The Green Ladies: Part 5-The Sanctuary

Hello, everyone! Here is the 5th part. I hope you enjoy!

The Garden of the Green Ladies lay just outside Gideonville’s outskirts as McGuire said. It was a single structure carved out of white stone with grand arches, galleries, pavilions, colonnades, causeways and more stretching their length over a town sized piece of floating rock topped with luscious greenery: trees with glistening fruit and wild veins entwining their bodies like lazy snakes and emerald grasses that reached to a man’s knee. A glistening waterfall, whose supply seemed somehow endless, spilled over the far side of the isle, its waters iridescent and crystalline like a million icy gems. Grand masses of ivy and flowers crowned the building’s tops and bridges, some planted in immaculate hanging pots and baskets. A fuzzy, lavender colored mist cascaded from the garden’s cliffs like an airy downpour of rainfall, bringing with it an aroma that was so powerful in its refreshing and soothing effects it nearly chased away the dust and dryness of the air around Gideonville. Almost.

The anchor, which looked to be made of metallic turquoise, dug itself hard and fast in the dirt, marking the beginning of the procession made of men and women that ran all the way up the garden’s ivory steps. Hawthorn observed the customers. All were finely dress, prim and pristine, the women in flowing dresses of fine fabric and feathery lace, the men in suites and jackets with pin-stipes and gold embroidery. Politicians, businessmen, merchants, all well to do. Standard clientele for the Green Ladies.

Hawthorn lit himself a new cigarette and joined the line. He wasn’t in the mood for waiting. He cut through the line as fast as possible, eliciting protests from the men and women alike. One yahoo even had the right amount of stupidity to step in the bounty hunter’s way.

“Hey there! No cutting!”

Just a glare from Hawthorn’s wicked eyes sent the man shaking back to his spot.

Hawthorn reached the foot of the steps where two of the Green Ladies stood. Both were tall and impossibly beautiful, dressed in long green gowns that almost covered the tips of their bare, pretty feet and left their shoulders exposed. The gowns themselves were made of leaves and thick woven vines, with flowers dotting the hems. One of the ladies had blonde hair that shimmered like gold, and eyes colored a burning emerald. The other had hair as black as a raven’s feathers, irises that sparkled a luxurious, Springtime blue. They stopped their shouting of promises for treatments that would restore youth, fragrances that chased away nightmares, and balms to heal any and all kinds of pain to greet him.

“I am Isolde,” said the blonde.

“And I am Morgan,” said the raven haired.

“Welcome to our Gardens!” they said together.

“Morning. I want to see Headmistress Lillian.”

The blonde gave him a masking smile. “The Headmistress is busy with other affairs. If you have questions regarding any of our salts, potions, tonics, lotions, ointments, oils, herbs, or salves, please feel free—“

“I came to see the Headmistress. Tell her it’s Hawthorn.”

The woman named Morgan broke in. “Good sir, if you would please exercise some patience and return to the line—“

“Tell her,” he said, glaring at them both.

The girls hesitated, but the fluent, angelic sound of harp strings suddenly cut

off whatever they were going to say.

The two girls looked at each other, then at Hawthorn. “We will take you to the sanctuary,” Isolde said.