Dance of the Stones (19 page)

Adam struggled to surface through thoughts as thick and black as treacle. He grasped Chantel's hand and pulled her to her feet. “It's not our fault,” he said. The light around him grew. He shook Chantel gently. “See them. Tell them. Say it with me. ‘It's not our fault.'”

“It's not our fault,” repeated Chantel dully. She opened tear-drenched eyes and saw the light growing around them. “Don't be mad at us, Mom,” she whimpered. “We're just kids.”

Adam threw back his head and roared at the top of his lungs, “MOM, DAD, DON'T YOU GET IT? IT'S NOT OUR FAULT!”

Despite the blackness, despite her terror, Chantel smiled.

The four children stumbled out of the dark into the Sanctuary's heart, a space open to the sky and flooded with moonlight.

They rubbed their eyes and held their hands and faces up to the stars. “Oh, how beautiful.”

*   *   *

The hawk's body lay on the stone marking the center of the Sanctuary.

Owen froze. He nudged the others.

Joy left them.

They drew closer, forming a circle around the stone.

Owen stretched out one finger and stroked the hawk's head. He laid the circlet on her breast.

Stars danced, light shimmered. A mighty wind swirled and buffeted the children. They staggered back against the inner walls of the Sanctuary, hands over their eyes.

When the turmoil stopped they peeked through their fingers.

Ava, in full magnificence as half-hawk, half-woman, the circlet shining from her feathery hair, smiled down on them. “Magic Child and true friend! Owen, I thank you.” She raised her wings and shone so brightly that Holly, Chantel and Adam turned their heads. Only Owen forced his eyes to meet her gaze.

Ava's voice rang out. “With courage and friendship you kept the light alive. You came through the darkness without me.” A feathery touch from her wings brushed across each child's head. “Owen, Holly, Adam and Chantel, Magic Children all. You believe, therefore you succeed.”

She flew toward the sky and circled the Sanctuary, trailing a rainbow of light from the edges of her wings. The light enfolded the children and lifted them to the stars. For one brief moment they glimpsed the Sanctuary far below. The dream people surrounding it gazed skyward in wonder. “AVA, AVA, AVA, AVA,” came the distant shout.

WHOOSH,
they were gone.

*   *   *

Owen, Holly, Chantel and Adam sat on the ground in the center of the Circle. They were stiff and cold. Chantel shivered.

Owen and Holly clambered to their feet. Adam rose and turned to help Chantel. They all stared around at the moonlit scene: the sleeping village of Avebury and the stones.

Owen kicked a melted candle stub and the small pile of black ash. “Did it happen or did we dream it?” he asked.

Everyone shrugged.

“We'd better go before anyone catches us,” said Holly. She started across the field.

“Wait,” said Chantel. “Look.”

Her cast had caught the edge of a small, stone-lined hole. Beside it lay the split slab, an empty clay pot and a leather pouch.

Adam picked up the pouch and pot and handed them to Owen. “For you, I think!”

Owen felt in his pocket and pulled out the acorn. He dropped it in the pouch and tucked it in the pot. Bending, he replaced the pot in the cavity and carefully fitted the two pieces of rock slab back in place. Adam helped him kick ashes and dirt over the top.

“We'd better say the words of power,” he murmured.

“Lhiat myr hoilloo,” the four children whispered.

A haze of green spread and healed the scar.

*   *   *

“The stones danced, and my circlet is freely returned,”
rejoiced Ava. “I am whole again.”

She lit up the heavens with her beauty.

Equus and Myrddin glowed with joy.

“The children's strength is amazing,” said Equus. “None
before have traveled the Sanctuary's dark without Ava's
help.”

“They survived because they were children. Their inner
demons were the demons of innocence,” Ava said.

“My rainbow light has given them comfort; they will
remember being tempered, but have already forgotten
the agony.”

“When Owen lost you, Adam finally heard me.”

Myrddin raised his arms and shook out his cloak in
delight. “That young man and I will have a fine seeking
together.”

“Have you asked them? Are the children still willing
to further our quest?” asked Ava. “The recovery of my
circlet was harder than we either hoped or intended. The
dark influence on Gaia lurks in more than the woodlands
around Avebury. The unlocking of your staff may not be
so simple, Myrddin.”

Myrddin nodded. “You are right, Ava. We must ask
them.” He closed his eyes and sent a mindspeak roaring
through the stars.

*   *   *

Adam, hear me. Time is short. Will you help regain my
staff?

*   *   *

Adam had drifted into an exhausted sleep. The mindspeak broke into his dreams.

Sure I'll help, Myrddin. But not now. I'm tired
. Adam buried his head farther into his pillow. Deep and healing oblivion overtook him.

*   *   *

“Myrddin,” rebuked Ava, “the children must recover.”

Before Myrddin could reply, another voice roared
through the heavens.

“I sense magic in the air, Wise Ones. Soon I will find
you.”

“The Dark Being,” said Ava. She dimmed her light and
the Wise Ones looked fearfully across the universe.

