Shaman of Stonewylde (58 page)

‘I hadn’t realised you had a pet hare,’ he said, stroking her soft fur and marvelling at her amber eyes.

‘She’s Leveret’s, not mine. We found her newly-born and injured at the Spring Equinox. Leveret raised her.’

‘She’s beautiful! A very fitting companion for my little sister. I remember now – there was a hare at the Story Web.’

They sat in silence for a while sipping their tea, and then Yul sighed heavily.

‘Clip, I’ve come here because . . . because I wanted to say good-bye and to wish you well.’

‘That’s a kind gesture, especially as I know in the past you’ve found my presence at Stonewylde so difficult. But as of tomorrow you’ll be free of me and my bumbling around!’

Yul frowned but then saw the twinkle in Clip’s eye.

‘I never thought I’d say it, but I’ll miss you,’ Yul admitted. ‘In truth, I can’t imagine Stonewylde without you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Clip. ‘And Yul – I know things are bad at the moment, but they will get better. In the end, what seems at the time like life and death invariably turns out to be nothing
of
the sort. This present situation between you and Sylvie – it’ll pass.’

Yul grimaced and stared into his tea.

‘I wish that were so. But I have horrible feeling that this won’t pass. Sylvie and I will never have what we once did.’

Clip paused and regarded his dark haired son-in-law steadily. He noted the fine lines around Yul’s mouth and eyes, and the strain and sadness in their deep grey depths. He’d acted like a fool, but his love for Sylvie wasn’t in doubt.

‘You may be right. But everything comes to an end, and it could be that what you and Sylvie have yet to come will be even better. Think metamorphosis – how can the caterpillar ever imagine the glory of the butterfly, especially when it’s in chrysalis form?’

Yul nodded slowly, regretting more than ever now the hostility he’d always felt towards the older, wiser man. Clip could have been a proper father to him if only he’d let him. He sighed again and Clip stood up, straightening with a wince.

‘I still have much to do here if I’m to leave the place tidy, but there’s something I’d like to do for you,’ he said. ‘It’ll only take ten minutes and there’s time before you must leave for the sunset ceremony so please, Yul, close your eyes and relax. This is something your father used to enjoy when he was worried or tense.’

Clip proceeded to play his gongs just for Yul, filling the tower with the shimmering, quavering, burnished metal sound. It reverberated in the circular space, making the air and the fabric of the building quiver with wave upon wave of resonance. Yul felt the vibrations – gentle at first but growing larger and stronger by the second – fill his body, enter his flesh and then his very core, putting everything right within him. All was soothed, all was calm, for there was room for nothing other than this ancient, visceral music. It finally reached the bloom, a crescendo of noise so powerful as to almost stop his breath. And then it ceased, and slowly, slowly the music faded as the vibrations from the trembling metal discs grew ever fainter. Yul opened his eyes as
the
final quivering note died away and looked Clip straight in the eye.

‘Thank you,’ he said softly. ‘I do wish you weren’t leaving, Clip. I do wish we’d been close.’

Once again, Clip donned his raven cloak and tugged on his warm felt-lined boots. He pulled on a dark felt hat that made him look like an Elizabethan magician and took up his bag and trusty ash staff. The room was now tidy and all in order for his departure later on. The letters he’d written stood propped over the fireplace. He left several large handfuls of hay for Hare and filled her water bowl, put the guard in the fire-place and took up the lantern to light his way to the Stone Circle. His eyes swept the peaceful room and he smiled; all was as it should be.

He arrived at the Stone Circle late, as the temperature was plummeting. The Death Dance wasn’t taking place here tonight and yet tiny red jars marked out the way, little flames flickering inside them. The braziers by the stones held burning torches and a small bonfire burnt in place of the funeral pyre. Crows and ravens, some in flight and some at perch, were painted on every stone and he recognised Magpie’s influence in the perfect design of wings, beaks and claws. The arena flickered with sinister flame and Clip’s heart fluttered in his chest. He gripped his staff more firmly, peering in through the entrance to locate Martin within.

