by Kit Berry
‘Not long till the big day,’ she said. ‘Fancy you and old Dawn getting handfasted! I feel like a proper matchmaker as it was me who first told you of Stonewylde, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, and thank Goddess you did!’ he said. ‘The thought of living in the Outside World now . . .’
‘Do you appreciate just how honoured you are?’ asked Rainbow. ‘You’ll be the first Outsider to gain permanent residence since . . . oh, I guess since Sylvie and Miranda arrived.’
‘I know – I can’t believe how lucky I am,’ agreed David. ‘I never thought I’d find a woman like Dawn, nor a home like this. It’s not even a dream come true because I’d never dreamed of such a life.’
Rainbow rolled her eyes and pretended to vomit.
‘Come on, David, spare me the sentimental bollocks. You’ve fallen on your feet though, no mistake about that. Do you come across much hostility here?’
He thought about that for a moment.
‘I think there is amongst some of the older folk. But nobody’s said anything outright.’
‘You’re lucky! The other day an old boy bumped into me in the Village and he glared at me and muttered, “Scout!” like it was an insult. And when I told Dawn she laughed and said that at one of their stupid Elder meetings, some old fool had said I was the scout ant, sent in ahead of all the others! And soon Stonewylde would be swarming with ants.’
David regarded her steadily.
‘Yes, I heard that theory too. And are you the scout?’
Rainbow chuckled and launched herself off the table. She padded around the big Art Room, fiddling with things.
‘Now that would be telling, wouldn’t it? But anyway, I guess you’ll be bringing guests into Stonewylde, won’t you? Both for the handfasting and afterwards, if you’re to live here permanently. I mean, people to stay for the weekend or whatever.’
‘That’s true, but they’ll all be my Druid friends and relations and they’ll understand what it’s all about here. I spoke to Yul first, obviously, and he’s very happy for me to bring visitors in. I think he’s hoping to attract more of my kind, if truth be told.’
‘Fresh breeding stock!’ laughed Rainbow. ‘Well, at least Sylvie likes you. She hates me.’
‘Surely not? I don’t think she—’
‘Oh, there’s no doubt about it,’ said Rainbow drily. ‘She’s not the first woman to take an irrational dislike to me of course – I should be used to it. But who cares – she’s not in charge here, luckily. As long as I keep Yul sweet, I can stay.’
‘But Yul isn’t actually in charge, is he?’ asked David.
‘Maybe not officially, but to all intents and purposes. Just like his father. You never met Magus of course, but believe me, Yul is exactly like him in every single way bar one.’
‘What’s that?’
‘His colouring – Magus had the Hallfolk silvery blond hair and very dark eyes. It’s really quite uncanny, the likeness between them both in looks and their ways. And of course, I know Magus’ other son, Buzz. Now he really is nothing like Magus, not as I remember him anyway.’
‘And there’s Rufus too, isn’t there? Magus’ other son, I believe,’ said David. ‘He’s a nice lad, always works hard in class though he’s not especially artistic.’
‘Haven’t spoken to him yet. He’s ginger isn’t he, like Miranda?’
‘I’d hardly call Miranda ginger! That deep auburn hair . . .’
‘True. And I met Magus’ other child a while ago – the Princess Faun. What a little madam! But she’s very picturesque and she has Magus’ colouring. Her mother was keen for me to paint her and I probably will, as she’s certainly got something.’
‘Have you started any painting yet?’ asked David, giving the room a final sweep of his gaze before shutting up for the night. He was longing to get down to the Village and see Dawn, who must be wondering where he’d got to.
‘No, not yet, though I’ve filled several sketch books and taken lots of photos. I want to meet that boy you talked about, David. Now I’ve seen some of his work I’m fascinated. I think you’re right – he’s a total natural and I really love his style. I was thinking I may be able to include some of his stuff in my exhibition perhaps, as complementary to my work. What do you think?’
Privately David thought this was a brave suggestion, for in his opinion – and much as he admired Rainbow’s art – Magpie’s work was superior. Or if it wasn’t now, by the time the boy reached maturity it certainly would be. Magpie had the makings of a truly great artist, and every time David heard talk of Stonewylde’s dire financial situation, he smiled. What no-one seemed to realise was that they had a potential goldmine in Magpie, the boy that everyone derided.
