Dance of the Stones (12 page)

8.
THE NIGHT OF DESTRUCTION

“Where's Adam?” asked Owen.

Adam entered the kitchen just as Holly picked up the note from the kitchen table and waved it under Owen's nose.

“I'm back,” Adam announced.

“You missed out,” said Chantel.

Adam snorted.

“No really,” Chantel insisted. “The naming ceremony was great.” Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled. A few stray rose petals still dotted her hair. “I wish I'd had a naming day like that.” She sighed longingly. “Rosie Dawn's a beautiful name.”

“You're no judge,” said Adam. “You called a doll Marshmallow.”“So? I was three. And she was soft and squishy,” said Chantel defensively as everyone laughed.

Holly's wreath had slipped over one eye. She pulled it off and wound it artistically around a candlestick. “It was fun. They blessed the baby and showered her with rose petals. The man with the staff, Dave . . . ”

“Dave the Druid,” interrupted Adam, laughing rudely.

“Dave the Druid,” said Holly equably, “called in the four directions as witnesses and we all toasted the baby with drinks of water.”

“It was beautiful,” said Chantel dreamily, “and there's going to be dancing and music all day.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

Lynne placed her camera on the counter. “Life certainly isn't dull in this village. What's next on the agenda?”

“Food!” came the cry.

They all busied themselves making sandwiches.

*   *   *

Holly pulled the passes out of her pocket. “Are we going to the museum this afternoon?” she mumbled with her mouth full.

Her mother coughed warningly.

Holly swallowed. “Well? Are we?”

“Sure,” said Adam.

The others looked at him in surprise.

“You're in a good mood,” observed Owen. He rinsed his plate and leaned it up to dry.

Adam followed suit. “Got something to tell you . . . about your dream,” he said.

Both boys slipped out to the patio.

“What's the big secret?” Holly and Chantel had followed close behind.

“Keep your voices down! I've found out the answer to Owen's dream. When the shaman talked about water from the stream that didn't run.”

Everyone looked expectantly at Adam.

“Well, there really is one!”

“What, a stream that doesn't run?” echoed Owen.

“Yup. It's just outside the village. The River Kennet runs in the summer but dries up in the winter.”

“No. You've got it the wrong way round,” said Holly. “Streams dry up in the summer and run in the winter.”

“Not the Kennet,” said Adam triumphantly. “I guess that's why it's supposed to be magic. Go see. It's running now, but Mrs. Bates says it doesn't run in the winter.”

“Weird.” Holly furrowed her brow. “There must be an explanation.”

Adam shrugged. “Sure, there must. But in ancient times it would seem like magic, right?”

“Right,” agreed Owen.

“That's not all. There should be four elements in a ritual and I know what they are, earth, air, fire and water. Mrs. Bates told me.” Adam glanced uneasily at Holly. “She didn't say anything about mistletoe, though.”

“Earth, fire and water were in Owen's dream. So was mistletoe,” said Holly slowly. “But was mistletoe air?”

There was silence while everyone thought.

Owen suddenly pulled the feather from his pocket and waved it. “This was air . . . the hawk-headed shaman used a feather. Birds fly in the air and Ava flies! Hey . . . what if Ava's air?”

“Earth, air, fire and water,” said Holly slowly. “It sounds right. Ava could symbolize air . . . but what was the White Horse?”

“Earth,” said Chantel.

Everyone stared at her.

“The White Horse and the Red Mare were carved in earth,” Chantel explained patiently. “Everything was earth. The talisman was buried, the dragon was buried and Adam had to go underground to see Wayland. So Equus is earth.”

“That can't be right. If Equus is earth and Ava is air, what about fire and water? There are only three Wise Ones,” said Adam.

Holly shook her head. “There are four,” she said firmly.

“No.” Adam ticked them off on his fingers. “Equus, the horse; Ava, the hawk woman; and the old man, Myrddin. Three Wise Ones.”

Holly shook her head. “There are four. I know it. I don't know how or why. I just know it.” She pressed the sides of her head with both hands. “It's like something inside is telling me.” She dropped her hands and continued with utter conviction, “There are four Wise Ones, and Myrddin is fire and the other is water.”

Owen and Adam looked unconvinced, but Chantel touched Holly's arm and they exchanged quick smiles.

Owen shrugged. “Then the mistletoe must mean some–thing else.” He punched Adam's arm. “Thanks, Adam!”

*   *   *

The long-haired girl staggered as another wave of dizziness hit her. She thrust the penny whistle at the musician beside her. “ I must have sunstroke,” she muttered and stumbled to the shade of a tree at the edge of the field.

She sat on the grass and leaned against the trunk. The dizziness grew worse. She closed her eyes and a shiver ran through her body. Blackness gathered and she was sucked down into an icy swirling void.

She surfaced angrily. Angry that she had got sunstroke, angry at the stones because it was their fault, and angry at . . . at . . . her mind cast around trying to make sense of her anger . . . Aaah! She was angry at those kids who'd run into her. They laughed when she dropped her ice cream. How dared they?

A rush of fury flooded her body. She'd get even with them if it were the last thing she did!

The girl clambered to her feet and swayed groggily. She'd find those bratty kids and teach them a lesson. Maybe they were among the people watching the festivities. She made her way unsteadily back to the edge of the Stone Circle and stared at every kid, but none of them were the right ones. She'd try looking in the village next.

*   *   *

Following the arrows labeled MUSEUM, Owen, Holly and Adam pushed the Bath chair containing Chantel into a large cobbled courtyard surrounded by trees. Loud caws burst from the trees as they walked past.

“Crows?” asked Chantel.

“Rooks,” said Owen. “Look.” He ran under the trees and clapped his hands loudly.

