Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘Old Violet knows, right enough! ’Tis not over till the Black Moon! The taint remains, waiting as ever, ready to prowl and search out its prey!’

  ‘What’s waiting to prowl?’ whispered Bluebell, pulled in so close to the old woman that she felt her stinking breath, warm and sour on her face.

  ‘The toad will crawl from under his stone and you’ll be the one to help me, Raven-whelp, with your pretty curls and blue eyes. You’ll help Old Violet, won’t you?’

  Her other clawed hand came up to trace Bluebell’s petal-soft cheek and the little girl shrank from her touch in horror.

  ‘I . . . I won’t help you!’

  The crone cackled at this and Bluebell saw clearly the long whiskers on her chin, the seamed and bristly skin around her cavernous mouth. Her eyes burned black and wicked as she scratched Bluebell’s cheek with a sharp talon, from eye-socket to jaw.

  ‘Ah, but you will, my pretty! See, Old Violet has marked you and now you’re mine. You find that toad-bag and release my magic, and do it tomorrow so it’s ready for Black Moon. The feet will dance no more on the tainted hill, for ’tis the snake in the stone that holds the moongazy power. Hares and barn owls – pah! The serpent o’ Stonewylde is ever the stronger, and Old Violet’s magic is ever greater than Raven’s.’

  Bluebell had frozen at these words, so scared that she wet herself. She began to cry, ashamed and terrified, and the hag released her cruel grip.

  ‘Go now, maggot-spawn. Do my bidding and then you’re free. And if you tell a soul . . .’

  With a grimace, she opened her mouth wide and poked out a sticky brown tongue. Her talons came up like pincers and she mimed pulling out her tongue.

  ‘If you speak o’ this, I’ll have your tongue while you sleep!’

  Kestrel watched the lovely handfasting ceremony with his arm around his girlfriend’s waist.

  ‘I think it’s fabulous!’ she sighed. ‘I didn’t know there were places like this! When I get married I want this sort of do.’

  She widened her eyes at Kestrel but he only grinned.

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ he laughed. ‘You know I’m still nursing a broken heart and I’m not getting caught on the rebound. I just thought you’d be interested in seeing this ceremony, as you said you liked quaint old customs. Don’t go telling everyone back on campus though or they’ll all want to visit.’

  They sauntered across the grass as the massive circle of people broke up and the newly-wed couples processed proudly into the Great Barn for the feast. The girl by Kestrel’s side stared in dewy-eyed amazement at the two gorgeous people who’d led the ceremony. As they’d spoken the words to bind the couples who stood before them, they’d barely taken their eyes off each other. It was as if they’d been saying the vows to one another, regardless of the crowds looking on, wrapped up in their own love and solemn promises. They still stood hand in hand up on the dais and there was an almost visible aura shimmering around the pair of them. He was so dark and she so blonde, and in full view of the throng, they fell into each other’s arms and kissed deeply.

  ‘Oh look at them! It’s so romantic!’ she breathed. ‘And their costumes . . .’

  ‘That’s Yul and Sylvie,’ he said. ‘Good to see them properly back together again. They’re looking pretty loved-up, I must say.’

  He watched as Leveret walked towards the Barn, a great shaggy grey dog by her side and her arm through Rufus’. She looked completely normal but he’d heard the news.

  ‘Hi Leveret!’ he called, leaving the girlfriend as he hurried over to reach her. She turned her little face towards him, her green eyes clear and bright, her hair a mass of luxuriant dark curls that reached her waist. She wore a pretty buttercup-yellow dress today in honour of her brother’s handfasting, and a circlet of flowers on her head.

  ‘Kestrel!’ she cried, her face breaking into a smile.

  ‘How can—’

  ‘I’d recognise your voice anywhere,’ she said. ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘Just a flying day-visit from University,’ he said. ‘I’m . . . I’m so sorry about . . .’

  ‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘But it could have been worse, and life goes on.’

  ‘I just wanted to say . . . well, it’s good to see you again. You look really lovely – I always said you’d be worth waiting for and I was right.’

  ‘Thank you!’ she beamed, blushing. ‘I’m afraid it would be a long wait – another lifetime in fact – but that’s made my day.’

