Shaman of Stonewylde (40 page)

20

M
artin sat next to his mother in Starling’s newly-scrubbed chair. Vetchling was asleep, curled into her rocking chair with an old blanket covering her wasted body. She snored noisily, the breath soggy in her lungs, and Martin found it difficult to ignore the painful sounds. He couldn’t hear his wife working upstairs; she knew better than to disturb him with any noise.

The cottage was still filthy but, nevertheless, the transformation was astounding. Mallow had worked very hard indeed, although there were weeks of labour ahead of her to bring the old cottage into a clean, habitable state. Violet had eaten two dishes of rabbit stew today, cooked until it was mush, and was now smoking her pipe contentedly with a clean glass of mead to hand.

‘ ’Tis the Blue Moon,’ she ruminated, rocking slightly. ‘ ’Tis a special night and I feel it in my bones, but I ain’t seen aught. Something’s afoot, that’s for sure.’

‘All the young ‘uns will be out tonight,’ said Martin, with distaste. ‘I’ve told Swift he’s not to get involved with all that until he’s walking with a girl. ’Tis Lammas tomorrow and I don’t know if he’s intending to ask anyone.’

‘Aye, he were here yesterday for a while with Jay,’ said Violet. ‘Neither of them were too happy about it. Moaning and grumbling, they was.’

Martin frowned at this.

‘They should do their duty, right enough,’ he said. ‘And my goodwife?’

‘Aye, she done her bit, little mouse that she is.’

They sat quietly for a while with only the harsh sound of Vetchling’s breathing disturbing the silence.

‘There’s something afoot tonight,’ muttered Violet crossly. ‘I need my scrying bowl. Fetch it for me, Martin, and fill it with water. I need to see . . .’

Clip and Leveret had reached the Dolmen, and Clip was surprised to see Yul’s belongings in evidence.

‘I don’t suppose he’s had a chance yet to come back and tidy up,’ Leveret said, ‘but at least he’s left us some firewood. I’ll lay the fire, shall I? Though it’s so warm tonight . . .’

‘It is, but we need the flames for the journeying,’ said Clip. ‘I’m glad you’ve come up here with me for the Blue Moon. We don’t have many Moon Fullnesses left before I’ll be gone, and we must journey together.’

‘I don’t want to think about you going,’ she said quietly, laying the sticks in the fire-circle and poking in some kindling.

‘When we’re done here, you can still go up to Mother Heggy’s cottage as you wanted.’

‘I do so want to make contact with her,’ said Leveret.

‘I know,’ said Clip, ‘but truly, Leveret, it’ll happen when the time’s right. If Mother Heggy wished to speak to you, she’d find a way. She doesn’t need the Blue Moon to make it happen.’

‘I know,’ said Leveret. ‘I just wish she’d hurry up.’

Clip found their cushions from the back of the cave, where the capstone and the stones that made up the side walls diverged into the hill. He and Leveret had fasted all day and he’d brought along a little bottle of mead and a cake each, for after their journey. He set these on a stone and tightened the skin of the frame-drum slightly. Leveret sat with him in the entrance watching the sky. It was a very warm evening indeed, the last day of July. The sky was full of diving swifts and the air smelt almost metallic.

‘There’ll be a storm soon,’ said Clip. ‘Can you feel it? Not yet,
maybe
a day or so, but it’s on its way. Too late for the crops though.’

‘It’ll be really sad tomorrow at Lammas,’ said Leveret. ‘We’ll all be giving thanks for the harvest and celebrating the start of bringing in the grain, but it’s so poor this year! I was listening to Edward and some of the farmers earlier, and they said it’s one of the worst years they’ve ever seen.’

‘I fear it may be even worse than we imagine,’ said Clip sadly. ‘Because if I’m right, and there are storms on the way, they’ll flatten what crops we do have.’

‘When we journey tonight, I hope we’re given answers about the future,’ said Leveret. ‘It seems to me that the shadows at Stonewylde are as deep and dark as ever. If I’m to be the Shaman of Stonewylde, I must know what to do to make things better for folk.’

‘Our guides will help,’ said Clip. ‘Your raven and my wolf.’

‘Shall I let Hare out of her basket, do you think?’ asked Leveret? ‘Will she wander off whilst we’re in a trance?’

‘I think she should be free,’ said Clip. ‘Let her out now, and put on your headdress too, so you start awakening the magic.’

