Dance of the Stones

by Andrea Spalding

  The hawk relaxed. The wraith had been no threat for hundreds of years. Reassured, she glided to the roof of Manor Cottage, folded her wings and waited for sleep to overtake the chosen child.

  4.

  CIRCLE MAGIC

  “Adam, Adam, are you asleep?” whispered Owen.

  It was midnight and they’d been talking for ages, but Adam had fallen quiet in midsentence.

  Owen tossed and turned. He was so eager for Ava to contact him that sleep was impossible. He couldn’t believe his luck. He was the one the Wise Ones were talking to, not his Canadian cousins and not his older sister. He sat up and pulled back the curtain.

  “Come on, Ava,” he whispered. “Where are you?” He pictured her as he had last seen her in the Place Beyond Morning, an imposing half-woman, half-bird, whose beauty made his breath catch. He stared at the stars, willing her to come, until his eyes watered. Eventually sleep won. Owen sprawled back on his pillow, one foot thrust out of the sheets, snoring gently.

  The image of a hawk circled through his dreams. She flew closer and closer.

  Come, fly with me, Owen. Ava’s voice filled his mind.

  In his dream, Owen spread his arms and soared into the air through the open window. “Brilliant!” he laughed. He flew a wobbly course down the road between the darkened houses and experimented, banking one way, then swiftly turning the other. It was wonderful! He had never experienced such freedom. He flapped his arms furiously, tucked in his head and turned a couple of shaky somersaults. Somehow he managed to level out before hitting the ground. “Fan-bloody-tastic!” he shouted. He looked around and saw the hawk hovering above him.

  Don’t shout, she reproved him. It hurts my head. Mind–speak. I’ll hear you.

  Where are we going? Owen asked as he flew clumsily up to join Ava.

  Into the past, replied Ava. But first I have much to explain. Come. She glided to the church tower and perched on one arm of the weather vane.

  Flapping frantically, legs making ungainly swimming motions, Owen followed and crash-landed on the roof.

  Ouch! This takes a bit of practice. He rubbed a bruised knee and sat on the edge of the tower battlements, feet dangling.

  The stones dominated. They stood, silvered sentinels, forever on guard.

  Owen sat, drinking it all in.

  What do you see? said Ava.

  Owen waved his arm, almost lost for words. The stones, the village, the sky. It’s beautiful.

  Look again . . . Do you see any veils of darkness?

  Owen scanned the landscape. Like what?

  Ava was silent.

  Owen looked again. Only . . . He hesitated . . . . a bit of mist rising near one of the stones . . . and . . . He shrugged. a blank bit of sky . . . as though a small cloud is covering the stars. He pointed toward the vast sweep of the Milky Way.

  Well done, child, Ava said. You know how to observe. Always watch for mist or cloud when all else is clear. What seems like a cloud in the sky is small but important. It is blackness obscuring the approach of the Dark Being. She has entered your universe and is searching each star for our tools. So far Gaia has escaped her attention, but the Wise Ones must regain their tools before she discovers your planet and takes them for herself.

  Ava turned her head and gazed at the Circle.

  The mist near my stones is an elemental, a night-prowling wraith. The stones have it under control. They confine it by day, and it prowls around the outside edge of the Circle at night. It is an unwitting servant of the Dark Being, though it knows nothing of her. As the Dark Being approaches, it gains strength. So will other elementals, both of darkness and light, lurking on this place you call Earth. As our Old Magic rises, so does the Dark Magic. Light and dark must balance for harmony. There cannot be one without the other, but one must not overpower the other or both magics will be destroyed.

  Why does the Dark Being want your tools? asked Owen. It doesn’t make sense if upsetting the balance destroys things.

  Ava sighed. Power sometimes corrupts the mind. She is so hungry for more power that she has stopped believing in the balance.

  So we are going to be destroyed? Owen shuddered. Everyone on earth is going to be killed?

  Ava flew down and perched on the battlement beside him. Child, listen. It is our power that will be destroyed. Then both the Dark Being and the Wise Ones will be nothing. She touched his arm with her wing. We wish to avoid trouble by finding the tools and removing them from Gaia. Then you will never be troubled by her.