  His girlfriend had reached them and she stared at Rufus.

  ‘I’ve seen you before!’ she exclaimed. ‘I remember your amazing hair, like conkers. You were in those magazines with Kes, weren’t you? Another Aitch model – wow!’

  Now Rufus blushed scarlet behind his mass of freckles, and Kestrel laughed.

  ‘Fame at last, eh Rufus? Would you mind escorting my lady-friend into the Barn so I can take this beautiful little maiden in on my arm? Last time we did this, Leveret, you were drugged up to the eyeballs – yes, I have heard! So let’s do it properly one more time, shall we?’

  The party made its way slowly through the woods, once again adrift in a lake of deepest violet-blue. Birds flitted through the trees, serenading the family group as they chatted happily, well-fed from the wedding feast and looking forward to watching the moon rise. Sylvie was tired and had almost bowed out of this, but she knew how keen Yul was to perform the little ceremony tonight. They hadn’t done this for the girls and it was a custom that had died out at Stonewylde. But when Yul had overheard Old Greenbough talking about how, when he was a lad, they’d always presented new-borns to the Bright Lady, he knew it would be perfect for little Ioho. Sylvie had thought they’d do it publicly on the Village Green, but Yul had set his heart on Hare Stone, their special and very magical place at the Moon Fullness.

  ‘Keep up, Bluebell!’ she called, looking back to where the little girl trailed way behind the party. ‘Are you tired? Come and hold my hand, or maybe Uncle Rufus will give you a piggy-back if you ask nicely.’

  She was a little concerned about her younger daughter, who’d been quiet and miserable all day. She hoped it wasn’t jealousy, but doubted it. Bluebell had never resented her older sister’s gift of dance and the attention it brought, and she adored the baby. In fact she’d been very happy, trotting about on her sturdy little legs and singing at the top of her voice with her normal exuberance until yesterday. Sylvie recalled she’d been silent and strange on their way back from the Hall. Whilst Hazel had been doing the check-up, Bluebell had somehow managed to scratch her face and had wet herself, which was most unusual. Maybe she was coming down with something? Sylvie resolved to ask Leveret’s advice.

  Celandine skipped on ahead, anxious to get up the hill even though the sun was still shining. Sylvie smiled, recognising all the signs; she was definitely becoming more moongazy as she grew older. At least with the warm summer months ahead they could come up here every month. For the ceremony this evening they’d also brought along Miranda and Christopher, as well as Leveret, Maizie, Rufus and Magpie, and Yul carried Ioho strapped to his chest in a warm cocoon.

  Sylvie couldn’t recall ever feeling happier in her whole life. Yul had told her of Clip’s wise words about metamorphosis and he’d been right – this new love between them was stronger and deeper than ever before, tempered into something finer by the separation, betrayal and pain of the past months. She loved Yul so very deeply and seeing him now with his tiny son made her heart ache with joy. She was still very emotional, only two weeks on from Ioho’s dramatic arrival in the Stone Circle at Beltane, but she knew the dreadful illness she’d suffered after Bluebell’s birth wouldn’t strike this time. She felt strong and positive and was enjoying every minute of their beautiful new life together with their three children.

  ‘Bluebell, do catch up!’ she called again, stopping and waiting for the dawdling child.

  As the Hare Moon rose, Yul stood with his back to the great stone and lifted his naked son to the sky
. They all stood in a semi-circle facing the glorious moonrise as Yul raised the tiny baby to the deep blue heavens. Leveret had brought along Clip’s old shamanic drum and she kept the beat, primeval and compelling, as Yul offered up his son in silence. The baby must’ve been cold and, privately, Sylvie worried about this. But she’d told herself just a few minutes in the warm evening wouldn’t hurt, and at first Ioho didn’t cry. His little limbs flailed the air, his hands in fists, and then he wailed but more as if in greeting to the golden moon than in complaint. It was a beautiful moment and touched the hearts of everyone present.

  ‘I offer you my son, Bright Lady,’ said Yul in his deep, soft voice. ‘May he always honour the old ways, walking in harmony with you and the spirit of our land. May he serve the folk of Stonewylde well!’

