Shaman of Stonewylde (17 page)

‘I’d be honoured!’ said Leveret, flattered to be asked, and even more flattered to be considered an adult.

Much later, with the party going strong in the Great Barn and the seven couples leading the dancing and merriment, the little group slipped out and began the long walk up to Hare Stone. On Leveret’s suggestion, Magpie was accompanying them in case Bluebell’s legs gave out. Both children had taken immediately to the silent young lad and now skipped along the path leading through the woods. It was still light as the birds sang their joyous evensong, flitting amongst the trees in a flurry of activity before nightfall. The birdsong was amazingly loud, reverberating through the twilight in a cascade of different calls and trills. Many of the trees were already in full leaf, their trunks rising from a deep blue lake of perfumed bluebells. Leveret felt the magic of the place all around her as they walked through the enchanted landscape. She agreed with her nieces that the woodland elves and the bluebell faeries were surely hiding amongst the trees watching them as they passed through.

Sylvie was wrapped in her own thoughts, remembering all the times she’d walked this path with Yul by her side; she almost felt his presence now. She wondered if he were still in the Barn drinking or whether he’d gone outside to watch the moon rise. Was he thinking of her, she wondered? Had he noticed her leaving? Did he care at all?

The light was fading as they finally left the wood, ducking through the archway of boughs and out into the field beyond.
The
hill loomed large above them and Bluebell regarded it with a sigh.

‘I wish I could fly,’ she muttered, but began to climb determinedly through the tussocks of grass and outcrops of stone, up towards the great monolith that stood in lonely glory at the top. Magpie understood that he was there to help the little girl and stayed close by her, holding her hand and helping her along. Celandine walked between Sylvie and Leveret and was very excited at finally fulfilling her wish to dance for the Bright Lady.

‘Will you be moondancing tonight, Mum?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t know,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll feel when the moon rises. I may just sit by the Hare Stone and moongaze.’

‘Like Father used to do.’

‘Yes, like he used to do.’

‘Do you think the barn owl will visit and the hares’ll come?’

Leveret looked slightly askance at this.

‘Is that what used to happen?’

‘Oh yes,’ nodded Sylvie. ‘Every month. I was your age when I started coming here, Leveret. I was frantic to dance and then I’d go into a trance.’

‘But not anymore, Mum.’

‘I still feel something,’ Sylvie said quietly. ‘But somehow life has got in the way . . .’

They paused to get their breath at the outcrop of large boulders, almost at the top, and Sylvie recalled her scare several months ago when she’d been convinced that Magus was there with her. Leveret was also recalling her strange experience at the place and looked around a little apprehensively, though having company made her feel less uncomfortable. Magpie stood gazing up the hill, wrapped in his own world, and Leveret knew he was thinking about a painting. Nobody managed to capture the essence of Stonewylde in the way Magpie did. Celandine and Bluebell chased each other around the huge rocks, their tiredness forgotten.

‘Mummy! I’ve found a load of paper snakes!’ cried Bluebell suddenly, as Celandine squealed in horror.

‘What?’

Sylvie was there in a flash, snatching her child away from the object of fascination on the ground. When they all looked, they saw her description was very apt; caught up in a patch of thistles were several tissue-like snake-skins of varying lengths.

‘Oh wow!’ said Leveret. ‘Look how many have been shed!’

‘Shed?’ asked Bluebell, struggling to get free and have a proper look.

‘Snakes get too big for their skins so they push them off, like an old dress they’ve grown out of,’ explained Leveret.

Bluebell giggled at this.

‘Are they bare underneath?’

‘No, they’ve already got a lovely new skin on.’

‘So are these their old dresses?’ asked Celandine.

‘That’s right, and they use a spiky thing – like these thistles – to help pull the old skin off. Isn’t it clever? These are adder skins – see the V by the head, and these zigzag patterns?’

‘Adders are poisonous!’ cried Sylvie. ‘Are they still about?’

‘No, not at this time of evening,’ said Leveret. ‘They’ll be curled up asleep now.’

‘We must be careful though,’ said Sylvie. ‘Girls, look where you’re treading and keep your shoes on. No bare feet tonight.’

Leveret was carefully extricating the tangled skins from the thistle and putting them into her bag. Magpie examined one minutely, stroking the rustling softness with a gentle finger.

