Shaman of Stonewylde
Read Shaman of Stonewylde Online
Authors: Kit Berry
| Shaman of Stonewylde |
| Kit Berry |
| Orion (2012) |
The Stonewylde Series
is dedicated to the memories of
Jean Guy, my best owl aunt
and
Debbie Gilbrook, my dearest friend
.
Contents
T
he golden sliver of waning moon, almost in its dark phase, rose and set quickly. On the roof of the mediaeval tower stood a figure, alone and silent. She breathed deeply of the pure elixir that blew in from the sea and away to the hills beyond. The morning star dimmed further in the clear sky and Leveret closed her eyes, deep in reverie. The sounds of the Hall awakening, the cows lowing in the distance, the birds leaving their roosts to herald the dawn – all noise started to recede. In her mind’s eye she saw a cleft between rocks, an entrance to another realm, and she stooped to enter
.
Inside it was dark and dry and Leveret felt entombed. She reached out to touch the walls but the cave ballooned from the narrow entrance and she grasped only air. She could see nothing at all in the blackness, yet she was overwhelmed with a terrible sadness, sadness so powerful and so deep that everything else was stifled. A tiny light flickered up ahead, and shadows began to dance as the sound of sobbing filled the air. Suddenly she felt trapped, buried alive, and she turned to escape the ancient stone chamber
. . .
She was out, back on the roof again with the night dissolving around her and the birds singing their welcome to the Stonewylde dawn. Leveret wrapped her cloak tighter in the chill of the March half-light. She made her way back down the stone steps winding around the tower and, at ground level, slipped into the room that had been her sanctuary for the past seven weeks, since the disgrace at Imbolc. Today was Leveret’s last day of seclusion; at the Spring Equinox tomorrow, this cocoon must split open and she must emerge and face the world again
.
T
he taxi pulled up at the great wrought iron gates and she sat for a moment in the car, craning her neck to squint up at their height. Ornate and impenetrable, they guarded the prize that was Stonewylde, tucked safely inside away from prying eyes and those who would loot and desecrate her.
She saw the camera up above swivel around and knew she was being watched by the Gatehouse. With a chuckle she paid off the driver and, slamming the car door, hauled a bright woven bag onto her shoulder. As the car pulled away in a puff of diesel fumes, she hoped that her invitation was still good or else she’d be stuck here in Dorset, in the middle of nowhere, with no means of getting back to the station.
A little later, entrance through the massive gates having been successfully negotiated, she paused on the long and winding track leading down from the Gatehouse. She’d refused the offer of transport even though the walk would take ages. She wanted to approach the Hall gradually, on her own two feet, and really savour the moment when the outcrop of chimneys finally came into view. Having dreamed of the place for so long, that first glimpse must be taken slowly, in her own time. So she’d declined a car and set off alone, her bag slung over her shoulder. Her vivid skirts swirled around her calves in the breeze and the sun glittered with morning gold.
After striding along for some distance she stepped off the tarmac and into an open field. The lush grass was spangled with
early
wildflowers, and with a cry of joy she kicked off her shoes to wriggle her bare toes in the warm softness. It was a perfect spring day with blue, blue skies and tiny clouds. A buzzard soared high overhead, his mewing and keening cries mingling with the shrill lark-song. She heard the refrain of Stonewylde all around, the sacred music of nature that thrummed with the vigour and vitality of spring, the hum of growing, the rush of the wind.
In the field beyond, she saw several brown shapes moving around rapidly and before she knew it they’d passed through the hedge and were heading her way. The hares came into closer view, their long, white-tipped ears laid back and their huge hind legs bunched for speed as they raced through the grass. Then one caught up with another and they tumbled together in a fast and furious fight, rearing onto their back legs to stand upright, their front paws lashing out at each other, punching and batting. She smiled at the sight of the boxing hares as the female, having fended off the unwanted attention of the male, sped away into the distance with the other hares in close pursuit.
Her sea-blue eyes scanned the landscape rolling and undulating before her in a never-ending panorama of curves and hollows. The acres and acres of woodland were still light brown in their winter guise, the buds not yet begun to swell. Green velvet pasture stretched away into the far distance, dotted with white bobbles of sheep and lambs. Ploughed fields like square patches of dark brown corduroy were hemmed neatly with hedges. She took all this in, absorbing the shapes and the colours, the textures and the tones.
And the air! She breathed hugely, lungful after lungful of clean, fragrant air that seeped into her bloodstream and raced around her body, bringing that special energy to every part of her being. She tossed back her mane of wild tawny-blonde hair and laughed again. The chuckle turned to a whoop of pure joy as it truly hit her – she was actually here, right now,
in Stonewylde!
She’d done it; breached the Boundary Walls. She’d wriggled past those who’d stop her and every one of her kind, and finally made it back into the stronghold. Tomorrow was the Spring Equinox,
the
festival of the goddess of fertility and her sacred hares, and here she was with her feet on Stonewylde soil and her lungs full of heady Dorset air.
Gazing around at the bright beauty that was Stonewylde in the spring, Rainbow slipped her feet back into their shoes and set off again down the track. She stopped almost immediately to rummage around in the depths of her bag. Pulling out her phone she peered at it, a grin spreading across her lovely face once more.
‘Still no signal!’ she said happily, switching off the device and tossing it back in. Stepping forward, she entered a tunnel of starry blackthorn and began to sing with sheer delight. The exile was finally over and she was back in the place she’d always loved best in the world.
