Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘We’re all the folk of Stonewylde,’ said Sylvie, her heart thumping with annoyance. ‘As I said, I think you’ll find many things very different now. And you’d better be on your best behaviour too, because if there’s any trouble you’ll be asked to leave immediately.’

  Rainbow leaned over and her blue gaze raked Sylvie’s flushed face. Her eyes were wide with innocence but her lip curled derisively.

  ‘Well, I’d be very grateful if you’d take me under your wing, Sylvie, and make sure I stay on the straight and narrow path. You know I always was a bad girl and trouble is what I do best.’

  She scanned their affronted faces and threw back her head, roaring with laughter.

  ‘Oh come on – I’m only joking! This is the festival of spring – when are we going to start having some fun? Since when did Stonewylde become so deadly serious?’

  ‘Where’s our little Harebrain today?’ asked Gefrin later on, as he stood out on the Village Green with a tankard of cider in his hand. ‘I thought Mother said she’d be coming down to the Village today?’

  Sweyn shrugged. ‘She were at the Stone Circle this morning but I ain’t seen her since. Clip’s got her well and truly guarded.’

  ‘At least we don’t have to put up with her any more,’ said Gefrin, ‘and she’s not upsetting Mother.’ He was busy watching a group of girls hanging around by the duck pond.

  ‘Yeah, but she never did get her comeuppance after what she did at Imbolc,’ growled Sweyn, his red face as belligerent as ever. ‘We ain’t letting her off the hook just ‘cos Clip’s keeping her under lock and key. We told her we’d get her and we will. Imbolc was just the start of it. And where’s Jay today?’

  ‘He went off to get the crones,’ said Gefrin. ‘He’s got to help ’em down the lane. They want to join in the feast again like they did at Imbolc.’

  Sweyn chuckled at the memory. ‘Yeah, do you remember it? That were such a good day, especially when Yul asked us to take Lev off for a walk and get her to drink something! I’ll never forget that. Pity she’s not about today.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll come down later,’ said Gefrin, nodding across at the girls who were staring his way. They burst into loud peals of laughter at this and he blushed scarlet. ‘Do you think Meadowsweet likes me?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ said Sweyn. ‘She’s as daft as the lot of ’em. What are they laughing about? Is it me?’

  ‘No,’ said Gefrin glumly. ‘I think it’s me. I don’t understand. At the farm she’s as nice as pie to me. It’s all “Ooh Gefrin, this” and “Gefrin, that”. She’s always coming out to find me and talk to me. But now, when all her mates are with her . . .’

  ‘Who cares?’ said Sweyn gruffly. ‘They’re all bloody stupid, the whole herd.’

  ‘Not Meadowsweet!’ said Gefrin. ‘She’s alright. I just wish they’d stop laughing at me.’

  Later in the day, Martin stood in a corner of the Barn, his arms folded, surveying the scene. He’d always been a dour man, not given to smiles or softness, but lately he’d become even more grim. The ceremony in the Stone Circle last Samhain had been the start of a new regime, a turning point in the recent sorry history of Stonewylde. Since then things hadn’t moved fast enough for his liking, but he recognised that changes were afoot and had been ever since that wild, terrifying night when he and the others had dared to meddle with the Otherworld.

  Martin was a patient man and had bided his time. But this year would see the end of the travesty that Stonewylde had become. This year, the rightful leaders would take their place again and the dark-haired bastard-brat would be out, along with his shrew of a wife and her bossy ginger mother. Order would be restored, and Stonewylde would once again enter a golden age. Martin knew the part he must play in all this and relished it.

  His slate-grey eyes darted about, missing nothing. There was Yul storming around and upsetting folk, in another of his foul tempers again. But Martin knew why and he chuckled to himself, his bitter mouth twisting with mirth. He had personally assisted the bitch-wife and her spawn in moving their things down to the Village, despite her protestations. He’d ordered the horse and cart from the stables and made a big show of getting youngsters to help carry downstairs the wicker baskets of children’s toys and woven bags of clothes and shoes. If she’d hoped to sneak out quietly with her tail between her legs, he’d ruined that plan. Thanks to him, everyone had seen what she was up to – leaving her husband. And now she was out of his master’s beautiful rooms that she’d destroyed with her stupid remodelling and redecorating, and down to the Village where she belonged. Or rather, didn’t belong, because if Martin had his way she’d be out of Stonewylde in a flash. And those who rightfully should be in charge would finally take the reins.