  Owen frowned. But . . . but what if she gets you? What about the balance? You said there must always be dark and light. What happens if you are nothing?

  Ava was silent for a long time. I do not know, for we have always been, she admitted finally. But Gaia will change.

  Owen stared at the landscape beneath him. This was heavy-duty stuff. It had seemed such fun when they had entered into the first adventure, but now that he had seen the cloud, evil hung in the air. Unthinkingly, he put out his hand and stroked the hawk beside him, drawing comfort from her warmth and softness.

  He stilled his hand and turned to look at her. Ava was a hawk now, but the image of her beauty as a Wise One filled his mind.

  He snatched back his hand. I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to be rude.

  I didn’t feel rudeness, only affection and a need for reassurance, said Ava. She answered his unspoken question. Yes, I am a shape-changer. Humans are more comfortable with shapes they recognize, so when on Gaia with you, I am a hawk or a woman. Tonight we fly, so I am a hawk.

  What must I do to help? asked Owen quietly.

  You must watch the past, then gather the main elements of your earth’s Old Magic and use them to unlock the secret of the stones. This will release my circlet. Ava shook out her feathers, stretched and flexed her wings. It is time to fly, child. Follow me. She flew off the tower and headed toward the Stone Circle.

  Owen gulped. The ground was a long way down. He had flown out of the window on impulse, but now he had to launch himself off a high tower. In the first flush of the magic he had forgotten how much he hated heights.

  A feeling of strength and safety flooded over him. You are my chosen helper, Owen. Another Magic Child like Chantel. You will not fall.

  Owen closed his eyes, gathered his courage and tried to jump into space. He couldn’t move.

  Owen, do you trust me?

  Er . . . yes. Owen’s voice shook. He tried to block out a vision of his body smashing into the ground.

  Believe in the magic and believe in yourself. You can fly.

  Ava swooped down and pushed Owen in the middle of his back.

  He tumbled off the tower yelling, kicking and flapping frantically.

  The air streamed past him, but there was no sense of the ground coming up to meet him. Owen opened one eye. He was high above the earth. “Thanks, Ava,” he yelled, forgetting to mindspeak in his astonishment. He followed her.

  Below them, the stones surrounded the dreaming village. Ava began to trace their circle.

  Owen tucked in behind her. He flapped when Ava flapped and glided when she glided. They flew faster. The Circle below seemed to turn, or was it them? The midnight sky whirled and the wind rushed past him, flattening his feathers . . . HIS FEATHERS? Owen was a boy no more. His feet were talons. His arms were wings. His nose was a beak. He was a hawk.

  Their speed increased. Round and round they circled Night and day blurred as they hurtled through countless sunrises and sunsets, until Ava’s wingbeats slowed.

  Owen gasped. A snowflake landed on his beak and a chilly winter wind buffeted him. They were wheeling high above the Avebury Circle, but gone were the village and the surrounding fields and downs. The land below was forested, an enormous oak forest that flowed over hills and valleys as far as he could see.

  Small gaps showed in the forest. Occasionally the top of a hill was cleared and a simple village of huts, surrounded by a protective fence, huddled on the summit. Several hunting trails could be
seen, and a dry streambed, but the biggest clearing held the Stone Circle.

  The Great Circle was magnificent, covered in snow.

  The ditch surrounding it was twice as deep as the modern one. The high embankment that Owen had walked gleamed white against the dark forest. It dipped in four places to create four imposing entrances, one for each direction. From two entrances, pairs of stones marched through the forest in wide cleared avenues. One ended suddenly, but the other avenue marched for over a mile, linking the Great Circle to a tiny stone circle on a far hill. That circle contained a small round hut.

  Most striking of all were the features within the Great Circle. For it was not one circle, but three. Two smaller circles stood side by side within the gigantic outer circle. The outer circle was not quite complete. A dark hole yawned in a gap where one stone was missing.

  Owen struggled to make sense of all he saw.

