Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘Mother, you must move up with me,’ he said. ‘This is no good.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘And Aunt Vetchling – she needs treatment. She’s not looking well at all.’

  ‘Are you saying your own mother, the Wise Woman o’ Stonewylde, ain’t good enough to treat her sister?’

  Old Violet regarded her son balefully. Despite the heat, she clutched her greasy shawl around herself. Her face was dark with grime, and the smell emanating from her bent-up body was indescribable.

  ‘No, Mother, ’tis just that—’

  ‘I want rabbit stew!’ she muttered. ‘Me and Vetch, we ain’t had proper food for a long time. That feckless Starling . . . the girl’s cursed and she’ll get her come uppance, right enough.’

  ‘When did she last visit? She told me she’d been yesterday and brought you food.’

  ‘I don’t remember . . . ’Twas a while back. Food – pah! Milk sops is all she brung us, and curdling as soon as she’d gone. We need meat to keep our strength up.’

  Martin stared at her in dismay, noting the stringy arms beneath her shawl and the scrawniness of her neck. He could barely force himself to look at Vetchling, who slept in her chair in a grey heap, her emaciated face withered and skull-like. He wondered if it was too late for her altogether, for her breath rattled and bubbled and she’d shrivelled to nothing.

  ‘I’m going back to my cottage now,’ he said firmly, ‘and I’ll send the goodwife here straight away with food and provisions for you. She can also start to clean the place up.’

  Old Violet grumbled a bit at this, rocking in her chair.

  ‘Aye, but I don’t want her poking into things,’ she muttered. ‘Never did like that woman.’

  ‘Mallow will do exactly as she’s told, Mother, so don’t fret. But we can’t have this, can we? The flies . . .’

  ‘I need more baccy and more mead,’ said Violet querulously. ‘Send them down with her. And a nice bit o’ rabbit.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Martin grimly, his face still pale with disgust. ‘When Mallow’s scrubbed the place up a little we’ll decide what’s to be done. I don’t see that you and Aunt Vetchling can look after yourselves any more.’

  ‘No, we’re old and feeble now!’ said Violet. ‘We need to be coddled. But we ain’t moving and that’s rock-sure, so your Mallow can come down every day, and you can get that Jay to chop wood for us again, lazy lout that he is. Smoked our pipes but never lifted a hand to helping us old ‘uns.’

  ‘And Swift – my boy can do his bit too,’ said Martin. ‘I’ll not have it said that my son shirked his duty. And Magpie as well – there are three boys who should be down here helping out.’

  ‘Aye, right enough. You’re a good lad, Martin. I said you’d not let us rot.’

  ‘No, o’ course not, Mother. I still can’t believe Starling just walked out like that! I never knew.’

  ‘Starling – pah! She’ll rue the day she cast for a man. Mark my word, son. That Cledwyn’s a nasty piece o’ work and she’ll be sorry, just as I told her. I don’t want her back here no more neither. Look at poor old Vetch! Starling just turned her back on her mother and me and left – never even shut the door, and we all know what that means!’

  Holly had changed into more casual attire but was still very chic next to Sylvie and the other Stonewylde women.

  ‘We need an evergreen!’ said Fennel. ‘Everything else screams of summer, and this is the autumn/winter collection.’

  Sylvie caught Yul’s eye. He stood with Bluebell in his arms watching the scene with dismay.

  ‘But you can’t . . .’

  Sylvie stopped, not knowing what to say. The yew was there for all to enjoy of course, in full view on the Village Green. But somehow it was their private, special place, and the thought of Aitch invading it was horrible.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Holly in mock concern. ‘Why not the yew? Oh! I’ve just remembered!’

  She let out a bray of laughter and her eyes danced with malice.

  ‘Remembered what?’ asked Fennel irritably. The models and stylists were in the Great Barn changing into a new batch of clothes whilst he and the assistants set up the next location.

  ‘I saw them kissing under this tree all those years ago! Kissing and God knows what else. Oh, how very sweet! She doesn’t want us using their special tree!’

  ‘Why is that lady laughing, Father?’ asked Bluebell. She lowered her voice to a loud whisper. ‘I don’t like her very much.’

  Yul squeezed her tight and chuckled.

  ‘Neither do I!’ he whispered into her soft curls.