  Martin’s face twisted further as he thought of the years of misrule they’d all had to endure. But not for much longer! As he thought this, he noticed his mother, aunt and cousin arriving in the Great Barn, accompanied by Jay. Where was Swift? He should be helping his grandmother too – no need for Jay to get all the perks that came with being favoured by Violet and Vetchling. For all his cleverness, Swift was getting a bit too high and mighty lately, Martin thought with a frown. In the old days he’d have given his son the strap and sorted him out in time-honoured fashion. That was all youngsters needed to bring them back to heel. But of course that sort of natural behaviour – a parent disciplining his child as he saw fit – was banned, thanks to Yul. And that was one of a very long list of reasons why Martin would be over the moon to see the end of the upstart’s regime, and the start of the bright new era at Stonewylde.

  3

  Yul surveyed his little girls gravely. They sat together at the large scrubbed pine table in the parlour of the cottage where he’d grown up. Maizie and Sylvie were out and he had them to himself. The girls’ pencils and paper were spread out, Maizie’s tiny jar of violets pushed to one side.

  ‘So you don’t want to come back home to the Hall?’ he asked.

  Bluebell continued to draw her picture, tongue peeping from between her lips, whilst Celandine paused to regard him. Her deep grey eyes seemed to bore into him and suddenly he felt unworthy, wrong to try to manipulate his children like this.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father,’ she replied. ‘You need to talk to Mummy about that, not us. But please don’t worry because we’re really enjoying staying here in the Village.’

  He nodded, the lump in his throat making his eyes prickle.

  ‘Are you alright, Father?’ asked Bluebell. ‘You must be a bit lonely and small in those big rooms. Are you scared?’

  ‘Scared? Why would I be scared?’

  Bluebell shrugged and continued drawing a faerie emerging from a flower.

  ‘ ’Cos I was scared there. That’s why I had my nightmares and screaming. But I don’t get it here, in Granny Maizie’s cottage. It’s safe here and nobody creeps about at night-time.’

  Yul frowned at her.

  ‘We’re very busy here,’ added Celandine. ‘We have to do lots of jobs for Granny and it’s just like when you and Auntie Rosie and Auntie Leveret and all the uncles were little.’

  Yul smiled at this, just a little bitterly. Bluebell looked up and caught his eye. She carefully put down her pencil and, climbing down from the old chair, trotted round to be pulled up onto his lap. He buried his face in her curls and fought back the tears. He missed them so very much. Having spent so little time with them over the past few months, he’d never imagined it would be as painful as this.

  ‘I miss you too, Father,’ said Bluebell. ‘Why don’t you come and stay here as well? Then we could all be together.’

  ‘I want us all to live together at the Hall in our rooms,’ said Yul. ‘That’s our home, not here.’

  Celandine looked at him steadily.

  ‘I don’t think Mummy feels that,’ she said. ‘She’s been sleeping better here, and she’s so busy and much happier. She weaves cloth every night and does knitting and quilting, and Granny’s teaching her how to co
ok. She really loves it.’

  ‘Yes, and we’re in charge of all the chickens!’ cried Bluebell. ‘And we have to feed them and do the water and collect the eggs and tuck them in their bed at night-time nice and safe so the foxes don’t get ’em!’

  ‘We do lots more than that,’ said Celandine. ‘I’m learning to weave at the loom too, and Granny’s teaching us all how to knit, even Blue. And we sweep the floor and bring in logs for the range and the fire.’

  ‘And make our own beds! And we have to go to the Bath House for a proper bath but not every day ‘cos we can just have a bowl of water and a cloth to wash here, Granny said. And guess what, Father – we all have to use a potty at night time if we need a wee!’

  Celandine nodded at this.