  You are looking at the past, said Ava. Observe silently. We are seeing my Circle as it was four thousand years ago. You cannot be part of its history. You can only be part of its future. A past ritual magically hid my circlet forever. Observe the ritual carefully for clues. Your task is to create a future ritual that will release it.

  I don’t get it. Owen was puzzled. If you can see into the past, you must know where your circlet is. Why don’t you fetch it?

  Only the people of Gaia can open their sacred places without disrupting the balance. It must be done freely. Because of your offer to help, you four children have become the representatives of Gaia.

  What if we mess up? Owen replied worriedly.

  Ava did not reply.

  They spiraled downward.

  Owen’s hawk eyes spotted movements far below. Ant-like dots were converging on the Great Circle.

  As they flew closer, the ants became humans wearing woolen tunics, wraps and skin capes.

  A group of seven people, in a solemn procession, were walking from the hut in the distant circle along the main avenue of stones.

  Making their way along the second avenue were over a hundred people hauling a massive stone over a frozen trail toward the Great Circle.

  A small group of men were working around the gap in the Great Circle.

  A large crowd was gathering along the massive embankment to watch.

  Ava and Owen circled lower. Ava swooped and landed on a standing stone. She folded her wings, puffed up her feathers to keep warm and watched the past with bright hawk eyes.

  Now you must concentrate, child. Ava’s voice filled Owen’s mind. See the past through the eyes of Hewll, the Pit Maker. Ava fixed her hawk gaze on a young man laboring at the edge of the large hole.

  Owen did the same.

  5.

  THE FINAL STONE

  The morning was cold with a swirl of light snow. Despite the frigid temperature, Hewll brushed away beads of sweat. He grasped his antler pick and urged his team of Pit Makers to finish the ramp into the last pit.

  The final stone was almost there.

  The People of the Hawk and the People of the Deer shouted encouragement from the embankment around the great ditch.

  Hewll ran his eyes over his tribe. No one was missing, not even Old One Eye, who could barely walk. Hewll gave a nod of approval. No one should miss this sight. This was the day foretold by the tribe’s grandparents’ grandparents’ grandparents’ grandparent. This was the day of completion. The wondrous day the great Stone Circle would finally reflect the eternal circles of Ava, the hawk-mother who watched over them and carried their spirits to the sky.

  A shout made him turn. “The Maidens are here!”

  “Enough!” Hewll motioned his team out of the hole.

  Young girls carrying skin buckets full of water appeared. They crossed the snow-covered ground, dripping water that instantly formed a slick of ice. They trickled water over the ramp. It glazed the slope.

  Hewll smiled. Ulwin was the second maiden. There was no mistaking her lithe figure, despite the heavy wool wrap she had swathed around her head and body against the bitter cold. After the work was completed, he and Ulwin would be bonded at the feast.

  She flashed him a grin as she passed.

  Hewll swelled with pride.

  * * *

  Psst, Ava, said Owen to the hawk on the stone beside him. A movement had broken his concentration, a gathering of mist swirling at the base of the stone beside him. That misty thing. Is it the night-prowling wraith? Is it the same thing you showed me from the church?

  Yes, Ava replied. The wraith was here before the stones. There have been elementals on Gaia as long as there have been people.

  But it’s daylight.

  In the beginning the wraith roamed freely, though it preferred night. Only after it tried to disrupt the power of the Circle did the stones subdue it and limit its movements. Concentrate, Owen. Watch.

  Owen turned back to his task, slipping again into Hewll’s mind.

  * * *

  Hewll heard the thump of the logs and the panting, grunting and cursing of men. The Rollers and Pullers were near.

  A sudden shout of welcome erupted. The tribes’ two shamans and their five apprentices had completed the sacred Walk of Seven along the Avenue from the Sanctuary. They stepped through the Shaman’s Entrance into the Great Circle.

  Hewll gasped. The chief shaman’s upper face was concealed by a golden half-mask resembling a hawk’s eyes and beak. A woven helmet threaded with dancing, fluttering hawk feathers completed the illusion. Her eyes glittered behind the holes. A gleaming gold-handled sickle was tucked into her belt and a gilded horn was slung on a cord over her shoulder. Behind her walked an apprentice bearing a mistletoe bough.