Hare was glad to be liberated; she was very docile in her basket when the lid was on, but as soon as it was removed her ears would stand up, she’d sit up in the hay nest and look all around, before hopping out to sniff and explore. She seemed happy to stay within the Dolmen, much to Leveret’s relief, twitching her nose and whiskers, and examining the dried bracken at the back of the cave.

‘I wonder if our ancestors brought their totem animals here,’ mused Leveret, watching Hare in her new surroundings.

‘Depends on what it was,’ said Clip. ‘I don’t suppose a bear or wolf would have been such a good idea!’

They both laughed at this, and Clip decided to light the fire to give it a chance to establish before the moon rose.

‘Clip, I’ve looked on the Internet and in books, but I’ve never really found the answer to this – were dolmens built as caves for the Shaman or as tombs for the dead?’

‘Nobody knows why they were built, Leveret, and I doubt we ever will. Most are Neolithic, as you’ve doubtless discovered, around five to six thousand years old, and you find them all over the world. I’ve visited some really stunning ones, and I’ve always been so glad we have our very own Dolmen at Stonewylde. I’ve been coming up here since I was a child. But as to what their original purpose was . . .’

‘What do
you
think though, Clip? In your heart, not your scholar’s cap – tomb or magical cave?’

‘We have no concept of what life was like for our ancestors all that time ago so it’s impossible to speculate. To be honest,
how
they actually managed to build a dolmen amazes me, let alone
why
. But it was obviously something really important to them, to go all that trouble. Some have had human remains excavated nearby but that doesn’t mean they were built as tombs – the bones could’ve come later. So . . . in my heart, I think they were a Shaman’s cave, perhaps representing the womb, the place of darkness from where we all come. They could have played a part in funerary rites too – as in representing the womb for rebirth into the Otherworld or wherever. But one thing’s for sure – they were built for magic and trance. You can feel it so strongly in here.’

Leveret nodded at this, her small dark face serious beneath her Shaman’s headdress. She stroked the fur that hung down over her shoulders and covered her breasts.

‘I think so too. When you’ve left Stonewylde, Clip, I’ll come up here regularly to journey at the Moon Fullnesses and the festivals. Wherever in the world you are, maybe our spirits can join together in the other realms.’

He smiled at her over the flames that crackled brightly between them. Her green eyes sparked with magic and he felt a rush of love for this very special girl who’d enriched his life so unexpectedly.

Yul, Sylvie and their two daughters were on the bone dry grass at Hare Stone, the remains of their supper spread out on a cloth.
Maizie
had packed them a little picnic basket and they’d been up here for some time. The girls had run around playing, being very careful to look out for adders, whilst their parents had sat side by side with their backs to the great monolith and talked. They’d been physically apart since the Spring Equinox, over four months ago, but had been emotionally distant for much longer than that. Tonight felt very special to both of them.

Yul glanced at Sylvie, admiring her exquisite profile and the way her hair fell over her slim, pale arms. She was his moongazy girl, so beautiful and strange. Nobody would ever compare to her. He thought of Holly who’d left yesterday in a flurry of gravel and insults. He thought too – reluctantly – of Rainbow, who’d also left in a cloud of bad temper. Sylvie was so kind, so calm, so loving. She shared none of their attributes; the spitefulness and nastiness. Everyone at Stonewylde loved her for her shining spirit, but he’d trampled on that. He’d bullied her, taken her gentleness for weakness and had ridden roughshod over her. He imagined what it would be like to be handfasted to a difficult, selfish woman such as Holly or Rainbow and shuddered at the thought.

Sylvie was acutely aware of her husband sitting by her side, his body not quite touching hers. The heat he gave off pulsed at her skin. His long legs were bent up with his bare arms clasped around them, the strong sinews visible under his brown skin – she found herself craving physical contact with him and was quite shocked at these feelings. It was the Moon Fullness of course, but since the advent of the hormonal implants at Stonewylde, moonlust wasn’t what it used to be. Yet Sylvie felt on fire for him. She longed to kiss the base of his throat – that small hollow she loved. She wanted to feel the silkiness of his thick, dark curls that tumbled so profusely over the neck of his jerkin and onto his shoulders. She wanted to take his strong, lean face between her hands and gaze into his smouldering grey eyes. And most of all, she wanted to feel the weight of his body on hers.

The little girls had grown tired of chasing around and had flopped onto the hard ground on their backs, staring up at the
blue
sky above. The sun was going down in the south-west – a big, coppery ball, and the swifts still swooped in great arcs over the hill.