‘Why are you taking them, Auntie Leveret?’ asked Celandine.

‘I like them,’ she replied. ‘They’ll only break up into nothing out here in the open, and I’d like to keep them.’

‘You’re just like Grandfather Clip!’ said Celandine with a smile. ‘Collecting strange things to put in the tower.’

‘Why on earth are there so many all together?’ said Sylvie. ‘Don’t they shed their skins when they come out of hibernation? I remember years ago we had a plague of adders one summer and we all had to be so careful.’

‘I think they can do it several times in a year,’ said Leveret, ‘but I’m not sure. I’ll have to do some research. I’d imagine with so many together like this there’s a hibernaculum somewhere around here.’ She turned to the girls. ‘That’s like a big dormitory where all the vipers huddle up together for the winter and go to sleep. They keep each other warm.’

‘Oh yuk!’ said Celandine. ‘That sounds horrid. I don’t like snakes.’

‘Well, I do! Can I have one of the old dresses please, Auntie Leveret? To keep in my room?’ asked Bluebell.

Leveret smiled at her and nodded.

‘Of course you can. Just keep it away from Granny Maizie – she doesn’t like snakes either.’

Magpie had left them and continued up the hill as dusk closed in. The sun had set whilst they were in the woods and the sky to the west was a rich apricot, streaked with bright gold. From the woods below, the birds still sang. Avoiding the thistles and old sheep dung, they left the rocks and climbed the final slope to the hill’s summit.

At the top of the hill they stood by the massive Hare Stone feeling its energy and the soft heat it gave out where the sun had warmed it all day. Bluebell laid her cheek against its rough, lichened surface and spread her little arms to embrace it. She was tiny compared to its vast bulk and she sighed with pleasure at the feel of it. Celandine stared out towards the coast where the moon would rise, a slight breeze lifting her tumble of curls. Sylvie stood by her and took her hand, and Leveret was struck by their likeness. Magpie sat down with his back to the great stone, watching the horizon. Leveret joined him and Bluebell wriggled in between them, patting them both as if they were the arms of her chair.

Gradually the birds stopped singing and the evening darkened. The first star twinkled timidly, then grew bolder and brighter in the lavender-blue sky that deepened to indigo. Other stars appeared slowly, one by one, and the hush descended. Then – at last – a bright pink sliver slid up from the misty bed, growing by
the
second into a slice and then a dome of pure, flamingo-pink moon. Leveret’s breath caught in her throat and she felt little Bluebell’s trembling wonder. Magpie was alive with the magic and Leveret could feel the colours through him; their telepathy enabled her to experience the beauty in an almost visceral way far beyond her own normal appreciation. Sylvie and Celandine were now silhouettes as they stood together, gazing at the moon as she rose from her slumber to walk the night.

Leveret thought she saw something pale shimmer over Sylvie and frowned as, dropping Celandine’s hand, her arms rose from her sides to form wings above her head. She stood perfectly still, her long, slim arms outstretched, her silver hair in a swathe down her back, her entire body yearning towards the brilliant pink moon that had now cleared the horizon and was climbing steadily in the night sky. By her side Celandine did the same, her arms rising skyward. Leveret stared harder; Sylvie
was
shimmering. There were very faint silver threads on her skin and in her hair as if she were alive with tiny filaments of light. A strange cry came from her mouth, and Leveret put a reassuring hand on Bluebell’s arm as she felt the child stiffen. And then Sylvie was off, her feet skimming the short grass as she skipped and danced in a great spiral around the hilltop and the marker stone. Celandine stood for a moment longer, then with a pirouette she joined her mother, leaping into graceful arabesques.

Leveret exhaled sharply and squeezed Bluebell’s arm.

‘We’ll just sit very, very quietly, Blue, and watch them dance,’ she whispered. ‘We mustn’t say a word or break the spell.’

The child nodded, and then jerked in surprise. From below, where field met dark woods, a pale barn-owl came flapping towards them. Its massive wings were silent as it approached, to circle around the hill top and the moondancers. Bluebell let out a long and shaky breath and Leveret felt tears prickling behind her eyes at the sheer magic of the Hare Moon. She sensed Magpie’s complete bewilderment at the scene he was witnessing; his attempts to make sense of it so that he could interpret it onto canvas. And then out of the darkness came the hares,
their
long ears laid back and their bodies lithe and muscular. They joined the moongazy mother and maiden in their graceful dance to honour the Bright Lady and bring down the moon magic to feed the soul of Stonewylde.

