Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘Alright. But burn those gloves when you’ve finished, won’t you?’ He went over to the dresser along one wall and studied the rows of bottles, flasks and vials on display. ‘You’ve been so busy this summer. You’re gaining a really good reputation as a healer.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled, carefully putting the finely chopped roots into the flask and covering them with alcohol. ‘Although I haven’t been able to cure your stomach ache, have I?’

  ‘Your remedies have helped considerably,’ he said. ‘I’m very grateful.’

  ‘Do you need any more yet? You should’ve run out by now.’

  ‘I’ll check when I get back to the tower but I think I’m alright for the time being. Why I came to see you here is because you had a visitor this morning – a girl called Meadowsweet who says she’s walking with your brother Gefrin.’

  ‘What did she want?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she’s coming back this evening to see you and I promised her you’d be in. I hope that’s alright.’

  ‘Yes, I’d planned on studying tonight. The evenings have really drawn in lately, haven’t they? You can feel autumn’s here.’

  ‘We need to talk about that. I’ll be leaving soon and there are things we must sort out – my library, for instance.’

  ‘Oh Clip! You know how I feel about you going.’

  ‘I’ve vowed to be gone by Samhain, which gives me less than six weeks here. I’m feeling the wanderlust starting to kick in.’

  ‘Have you decided where you’re going?’

  ‘No, not yet. I want to get all the loose ends tied up here first. I’m in the final stages of signing over Stonewylde into a charitable trust. Nobody knows of that except Sylvie, but I’ll have to announce it soon as the Board of Trustees needs to be set up. Obviously it’s the kind of the thing the Council of Elders would naturally take on. Then there are all my things in the tower, not to mention my books.’

  Leveret looked at him sadly. She couldn’t bear the thought of Stonewylde without Clip.

  ‘You know that whatever you leave behind, I’ll look after for you until your return, and if you need anything sent to you wherever you are, I’ll arrange it. We haven’t really discussed it, but I’m assuming you still want me to stay in the tower?’

  ‘Definitely,’ he nodded. ‘I need to know all my things are being cared for by somebody who appreciates them. Cherry’s had her beady eye on my collection of desiccated frogs for a long time.’

  Mallow trudged along the lane towards the cottage at the end, no longer tumbledown and filthy. She carried a basket of food for Old Violet and her clean clothes, bending a little under the weight, as Martin had insisted she also take the bottles of mead and some of her new blackberry jam. The blackbirds were singing sweetly in the clear autumn morning but Mallow kept her head down as she hurried, as ever worrying about getting everything done in time.

  She’d managed to clean the cottage from top to bottom now, and the place was almost unrecognisable. Martin had arranged for everything broken to be repaired, and now Old Violet also had a comfortable wicker chair on wheels in which Mallow could take her to the Village. After the passing on of Vetchling, the remaining sister had been completely distraught for several days and in that period, Martin had persuaded her to have a proper hot bath and change her clothes. She’d put up a fight but, soothed with a large dose of very strong mead, she’d eventually succumbed. Now it was Mallow’s weekly chore to take her mother-in-law to the Bath House and wash her.

  She visited every day after the most pressing work in her own home was completed, and made sure Violet was fed and comfortable. She found it really hard work to keep two cottages clean, especially where Martin was so very particular and came home every evening to give their cottage a thorough inspection. He usually managed to find at least one fault; if it wasn’t a smudge of ash on the range, it was a speck of dust on a shelf or a crease in an ironed shirt. The consequences of these transgressions varied depending on his mood, and where Mallow was now also looking after his mother every single day and walking some distance to do so, it was almost impossible to maintain the standards Martin demanded. She tried so very hard to please him, but sometimes she felt he actually enjoyed finding faults and punishing her.

  ‘You’re late today!’ Violet said querulously as Mallow let herself in.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mother Violet,’ said Mallow, keeping her head down. ‘I got your mead here.’

  ‘Aye, well I want my rabbit dinner so get that warmed,’ said Violet. ‘ ’Tis lonely here without dear Vetch and I’m hungry.’