He nodded at Rainbow, thinking that he must beware of her. She wasn’t quite the woman he’d thought she was. He wouldn’t put it past her to exploit or even plagiarise Magpie, and David had no intention of allowing that to happen. Magpie was his protégé and he personally would protect him from predators such as Rainbow. Or, for that matter, Yul.
6
Clip watched Leveret, knowing that something was troubling her. She’d been quiet ever since Sylvie and the girls had left. She was feeding Hare, who was now around six weeks old and weaned from the ewe’s milk that she’d thrived on. Leveret fed her on greens and Hare sat at her feet, eagerly taking leaves from her hand. The young hare was beautiful, growing steadily but still fluffy, with soft fur. She was very tame and particularly loved Leveret, whom she followed around the tower like a little shadow. Leveret had yet to take her outside, although she’d carried her up onto the roof, blocking off the gap leading to the outside stairs, and they’d sat basking together in the sunshine and fresh air.
Celandine and Bluebell had visited several times recently and were besotted with the young hare. On their first visit they’d sat completely spellbound, hardly daring to breathe, whilst the creature sniffed their shoes and then their hands, before allowing them to stroke her. They’d squabbled over whose turn it was to have her on their lap, and were disappointed when she’d hopped off both laps and chosen Leveret’s instead. They’d missed seeing her being fed with a teat, which Leveret had stopped as early as possible, as she’d read of the danger of milk inhalation. But they’d loved watching Hare lapping at her little bowl of milk, and they always arrived with handfuls of young dandelions and purple clover which Leveret had said were Hare’s favourites.
Clip was delighted, as he adored his two granddaughters and had always longed for more contact with them. They in turn had become very at home in the tower, which they both found fascinating.
‘Grandfather Clip, why do you have so many strange things?’ asked Celandine in wonder when they’d visited the tower earlier in the day with Sylvie.
‘Because I travelled all over the world in my younger days and collected them.’
‘Are they all magic?’ asked Bluebell, her eyes round as full moons.
‘Oh yes, lots of these things are magical,’ said Clip with a smile.
‘I remember when I first came to Stonewylde,’ said Sylvie, ‘and I was a little younger than Auntie Leveret is now, and Grandfather Clip held a Story Web in the Great Barn. He made magic then – he told us the story of the Rainbow Snake and he turned his ash staff into a real snake!’
Both little girls gasped in amazement, gazing at their grandfather with renewed respect. Clip chuckled at this and nodded.
‘Your father was only a lad then, and he came up onto the stage and held the snake for me,’ he said. ‘And you should’ve seen his face when it changed back into my staff at the end of the story.’
‘Wow!’ breathed Celandine. ‘That must’ve been so wonderful!’
Both children stared hard at the old ash staff propped against the wall.
‘Can you do it now?’ asked Bluebell, trotting over to Clip and earnestly gazing up into his silvery wolf eyes. ‘Please, Grandfather? Magic your stick and turn it into the Rainbow Snake just for us?’
‘I th
ink some of my powers aren’t quite as strong any more,’ he said ruefully.
‘I bet they’re just as strong!’ said Celandine loyally. ‘Maybe you just need a bit of practice?’
‘Why don’t you do another Story Web?’ asked Sylvie. ‘They used to be so very special and everyone loved them. You haven’t done one for ages.’
‘No, I haven’t. I’m not sure why – they didn’t really seem appropriate any more, not now everyone reads books and watches television and films in the Hall. Do you think folk would like a Story Web?’
Leveret, sitting silently by a window, looked across at him, so thin and earnest in his old robes with battered felt slippers on his feet. He’d been such a lonely man for many years, yet here he was now with her, his daughter and his granddaughters all together in his tower, the centre of attention. She was so glad for him, even though she wasn’t particularly keen on Sylvie being here. Leveret really loved Clip and the closer they became, the more she respected him for his wealth of knowledge and kind wisdom.
‘I think everyone would love a Story Web,’ she said. ‘I can barely remember the last one you did. Maybe you could do one at Beltane?’
‘That doesn’t really give me much time to prepare,’ he said. ‘I think perhaps the Midsummer Holiday would be better, at the Solstice. I could do it in honour of your birthday, Sylvie!’
