Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  4

  Leveret entered the Village as dusk was falling. She carried a lantern to guide her home again later and was looking forward to the walk back. She enjoyed being out at night time with the owls calling and the foxes barking, though the bats were still in hibernation so no dark shapes flitted around as she walked briskly. She loved this freedom and thought how happy she was living with Clip, despite missing her mother. Every day was a kind of adventure for her, with books piled up by Clip for her to study, or a walk planned to look for certain plants, or a set of instructions to be carried out. She felt that Clip was enjoying teaching her as much as she enjoyed learning.

  Luckily he’d overcome the head-teacher’s objections about her missing school, promising she wouldn’t neglect her coursework and would study everything she should under his supervision. Leveret knew from Clip’s expression that Miranda had been unhappy about the proposal, but there was little she could do in the face of Clip’s determination. Leveret was also delighted about visiting the old folk so she could take notes. She was really excited and they’d discussed the Book of Shadows she needed. Clip had ordered it from a little shop he knew in the backstreets of London where they made books by hand, along with a special fountain pen and ink. He’d also promised her a great batch of equipment; bottles, flasks, corks, pans and everything she was likely to need to make herbal remedies for the community.

  During their discussion Leveret had decided to tell him about Mother Heggy’s cottage. Much as she loved living with Clip in the tower, she knew that it was in the tumbledown cottage that the magic was strong. She’d always been drawn to the place ever since Yul had taken her there as a child and it was where she felt Mother Heggy’s presence the strongest. She knew that Clip would never permit her to live there alone but that wasn’t what she wanted, especially with the issue of her brothers and Jay still looming large. She wouldn’t be safe alone up there. But she wanted to use the cottage for preparing and making medicine. In the tower she’d train to be a shaman, and in the cottage she’d learn how to be the Wise Woman. However they’d been side-tracked by choosing her book and Leveret resolved to speak to Clip soon about tidying up and possibly renovating the cottage. The winter had been mild but even so, the roof was leaking and the door was loose, and the range would never light unless the chimney was swept properly first.

  Leveret walked into the Village and glanced down the lane leading to her cottage. She imagined Sylvie and her little nieces sitting with Maizie around the fire and her heart wrenched slightly. But she pushed those feelings aside and marched past the Jack in the Green and the merriment that spilled from its open door. She glanced into the Barn and saw it was as busy as ever, with groups of people her own age and younger engaged in activities or just sitting around chatting. She’d never been one to join in the craft and hobby groups in the evenings, preferring her own company or a good book. She wondered if her mother was in there but resisted the temptation to look inside properly; if Maizie were in there, what could they say to each other?

  She continued on to the Village School and the cottage nestling against it like a shy child to its mother. Light glowed from the windows as she walked up the path, past the bright faces of the daffodils still visible in the fading daylight, and knocked on the front door. Dawn was surprised but gave her a welcoming smile and invited her in. Leveret was relieved that Dawn was alone and accepted a cup of rosehip tea. They sat in the comfy old armchairs by the fire and Leveret launched into the purpose of her visit.

  ‘Yesterday I discovered that Magpie understands about writing,’ she began.

  ‘Magpie?’ Dawn frowned. She hadn’t had any dealings with him for years as he’d left the Village School long ago. She recalled the filthy little boy sitting mutely in the classrooms, unable to listen or engage with anything. She’d always felt that they’d failed Magpie. She’d done her best but he’d been born during the baby boom and there’d been no extra time or resources for a child such as him. The staff in the Nursery had warned her she’d get nowhere with him, and he was kept off school so often that in the end she’d given up trying. She recalled guiltily how relieved she’d felt when he finally moved up to the Hall School.

  ‘Yes, Magpie!’ said Leveret sharply. ‘I know it’s unbelievable but really, he understands that the marks on a page represent a word. Which proves that he’s capable of learning to read and write.’

  Dawn looked doubtful and Leveret scowled at her, even though she’d always liked Dawn. She remembered being taught by Dawn in the Village School and knew her to be both kind and patient. Leveret sighed.

  ‘It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, but—’

  ‘No, I haven’t said that,’ interrupted Dawn. ‘Of course I remember poor Magpie as a youngster at school, and how he struggled with everything. I’ve also seen his almost miraculous transformation since he was taken out of his home and sent to live with Marigold and Cherry. I gather that was thanks to you?’

  Leveret nodded, sipping her tea and studying Dawn carefully. Clip had told her she must learn to watch people, not leap in before she’d got their measure. A Wise Woman, he’d said, must bide her time, hold her tongue and allow others to reveal themselves. Leveret found this lesson a hard one to learn.

  ‘And David has told me about Magpie’s incredible artistic talent,’ continued Dawn, and Leveret realised that in her haste to get help for Magpie, she’d forgotten about that connection. It was now common knowledge that David and Dawn were walking together, even though they were a little old to be canoodling on the Village Green or in the maze up at the Hall.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Leveret.

  ‘And you think he’s capable of learning to read?’

  ‘Yes I do. He copied the word “Comfrey” yesterday from a wildflower book, when he was drawing the plant. I thought at first it was just copying, but he pointed to the plant and the word and honestly, Dawn, I really think he understood the link. Can you imagine the breakthrough for poor Magpie if he could learn to read and write? It wouldn’t matter that he was mute if—’

  ‘Hold on, Leveret!’ said Dawn with a smile. ‘We need to take it slowly. If that’s all true, then it’s really exciting. But we mustn’t pin too much on it at this stage. Tell me, why did you come to me rather than Miranda? Surely if he’s up at the Hall . . .’

  Leveret’s face closed up at the mention of Miranda.

  ‘You’re used to teaching children to read and she’s not. You’ve got resources here for that sort of thing.’

  ‘Well, yes, but I don’t think—’

  ‘But anyway, I don’t want you to teach him, Dawn. I want to. But I’d like your advice and maybe some books or something that I could use?’

  Dawn was happy to help and they went through to the School House to find some suitable early learning books. Children weren’t formally taught to read until they’d left the Nursery aged seven, though of course many learned long before then out of curiosity. Leveret couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been able to read as Yul had taught her at a very early age, anxious to share his skills.

  When they returned to the cottage, Dawn gave Leveret a potted lesson in how to teach reading, explaining about the double-pronged attack of sounding out the letters and recognising the whole word. Leveret became very excited at the prospect of opening up Magpie’s world, but Dawn urged caution.

  ‘Remember, decoding and encoding – or reading and writing if you prefer – are two completely separate skills. And with Magpie it’s further complicated by the fact that he can’t speak, so he can’t sound out words. Nor can you check if he’s read them correctly other than by picture matching. We have no idea of his conceptual abilities, so don’t rush him, Leveret. His brain’s obviously wired up differently from the norm and he may need a huge amount of patience.’

  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 re
ad 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 o
f 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?’