  Whilst Mallow set about stoking up the range and putting the pot of stew on to heat, Violet managed to heave herself up and shuffled over to the basket where the mead sat. She was almost bent double and found all movement difficult. The upstairs rooms had been closed off as she couldn’t manage the stairs, and she had a bed made up downstairs in the corner. Mallow had to empty her close stool daily, for a trip down to the earth-closet privy at the bottom of the long garden was completely beyond Violet’s capabilities.

  ‘Your Swift visited last night,’ mumbled Violet. ‘He chopped the wood for me and came in for a chat with his old granny.’

  Mallow nodded, too scared of the crone to welcome conversation.

  ‘He’ll go far, that boy,’ she continued. ‘Fly the nest and won’t come back.’

  Mallow started to sweep the floor but Violet screeched at her to stop and fetch a glass of mead.

  ‘But Mother Violet, ’tis very early for mead,’ she began.

  ‘Pah, what do you know? I miss my dear sister and I need comfort right enough. Why did she pass on to the Otherworld afore me? Ain’t nothing worth hanging on for now I’m all alone. Used to be the three of us but now ’tis just me and I can’t even brew a potion. I must suffer you scuttling around all day like a brown mouse come in from the field – ’tisn’t how I want to live. Why did my Vetchling have to go?’

  She sat rocking in distress, her knotted hands clutching at her shawl. Mallow felt a tremor of pity for her, remembering that awful morning in August. She’d arrived wet through in the pouring rain to continue her clean-up of the hovel, only to find Vetchling dead in her chair, the sickening battle for breath finally over. Violet had been asleep herself, an empty bottle of mead lying on the floor. After a terrible moment of horror, Mallow had run all the way back into the Village to the Great Barn and asked someone to phone up to the Hall for Martin. She’d never used a phone herself before. When Martin arrived, Mallow had fallen apart completely and he’d had to take her in hand quite severely. Violet had insisted on laying Vetchling out herself, but of course she couldn’t manage it alone, so Mallow had had to assist, washing and dressing the filthy withered body as it lay on the table. Very few had attended the Passing On ceremony at the yew, as Martin had let it be known Violet didn’t want folk there.

  Mallow dished up a bowl of rabbit stew and took it over to Violet on a tray. The crone sat there sucking it from the spoon with her toothless mouth, complaining bitterly that there weren’t enough herbs in it for her liking, whilst Mallow took the chamber pot out from the close stool to empty in the earth closet. She hated it here, was terrified of her mother-in-law, and couldn’t wipe the image of Vetchling’s pitiful corpse from her memory. She’d been having nightmares ever since and Martin had been so angry when she woke up screaming that she’d been sent to sleep in Swift’s old bedroom on her own, which scared her even more.

  Starling had attended the Passing On ceremony alone, as Cledwyn had refused to come. Jay had walked by her side, amazed at the difference in his aunt. She’d lost a great deal of weight in the short months since leaving the cottage, and walked with her head down, her hair concealing her face. Jay had put her silence down to grief at losing her mother, and he tried to summon a sad expression as Vetchling had been his grandmother. Violet had been wheeled there in the chair and had been the one to light the pyre. Marigold had refused to let Magpie attend on the grounds that Vetchling h
ad been a terrible grandmother to him and didn’t deserve his mourning. Mallow was very glad that the whole episode was now over, but being given the role of Violet’s carer was something she hated. Why, she wondered, couldn’t they make the crone move up to the Hall?

  Meadowsweet arrived at the tower and diffidently asked if she could talk to Leveret in private.

  ‘I been wanting to thank you,’ she said. ‘Gefrin told me it was you as sorted out his skin and that’s been the making of us.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Leveret, looking slightly askance at such shallowness.

  ‘All them boils and suchlike always put me off him afore, but once I could see his face proper I realised he were a nice lad. D’you know what I mean, Leveret? ’Tis like you can’t see beyond something daft that’s blocking the truth.’

  Leveret nodded, knowing there was wisdom in this.

  ‘And Gefrin told me how you’d talked to him about stuff and the way he treats people and I realised that you had a lot to do with us getting together at Lammas. We’re really serious and I think we may be handfasted at Hare Moon.’

  ‘That’s very nice,’ said Leveret. ‘Congratulations.’