‘That would be lovely,’ Sylvie said. ‘But don’t drag me into it, please. I’d be so embarrassed.’
‘I’ll tell you all what,’ said Clip, beaming at his granddaughters. ‘I’ll prepare a very magical Story Web especially for all the children at the Solstice.’
‘Ooh yes, yes!’ squealed Celandine and Bluebell, and then Clip looked across at Leveret.
‘But only on one condition. Leveret must assist me with the story and the magic.’
‘What?’ she gasped. ‘Oh no, not me, Clip! I couldn’t, and especially after what happened at Imbolc.’
‘That was entirely different,’ he said. ‘And anyway, Leveret, if you’re to be the next Shaman of Stonewylde, you need to learn how to keep everyone spellbound, don’t you?’
After a bit of cajoling from Clip and the girls, Leveret had accepted the challenge. Sylvie kept out of the discussion as she knew Leveret was still rather hostile towards her, as she’d always been. It was a shame and she wanted to make things right between them. Maybe now, with everything so changed around, it was time to try and build a better understanding between them. Sylvie knew it wouldn’t come from Leveret so it was up to her. Clip was showing the girls some tiny mommets he’d brought back from Russia many years before, and telling them the story of the terrifying old witch, Baba Yaga, with her iron pestle and mortar, and her house built on chicken legs. They were engrossed, so Sylvie plucked up courage and asked Leveret for a private word outside on the roof top where she knew they’d be alone. The girl’s reluctance was obvious but Sylvie was determined.
‘Sorry, Leveret, but we really do need to have a chat,’ she said, once they were outside. Leveret stood by the crenellated edge, gazing out at the trees bursting into bud in the parkland. The birds were singing their hearts out and the late afternoon sun was warm. Sylvie watched her, struck again by her likeness to Yul. Leveret was blossoming and had lost her air of haunted desperation. She no longer looked like a grubby little urchin who sidled around trying to avoid contact with people. She hadn’t grown physically, yet her stature had changed. She held her head up, looked people in the eye and moved with far more assurance and confidence now. But, Sylvie noted wryly, her scowl was the same.
‘What do you want, then?’
‘I just thought maybe we should try to talk.’
Leveret shrugged, continuing to gaze out over the landscape.
‘So, we’re talking. What did you want to say?’
Sylvie sighed. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. Leveret had always been difficult with her; prickly and unwilling to establish any kind of channel between them. She really didn’t know where to start, as it wasn’t as if they’d had an argument that they could patch up.
‘Are you happy living up here?’
‘Well, obviously I am. Anything’s better than my life was before.’
She hadn’t changed that much after all, Sylvie decided; still rude and hostile.
‘I wondered if you’d be coming down to the Village soon to visit your mother?’
Leveret turned and glared at Sylvie, her angry eyes taking in every detail of the pale woman’s face. Sylvie wasn’t looking good these days, her eyes strained and weary, her mouth sad. Leveret felt an inkling of pity, despite herself. Sylvie had always been so perfect and beautiful, but somewhere along the line that had disappeared. Her serenity had been punctured, and with it her beauty. Leveret found her fierce dislike starting to dissolve and a reluctant sympathy seeping.
‘Has Mother asked you to invite me to visit?’ she asked, a little more harshly than she intended. ‘Was this her idea?’
Sylvie shook her head, her long silver hair rippling as she did so. She drooped like a wilting flower, thought Leveret, as if all her vitality and energy had been sapped.
‘No, Leveret, she hasn’t asked me to do anything. But I know that she misses you and—’
‘That’s not really the point, though. You can miss someone but still not want to see them.’
‘True,’ agreed Sylvie, thinking of Yul. ‘But I’m sure Maizie does want to see you.’
‘Well, I’m not sure!’ said Leveret bitterly, all the feelings that she’d kept at bay now flooding back. ‘And until I am, and she asks me directly herself, I won’t see her. And just for future reference, you needn’t take it on yourself to try and make things better between me and my mother, thank you Sylvie. It’s none of your business!’
‘Oh, Leveret!’ Sylvie stared at her in dismay. ‘There’s really no need to be so antagonistic towards me.’
