Catching the Mandragora - from Secrets of the Valley by Simon Mitchell |
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One night Nevli the Herbalist shook me awake. It was just after a new moon and the light of days was short. We took unlit torches through the cold woods to a site not far from Castledore, at the head of a stream. It was a crisp but calm night, and the ultramarine sky was lit with the tiny lights of watching spirits. By the time I caught up with him, Nevli had selected a young birch sapling near to the Mandragora.
Nevli found the mandragon plant in the undergrowth. He had previously marked it with a tiny cloth tied to a stick. The long, smooth leaves of last season had died back, spread flat on the ground. But it was the root he was after. He stuck the torches in the ground and cleared the dead undergrowth back from around the plant, muttering things I could not make out. "Come here Fintan" he said. I had given up trying to catch the end of the whiplash tree and get a knot on it.
I shut my eyes to concentrate; I had seen mandrake roots before, hanging in the herb store at Castledore. They hung on a wooden beam, bunches of mini human torsos, legs ending in single rooty toes. I pictured what the plant in front of me would look like underground. Its legs reaching out, pushing aside the soil as they grew thicker with the rich nutrients. Feathery roots stuck out, lacing through the surrounding dirt, collecting moisture and minerals. "Show yourself, Spirit of the Mandragora," said Nevli. "I come to collect on what we have agreed." I felt the warm assurance flow from Nevli to the plant spirit to confirm the arrangement. The image faded and I opened my eyes to see a tiny wisp dissipate into the damp air. "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing, son," muttered Nevli as he stood up slowly, his knees cracking as he walked over to the sapling, holding his hip and limping. "Just go get one of the torches and hold it so I can see", he sounded impatient. I let go of the branch, which swished up into the air, snatching the plaited twine from his hand.
Near to the plant, and in line with the tree, he pushed the stake into the ground, slanting it towards the plant. I watched as he took a rock and hammered the stick firm into the ground. Then Nevli took a small metal fork from his bag, and gently dug into the earth around the mandrake, taking care not to touch it at any point. He worked the outside of a circle round the plant, carefully spiralling inwards, humming quietly to himself, while I stood lighting his way. He attached twine to the top of the plant, clipping it onto the root-ring somehow, I didn't quite see. He stood and took the sleeve of my jerkin, pulling me over to the sapling. I pulled it down and held it while the herbalist attached the twine from it to the stake. He took the branch from me and slowly let the stake take the strain. It held fast, the energy of the tree captured and anchored. Then the final knot, from the root to the twine attached to the stake. We backed away. He then laid out twine attached to the stake, and he kneeled down the span of four men away, I stood next to him. He told me to shake the rattle, and I set up a noise like a storm of hail on a roof. Nevli tugged the twine, which unwrapped the slipknot on the stake. The desire of the birch to return to its own position tugged the root swiftly out of the ground, to dangle exactly at his shoulder height. "Bring that torch boy!" shouted the herbalist excitedly, "and stop that rattling". He took the plugs from his ears and I put down the rattle and did likewise. Nevli took a black sack from his bag, and unsheathed his knife. He put the open neck of the bag around the dangling plant and held it firmly. With the knife he sliced up against the metal collar and the root dropped from his hand into the sack. Images with thanks to:
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"Attach your twine to the top of this sapling, Fintan, and don't crash about," said he.
He took a carefully wrapped parcel from his bag. From it came a small pot with a lid. He took off the lid and blew, soon there were sparks flying onto one of the torches. He quickly had two torches going while I was still fumbling about trying to tie the twine to the tree, which kept springing up out of my hands. 
"Do what I do, follow me in," said Nevli, pointing at the plant. He sat with his back straight and shut his eyes. I could see Nevli's face muscles relax in the flickering light. I sensed his deep relaxation as he stilled his breath and mind to the task. He had shown me how to see the plants we collected with in inner eye - and ask them questions. 
"OK, over here with the torch now," ordered Nevli, pointing to an older tree. He cast about on the ground and came up holding a stick, the span of two man's hands. Taking a knife from his top, he shaped it, skinning off the bark in long strips. He up-ended the stick on a rock and chopped, sharpening its tip. Then he cut a niche at the other end, and returned with it to the mandrake plant. I followed with the light. 