Dressed in his black cloak, Martin stood by the Altar Stone. He wore the bird mask that had so frightened Yul all those years ago, and his silvery hair was visible above it. He looked like a great piebald corvid, even moving with an aggressive strut. Clip stood watching him for some time. This man was supposedly his half-brother, both of them fathered by Basil. Magus and he, on the other hand, had shared Raven as their mother. Martin and Magus were only related as cousins, as their fathers had been brothers. It was all so complicated, but Clip had always been aware that he was the link between the two men, sharing a parent with each of them. Maybe that was why both had
resented
him so much, but not each other – there’d been no rivalry between the two of them.

Clip could hear Martin muttering and chanting and knew he was performing some kind of dark Samhain ritual. He shuddered, thinking of Old Violet and her evil ways. She was a powerful crone, and Clip recalled that time at the Winter Solstice, the night that Yul had defeated Magus, when he’d taken Sylvie up to Hare Stone for her moondance. He remembered how Violet had frozen him on the spot. Her magic was stronger than his, and this knowledge made what he must do next all the more frightening. He must not fail.

He took a deep breath and entered the arena, calling Samhain blessings to Martin. His brother spun around, the bird mask with its great beak truly terrifying, like the Plague Doctors of old. Clip walked towards the Altar Stone, skirting around the edge of the labyrinth so as not to cross it. Martin seemed upset at being discovered in his evil spell-casting, flapping his arms in dismay at the intrusion.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Martin,’ said Clip amiably in a normal voice, as if they weren’t alone in an ancient circle just before midnight at Samhain, with the paraphernalia of dark magic spread all over the place. ‘I found the gift you left me earlier and I wanted to say thank you, and also goodbye. Can you spare me a minute?’

‘No I can’t! I’m right in the middle o’ this. ’Tis difficult now.’

‘I’m so sorry. But it was really kind of your mother to bake me those cakes. I wanted you to pass on my thanks as I just don’t have time to visit her personally before I leave.’

‘Ah yes, the cakes.’

‘She knows I always loved them in Magus’ day, of course.’

‘Aye, she said you did. Have you . . . have you eaten one yet?’

Martin had pushed the mask back onto the top of his head, so the beak now pointed skyward. Dressed in their black cloaks, tall and thin with silver hair, they were remarkably similar.

‘Well, the note you left said they were for my journey tonight at Samhain. But in view of my leaving and as you said recently,
us
being half-brothers, I thought maybe we could bury the hatchet and share a tot of mead and a ceremony cake together now. For old times’ sake?’

‘Aye, but I don’t have any—’

‘No, I’ve brought them with me, and some mead too. Perhaps it’s time, as brothers, that you and I made our peace before I leave Stonewylde?’

Martin’s mouth stretched into a ghoulish grin and he nodded.

‘I’m finishing a ritual that my poor old mother wants me to perform tonight,’ he said, his voice more good-natured than it had been for a long time. ‘ ’Twill be midnight soon and ’tis important I do this afore then. But after that, I’ll gladly share the mead and cake.’

‘Excellent. I’ll just set up the things on the Altar to make it more of a formal sharing. Please – do carry on. I won’t get in your way and I’d like to have a quiet moment myself with our ancestors.’

Clip laid his bag on the Altar Stone and took out the small tin of cakes and a bottle of mead. He also placed two old goblets and an embossed pewter plate on the great horizontal stone and then taking his staff, moved back into the shadows to watch. He knew that midnight was approaching and at that moment, in the turning of the wheel of the year, the veil between this realm and the Otherworld would be at its thinnest.

As Martin chanted with the athame pointing earthwards, the atmosphere within the Stone Circle changed. From just the two of them, there was suddenly a multitude, as if a huge crowd had arrived, bigger than any gathering ever held here at a festival. Clip glimpsed ranks and ranks of faces, shadowy and grey, thronging around the Circle and crowding into every slip of space. He heard a strange kind of sighing, like soft wind in the trees, and everything seemed to shift slightly. Over by a stone in the far reaches of the Circle, he thought he glimpsed a cloaked figure, blacker than shadow and darker than night.

Martin called out, his voice rising above the soughing of souls, and one appeared in the centre of the circle, brighter and
more
vibrant than all the other shades. He was almost complete, almost fully there; his hair was silvery blond like Martin’s and Clip’s. He was tall and well-muscled, and Martin stepped forward with open arms to embrace him, to welcome home a returning brother. And the bright shadow vanished into him; just disappeared. The moment passed and all the other shades began to fade. The mistiness became thicker as if a curtain was closing. Clip saw a snatch of Vetchling with Jay next to her, and both were laughing. He shuddered convulsively as the veil was pulled across again and the faces and whispers receded.