  ‘Please, Holly – our child is here,’ said Sylvie, casting an agonised glance at Yul.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling – your secret’s safe with me,’ Holly laughed, eyeing them slyly. Yul stared at her, wondering what she meant by that. ‘And what a pretty child she is!’ she added

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sylvie, edging a little closer to Yul and Bluebell.

  ‘Could we possible include the three of you in this next set? Purely as extras of course. You all look so wonderfully bucolic.’

  ‘Absolutely not!’ snapped Yul.

  Fennel glanced up from his viewer to look at them.

  ‘You’re right, Aitch,’ he said. ‘They’d be perfect.’

  At that point, the Village School opened its doors and an even larger flock of children poured out through the gate, like a murmuration of starlings.

  ‘No!’ he cried. ‘This is bloody ridiculous!’

  Benjy was leading some of the models and extras across the Village Green from the Barn, and they became surrounded by children dancing around excitedly on the cobbles and dead grass. The stylists and remaining models emerged, also getting tangled up with children and Fennel groaned, raking his hand through his hair again and looking wildly about him. He lifted the end of a branch of the yew – a massive branch clothed in the dark green barbs – and tried to peer into the gloom under the tree.

  ‘Aha! This looks interesting in here – and a lot more private.’

  Sylvie jerked in horror.

  ‘Oh Yul, please! Don’t let them take photos under our yew.’

  He still had Bluebell in his arms but he turned to look at Sylvie. Their eyes locked into each other’s, pale silver-grey into deep smoky-grey. His guilt still hung heavily in his heart but, stronger than that, his love for his beautiful wife flared brightly. As they stared deep into one another’s souls, the mutual memory shimmered between them. He tore his glance away to move quickly towards Fennel, and Bluebell had to cling on tightly.

  ‘No!’ he said sharply. ‘You mustn’t take photos under there.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Fennel, pulling the branch aside even further. ‘Actually, it looks perfect. That trunk is incredible and it looks almost wintry, it’s so dark.’

  ‘Let me see,’ said Holly, coming forward.

  ‘You can’t take all those people in there!’ said Yul.

  ‘Why? We—’

  ‘Because the yew tree is heavily toxic, and someone might get poisoned,’ came a clear voice, and all turned round to stare at Leveret.

  ‘Who on earth are you?’ asked Fennel, eyeing her speculatively. ‘And why didn’t you audition as an extra?’

  Leveret ignored this and stepped forward to join the group, with Celandine by her side.

  ‘Auntie Leveret!’ cried Bluebell happily.

  ‘Hello, Celandine!’ said Sylvie, bending to kiss her other daughter.

  ‘Look, I really don’t have all day,’ snapped Fennel. ‘The light’s changing and I need to get these outfits shot.’

  The group of models, extras and stylists were now milling around on the grass waiting to be instructed, and the assistants stood with their panels, umbrellas and lights.

  ‘Just do it, darling,’ said Holly, lighting a cigarette.

  ‘No! You mustn’t take these people under the yew tree,’ said Leveret firmly. ‘It’s extremely toxic – not just the berry s
eeds, leaves and bark, but the air itself can be affected too. Surely you don’t want to risk anyone falling seriously ill?’

  ‘How do you know about this?’ asked Fennel sceptically.

  ‘Because I’m studying medicine and yew is one of the best known poisons. Taxus baccata – some say it’s linked to the word “toxic”,’ Leveret replied. ‘If your professional models were to be taken ill . . .’

  ‘Alright, alright!’ muttered Fennel, dropping the branch and turning from the tree. ‘We’ll do the shots outside the Jack in the Green instead. I’ll just have to find somewhere else to shoot a non-seasonal exterior that looks natural. Where’s Rufus, by the way? Don’t tell me he’s disappeared!’

  ‘He’s round the back of the Barn,’ said Benjy. ‘That big horse is tied up there and Rufus went to see it. I’ll go get him now.’

  As the crowd moved off towards the pub, Yul and Sylvie gazed at each other again and he felt a surge of love. She did still love him, that was for sure. He’d been wrong to think she’d left him for good; it was obvious her feelings still ran deep. Maybe, just maybe – if he could put the terrible guilt to one side and Rainbow kept her mouth shut – there was hope for them yet. He smiled at her and she smiled back. Setting Bluebell onto her feet, he held out a hand to her.

