Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘Isn’t it lovely to see David and Dawn like this?’ she said. ‘They’re so in love.’

  Magpie held an image of a pair of pretty blue and yellow blue-tits, fluttering around each other in a courtship dance. Leveret laughed.

  ‘Exactly! They’re like a pair of love-birds.’

  Then she looked at Magpie strangely. She could see the word “bird” very clearly in her head, in bold black ink on creamy parchment.

  ‘Are you sending me the word, Maggie?’

  He looked at her and grinned, his turquoise eyes dancing and his face flushed with pleasure.

  ‘You can actually send me a word? Honestly, what’s happened to you? You’re so clever!’

  He squeezed her hand, and she sensed his simple joy. His world was a million times better than it had ever been before and he brimmed with happiness. She felt all this in that squeeze of the hand.

  ‘Oh Maggie, do you think you’ll ever be able to talk? Can you try?’

  Instantly his face darkened and he looked away, all vivacity dead.

  ‘What? What is it, Maggie? I’m sorry – what’s wrong?’

  And then it came to her in a stomach-wrenching, heart-stopping deluge that made her want to vomit.

  Screaming, screaming with hunger and discomfort, sore and cold, hungry, hungry, cold and wet, screaming, screaming, screaming . . . and a red, angry shout and a shake and hatred, so much hatred, and a slap, another violent shake, and then a dirty rag into the mouth, stuffed in, rammed in so hard that breath was almost impossible . . . then bundled away in a small dark place for a long, long time . . . no more screaming, no noise, no sound ever again . . .

  ‘Oh my Goddess!’ cried Leveret, her eyes popping with peppery tears. ‘Is that what she did to you? Is that why? Oh my poor darling Magpie!’

  She leant against his shoulder, still holding his hand tightly, hot tears dripping from her cheeks onto her knees.

  ‘Maggie, forget that. Put all that away, back wherever it was, and never ever think of it again. You and me – we can tell each other things without talking and now you can write and read you have enough words. I’m so very sorry, Magpie.’

  She sat sadly now, trying to put the horrendous image out of her mind and feeling guilt-stricken for dredging it up out of his. If Starling were to walk past now, she thought fiercely . . . but instead, two little girls came tumbling across the grass towards her, bubbling with excitement and laughter.

  ‘Auntie Leveret! How’s Hare? Have you got her here with you?’

  Leveret smiled as Bluebell climbed up onto her lap and Celandine pressed against her knees. It was impossible to resist their affection – nor did she want to.

  ‘No, I don’t think she’s ready to come out with me yet,’ she replied, wiping her cheeks briskly. ‘She’d be scared of all the people and noise. Maybe one day I’ll bring her.’

  ‘You could make her a special basket to carry her in,’ said Celandine.

  ‘Yes, like a little nest!’ cried Bluebell. ‘With a lid so if she’s scared you could make her all safe.’

  ‘I expect she’ll be quite heavy when she’s fully grown,’ said Leveret. ‘Have you ever seen a grown-up hare? They’re actually very big, especially the females. I don’t know if I fancy carrying her around.’

  ‘Then make her a little buggy!’ said Celandine. ‘Like the babies have – those wicker ones with wheels and a handle.’

  Bluebell shrieked at this and Magpie covered his ears with his hands.

  ‘Oh Auntie Leveret! Hare tucked up in a buggy! With a bonnet and all!’

  ‘Bluebell, ssh – not so loud. Poor Magpie doesn’t like that shrieking noise.’

  The little girl stared at him in consternation, then guiltily put her thumb in her mouth to silence herself.

  ‘Is this your friend, Auntie Leveret?’ asked Celandine, smiling shyly at him.

  ‘Yes, this is Magpie. Magpie, these are my two nieces, Bluebell and Celandine. You know them of course, but I don’t think you’ve ever really met them, have you?’

  ‘I like your goldy hair, Magpie,’ said Bluebell, removing her wet thumb. ‘It’s like Granny’s toffee that she makes.’

  ‘Magpie can’t talk back,’ Leveret said, ‘though he understands what you’re saying to him. Magpie is a very clever artist and his drawings are magical.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Celandine, her eyes gleaming. ‘Would he do some pictures for our book, do you think? You know, the one about the faeries and the hares?’