‘I’m not antagonistic – I just don’t want you interfering. It really is nothing to do with you, despite the fact that you’re now so happy living in my home with my mother . . .’
Leveret’s voice tailed off and she felt alarmingly close to tears, which made her angry; she’d done with crying at Imbolc. But Sylvie’s cheeks had flushed.
‘Don’t be jealous, please!’ she snapped. ‘I’m not happy at all, believe me! I’m only living there because your brother has become such a brute and I have nowhere else to go. And besides, it works both ways, Leveret. How do you think I feel about you living so cosily with my father? That’s a privilege I’ve never had!’
They stared at each other, quite aghast at the lacerating emotion that had flared up seemingly out of nowhere. Green gaze met silver one and something strange happened as they looked, for the first time ever, deep into each other’s eyes. Empathy bloomed and both of them crumbled, their mouths quivering and tears welling. Leveret was suddenly overwhelmed with compassion. Rapidly crossing the flagstones of the roof, she reached up and put her arms around her sobbing sister-in-law. Sylvie grabbed hold of the smaller, younger girl and held on tightly, the sobs choking her.
‘I’m so sorry, Sylvie,’ said Leveret through her tears. Her throat ached with sadness for this poor woman who’d done no harm to anyone. ‘I’ve always disliked you and it’s so stupid. I really don’t know why, because you’re a lovely person and you’ve always been kind to me. I’m sorry!’
Sylvie couldn’t speak but gradually her sobs subsided, although she still clung to Leveret. She found it strangely comforting; there was something strong and vibrant within Leveret. Eventually her tears stopped altogether and Leveret gave her a final hug.
‘We’d better go back inside,’ she said gently. ‘Shall we get together soon and have a proper talk?’
Sylvie had nodded, blowing her nose and managing a shaky smile.
‘And Sylvie, I’m sorry how I’ve always behaved towards you. That’s over now, I promise.’
That had been earlier, and Clip, having watched Leveret and sensing so
me of her inner turmoil, insisted on them making a journey that evening.
‘I think you need to ask some questions, Leveret. It’s Beltane the day after tomorrow and, for that, we need to join in the celebrations and everything up at the Stone Circle and in the Village. So I’d like us to go up to the Dolmen this evening and journey from there. Remember I said to you we’d do that when the weather became warmer?’
Sitting together in the entrance to the ancient cave, a small fire now burning amongst the ring of stones and aromatic smoke filling their nostrils, Clip looked carefully at Leveret.
‘Things are happening, Leveret, and there are big changes on their way. I don’t know why, but I’m just not getting any answers, try as I might. Maybe that’s because you’re on the wax and I’m on the wane. Have you had any of your other visions lately?’
Leveret shook her head.
‘No, not really. I felt something the other day when Martin was watching me . . . but nothing that really helps. Right now I feel . . . confused. Sylvie and I had a talk earlier and it’s preying on my mind. I’m not sure how successful a journey I’ll have this evening.’
‘I’m sure you’ll be given the answers you need if the time is right,’ he said, stoking up the fire and passing her some water. ‘And I have something here, something I’ve made for you.’
Clip reached into the bag he always carried and pulled out a parcel wrapped in cloth. He solemnly handed it to Leveret with both hands and made a little bow.
‘I found her lying on the path when I visited Mother Heggy’s cottage recently, after our conversation,’ he said. ‘I’ve preserved this for you – tanned it all myself, so there’s a lot of my intent and energy in it. It’s for you to wear sometimes when you’re journeying. All the ancient shamans would’ve had something similar.’
Mystified, Leveret opened up the cloth and stared at the thing in her lap. It was – had been – a hare, and a large one at that. The head was intact, presumably stuffed, and the enormously long ears lay back flat. Golden glass eyes stared at her in the flickering firelight and Leveret shuddered as something fleeting touched her memory, something from long, long ago in a different era. The fur pelt was beautiful, a speckled golden brown, and fully opened up so that it stretched out in a great piece of material with four paws still attached, and a tuft of a tail at the bottom. There were long leather laces attached on either side, near the head. Leveret’s hand moved to touch it and she received a jolt that sizzled through her body. She cried out and turned to Clip in wonder, her eyes shining.