With cries of alarm the rooks rose from the branches in a great black cloud and wheeled angrily overhead.

As soon as Owen had disturbed them he felt guilty. He shouldn't have frightened them. He'd been a bird last night. He remembered the feel of the wind under his wings and his delight in the freedom of flight. Then he remembered how his heart had pounded in his chest when he was buffeted and blown in the snowstorm. He sent a mind message. “Sorry, rooks, I won't frighten you again.” To his surprise, they immediately stopped their cries and settled back in the tree branches.

Adam pointed across the courtyard. Several wooden tables were filled with people eating and drinking. Behind them were the open doors of a converted stable. “Great, a restaurant. Let's see what's on the menu.”

“We've just had lunch,” protested Holly.

Owen backed up Adam. “There's always room for snacks.”

“Later,” insisted Holly, rolling her eyes toward Chantel.

She marched into the doorway of the largest building. “Come on, show your passes.”

The ticket collector waved through their passes but pointed to the Bath chair. “That stays outside. It's too big, but we've a wheelchair you can borrow.”

“Thanks,” said Chantel. She climbed out of the Bath chair and hopped over to the waiting wheelchair. “Hey, I like this.” Spinning the wheels by hand, she propelled herself into the barn.

The others followed.

The barn was cool and dim after the brilliant sunshine.

The thick stone walls and massive interior roof beams arched high over the children's heads.

“It's like being in a church,” said Chantel softly as she gazed up into the shadows.

“Something up there moved,” said Holly. Her voice echoed in the large space.

“Looking for our bats?” asked an interpreter.

“Bats?” said the children. They all stared intently at the roof.

“Occasionally one moves,” continued the interpreter. “Or you hear the odd squeak, but they sleep during the day. The best time to see them is dusk, when they stream out of the vent holes to catch flying insects. It's quite a sight. There's been a bat colony in the barn for hundreds of years.” She laughed. “We could only get permission to make the barn into a museum if we promised not to disturb the bats.”

“Neat,” said Holly.

“I'm Sue,” said the interpreter. “You can come and ask me anything you like about Avebury.”

“I want to know about the Stone Circle,” said Owen eagerly. “Who built it, and why are so many stones missing?”

The interpreter pointed to a small ramp. “If you go up the ramp you'll find information about the builders. Then move to the middle of the barn for information about the Barber Surgeon and how he helped destroy the stones.”

“Barber Surgeon?” questioned Chantel.

Sue smiled. “Yes, a man who wandered from village to village pulling teeth, lancing boils and cutting hair. He made quite an impact on Avebury.”

“Thanks.” Owen flashed her a smile and ran up the ramp.

He stopped short and pointed. “I don't believe it! That could be Hewll!”

A life-sized model of a man with long hair, wearing a leather tunic and a woolen wrap, stared at them. He was holding an antler pick in his hand as if about to strike. Below the model were a couple more antler picks and some scapula shovels. Above them a sign said “Please Touch.” “Those clothes, the antler pick, it's just like my dream,” whispered Owen.

Adam picked up an antler pick and swung it experimentally. Holly tried hefting a bone shovel.

Chantel picked up a stone hammer and banged repeatedly on a log provided for the purpose. The stone head wobbled and fell off as the leather binding loosened. Chantel looked embarrassed and dropped the handle back on the display table. “It's hard to believe the ditch and Stone Circle were made with these tools. The Circle is so massive and the tools so . . . so . . . ” she searched for the right word, “so fragile.”

Holly was reading the exhibit labels. “It took two thousand years to build the ditch and the Circle.” Her voice was filled with awe. She lifted an antler pick again in her hand. “Making it must have been really important to the people who lived then.”

“Of course it was,” hissed Owen. “They'd promised Ava.” He paused, a look of revelation on his face. “That's where the name comes from, isn't it? Ava's circlet is buried here . . . Avebury. Brilliant!”

He went charging off to see what else he could find.

*   *   *

Ava lay weakly on a rafter. She struggled to raise her head. Owen was near; she could sense him. He would help her, but they were running out of time. He needed one more clue for the ritual. If only she had enough strength to show him another glimpse of the past.

*   *   *

“Hey, Owen, here's the Barber Surgeon.” Adam waved Owen over and pointed to a photo of human bones poking out from beneath a massive stone, and the rusted remains of ancient tools and a knife blade in a glass case. “This guy tried to wreck the stones, but they wrecked him. One fell on him and crushed him.”

“Good for the stone,” said Owen. He peered at the exhibit as Adam wandered off to the next section.

A strange feeling swept over him, a momentary dizziness as though his eyes weren't focusing properly, then a feeling of seeing things from far away. One moment Owen was leaning against the museum case, peering through the glass to look at the bones and read the story. The next minute the glass dissolved, the exhibit disappeared and it was as though he was hovering, hawk-like, above the Stone Circle, watching the past again!

*   *   *

It was a cold crisp midnight and the air smelled of Christmas. Mulled spices and cooking odors wafted from the open door of the Catherine Wheel Inn. Owen watched as the Barber Surgeon strode angrily out, his bag of knives and tools clinking on his belt. Behind him, drunken voices sang a raucous version of an ancient carol as the roasted head of a pig with an apple stuck in its mouth was hoisted onto the inn table.

The Boar's Head in hand bear I,
Bedecked with bays and rosemary,
And I pray you my masters be merry,
Quo estis in convivio.

The inn door slammed on the voices as the Barber Surgeon strode down the street toward the church, muttering, “'Tis blasphemous.”

A bunch of children, boys in breeches and jerkins, girls in woolen kirtles and shawls, ran past him to gather around the church door as a lantern-lit procession emerged.