  Leveret smiled at her and nodded.

  ‘That’s a very good idea,’ she said. ‘Magpie’s only just learning to read and write himself. He’s probably about the same stage as you, Bluebell. We could let him read your story for himself, and then maybe he’d draw some pictures for it. Would you do that, Maggie?’

  He nodded, smiling a little uncertainly at the girls. He’d never had anything to do with children, having always been the butt of derision in the Village.

  ‘Why is Magpie only learning to read and write now, when he’s a grown-up?’ asked Celandine with a frown. ‘Didn’t he go to school like everyone else?’

  ‘He had a very sad and difficult time when he was a little boy,’ said Leveret. ‘It wasn’t his fault, but he was too unhappy and scared to learn.’

  ‘That’s horrible!’ said Bluebell. ‘Poor Magpie – the teachers should’ve made him better.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Leveret. ‘Everyone should have. But still, Magpie’s happy now and I think he’ll enjoy your book.’

  They were then joined by Sylvie, who’d changed out of her special handfasting robes and now wore a pretty dress. She sat on the bench next to Leveret, smiling at them all. Leveret felt a shiver of pleasure at her company and greeted her warmly.

  ‘Why don’t you girls see if the faeries are dancing under the rowan trees today?’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t mind a chat with Auntie Leveret myself.’

  ‘Can we take Magpie?’ asked Bluebell, wriggling down from Leveret’s lap. She reached up and took his hand, giving him a little tug. He stared at her awkwardly and Leveret glanced quickly at Sylvie.

  ‘Would that be alright? He’s as gentle as a lamb, I promise.’

  Sylvie only hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding, and Leveret beamed.

  ‘Magpie, go with the girls and help them look for faeries, but stay away from anyone else. And be careful, won’t you?’

  She still had memories of Magpie in the woods, rabbit blood glistening on his face. Surely with Yul’s children by his side he’d be safe from the tormentors?

  When they’d gone, Sylvie sighed heavily, gazing out at the Green and all the joyful people. She was just a sliver of ice inside.

  ‘Leveret . . . I don’t know where to start, really, but . . . I need some help. Or at least someone to talk to. I don’t know where to turn, but I thought maybe you’d understand?’

  ‘Yes, yes of course! I want to help – what can I do?’

  Sylvie shook her head despairingly.

  ‘I just don’t know! I don’t even know what’s wrong, let alone how to put it right. I’m so very, very depressed and sad.’

  ‘Maybe that’d be a way to start – focus on getting rid of the depression? Perhaps everything else would be easier if you’re feeling more positive.’

  ‘That might help. I just can’t raise myself above this thick, heavy fog that hangs over me every day, all the time. I feel there’s a demon on my back, turning everything grey and bad. I’m really just going through the motions of coping. If it weren’t for your mother . . .’

  Leveret smiled at this.

  ‘I’m glad she’s helping you,’ she said gently. ‘She can be so kind and loving.’

  ‘She looks after me and the girls, takes away all the struggle of getting through each day. But above all, she’s given me the chance to be away from Yul.’

  ‘Have you tried any medication for your depression?’ asked Leveret. ‘I’ve been spending time most days with Hazel and if you were
to tell her about this —’

  ‘No,’ said Sylvie firmly. ‘I really don’t want any drugs. There’s stuff . . . things from when I was really ill a few years ago . . . I don’t want to go down that route.’

  ‘Okay, but how about a natural remedy? Would you feel more comfortable taking something herbal, the sort of thing Mother Heggy would’ve brewed?’

  Sylvie turned to look at her closely. Leveret’s clear green eyes shone, so lovely in her dark face. This girl – Sylvie had always been rather scared of her. But she was wonderful; how had they never got on before?

  ‘I remember Mother Heggy’s remedies,’ she said. ‘They looked foul but they certainly worked. That’s not the same thing as taking an anti-depressant, is it? Natural medicine is very different. But I’m not going to Old Violet, if that’s what you’re thinking!’

  ‘No, I can help you!’ said Leveret excitedly. ‘I’m studying all the old folk medicines and I can make you a remedy. What you need for depression and chasing away those dragons is Hypericum – St. John’s Wort. It’s entirely natural, Sylvie, and it’s been used for a long time to cure depression.’

  ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘If you’re sure.’

  ‘Yes! Honestly, it’s perfect for your needs. It’s started flowering nice and early this year because it’s been so warm and I’m actually in the process of steeping a tincture right now, as a general pick-me-up tonic. But that won’t be ready for another week, so I’ll make you up infusions in the meantime. I’m afraid it won’t seem to have any effect for about four weeks, but you must stick with it.’

  ‘Thanks, Leveret. I’ll give it a go as long as there are no side effects.’

  ‘You may get slightly more sunburned that usual – I’ve read it can cause photosensitivity. But I’m sure you’re careful about that anyway with your pale skin.’

  ‘That’s really kind of you. I feel better already!’

  They smiled a little shyly at each other.

  ‘Actually, Leveret, I’ve just thought of something else you could do, if you wouldn’t mind? It’s about moondancing . . .’

  She stopped and Leveret glanced at her, noting the sadness in her eyes and the droop of her mouth and her shoulders. The younger girl longed so much to heal Sylvie, to make her happy and whole.

  ‘Yes? I’ll help in any way . . .’

  ‘Last year I promised the girls I’d take them up to Hare Stone one Moon Fullness so they could watch the Bright Lady rise over the hills and maybe dance with me around the stone. They remembered, and now of course they’re pestering me. I thought maybe tonight, at Hare Moon . . .’

  ‘That sounds like a wonderful idea!’ said Leveret. ‘Just what you need, and lovely for them to be part of it too. What can I do?’

  ‘Just come with us, and be there if you’re needed.’ Sylvie wasn’t going to mention anything about voices or ghosts. ‘I used to get so moongazy and strange. And although I don’t any more, I’d like to have you there with us just in case. It’s quite a long walk for the girls, especially Bluebell, and another adult would make me feel happier about taking them along.’

  ‘I’d be honoured!’ said Leveret, flattered to be asked, and even more flattered to be considered an adult.

  Much later, with the party going strong in the Great Barn and the seven couples leading the dancing and merriment, the little group slipped out and began the long walk up to Hare Stone. On Leveret’s suggestion, Magpie was accompanying them in case Bluebell’s legs gave out. Both children had taken immediately to the silent young lad and now skipped along the path leading through the woods. It was still light as the birds sang their joyous evensong, flitting amongst the trees in a flurry of activity before nightfall. The birdsong was amazingly loud, reverberating through the twilight in a cascade of different calls and trills. Many of the trees were already in full leaf, their trunks rising from a deep blue lake of perfumed bluebells. Leveret felt the magic of the place all around her as they walked through the enchanted landscape. She agreed with her nieces that the woodland elves and the bluebell faeries were surely hiding amongst the trees watching them as they passed through.

  Sylvie was wrapped in her own thoughts, remembering all the times she’d walked this path with Yul by her side; she almost felt his presence now. She wondered if he were still in the Barn drinking or whether he’d gone outside to watch the moon rise. Was he thinking of her, she wondered? Had he noticed her leaving? Did he care at all?

  The light was fading as they finally left the wood, ducking through the archway of boughs and out into the field beyond. The hill loomed large above them and Bluebell regarded it with a sigh.

  ‘I wish I could fly,’ she muttered, but began to climb determinedly through the tussocks of grass and outcrops of stone, up towards the great monolith that stood in lonely glory at the top. Magpie understood that he was there to help the little girl and stayed close by her, holding her hand and helping her along. Celandine walked between Sylvie and Leveret and was very excited at finally fulfilling her wish to dance for the Bright Lady.

  ‘Will you be moondancing tonight, Mum?’ she asked.

  ‘I really don’t know,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll feel when the moon rises. I may just sit by the Hare Stone and moongaze.’

  ‘Like Father used to do.’

  ‘Yes, like he used to do.’

  ‘Do you think the barn owl will visit and the hares’ll come?’

  Leveret looked slightly askance at this.

  ‘Is that what used to happen?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ nodded Sylvie. ‘Every month. I was your age when I started coming here, Leveret. I was frantic to dance and then I’d go into a trance.’

  ‘But not anymore, Mum.’