The moon shone down not only on the sacred hill but also on the Place of Bones and Death. Her rose-gold face had now turned to a brilliant, diamond-bright silver as she tiptoed through the canyons of stone. She could not banish the shadows and darkness there, nor scare away the creeping terror that stalked the quarry looking for new prey. The spirits of the many, many folk who over the centuries had lost their lives at this place, stirred in restless slumber. For them the Otherworld was a place of cruelty and entrapment from which there was no escape. Bones and treasures lay buried here, crushed beneath stone, abandoned here as sacrifice, huddled in forgotten, walled-off caves. Menace and death walked the corridors between the ivy-clad rock-faces. On the platform of the great Serpent Stone, writhing with carved snakes and gouged with empty sockets for moon eggs, a strange figure capered. He was made of shadow and moonlight, terror and moonlust. His hair was silver and his eyes were black, but he was not of this world.

A girl sobbed convulsively into her hands as the youth tried to jam the keys into the ignition and start the engine. His hands shook so much that he kept missing, and then the key-ring dropped to the floor.

‘Bloody well SHUT UP, you stupid bitch!’ he yelled, his voice shaking. He stank of fresh sweat and his eyes bulged from his head.

Finally his scrabbling hands found the key on the floor of the Landrover and shoved it into the ignition. He turned it sharply and the engine fired into life; relief flooded through him and brought a new wave of rank perspiration. The girl was huddled up in the passenger seat, her tears flowing freely, trying to keep her sobs quiet for fear of angering him further. He forced the vehicle into gear and yanked the steering wheel round as he
let
out the clutch too sharply. They almost stalled, but at the last second the engine held and they were off, bouncing down the track towards safety. Behind them, in the moonlit darkness, Quarrycleave sighed with disappointment.

9

Y
ul’s eyes drooped and he pulled himself up quickly, imagining the humiliation of actually nodding off as Tom, Greenbough and even Cherry had all done in the past. He tried very hard to stifle his impatience as the meeting continued into its third hour. Outside the sun was scorching and, in the Galleried Hall where the stained glass windows were so high, this created a blaze of brilliant colour up near the vaulted roof, and bright patterns on the floor and the people below. Every door was pushed wide open to bring in a draught. Though none led directly outside, Yul could smell one of his favourite fragrances in the world – the scent of freshly cut hay. It was the eve of the Mead Moon, which some liked to call the Honey Moon, and the Summer Solstice was only a couple of weeks away. The warm, dry weather of April and May had continued into June, bringing everything on very early and causing a great deal of worry about irrigation.

This was the subject under discussion at present, and Yul had to admit that he’d stopped listening quite a while ago. What he wanted now was a ride on Skydancer; a hard gallop along Dragon’s Back under the arching blue skies in the searing heat until both he and the stallion were drenched with sweat. And then a swim in the sea, plunging into the cool water, swimming fast through the lagoon to haul himself up onto the long rock that guarded the beach, and lie there as the water evaporated and the salt crusted his skin. He sighed so heavily that
it
sounded like a groan, and those closest to him in the circle glanced in surprise.

With a scowl, Yul dragged his attention back to the stifling room and the stifling people in it. Edward was droning on and on about the state of the crops. Yul knew he should care – he did care – but the endless discussion of every single matter was driving him crazy.

‘We’ll pump water from the river, as we’ve done in the past,’ he interjected suddenly, ‘and if that gets too low, we’ll sink bore holes outside the Village. We’ll concentrate on the fields nearest to water, work out the minimum yield we can survive on for the harvest, and just forget the rest. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. Drought is drought and we’re not going to starve.’

Everyone stared at Yul as he cut across Edward’s monologue, and he thought how closely they resembled a herd of cattle.

‘Right then,’ said Edward, nodding slowly. ‘So we’ll—’

‘For Goddess’ sake, Edward – you’re the farming manager! You’re in charge of the farms – make a decision and then implement it. It doesn’t need to be discussed here with people like . . . Cherry, and Rowan . . . and Sylvie – people who know nothing about farming. That’s your area of expertise, so get on with it, man!’