‘You may feel too tired to dance tonight, Celandine,’ said Sylvie, tracing her daughter’s shin bone. This girl was going to be tall and slim like her; already her limbs were so long and slender.

‘I think I’ll be fine, Mum,’ she replied, and turned her serious eyes to Yul. ‘Father, this will be the first time you’ve seen me moondance. I hope it won’t spoil Mum’s dancing for you. She told me how you always loved to watch her.’

Yul felt a sudden lump in his throat at his daughter’s insight. It made his stupid outburst on Sylvie’s birthday, when he’d lost his temper over the surprise painting and tea, seem so churlish and selfish. His seven-year-old daughter’s emotional maturity shamed him.

‘I feel very honoured to be here to watch both of you,’ he said. ‘And I’m so blessed to have not one, but two moongazy girls in the family. Bluebell and I will cuddle up together and look out for the barn owl, if he comes, and see if we can spot the hares creeping up the hill. Won’t we, Blue?’

She nodded, patting his shoe from where she lay staring in wonder at the infinite sky.

‘I’m so happy you came too, Father,’ she said. ‘I feel safe with you here.’

‘Of course you’re safe, Bluebell,’ laughed Sylvie. ‘Hare Stone is a magical place.’

‘It is magical, Mummy,’ said Bluebell, ‘but it’s not safe at all.’

Old George eyed the gang of lads in the corner of the Jack in the Green indulgently. They were getting a little raucous, but it was Lammas Eve and the Moon Fullness and the Blue Moon all rolled into one. They’d a long day ahead tomorrow, reaping and stooking up in the Lammas Field, and then the threshing competition back in the Barn later. Better to get a bit tipsy now and sleep it off early, he thought, resuming his conversation with
Tom
and a few of the other older men. All were bemoaning the recent invasion by Holly and Fennel, not to mention Rainbow a few weeks before, and they were speculating how long it would be before Buzz tried to make an appearance.

‘Remember that Lammas cricket match when Yul bowled him out?’ said a grizzled old man. ‘We celebrated that night, right enough!’

‘Aye, and ’twere not long after that he were banished, cocky little bastard!’ growled another.

‘I don’t like ’em coming back like this,’ said Tom. ‘Makes me feel uneasy. Sylvie and Yul have promised that’s it, no more Hallfolk visits. We just got to finish making them boots and suchlike, and take their money, and then we’re done with ’em.’

‘Daft, them all going up Quarrycleave yesterday.’

‘Aye, any fool knows to leave well alone up there,’ agreed George.

‘The Beast that stalks – will they’ve awakened ‘un, d’you reckon?’

‘Weren’t no blood spilt. But even so . . .’

They eyed the youths in the corner, singling out the four who’d been amongst those to visit the quarry the previous day. The men lowered their voices and huddled closer.

‘They do say that Jay – son o’ Jackdaw as was – is the one who’s drawn to the place. He been up there a few times, I heard tell.’

‘More fool him! He don’t know what he’s stirring up.’

‘Should we warn him?’

‘No son o’ Jackdaw’s going to listen to us! He’s growing into a nasty piece o’ work by all accounts.’

‘Aye, if he’s daft enough to go up there, be it on his own head.’

Old Violet peered into the dark bowl half filled with spring water. She twisted and tipped it gently, so the liquid moved slightly to maintain its horizontal position. Hunching over the small bowl she began to mutter and croon, and all the while Vetchling battled for breath. Martin sat silently, his head tipped
back
in contemplation, listening intently for any noise from Mallow upstairs.

‘Aye, aye, the Blue Moon, as ever the time for making, the time for wishing. But nought is given without something being taken, and that’s the thing. Old Violet knows. The taint is still there and our old magic holds strong, but ’tis blocked as ever by that toad.’

Martin glanced across at his aged mother, now rocking backwards and forwards, the chair creaking rhythmically. He’d been privy to her prophecies since boyhood and knew of her power. She could have been a truly great Wise Woman . . .

‘Martin!’ she hissed suddenly, making him jerk in the chair. ‘There’s death ahead, death and danger! You must take care and you must act swift. I see a wolf with a serpent in his belly and you must beware! ’Tis as ever, that Old Heggy hindering me and mine at every turn! Why should Raven’s brat always take what’s ours? Why is her spawn ever above mine?’

‘What must I do, Mother?’ asked Martin, his narrow face intent. ‘You know I want what is right and just.’