  ‘I don’t really like the baths in the Bath House,’ she said. ‘They’re not that clean and private. But if we’re going to live in the Village we need to get used to it. The toilet in the garden isn’t so bad, as it’s like the one at Nursery. I don’t mind throwing sawdust down the hole. And I don’t mind not having lights here either. It’s really cosy with the candles and oil lamps.’

  ‘And if we’re shivery cold we just put on another woolly like Granny told us to!’ said Bluebell. She turned in Yul’s arms and took his face in her chubby little hands, gazing intently into his eyes. ‘But I miss you, Father, and I wish you were here too. Then it’d all be perfect for me.’

  Clip left the tower through the door on the ground floor that led into the mediaeval part of the Hall. The silver-blue robes hung off his scarecrow frame as he strode through the Galleried Hall. His soft boots were silent on the ancient flagstones and he paused, gazing up at the gallery that ran along one side of the vaulted hall. Above his head, the carved Green Men and triple hare motifs went unnoticed as he remembered the time all those years ago when he and Miranda had announced to the world that it was he who’d fathered Sylvie. He’d never, as long as he lived, forget that moment of supreme joy as he saw his brother Sol’s face turn dangerously white. All Sol’s plans had come crashing down at that moment, whilst Sylvie’s and Yul’s lives had, in the space of those couple of minutes, soared from the depths of despair to the pinnacle of hope. Clip’s lined face creased into a small smile at the memory and he shook his wispy white head ruefully. The emotion in this hall had been super-charged that day; he hoped there’d never be a repeat of that dreadful intensity.

  Although not at quite the same level of passion, the Galleried Hall had seen many a struggle since then. He thought back to the last two Council meetings, held near the Moon Fullnesses of February and March, when things had become very heated. First there were all the terrible recriminations following the disastrous Imbolc. Maizie had been torn between anger and humiliation in equal measures, and Yul had made everything much worse with all the accusations and reproach aimed at Sylvie. Clip had been forced to intervene as his daughter was subjected to Yul’s cruel bullying. Martin had added fuel to the fire throughout the whole meeting, making pointed remarks about the fact that it was Yul’s sister who’d failed in her role as the Bright Maiden and who’d ruined the event for the entire community. He’d also brought up the issue about the computer network crash and Harold’s failure to avert a crisis that had caused Stonewylde.com to disappear for the foreseeable future. Martin just wouldn’t let it drop, and, as Yul’s temper had risen, Clip had wondered what exactly was going on.

  Then, at the last meeting barely three weeks ago, Yul had announced that Rainbow had been invited to spend the next few months at Stonewylde. At that point Sylvie had almost walked out of the meeting and Clip had been obliged to exercise his utmost skills in diplomacy to diffuse the situation. Again, Yul had launched an attack on Sylvie for her reluctance to allow Rainbow back into Stonewylde. When she’d dared to stand up to him and fight back, he’d hinted that her sanity was in question. Clip had been furious and had taken the unprecedented step of reprimanding Yul in full view of the whole Council, which had caused even more unpleasantness. He hated the politics and manipulations that riddled Stonewylde at present, and it was from all this that he longed to escape. If he were to leave by Samhain of this year as promised, he now had only seven months left. He was torn between euphoria and guilt at the prospect.

  Clip left the ancient Galleried Hall and strode through the corridors and passages until he came to one of the wings at the back of the vast complex that was the Hall. The nurse he bumped into directed him to where Hazel sat, with a group of patients, in a bright and cheerful sitting room. All were busy with needlework or model-making, save one very elderly lady who was propped in a chair snoozing by the window. Hazel looked up from her conversation as Clip appeared in the doorway.

  Soon they were drinking tea together in Hazel’s office, and Clip felt at ease. He liked this woman; one of the original Hallfolk, she too had been enamoured with his brother, but it was Hazel who’d first recognised something in Sylvie and had brought her and Miranda to Stonewylde. She’d been an excellent doctor over the years and worked so hard. She’d managed somehow to integrate her up-to-date medical practice with the traditions of Stonewylde, and not upset too many people in the process.

  ‘It’s about Leveret,’ he began, his silver-grey eyes twinkling at her.

  ‘Is she in more trouble?’ asked Hazel. ‘I thought she was now tucked firmly under your wing.’

