pale blue overhead, painted with long streaks of white clouds. Mid-morning at the very earliest. I must have been unconscious for a while. I tried to sit up, but my legs weren’t working the way they ought to and as I raised my head the throbbing got worse.

“Oh,” came a voice from my left and a figure appeared above me. It was definitely human and seemed strangely familiar. Coppery hair framed a face covered in a truly astonishing number of freckles that made the grey-green eyes now looking down at me seem even brighter by comparison. I frowned and the face tilted to one side.

“You’re awake, then? I thought you might be about to die.” The woman didn’t seem particularly bothered by the idea. “Here.” She shoved out a hand. I inspected it, noticing the skin on the back of her arms was just as freckled as her face, then knocked it aside and sat up, making a great effort to ignore the pain in my head. My vision blurred and I swayed, suddenly unable to make the world stay still around me. I pushed through the vertigo and forced my vision to sharpen.

I inspected my surroundings. I was in a small forest clearing, the ground covered in grass and studded with daisies. I couldn’t see my dogs anywhere, though that wasn’t unusual; they were prone to wandering. As I looked around, I spotted another woman, lying dead between meandering tree roots.

My memories slotted into place: the trapped soul, the two other women, the magic. I snapped back to the freckled woman, still kneeling beside me. I struggled to my feet, clutching onto the tree trunk to stay steady, and looked for the third human, the dying one. She was lying near where I had seen her last night, still and pale. The freckled woman grabbed for my arm, but I threw her off and stomped over to the side of the glade, eager to do my duty and then leave.

Or I tried to. I managed the first stride, but with my second I felt my foot land on something incredibly sharp. I wobbled and fell, clutching my injured foot. I inspected the sole, finding a scrape in the soft flesh, and looked around for the cause. It must be an enchanted dagger, a knife of obsidian, something powerful that should not be left lying around. There was a rather angular stone beside me, but I had never been hurt by something so paltry before.

“What is this?” I said aloud, massaging my foot. The freckled woman looked over at me, her face blank with confusion.

“Well, if you will insist on walking about barefoot, what do you expect?” Her tone was unsympathetic and more than a little rude.

I glared at her; humans were usually more polite when they addressed me. I still didn’t understand what had happened to my sole. I always went barefoot.

A mystery for later. Now I wanted to leave. I hauled myself up again and set off for the dying woman, walking more tentatively this time. There was still something not quite right; my balance seemed off, and I was taking shorter steps than usual. It seemed to take an age to reach her side, and my muscles felt stiff and sore. I bent down next to the third woman, no more than a girl really, reaching out to touch her cheek.

It was warm and smooth, strange for someone on the brink of death. I listened but I couldn’t hear her heartbeat, nor sense the condition of her spirit. Her chest was still and she wasn’t breathing. I slid my hand under her chin, feeling for a pulse.

“Don’t touch her,” said the freckled one behind me. I ignored her again. There was no pulse that I could feel. I pressed my finger a little deeper, wanting to check I was not mistaken.

Something grabbed my arm and yanked me away.

“I said, don’t touch my sister.” She had grabbed my wrist, holding it in an iron grip. I tried to shake her off, but all my writhing had no effect. I turned to look at her properly for the first time.

She was tall, towering over me, and I was taller than most humans. I could see the muscles wrapping around her arms like ivy. Tall and strong as she was, she shouldn’t have been able to pull me around like that. Something was wrong. I replayed my memories; the girl had been dying, brutally injured, I was sure of that. Now she was healed and not quite dead. It didn’t make any sense.

“Who are you?” asked the woman, still holding my arm. I summoned up all the dignity I had and glared at her.

“I am Mallt Y Nos, Mallt of the Night. The Nightshade. I am the Shepherd of the Dead and Dying. I have been easing souls to Annwn since your grandmother’s grandmother was a girl. I am darkness, I am endless. Now, would you kindly let go of my arm!”

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me. Then she let go of my arm and laughed. Peals of laughter echoed off the trees as the freckled woman bent almost in half, leaning on her knees and wheezing.

“You, the Nightshade, I can’t, I can’t.” She broke off into further laughter. I rubbed my arm where she had gripped it, trying to soothe the circulation back.

“I am Mallt Nightshade,” I said, unhappily aware that my voice was a little reedier than normal. She looked up at me again then snorted.

“You should be careful taking her name like that, a chit like you. The real Mallt is not to be trifled with. My word, and I thought I’d never laugh again.”

“I am the real Mallt,” I insisted. She straightened up and looked at me, her eyes skimming up and down, levity vanished. I wondered if it had been more a release of stress than real mirth.

“Mallt of the Night is ancient and beautiful, a goddess of dark mercy,” she said, eyes stony. “She is said to be tall and slender as a young sapling, surrounded always by the Cwn Annwn, the hounds of hell. No disrespect to you, whoever you are, but you look like half the starved farm girls in Britain. You couldn’t walk two steps across the clearing without tripping. How would you run from mountain to moor to guide the souls of the dead?”

“Firstly, I don’t usually trip,” I said, ignoring the rest of her insulting talk. “Secondly, the dogs were around here somewhere, they’ve probably just wandered off.”

I pursed my lips to call them to me with my customary whistle, high and clear. It didn’t come out as loud as usual. I waited for the dogs to appear from the shadows and bound towards me, but there was nothing, and the freckled woman rolled her eyes and turned back to her sister. I followed her, looking around for my companions. At the woman’s feet lay a pile of fur.

“Dormath!” I yelped, falling to my knees. He rolled over and yipped at me, looking sleepy but otherwise unharmed. I felt a little of the panic subside, but where were the others?

“What have you done to the rest of them? There should be more,” I hissed, turning back to her. I rarely got angry but when I did fae lords had been known to turn tail and run. This woman didn’t so much as flinch from my fury.

“I haven’t done anything to your stupid dogs. This one was here when I woke up. I haven’t even touched him.” She leaned over, peering at Dormath. “What breed is he? He looks big enough to be a wolf, but I’ve never seen one with that colouring. Pale fur, red ears, almost like…”

“I told you, he’s one of the Cwn Annwn, my hunting hounds.”

The woman glanced up at me again. “I could almost believe he was. But how can you be Mallt? You don’t look like much, you’re not even that tall.”

“I am tall,” I said, “you’re just a giant. Not a real giant, I mean, although you could be. You’re just taller than most humans. And I’m not human, can’t you tell? Doesn’t my face glow with ineffable beauty?”

The woman pressed her lips together, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She shook her head.

“No. I mean, not that you’r. . .