Shaman of Stonewylde (8 page)

Leveret nodded; she’d spent all her life being patient with Magpie, giving him time and space to relax and express himself. If there was anyone in the world who could teach him to read and write, she knew it was her.

She stowed the books safely in her basket and was just thinking of leaving when they were interrupted. Rainbow came tumbling in from the dark, her hair like a ragged cape around her arms and her cheeks rosy from the night air.

‘Well!’ she exclaimed at the sight of Leveret. ‘I can guess who you are!’

Leveret scowled up at her, shaking her hair over her eyes to obscure her face. She hated being the centre of attention, but more than that, she hated being likened to Yul. She muttered something incoherent and tried to get her shawl from the peg, but Rainbow took her arm and dragged her back into the light.

‘Oh no, missy, I want a proper look at you.’ She turned Leveret this way and that, scanning the girl’s truculent face. ‘If Yul were a girl he’d be you. Except for the green eyes. What’s your name?’

‘Leveret.’

‘Ah yes, now I see. You’re living with Clip in his tower, I’ve heard? How strange. And how old are you? You’re tiny, but I don’t think you’re as young as you look.’

‘I’m fifteen. And I’m leaving now.’

But they persuaded her to stay a little longer as Rainbow was quite fascinated by Yul’s little sister.

‘You know, Leveret, somewhere at home I have a sketch book from when I used to live here. I did a drawing of Yul standing on the Altar Stone as the sun rose, and it really could be you. He must’ve been fifteen at the time too, the same as you are now. I’ll dig it out and show you when I next come to visit.’

‘What? You’re not leaving already?’ Dawn wailed. ‘You’ve only just got here, Rainbow, and after all the trouble I—’

‘Hell, no! I’m planning on staying for the summer at least, and maybe longer. We’ll see. Though I must find alternative accommodation – the room they’ve given me in the Hall is dreadful, all dark and poky and that miserable old git Martin won’t change it. Don’t suppose I could move in with you, Dawn?’

‘Well, you could,’ she said slowly, ‘but with David popping by most evenings . . .’

‘I’d be playing gooseberry!’ Rainbow laughed, and Leveret looked at her askance, having never heard the expression before. ‘How about your tower, Leveret? I bet the light’s wonderful on the top floor and you must have loads of room, just you and old Clip rattling around in there.’

‘I don’t think he’d want that,’ said Leveret stiffly. ‘You’re much too . . . noisy.’

Rainbow laughed again and sank back in the armchair with a groan of pleasure, wiggling her toes at the fire and stretching her arms luxuriously above her head. Leveret was quite mesmerised by her; she’d never seen anyone so naturally at ease and so overtly sensual. Rainbow was lithe and moved gracefully, and something about her made Leveret very wary.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ Rainbow said, sitting forward and throwing another log onto the fire. ‘I found somewhere perfect today that I want to make into my studio. It’s a hovel but with a bit of renovation it would be wonderful.’

Leveret’s heart started to thump in her chest.

‘Really?’ said Dawn. ‘I can’t think of anywhere in the Village that’s—’

‘No, it’s out of the Village on the path up towards the cliffs.’

‘Oh, you must mean old Mother Heggy’s place? Goddess, I wouldn’t want to go there! She was found dead in there, you know!’

‘Really? How intriguing – so it’s haunted as well. I wonder who I should ask about it?’

‘But surely it would be too dark,’ said Dawn. ‘I’ve never been
inside
– nobody goes in there – but it looks so gloomy and the windows are tiny.’

‘Well, I’d get a skylight put into the roof or something. And I—’

‘NO!’

They both turned to stare at Leveret in astonishment.

‘What? Why not? It’s a tiny little place and it’s in dreadful disrepair, but I’m happy to pay someone to do it up for me. And I’m not scared of ghosts!’

Leveret stood up and, grabbing her shawl, made for the door.

‘Are you off? I’ll come and visit you in your tower tomorrow, Leveret,’ said Rainbow cheerily. ‘I want to say hi to old Clip anyway.’

‘We’ll be busy,’ mumbled Leveret, dreading the thought of this loud, pushy woman invading their space.

‘Well, I’m sure Clip will spare me five minutes. I’ve got to see some boy tomorrow too – some half-wit who can’t even talk. I can’t say I’m wildly enthusiastic but David says he’s brilliant and—’

‘Half-wit?’ Leveret’s voice was shrill with fury. ‘How
dare
you!’

And she stormed off into the darkness whilst Dawn explained to Rainbow just what a gaffe she’d made.