The approaching black cloud loomed larger.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Stone Circles have always been special places in my life. I played in one as a child. I would lie on my back at its heart and try to imagine the people who made it. I have visited many Stone Circles throughout the United Kingdom, including Stonehenge, but the Circle that made the greatest impact on me is Avebury.

Avebury is a people's Circle. A village has grown up within its stones; you can walk around them, pat them and picnic beside them. Ceremonies are held there, and while I am sure that they are different ceremonies from those devised by the builders of the Circle, they give a sense of continuity and familiarity that is missing from many prehistoric monuments. This Stone Circle is not just an amazing monument from the past; it is part of people's lives. People still tell stories about the stones. One is supposed to spin on its axis at midnight on New Year's Eve. Another has a ledge-like seat; if you sit on it, the devil is supposed to get you!

The setting of
Dance of the Stones
uses many features I discovered in the Avebury area. The Circle nestles in the heart of a massive area recognized as a “sacred landscape” by English Heritage. The area encompasses not only Avebury and Stonehenge, but also many other ancient sites including several important neolithic barrows, hill forts and puzzling Silbury Hill.

Dance of the Stones
is a fantasy, as is my explanation of the name Avebury and my descriptions of the use of the Circle. The raising of the final stone in the story happened purely in my imagination. I am not a historical scholar; however, I based it on my interpretation of clues I found in the Avebury museums. Archeologists uncovered a pile of antler picks and scapula shovels in the bottom of the great ditch. Why were they abandoned there? I give my own explanation. The characters of Hewll and Ulwin are based on what I understand of the latest interpretation of neolithic people. I set the raising of the stone in winter because I think people without many tools would harness the elements to help, and moving a monolith over frozen ground made sense to me, though it meant the pit would have to be prepared in summer or fall. As it would take some time to dig a pit with bone tools, again this made sense.

My description of the “night of destruction” is only loosely based on facts. There was indeed a man known as the Barber Surgeon who may have helped topple the stones. He was crushed when one fell on him. His remains were found by archeologists. There are records of attempts to burn the stones and then fracture them by tossing cold water on the hot surface. I set the scene at Christmas because it is a time when feelings would run high between opposing religions, and also to show a continuity of traditions that we associate with Christianity, but which are absorbed from origins much older. The Boar's Head Carol (associated with Oxford University, not far from Avebury) reflects the pre-Christian sacrificial meal of an animal both hated and revered for its fierceness and fearlessness. Carols themselves originally were circle dances, not just songs, and one of the old names for a Stone Circle is a “dance.”

The contemporary naming day ceremony happened only in my imagination, and the people involved are fictional. However, I found a recent description of a Maypole dance held in the Circle and was told of modern naming and bonding ceremonies held there. The feast days and holy days of the “old religion” are regularly observed at Avebury by the current Keeper of the Stones and believers.

The upper parts of the River Kennet still disappear during the winter and reappear each spring. The scientific explanation involves the gradual emptying of a natural underground reservoir during the summer and its refilling during the winter rains, but the magical symbolism of death and rebirth still resonates.

Avebury Circle is interpreted by some archeologists as a place of celebration, in particular to symbolize the circle of life and death. Archeological remains seem to point to both harvest celebrations and funeral celebrations being held there. That is why I chose similar themes in my story.

I walked the Avenue toward the site of the Sanctuary, and the sense of grandeur present between the stones almost overwhelmed me. Little remains at the Sanctuary except an atmosphere of peace and a maze of concrete blocks marking post-holes, but current thought explores the idea that the sanctuary building was circular and open in the middle, like a donut.

Almost nothing remains of the second avenue (currently known as Beckhampton Avenue), and it seems to lead nowhere, so I took the liberty of using it as a ceremonial entrance for the stones themselves.

Silbury Hill remains a mystery. Tunnels and excavations have uncovered no tombs, not even that of King Sel, whom folklore links with the hill. But as I wrote the chapter in which Sel rides in a spiral to the summit, a friend sent me a newspaper clipping with the result of the latest dig — archeologists had uncovered traces of a spiral pathway to the summit!

As for the oak tree, it's always been known as a strong, long-lived, magical tree. This is reflected in English folklore and song, and English people are said to have hearts of oak.

Chantel, Adam, Holly and Owen will continue their quest through mystical England in Book Three,
The Heart
of the Hill.

Andrea Spalding

Award-winning author
Andrea Spalding
has written many popular books for children, including
Solomon's Tree
, illustrated by
Janet Wilson
and created in collaboration with Tsimpshian master carver Victor Reece;
Phoebe and
the Gypsy
;
The Keeper and the Crows.
The White Horse Talisman
(Book One in
The Summer of Magic Quartet
) has been nominated for the 2003 Silver Birch, Hackmatack and Manitoba Readers' Choice awards. An accomplished storyteller, Andrea hails from England, where she was long steeped in ancient lore. She now lives with her husband on Pender Island in British Columbia.

For more information about Andrea and her other publications, visit
www.andreaspalding.com
.

The Summer of Magic Quartet, Book One