  Clip chuckled at this.

  ‘Very firmly. But there are two things I’d like to ask you to do for the girl, and you know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Hazel, thinking how Clip looked rather haggard and wondering how to persuade him to have a check-up. He always managed to avoid the annual Stonewylde health-check that everyone else had. She respected Clip and had always sympathised with him in his predicament; he clearly had no wish to lead Stonewylde but battled to fulfil his duty.

  ‘I’d like her to be allowed to come in and sit with the elderly patients and residents from time to time, and talk to them about their herbal knowledge,’ he said, sipping his tea. ‘Now you’ve had the go-ahead to start moving the more frail folk up to the Hall into their own special accommodation, I’d like her to record some of the old lore before it’s forgotten.’

  Hazel nodded at this, her blonde bobbed hair brushing the stethoscope around her neck. She knew that Clip had supported her idea to introduce a geriatric wing at the Hall in a bid to provide better care for the elderly, and also to free up cottages in the Village where space was at a premium. Many of the Council of Elders had strongly opposed the idea. It went completely against long-standing Stonewylde principles of living and eventually dying in your own cottage with your family caring for you until the end. Hazel knew too that the scheme would meet with a great deal of opposition amongst the old folk themselves, many of whom still thought of the Hall as somewhere out of their domain.

  ‘Good idea, Clip, and the old folk will love it I’m sure. One of the things I’m concerned about is that they’ll lose touch with the lifeblood of Stonewylde and feel themselves packed away up here. I want there to be lots of interaction between the elderly living here and the Village. Having our youngsters sit and chat with them regularly is a brilliant idea and I’ll set that in motion from the start. I have no objection to there being another agenda in this case!’

  Clip smiled at her and she thought again just how thin and almost desiccated his face had become.

  ‘Forgive me, Clip, but I know you missed your check-up again. How are you feeling nowadays? If you’re to leave us later this year we need to make sure you’re completely fit and healthy, don’t we?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m as fit as a fighting cock . . . or a flea, or whatever the expression is,’ he said blithely. ‘And the other thing please, Hazel, is each week I’d like you to give an hour of your time – or more if you could – to teaching Leveret. No,’ he said as she started to speak, ‘this is nothing to do with what Miranda or Maizie or anyone else who controls the child’s life wants for her
. Please, Hazel, you must trust me in this.’

  Hazel looked into his kindly, careworn face and nodded, having complete faith in him.

  ‘Leveret is destined to become our Shaman, our Wise Woman and our healer,’ he continued. ‘It’s a huge responsibility and she’s so very young and so very powerless. There are a number of forces at work against her which manifest themselves in many ways – not least through her own mother. I’m talking deep Stonewylde magic here, Hazel. Do you understand?’

  Again Hazel nodded.

  ‘I remember,’ she said slowly, ‘when I first realised how hoodwinked I’d been by Magus, and how Sylvie was in such danger from him. I remember too that incredible sense of destiny that surrounded Yul and his plans to fulfil the old prophecy. Is that the sort of level we’re talking about here?’

  ‘Exactly so. Leveret needs support if she’s going to win through and fulfil her destiny. She needs a sound medical knowledge as well as all the herbal and folklore remedies, and her magical understanding. She needs—’

  ‘Yes, Maizie spoke to me a while ago about this. She’s very keen for Leveret to become a doctor and she spoke of the girl’s tremendous healing gifts.’

  Clip took Hazel’s hands between his and looked into her pretty brown eyes.

  ‘Hazel, she’ll never become a doctor, despite Maizie’s dreams. Leveret can’t leave Stonewylde and she’d never survive in the Outside World for all those years of study and training. She’s under my tutelage at the moment and she’s like a sponge, absorbing everything I’m putting her way. But what she really needs is to learn some of the underpinning principles of modern medicine. She’ll never learn enough to become a doctor like you, but if you could teach her the very basics then she’ll be better placed as a traditional healer at Stonewylde.’

  Hazel squeezed his bony hands and gave him a warm smile.

  ‘I’d be honoured to teach Leveret,’ she said. ‘She’s a special girl and someone who’s long been misunderstood. I’d be glad to help.’