The air was thick with wreaths of smoke that hung overhead like sinister haloes. The three women sat as usual in their chairs around the fire, the two old ones rocking gently and the younger one with her massive legs propped up on a log. There was a stench of unwashed bodies and sour clothing only partially masked by the aromatic smoke. One of the crones started to cough, a deep croup that lasted for ages, but the others ignored it and continued to puff rhythmically on their clay pipes.

‘I need some more o’ your tincture,’ croaked Vetchling eventually, when the cough had abated. ‘This’ll be the death of me, Violet.’

‘Don’t tempt the Dark Angel, Mother,’ said Starling, making
the
sign of the pentacle on her chest. ‘ ’Tis a nasty cough but it’ll shift now that spring’s here.’

‘Aye, warmer weather is on its way,’ said Violet. ‘I know – we’re in for a scorching summer, you mark my words. I seen all the signs.’

‘That don’t help me now,’ said Vetchling. ‘Feels like I’m coughing up my poor old lungs. Ain’t you got none o’ that special syrup left, Violet? The honeysuckle and poppy one? That one did me proud, right enough.’

‘Aye, ’twas the poppy juice that done you proud, sister,’ muttered Violet. ‘You’re a whisker too fond o’ them poppies. One o’ these mornings you won’t wake up at all if you knock back too much of that one. I’ll give you a dose of my mullein remedy – that’ll help the phlegm come up.’

‘I don’t like that one,’ whined Vetchling. ‘It don’t help me much and I’m already bringing up enough phlegm to put out the fire.’

‘Stop your moaning, Mother,’ said Starling irritably, tamping more herbs into her pipe. ‘Auntie Violet knows best. She’s the Wise Woman, not you.’

‘Aye, I’m the Wise Woman, right enough,’ muttered Violet. ‘Though there’s them that don’t remember it.’

The logs crackled for a while as each woman sat, wrapped in their greasy shawls, ruminating on this fact.

‘I seen the bitch-wife in the Village again today,’ said Starling eventually. She shifted a buttock and let out a loud rumble of wind. ‘She were dressed like an honest Villager and didn’t it look daft, her with that hair. Who’s she trying to fool?’

‘Did you speak to her, daughter?’ asked Vetchling.

‘No, I spat on the ground and gave her the evils,’ cackled Starling. ‘She didn’t like that. She don’t look well, scraggy coney that she is. Just skin and bone.’

‘Aye, just like when she first came here all them years ago,’ agreed Violet. ‘She were nought but a scarecrow then. What’s she doing in the Village then? She don’t belong there.’

‘She don’t belong anywhere at Stonewylde,’ mumbled
Vetchling
. ‘Nor them brats o’ hers. When’s she to get her comeuppance, sister? You said at Samhain, when we was in the Circle, that her time here was over. Along with the dark-haired bastard. You said they’d be pushed out and our own dear ones would take their places.’

‘Aye, and so ’twill be. Be patient, Vetch. ’Tis all a-coming just as I foretold. He’s here now and ’tis all in motion, right enough.’

They sat in companionable silence for a little longer and then Starling sighed heavily, and with both hands lifted her great legs one at a time off the log. With a grunt and another explosion of wind, she heaved her bulk out of the chair and steadied herself as gravity redistributed her mounds of flesh. She shuffled over to the range and poured hot water into three filthy earthenware mugs, along with a generous pinch of herbal mixture and a good slug of something murky from a bottle.

‘Night-caps are ready,’ she said. ‘Pity our Jay didn’t come by this evening.’

‘Aye, we need more wood chopped and more water,’ said Violet crossly, rising from her chair. She tried to stand up straight but arthritis was taking hold. ‘Who’s supposed to look after us? If the boy don’t come, we’ll die o’ cold and thirst.’

‘Ain’t his fault,’ wheezed Vetchling. ‘He has to live up at the Hall and he told me he can’t come down every day. They work him hard in that school place he goes to in the Outside World and he has to do more o’ that book-learning in the evenings.’

‘Pah! Stupid notion, taking our young ‘uns away,’ muttered Violet for the hundredth time. ‘We should have that idiot son o’ yours back, Starling. You tell that sow Maizie we need him back here to do the heavy work.’

‘ ’Tis no use!’ snapped Starling, sick of the complaints about their absent boys. ‘Magpie ain’t ours no longer. I seen him in the Village the other day with that Outside teacher, drawing some load o’ rubbish. Hardly recognised me own son! His hair is gold, would you believe? He looks like an Outsider now, not one of us at all. All fancy clothes and airs and graces.’ She spat accurately into the fire, making it hiss. ‘I’d like to take the stick to him, so
I
would, and beat him back into shape! He didn’t even look my way – me, his own mother!’