  ‘Sylvie . . .’

  She took it and he felt her longing.

  ‘Mummy, did Auntie Leveret just save the day?’ asked Celandine, tugging at her other hand. She’d learnt the new expression at Nursery and was anxious to try it out. Dragging her gaze from Yul’s, Sylvie smiled down at her daughter.

  ‘She most certainly did! Thank you so much, Leveret.’

  Leveret had been hanging back, not wanting to intrude nor wishing to join the photographic group. She came forward and smiled, her green eyes glowing.

  ‘A pleasure! The yew is sacred – we don’t want that bunch of idiots messing up the magic, do we?’

  Marigold stood in the cavernous kitchens at the Hall, hands on ample hips, facing Martin.

  ‘Our Magpie is not going down to that cottage nor ever will!’

  ‘ ’Tis only right, woman! He’s a grandson too, just the same as Jay and Swift, and he should be helping out as well. It’s only fair that—’

  ‘Only fair?’ Marigold’s voice was almost a screech. ‘From what I heard, our poor boy spent most o’ his young life working like a slave for them three women. And—’

  ‘And so he should, just like any other young Stonewylde Villager. ’Tis part of our way o’ living, that the young should help the old.’

  ‘Aye, but not to be beaten and starved as he were. I can tell you now, Martin – Magpie will never set foot in that filthy hovel again. By all means send your boy and Jay in, but leave our Magpie out of it!’

  ‘Finn and I are staying down in the Village for a while,’ said Holly to Chelsi. ‘There’s an old chum of mine who’s still here and we’re popping in to visit her.’

  ‘Okay, Aitch,’ said Chelsi brightly, supervising the loading of the clothes racks back into the transit van. ‘We’ll see you at tea-time.’

  ‘We’ve had tea already,’ said Holly. ‘But we’ll be back for dinner. God I hope they’ve sorted out something edible for me. That lunch was disgusting.’

  ‘Don’t you start,’ said Fennel. ‘The girls have done nothing but moan about the food, which is ridiculous considering they only ever eat a forkful of anything anyway.’

  ‘Do you want me to send the minibus down for you later?’ asked Chelsi, watching the models, stylists and assistants climbing aboard.

  ‘No, we’ll walk. In the absence of a gym, I need some form of exercise,’ said Holly, drawing on her cigarette.

  ‘Speak for yourself!’ said Fennel. ‘I don’t want to walk all the way back to the Hall. We had to do that far too often as youngsters.’

  ‘It’ll do you good, you flabby old thing!’ said Holly with a sharp jab at his stomach. ‘Just keep an eye on all the girls, won’t you, Chelsi? We don’t want anyone wandering off and getting lost in the Hall – it’s so vast.’

  She tossed her cigarette to the cobbles and ground it out, then, with a quick look around, kicked the butt out of sight.

  The minibus and transit van drove slowly out of the Village, avoiding a line of ducks waddling across the track and an old man who glared fiercely and took his time moving out of the way. Holly and Fennel headed for the Village School; Swift had told them that Dawn would be found either there or in the cottage next door.

  From the school windows she’d watched the crowd on the Village Green and had been fascinated to see Fennel and Holly in action. She’d kept well out of sight though, and her heart sank when she heard a loud voice calling through the open school door.

  ‘Coo-eee! Are you here, Dawn?’

  She put aside the lessons she was preparing for the next day with a sigh, and quickly smoothed down her hair and dress. Like Sylvie, she felt very frumpy next to the immaculate Holly, especially after a long day teaching in the heat. She’d hoped to finish her lesson prep quickly and get back into the cottage to start supper before David came home from the Hall School.

  ‘Holly, Fennel! What a surprise!’

  The pair of them looked completely out of place in the Village School, even though they’d both once been pupils here. They looked around in wonder, and at Dawn with incredulity.

  ‘Goodness, Dawn – you’ve changed! Whatever’s happened to you?’ exclaimed Holly thoughtlessly.

  Dawn swallowed her retort and reminded herself that civility was the better way. Holly closed in on her and tiptoed to air-kiss both cheeks, as did Fennel.