Clip approached the Altar Stone and with his back to Martin, opened the cake tin. That old, familiar scent greeted him, not smelt in a long time. He took two of the rather battered-looking cakes and placed them on the pewter plate, then uncorked the small bottle of mead and poured a good measure into each of the two goblets. Martin had sheathed his athame and pushed back the mask again; now he strode purposefully over to the Altar to join him, a new spring in his step.

‘Blessings to you at Samhain, brother,’ said Clip softly. ‘Let us eat and drink together, share the fruits of the Goddess, and forget the ills of the past. We are bound by blood ties and tonight of all nights we should honour our shared ancestors.’

Watching him carefully with a gleam in his eye, Martin took one of the cakes and the goblet of mead that Clip proffered. He raised the goblet and his lips smiled.

‘To our ancestors and the Dark Angel!’ he said, as Clip popped the little cake in his mouth whole, as he’d always done, and began to chew. Unexpectedly, Martin reached across and took Clip’s goblet from him, swapping it for his own.

‘Apologies, brother, but you can never be too careful,’ he said as they toasted each other. Both men drank deeply, savouring the sweet, powerful mead.

‘Won’t you eat your mother’s cake?’ Clip asked, and Martin shook his head with a handsome smile. His eyes were dark brown and his hair lustrous. His face had thickened and lost the thin, lined look of late. He’d found a new lease of life.

‘No, it’s not for me, the Death Cap,’ he chuckled, and Clip stared in disbelief at the depth and richness of his velvet voice. ‘Do have another one yourself. It won’t make any difference now, and we know how you love those cakes.’

‘No thanks,’ said Clip. ‘I find I don’t have a taste for them nowadays.’

‘Really? But I recall just how very fond you once were of them.’

A mist began to rise from the ground, curling around the tiny red lights, making everything seem ghostly and strange. Firelight flickered from the braziers and the painted birds fluttered as Clip glanced over to where the dark shadow lurked. It had moved forward along the coils of the labyrinth, closer to them. His brother noticed and chuckled again, a sinister sound in the silence of the Stone Circle.

‘Well, Clip, it seems another has joined us. The Dark Angel knows that Samhain is the time of the Death Dance, whatever that black-haired bastard upstart decrees. The Angel has joined us and has come to take you with him tonight.’

‘Yes, I rather feared he would,’ said Clip. ‘A little sooner than I’d hoped, but I’m ready. What’s a few weeks anyway?’

‘What do you mean? Don’t you care? The cake was—’

‘Of course I care. I care about my precious daughter and my beloved niece, and all the other good folk of Stonewylde. They deserve better than the likes of you. Old Violet’s magic is powerful but only goes so far. She never understood the strongest power of all, and neither do you.’

His brother with the dark eyes and blond hair, the creature of shadow and moonlight, seemed to shimmer and waver back into the other care-worn brother and then out again. He stepped forward and grabbed Clip’s raven-feathered cloak, his face white with fury. Behind him, Clip saw the winged shadow growing darker and nearer.

‘What are you talking about, you fool? You’ve eaten Death Cap and you won’t see the dawn. There’s no antidote!’

‘I know,’ said Clip. ‘And neither is there an antidote for what you’ve drunk. We’ll none of us see the dawn.’

‘
WHAT?
’ The tall figure stumbled backwards, looking at his hands in disbelief. ‘But . . . but you drank it too! I took your goblet! I don’t—’

‘We drank from the same bottle,’ said Clip. ‘My goblet, your goblet – they were the same.’

‘So you’ve poisoned yourself? No! You—’

‘The serpent in my belly has poisoned me already,’ said Clip. ‘As I said, what’s a few weeks? If it means that I take you – both of you – with me to the Otherworld and free Stonewylde of your evil?’

His brother stared at him in horror as realisation dawned. Again he stared at his hands and shook his head wildly.

‘I have no sensation in my fingers!’ he shouted. ‘My mouth’s burning!’

He clutched at his throat, and then leaning over, vomited onto the beaten earth.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Clip, his mouth also tingling and the nausea taking hold. ‘Wolfsbane is quick, not like Death Cap. We’ll all three be taken by the Dark Angel within the hour.’