‘Don’t you fret, my girl,’ said Violet, picking up her mug with a twisted grip. ‘All will be put straight soon enough. We summoned at Samhain and we done a good job. We know he’s here amongst us. We know that by Samhain this year, all will be right at Stonewylde. All will be back in its proper place and the upstarts will be gone. ’Tis all happening. Remember what came about at Imbolc?’

‘Aye – Imbolc were the best day!’ cackled Vetchling, and then stopped as another cough erupted in her bony chest. She clutched the table and tried to steady her breathing. Starling threw more logs on the fire and pulled up the spark guard, oblivious to her mother’s suffering.

‘We could do with a man about the place,’ she mused. ‘How about it, Auntie Violet? Can you summon me a man? A nice little love spell? ’Tis been a long time and I could do with something to warm me up at nights, a woman in her prime like me.’

She leered at the crones, brown teeth gleaming in the flickering light.

‘A man? Who needs a man? More trouble than they’re worth,’ said Violet bitterly, shuffling towards the stairs. ‘We are three and we have the power. We don’t need no man messing things up!’

‘That’s all right and good for you, Auntie,’ said Starling, ‘seeing as how you’re the Wise Woman and solitary as you must be. But what about me? I have my needs and I ain’t getting no younger. If we had a fine strapping man here to look after us, we’d have no worries about Jay turning up to chop our wood and fetch our water. We need the garden dug too, and lots o’ jobs done around the cottage. You two are useless now and I can’t do it all on my own. ‘Tain’t fair on me!’

‘No, Starling, no man!’ said Violet firmly. ‘ ’Twould spoil the balance and the harmony o’ things. If you want your bed warmed, get yourself a cat.’

Harold’s round glasses were bright with the reflected glare of his desk lamp as he gazed at the screen. Around him the bedroom was in near darkness and all the surfaces were piled high with plates and cups, legacy of too many meals taken in private away from the humiliation of the Dining Hall. Harold was not a popular member of the community right now and he found it much easier to bring his food up here and stay out of sight.

Muttering to himself, he sat tapping rapidly at the keyboard, entering data into the new system. He was attempting to repair the damage done at Imbolc but it was a daunting task. He’d spent ages building up the enterprise that was
Stonewylde.com
, but it had fallen in a matter of minutes, and would take a long time to resurrect. Harold was still mystified and more than a little frightened by what had happened that night, when his hopes and dreams for a great business empire had tumbled before his eyes and that strange message had flashed repeatedly on the screen.

He’d tried to hide the damage in a futile attempt to put it all right before anyone noticed. That had been stupid. Clearly the whole network had been hacked by someone who knew what they were doing. Yul had soon discovered that the system was down, as had all the students and teachers, Hazel and the medical staff and even Martin and the household staff – everyone, in fact, who used the network. Harold had prayed that it was only a few files infected but slowly it dawned on both him and Yul that the whole lot had gone. For a few days he’d tried everything he could possibly think of, with Yul raging at him constantly. But Harold was no computer wizard and had been forced to admit defeat. The final straw had been when he’d tried to reinstall the back-up and had reinfected the system. The virus had started up all over again; the backup was corrupted too and none of the data on it could ever be used. Everything had gone.

The expert called in to sort out the mess, at great expense, had been impressed by the sheer ingenuity of the virus. It was one he’d never seen before and extremely cleverly programmed. Much of his explanation and speculation had gone over Harold’s head, but the bottom line was that Harold’s data – his files and
accounts
, contacts and records, everything he’d worked so hard to build up – had all gone. As had the household accounts and records, the medical and dental files, everything to do with the farming and production of food, and all the school records too – lesson plans, student coursework and personal data. The system had to be wiped clean to destroy the virus that permeated the entire network; little bits of code, like poisonous seeds, were ingeniously tucked away inside the back-ups and programmes, and would suddenly bloom into deadly flower all over again at a hidden stimulus.

Perhaps the worst aspect was what had happened to all the customers’ data. When Harold had launched his pre-Yule marketing campaign he’d succeeded beyond all expectation. The orders for goods had come flooding in during November and December, hundreds and hundreds of wealthy customers finding the unusual and exclusive Stonewylde products to be the perfect answer to their Christmas gift dilemmas. Harold had introduced a ‘recommend a friend’ reward scheme to bring more contacts to the mailing list, and this had resulted in a massive expansion of potential customers, whom he’d intended to contact in the New Year with a newsletter. But one of the nasty twists of the virus was to corrupt this database of contacts and send obscene spam to each e-mail address. There’d been a flood of complaints and Stonewylde’s name had become sullied and blacklisted even though Harold had convinced the authorities of the company’s innocence. Because of the collapse of the system, he couldn’t even contact his customers to apologise.