  ‘I’m the head-teacher here now,’ Dawn replied with a smile. ‘And I’ve recently been handfasted too. So my life is quite hectic.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Holly, gazing around but not even noticing the bright paintings and pictures that covered every wall. ‘God, this takes me back. I remember sitting on that very same bench there, flicking beetles at Yul one autumn when there was a plague of the things.’

  ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ asked Dawn. ‘Presumably you’re on your way back to the Hall?’

  She led them both into her cottage and they sat in the tiny parlour where Rainbow had also sat only a matter of weeks before. Sipping his tea, Fennel closed his eyes wearily.

  ‘What a day!’ he said. ‘It’s not been the best of shoots so far.’

  ‘So, tell me everything,’ said Dawn with polite enthusiasm. ‘I can’t believe you’re in the fashion industry and so successful. It’s all so glamorous! And you’re a photographer, Fennel! Well done both of you. Are you two married?’

  They both shouted with laughter at the notion.

  ‘I’m divorced,’ said Holly. ‘It only lasted eighteen months, the bastard. But he was worth a fortune, so I got to keep Aitch as my settlement and we’re doing very well. I studied fashion design of course, and I’ve worked for all sorts of fashion houses. But nothing beats having your own label.’

  ‘What about you, Fennel?’

  ‘It’s Finn now,’ he said. ‘I went to art school but I realised that wasn’t what I wanted, and photography was. I freelance of course, but I’m also Aitch’s house photographer and artistic director for the shows.’

  ‘That does all sound impressive! And what news of Buzz? Rainbow didn’t mention any of you when I asked her. She implied she wasn’t really in touch with any of the old crowd, other than you of course, Fenn – Finn. How’s Buzz?’

  Holly and Fennel exchanged a look and Holly laughed.

  ‘Oh, you know old Buzz – always a bit of a lad, wasn’t he? He’s married, with two young kids. Wife’s a wimp, but Buzz can be a naughty boy of course. Doing well in business last I heard.’

  ‘So he—’

  ‘Do tell us about your husband!’

  But when Dawn started to tell them about David it was obvious they weren’t interested. Instead they started to ply her with questions about Stonewylde, the Council of Elders, Sylvie and Y
ul, Clip and his plans. They seemed to know quite a lot already, but Dawn couldn’t be sure exactly how far their knowledge went, as they were very guarded. She began by answering fairly openly, but after a while their relentless interrogation irritated her.

  ‘Look,’ she said abruptly after a particularly personal question about Yul and Sylvie’s marriage, ‘I can see this isn’t a social call at all. You’ve just come to find out as much as you can and you’re trading on the fact that I used to be Hallfolk with you in the old days.’

  ‘Oh Dawn!’ said Holly, ‘of course it’s a social call! Nobody else at Stonewylde will speak to us – you’re the only friendly face here.’

  ‘We’re just interested in what’s happened to the old place over the years,’ said Fennel. ‘You’re lucky – you weren’t kicked out like we were.’

  ‘Actually I was,’ said Dawn. ‘And it took me a long time and a lot of effort to be allowed back in. I’m not going to jeopardise that by appearing to be your mole. It was bad enough that Rainbow used me as a way to get back into Stonewylde.’

  ‘What’s poor Rainbow done wrong?’ asked Holly sharply. ‘No need to be hard on her. All she wanted was a sabbatical.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Dawn, ‘but seeing her again made me realise that I just don’t share her – or your – values. I’m sorry if this appears rude, but I think you’d better leave now, before people start thinking I’ve been fraternising with the old Hallfolk and that my loyalties lie with you.’

  ‘My God, she’s gone native!’ said Holly rudely, standing up. ‘Well, good luck to you, Dawn, if it’s what makes you happy.’

  ‘It does,’ said Dawn quietly. ‘It makes me very happy.’

  Holly’s scathing gaze swept the small, simple parlour and then brushed over Dawn’s untidy hair, and creased skirt and blouse. Her lip curled and she tugged at Fennel to get him up out of the chair.

  ‘Come on, Finn. Let’s leave Dawn to her idyllic lifestyle. Hubby’ll be home soon, and there’s tea to cook and housework to be done.’

  Dawn watched their retreating backs, noticing how Swift appeared from nowhere to escort them. She felt upset at their nastiness but overriding that was a profound sense of relief that she was not, and never would be, one of them.