  The second shaman followed wearing a deer-like leather half-mask and a massive crown of intertwined deer antlers. He carried a small clay pot. Two men and two women followed chanting, “Fare to the Stones. Fare to the Circle.”

  “Peace is within. Leave behind evil,” Hewll and the tribes’ people answered.

  The chief shaman stood beside the pit and drew forth her sickle. “Blessed be the sacred mistletoe,” she intoned, “whose roots need no earth and drink no water, whose dried remains are used to light the sacred fire and whose juices protect us from dark spirits.”

  “Blessed be the mistletoe,” replied the tribes’ people.

  Gold flashed as the chief shaman severed the mistletoe ball from the bough and cast it into the pit.

  The second shaman entered the smaller of the inner circles. Pulling two flints from his pocket he shouted, “Behold, the fire stones! Spitters of flame, lighters of darkness, givers of warmth, shield against our enemies.”

  “Blessed be the fire stones,” the tribes’ people cried.

  Hewll held his breath as the second shaman smashed the stones together.

  A spark flashed and a tiny ember smoldered. The shaman blew. A flame greedily licked dried flakes of mistletoe and began to consume them.

  “The fire, the fire, blessed be the sacred fire,” roared Hewll and the tribes’ people.

  Soon a great bonfire roared.

  The chief shaman lifted the horn from her shoulder and blew. “Behold, the last Sarsen Stone,” she called in a high clear voice.

  THUD! A log dropped across the Moon Entrance. Men grasping braided ropes leaped over the log, straining and pulling to keep the tension on the lines. The gray end of the Sarsen edged slowly into the Circle.

  Hewll crossed his fingers and spat, making the ancient charm for luck, as inch by inch the stone moved forward.

  The Rollers and Pullers worked in teams, carrying logs from behind to be laid once more before the stone. The logs rolled on the ground and eased the stone forward. Men took over from men, keeping the massive ropes taut and another log ready. The slow steady momentum must not stop. Those at the front grunted, strained and pulled. Those at the back pushed and coaxed with heavy wooden levers.

  The onlookers cheered them on.

  The stone edged across the Circle toward the hole.

>   The fire blazed in celebration.

  “All that remains now is the perfect drop,” whispered Hewll to his neighbor.

  The Sarsen teetered over the pit, then shook the ground as it fell on the icy ramp and plunged down to bury its end perfectly in the center, crushing the mistletoe.

  Hewll yelled with delight. He turned to the Pit Makers and they slapped each other on the back.

  The dance changed.

  Ropes were harnessed to the top of the stone. The Pit Makers, Rollers and Pullers joined forces to gather up the logs and thrust and brace them beneath the angle of the stone. Hewll threw himself into the work using a large wooden lever.

  Inch by inch the stone moved upright.

  The sun began its descent.

  Women brought more fuel. Soon the fire blazed brighter than the setting sun.

  Shadows lengthened and still the people toiled.

  At last the shaman’s horn blew.

  The stone stood.

  * * *

  Once more an uneasy feeling distracted Owen. He drew back into his hawk body and looked again at the stone beside him. The mist at its base bubbled and boiled.

  Ava, what’s happening to the wraith? It seems angry.

  Ava sighed. It is angry. It wants to disrupt the ceremony and destroy my power.

  Can it do that? asked Owen anxiously.

  It will try.

  * * *

  Hewll rose and leaped into action. “Dig,” he yelled.

  Grasping white bone shovels made from oxen scapula, he and his team began to refill the pit. They worked long into the winter night. Finally the stone stood firm. The Circle was complete.

  Hewll and the Pit Makers stood together on the rim of the gigantic ditch. “Rejoice!” shouted Hewll. “Our picks and shovels have raised a sacred stone; any lesser job would defile them. Let them keep their memory of triumph. Tomorrow we will hunt an ox and deer and make new ones.”