  ‘I still feel something,’ Sylvie said quietly. ‘But somehow life has got in the way . . .’

  They paused to get their breath at the outcrop of large boulders, almost at the top, and Sylvie recalled her scare several months ago when she’d been convinced that Magus was there with her. Leveret was also recalling her strange experience at the place and looked around a little apprehensively, though having company made her feel less uncomfortable. Magpie stood gazing up the hill, wrapped in his own world, and Leveret knew he was thinking about a painting. Nobody managed to capture the essence of Stonewylde in the way Magpie did. Celandine and Bluebell chased each other around the huge rocks, their tiredness forgotten.

  ‘Mummy! I’ve found a load of paper snakes!’ cried Bluebell suddenly, as Celandine squealed in horror.

  ‘What?’

  Sylvie was there in a flash, snatching her child away from the object of fascination on the ground. When they all looked, they saw her description was very apt; caught up in a patch of thistles were several tissue-like snake-skins of varying lengths.

  ‘Oh wow!’ said Leveret. ‘Look how many have been shed!’

  ‘Shed?’ asked Bluebell, struggling to get free and have a proper look.

  ‘Snakes get too big for their skins so they push them off, like an old dress they’ve grown out of,’ explained Leveret.

  Bluebell giggled at this.

  ‘Are they bare underneath?’

  ‘No, they’ve already got a lovely new skin on.’

  ‘So are these their old dresses?’ asked Celandine.

  ‘That’s right, and they use a spiky thing – like these thistles – to help pull the old skin off. Isn’t it clever? These are adder skins – see the V by the head, and these zigzag patterns?’

  ‘Adders are poisonous!’ cried Sylvie. ‘Are they still about?’

  ‘No, not at this time of evening,’ said Leveret. ‘They’ll be curled up asleep now.’

  ‘We must be careful though,’ said Sylvie. ‘Girls, look where you’re treading and keep your shoes on. No bare feet tonight.’

  Leveret was carefully extricating the tangled skins from the thistle and putting them into her bag. Magpie examined one minutely, stroking the rustling softness with a gentle finger.

  ‘W
hy are you taking them, Auntie Leveret?’ asked Celandine.

  ‘I like them,’ she replied. ‘They’ll only break up into nothing out here in the open, and I’d like to keep them.’

  ‘You’re just like Grandfather Clip!’ said Celandine with a smile. ‘Collecting strange things to put in the tower.’

  ‘Why on earth are there so many all together?’ said Sylvie. ‘Don’t they shed their skins when they come out of hibernation? I remember years ago we had a plague of adders one summer and we all had to be so careful.’

  ‘I think they can do it several times in a year,’ said Leveret, ‘but I’m not sure. I’ll have to do some research. I’d imagine with so many together like this there’s a hibernaculum somewhere around here.’ She turned to the girls. ‘That’s like a big dormitory where all the vipers huddle up together for the winter and go to sleep. They keep each other warm.’

  ‘Oh yuk!’ said Celandine. ‘That sounds horrid. I don’t like snakes.’

  ‘Well, I do! Can I have one of the old dresses please, Auntie Leveret? To keep in my room?’ asked Bluebell.

  Leveret smiled at her and nodded.

  ‘Of course you can. Just keep it away from Granny Maizie – she doesn’t like snakes either.’

  Magpie had left them and continued up the hill as dusk closed in. The sun had set whilst they were in the woods and the sky to the west was a rich apricot, streaked with bright gold. From the woods below, the birds still sang. Avoiding the thistles and old sheep dung, they left the rocks and climbed the final slope to the hill’s summit.

  At the top of the hill they stood by the massive Hare Stone feeling its energy and the soft heat it gave out where the sun had warmed it all day. Bluebell laid her cheek against its rough, lichened surface and spread her little arms to embrace it. She was tiny compared to its vast bulk and she sighed with pleasure at the feel of it. Celandine stared out towards the coast where the moon would rise, a slight breeze lifting her tumble of curls. Sylvie stood by her and took her hand, and Leveret was struck by their likeness. Magpie sat down with his back to the great stone, watching the horizon. Leveret joined him and Bluebell wriggled in between them, patting them both as if they were the arms of her chair.