  At that Ioho began to yell and soon after, Leveret slowed and then stopped the drumbeats. Yul lowered him and swaddled him in a soft, warm shawl, kissing his little face with such tenderness that Sylvie felt the ready tears well up. He was a fine little boy with a mop of dark hair, and, although he seemed to have his father’s handsome features, he’d inherited her pale skin and silvery-grey wolf eyes. The effect was stunning. Yul handed him over to Sylvie who sat down on the rug and leant against the stone, unbuttoning her bodice to reveal her full, tingling breast.

  As Ioho suckled, the moon rose higher. In the silence, the barn owl floated noiselessly overhead to land on the stone above her. Christopher, his arm around Miranda, was moved to tears at the beauty of the occasion. Everyone was hushed as they watched the moon grow brighter and Celandine dance around them in leaping, whirling spirals, bringing down the moon magic into the waiting earth. Yul nudged Christopher and pointed out the hares that had crept up to join her, and he shook his grey head in disbelief at such a wondrous sight.

  Further down the hill Bluebell and Magpie crouched by the boulders that marked the entrance into the hollow hill. Her heart thumped wildly and she muttered continuously under her breath, ‘R,S,T,U,V . . .’ They were searching the ground, difficult in the darkness even though the moon shone brightly above, and had been doing this for some time now. Bluebell was torn between worry about putting her hand on a viper, and terror at not being able to find the toad-bag. But she’d told herself that snakes slept at night time and the threat about the toad-bag was worse. She didn’t even know what she was looking for exactly and she couldn’t ask anyone in case Baba Yaga got her tongue.

  It felt very strange down here by the boulders; completely different to the top of the hill. Bluebell was aware of the yawning gap between the two rocks, almost her height, but too narrow for even her small body to squeeze through – not that she’d have wanted to. If it were a Hollow Hill as Rufus had said, and there were faeries inside, Bluebell couldn’t imagine them being good, pretty faeries like the ones in her stories. Good ones would never want to live inside a dark, secret cave with a nest of adders. These must be bad faeries, especially if that Baba Yaga crone knew about this place. Bluebell pictured them now in silver and black dresses covered in the zigzag viper pattern. Their papery wings were made of old snake-skins, and tiny black forked tongues flickered from their mouths. They hissed viciously at the prospect of their treasure, the wicked toad-bag, being stolen away by the Princess of the Bluebell Faeries.

  Then she heard her mother calling her name in the moonlit darkness, panic in her voice, and her father’s voice joined in. Magpie tugged at her sleeve; he wanted to go back up the hill to the stone and all the family up there. Bluebell felt the tears burst through her eyes because she simply HAD to find the toad-bag tonight. The crone has said she must find it and release the bad magic, but Bluebell had made up a plan. She’d find the nasty thing and she’d somehow get it back to the cottage and then she’d throw it into the range and burn it. She knew that burning was a way of destroying and purifying. So if she burnt it then the magic couldn’t be released on the Hollow Hill like the crone had said. Her sister would be safe, and the dancing feet would continue and the hares and barn owl would be stronger than the serpent. But Magpie was pulling her, trying to make her return to her family, and she could hear lots of voices now, all calling her name. And then she felt Auntie Leveret calling her name inside her head in the way she sometimes did.

  She heard people rushing down the hill and realised that Magpie was standing up waving at them all to get their attention, and she sobbed and sobbed, still on her hands and knees patting the ground, trying to locate the toad-bag in the silver moonlight. Her father arrived first and scooped her up almost roughly. He was a mixture of happy and angry and he hugged her so tightly she thought her body would pop and she kept saying that she was sorry but she was crying too much. Back up on top of the hill by the stone there was much relief and everyone asking what she’d been doing and feeling bad they hadn’t noticed she’d gone missing. But then Auntie Leveret said that Magpie told her they’d been searching for a toad, and her voice sounded strange as if she were frightened too. Luckily nobody was cross with Magpie, and Mummy held her tightly on her lap where she sat up against the stone and kissed her face again and again and stroked her hair.

  ‘Bluebell, it was very, very silly to disappear like that in the darkness. Why were you looking for a toad? We’ve got lots of toads in the garden at home, haven’t we? Yul, please let’s go back now. Celandine’s finished dancing, I’m tired and I’m sure everyone else is.’