  ‘So I bought you a gift to say thank you,’ continued Meadowsweet. ‘ ’Tis outside by a tree.’

  Intrigued, Leveret followed the older girl down the exterior staircase, across the lawn and over to where the parkland started. Tethered to an elm tree was a large grey puppy, lying on the ground with its nose on its paws and its eyes looking up mournfully. As they approached, its long tail thumped on the ground but its expression remained fearful. It was trembling from head to claw.

  ‘A puppy?’ gasped Leveret, her heart lurching with shock. ‘Oh Meadowsweet – I can’t have a puppy! I’d love to of course, but not in the tower. There isn’t—’

  ‘Father’s going to drown him today. He were born wrong and he’s got something that don’t work in his back legs. I begged Father to let him live when he were born and he’s a fair man – he said he’d give ‘un a chance. But he’s eight weeks old now and ’tis obvious he’ll never make a working dog. Father won’t have no pets – we got terriers and field-dogs and our barn cats, but every creature must work, and poor Shadow will never be able to run proper. He’ll never herd the sheep or cows, nor catch rabbits or rats. No farm would want ‘un. Today, Father said that’s it, he’s got to go now as he’s weaned and needs feeding.’

  Leveret felt a lump in her throat. Shadow. She looked down at him, a true Stonewylde farm dog with his long, grizzly-grey coat and half-cocked ears, his fanned tail that flickered hopefully as she gazed at him. His enormous brown eyes looked away as if in embarrassment at the position he’d put her in. She knelt and he wriggled closer to her, a bright pink tongue appearing to lick her hand politely. His fur was matted and he smelt of the farmyard.

  ‘So what’s wrong with his legs?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know. He were the runt o’ the litter and his hind quarters were all twisted funny. I’d hoped they’d straighten out but they ain’t. He can walk and he can trot along, but he’s not fast. Father prides himself on our dogs – he’s bred ’em careful and they’re the best. But not little Shadow here.’

  Somehow he’d managed to wriggle himself into Leveret’s lap as she crouched and now she was being smothered with puppy love, impossible to resist.

  ‘Well . . . I guess Clip’s leaving soon and I will be all alone in the tower. He must learn not to chew things . . .’

  ‘Oh he won’t, Leveret! You’ll see – our dogs are very clever and they learn quick. He’s kind of always known he’s for the mill pond – he’s been such a good boy and tried to make hisself invisible and not be no trouble. I love him and when Gefrin said you’d take him in—’

  ‘Gefrin? It was his idea?’

  Meadowsweet nodded, tickling the puppy’s round tummy.

  ‘He said you were the softest person he knows. He said you’d look after an ant if ’twere injured.’

  Leveret smiled and undid the piece of hemp rope that tied Shadow to the tree. He stood up, his back legs twisted indeed, and shook himself. Meadowsweet burst into tears and flung her arms around Leveret.

  ‘Shadow is a special pup and ’tis fitting that the Shaman o’ Stonewylde should be guarded by him. My old granny said you’ll be pleased of ‘un one day.’

  Hazel removed the cuff from Sylvie’s arm and noted down her blood pressure. She smiled, delighted to see how bonny Sylvie was looking.

  ‘You’re really in good shape,’ she said. ‘You’ve regained some weight, which is excellent, and everything seems to be as it should. I’ll need to remove the old implant from your arm and then pop in your new one. We can do that tomorrow, if you’re free?’

  Sylvie nodded, pulling down her sleeve.

  ‘I do feel a million times better than I did. My skin’s improved and my hair, and I just feel bouncier and more my old self. I’d become so very depressed but now everything’s looking up. I hope Yul and I will be living together again very soon.’

  ‘That’s marvellous news! So it’s all going well between you now? All the old problems resolved?’

  ‘To be honest, Hazel, it wasn’t looking good at one point and I’d started to think that maybe we’d never get back together again. But it’s funny – Holly and Fennel turning up like that almost seemed to trigger something between us. We became united again in our mutual dislike for them, and then on Lammas Eve at that Blue Moon . . . Well, let’s just say, the old moon magic worked its spell on us.’