‘You really do something with hares I’ve never seen afore,’ said Merewen, eyes narrowed as she gazed at Magpie’s finished creation. The great Stone Circle was alive with the creatures. After his wonderful idea at Imbolc, when he’d substituted a hare for the traditional arrow that flew from the bow of the crescent moon, Merewen had asked him to design the main pattern this Equinox. She’d expected to modify and improve whatever he came up with, but Magpie had created a design of leaping hares that took her breath away. He’d then drawn the template and every painter had copied the design onto each stone until the entire circle danced with his joyful hares.
Magpie was unable to answer but beamed his delight at her praise. His turquoise eyes sparkled, so very beautiful in their innocence and pleasure, and Merewen wondered again how such artistic talent had remained hidden for so many years. She’d even had the boy in a class up at the Hall School only last year – how had she missed it? But this was a different person from the filthy, dead-eyed creature who’d sat at the back of the Art Room sniffing and stinking in his own private hell. Magpie was a good-looking young man now, his rich golden hair glowing in the March sunlight and his strong, artist’s hand now stained
only
with paint. He was still a child, despite his man’s body and looks, but a happy and creative one who, unless Merewen was mistaken, had a truly tremendous gift.
‘I’m very proud of you, boy,’ she said gruffly, clapping him on the back. ‘Your hares are so good that I’d like you to come down to the Pottery soon and work on a new design with me – something for this year’s crockery. What do you think, David?’
The art teacher smiled, delighted that he’d been right to push Magpie forward. It was gratifying to know that his protégé found favour with Merewen, who was renowned for her blunt outspokenness and never gave praise lightly.
‘I think that’s an excellent idea,’ he replied. ‘Maybe after the Equinox is over? And of course, Rainbow will be here too. She’s arriving today, I believe.’
‘Ah yes, Rainbow!’ exclaimed Merewen. ‘Can’t wait to see the girl again! There was a time when ’twere she who was my most promising pupil. I was sad to see her go with all the other Hallfolk. The only one I
was
sad about, mind you.’
‘It’s wonderful that she’s been allowed back,’ said David. ‘I felt a little responsible and I was worried that—’
‘Aye, I heard ’twas you as started the egg rolling,’ said Merewen.
‘It was actually thanks to Rainbow that I heard of Stonewylde,’ said David. ‘I met her at an exhibition and greatly admired her work. She represented nature in a way I’d never seen done before. She told me a little about Stonewylde, where she’d grown up, and I was intrigued. I got in touch, hoping to visit. I was really lucky that Miranda had just decided to recruit another art teacher – one of those wonderful instances of serendipity.’
‘Aye, Rainbow’ll be pleased to see you here, I reckon. Mind you, I’m not sure what sort of a welcome she’ll get. Many folk are against her coming back to visit.’
David’s face clouded.
‘I really don’t understand why. I’ve heard something of the awful business with the previous magus, but it was long ago and Rainbow must’ve been so young at the time. How can people
resent
her returning? None of it was her fault, surely?’
Merewen bent stiffly to pick up some paint pots lying by a standing stone.
‘As an Outsider you’d never understand,’ she said briskly. ‘Feelings still run deep – she were Hallfolk and we were Villagers and many can’t put that aside, even today. But still – I for one am looking forward to seeing the maid. I’ve heard great things of her work.’
‘Oh yes, she’s so talented! At least Dawn will be pleased to see her, I’m sure. This was really all thanks to her persuading the Council of Elders.’ He turned to Magpie. ‘I want to pop down to the Village School and have a word with Dawn. When Merewen’s finished with you, can you go back to Marigold alone?’
Magpie nodded happily, staying by Merewen’s side as they did a final circuit of the huge arena, checking that every detail painted on the stones was right. The bright March sunshine poured into the ancient circle, quickening the hares and spring flowers that adorned every stone, and gilding the great goddess Eostre painted on the largest stone behind the Altar. The other painters were clearing up their pots and brushes, and Greenbough’s men had finished the bonfire-building and now swept all the stray twigs from the beaten earth floor.
At last the Stone Circle was clear and everyone had departed down the Long Walk, a good afternoon’s work done. Magpie loitered behind, free for once of David’s solicitous care. He crouched down with his back to one of the stones and simply gazed around. His wandering eyes took in everything: the stones, the bright paintings, the oak forest beyond, the blue sky and the shadows that moved across the arena as the small clouds raced in the breeze. He stared around in wonder, as a child might.
Leveret slipped between two massive stones into the Circle, coming up through the leafless oaks that fell away in a shallow descent on one side. Immediately she saw Magpie tucked into the base of a stone and her face lit up with a brilliant smile.
‘Magpie!’
She raced over and dropped down next to him, taking his
paint
stained hand in hers and rubbing it against her cheek. He grinned back and leaned into her, nearly toppling her over. Their friendship was undiminished, although they’d seen little of each other in the past few weeks despite both living up at the Hall.
‘I know these are your hares, Maggie,’ she said happily. ‘I recognise your style. They’re the best that’ve ever been painted in the Circle. You’re so clever!’
He squeezed her hand and they sat together in silence for a while, the sweet song of a robin filling the air. Then Leveret saw, in her mind’s eye, a rainbow. It was richly hued, spanning the hills of Stonewylde, and she felt Magpie’s confusion.