  Granny Miranda was holding Baby Ioho, jigging him gently in her arms, and Auntie Leveret was talking quietly to Magpie, who was still upset that they’d done wrong by disappearing. Bluebell felt bad as it was her fault, not his, and he hadn’t wanted to come. Celandine was standing very still gazing up at the blazing silver moon, her long hair glinting with moonbeams, and Rufus was talking to Christopher about hollow hills and chambered tombs. Granny Maizie was sitting on the grass in a dream, staring up at the Hare Moon, and there were silver tears glinting on her cheeks. Bluebell got up from her mother’s lap and felt her heart thumping again in panic, because any minute now they’d all be trooping back down the hill and she wouldn’t have found the toad-bag and the taint would still be here, its dark magic prowling around, searching for its prey.

  Then she noticed darling Shadow, pale in the moonlight, over behind the standing stone. He was pawing at the ground and Bluebell just knew . . . she dashed over to where he snuffled at the earth and she dropped to her knees, ignoring the dog drool she’d normally have hated and his big messy paws. He’d turned over a flat stone embedded in the ground and there it was, in his mouth, but she pulled it away in case he chewed it up and died.

  ‘Bluebell!’ called her father sharply. ‘Come back here now!’

  She jumped up, her hand closing around the damp thing and its long cord. She must hide it fast and she didn’t have a pocket so very quickly she pulled the cord over her head. She tried not to think of the dirt and Shadow’s spit on it, nor the bad magic it contained, and pushed the little bag down inside her dress. All the way home on that long walk down the hill, past the scary boulders and the secret door to the Viper Faeries’ nest, into the woods and then eventually on the track leading back to the Village, Bluebell held on tightly to her mother’s hand and felt her feet skipping and her heart fluttering on little wings of joy. She had the wicked toad-bag! She’d saved her sister and she’d taken the bad magic away from the moondancing hill and as soon as she’d managed to burn it, everything would be alright. And that silly old Baba Yaga was wrong after all – Bluebell wasn’t going to do her bidding and help her, despite the cruel mark on her cheek.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll have researched something about it,’ said Sylvie. ‘I did start reading all his notes years ago but somehow . . .’

  She and Rufus walked along a dusty, dark corridor to the tiny room that had once served Professor Siskin when he visited Stonewylde. Sylvie remembered how shocked she’d been at its meanness, and how she’d resolved to put him in a grand suite of rooms on his return. That was not to be, and in the ensuing chao
tic months, and then years, after his demise, his belongings had remained in this little room, tucked away and forgotten in this distant wing of the Hall. His suitcase and laptop had been found in the Jack in the Green and then all his personal belongings had been sent back from Oxford – everything was now crammed in here.

  ‘I never knew anything about this!’ said Rufus. ‘It’s amazing – he was actually chronicling the history of Stonewylde?’

  Sylvie nodded, opening the door to the musty room which was little better than a glorified cupboard. She felt a pang of sadness, recalling her dear little professor and his excitement about giving her the photo of Yul – the one Magus had ripped up in a paroxysm of rage. Coming in here with her brother brought it all back again. She could picture him perfectly with his wispy white hair and half-moon glasses, his velvet jacket and Panama hat, hopping about on small feet boring people with his old-fashioned homilies and scholarly enthusiasms.

  ‘He was a highly respected historian, a professor at Oxford no less, and I’m sure he’d be delighted that one of his relations was taking an interest in his life’s work. I’d always meant to do something with his notes, but somehow life got in the way. To be honest I wouldn’t have done it justice. I had thought maybe one day Bluebell, with her love of story, might be interested. But if you’re keen, that’s marvellous! You’re so clever, Rufus, and I know Professor Siskin would approve of you taking up the mantle. Although I thought you wanted to be a doctor?’

  ‘Yes, yes I do! But I love history and archaeology too, and I find anything to do with Stonewylde fascinating. I’d love to know if there is a chambered tomb up in the hill at Hare Stone. It’s so exciting, Sylvie! I’ve been reading up about them and if we actually had one here at Stonewylde . . . I’ll read Professor Siskin’s research notes and if he does mention it, maybe we could excavate the tomb?’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I really don’t think we should start digging around Hare Stone.’