  ‘I’m so pleased for you both, Sylvie! I was going to ask if you wanted to wait with this new implant as it seemed a little unnecessary having that put in if you were in effect a single woman. But you’ll need it now, I assume!’

  ‘Yes, although we’ve still to sort out where we’re going to live. That seems to be the stumbling block at the moment. I can’t bear to live in those apartments and I really want to live in the Village in a simple cottage.’

  ‘And Yul doesn’t want that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. It’s been quite hard to talk to him lately. There’s something bothering him but he hasn’t told me yet, so I have no idea what it is. Though I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t sort out.’

  ‘Okay, so we’ll get the new implant put in tomorrow. I assume your last period was at the Dark Moon, so let me check. That would be September—’

  ‘Actually I didn’t have one then.’

  ‘No? Are you out of synch now? It does happen, and I’ve noticed it more and more since Stonewylde women have been on these implants. So when was it?’

  ‘Um . . . I’m not sure. I missed September’s and August’s too. I remember being pleased because I wanted to come up here that day and I—’

  ‘Sylvie, are you telling me you’ve missed two periods? You made love with Yul at the Blue Moon on Lammas Eve and you haven’t had a period since?’

  Sylvie stared at Hazel in shock.

  ‘But . . . no, surely not? You’ve always said the implants are virtually foolproof, Hazel.’

  ‘They are! I know yours is due for replacing, but even so . . . You’re not on any other medication that could be affecting it, so—’

  ‘Well, I have been taking Leveret’s remedy for a few months now, but that’s just a natural tonic. That wouldn’t have affected a hormone implant, surely?’

  Hazel had gone very still. Her kind brown eyes locked into Sylvie’s pale grey ones and she sighed.

  ‘What was this natural tonic? It wasn’t by any chance—’

  ‘Hypericum or St John’s Wort, if you prefer. But it’s just made from flowers!’

  Hazel chuckled incredulously.

  ‘That’s one of the natural remedies known to affect hormonal contraception. Sylvie, we need to do a test. I think it’s highly likely that you’re pregnant.’

  22

  Yul gazed at the latest e-mail that had just pinged into his inbox. His heart thumped with despair and he felt like hurling the computer
across the room. He must have uttered something because Harold looked up from his work.

  ‘What was that, Yul? I didn’t—’

  ‘Nothing!’ he growled.

  With a shrug, Harold turned back to his screen, gazing at the columns in the spreadsheet.

  ‘Are you looking at the Aitch report, Harold? How’s it going?’

  ‘Yes I am, and ’tis looking good. We’re on target with everything and there don’t seem to be no production problems.’

  ‘When are we expecting to have finished the order?’

  ‘By Yule at the latest, and possibly before. I reckon . . . end of November if everyone continues to produce the goods as fast as they’re doing now.’

  ‘Good! Let’s see if we can speed it up a bit and finish with the whole bloody thing even sooner.’

  ‘Did you hear that the first magazine with the photos is out now? Most will be out next month, but there’s one got ’em already in a big spread. ’Tis strange seeing our Stonewylde in a glossy magazine like that. Holly sent the—’

  ‘I don’t want to know!’ cried Yul, his voice almost cracking. ‘I really don’t want to hear anything about it!’

  Harold glanced across at him; Yul had been behaving very strangely lately.

  ‘Sorry. But there’s one thing I must ask. Holly – Aitch or whatever we’re meant to call her – she sent me an e-mail asking if they can add to the order as the boots are—’

  ‘Absolutely not!’

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell her no then. I just thought maybe—’

  There was a tap on the door and Sylvie came in, her cheeks glowing and eyes dancing. Her silver hair wafted around her shoulders and fell to her waist, and Yul felt a jolt of love and desire for her all rolled into one.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you hard-working chaps! Can you spare me a minute please, Yul? I’ve got a couple of things to tell you.’

  It was still raining outside, the late September weather gloomy and dull, so they made their way into the library. This however was full of students, as was the grand sitting room; Miranda tended to utilise all the space possible. They found the Dining Hall being prepared for lunch, and the huge ballroom which nowadays sported sofas and chairs and a large screen for watching films, was occupied by some of the elderly folk from Hazel’s wing.