Shaman of Stonewylde (3 page)

‘You should try!’ said Clip. ‘Really, Sylvie, she has a true heart beneath that difficult exterior.’

‘I realised that when Celandine and Bluebell took to her,’ said Sylvie. ‘But she’s never let me in. I did try just after Imbolc, when Yul was ranting and raving and Maizie was so upset and angry. I tried to tell her that I was on her side but she wouldn’t open up to me.’

‘I know,’ he said sadly. ‘She was in a bad way after what happened and she didn’t know whom she could trust. I’m just glad that Maizie agreed to let her stay here with me. If Yul had had his way . . .’

‘Don’t!’ she said with a shudder. ‘Thank Goddess you
intervened
and took her under your wing. And I’m so pleased you’ve decided to keep her here. Originally it was only to be until the Equinox, wasn’t it?’

‘To be honest, I’d always hoped to keep her with me until I leave this autumn,’ he replied. ‘But I didn’t say so at the time because I thought Maizie might baulk at that. She’s so ambivalent towards the girl – she obviously loves her very much but she won’t recognise Leveret’s innocence in all this business.’

‘I know Maizie’s been very hurt by what she sees as Leveret betraying her trust,’ said Sylvie. ‘But at least this way she knows Leveret’s being well cared for and she doesn’t have to worry for her welfare. We must try to reunite them at some point – the whole situation’s ridiculous.’

‘It’ll be good for Maizie to have you and the little ones living with her,’ said Clip. ‘It’s a splendid idea. Will Yul be staying in the cottage too?’

Sylvie’s face clouded. Her beautiful silver-grey eyes, darker ringed around the irises, met his.

‘No, Clip – not for the foreseeable future. I think you know that things aren’t good between us. I need to get away from here and think about it all.’

He’d nodded, not wishing to pry. And now, scanning the papers in his hand, he wondered about Sylvie and Yul’s future together. They’d always seemed destined for each other, such a perfect pair. But something had changed. Yul was driven nowadays, brusque and aggressive. He reminded Clip more and more of his late brother Sol, which must be hard for poor Sylvie to cope with. She bore the brunt of her husband’s mood-swings and ill-temper. Clip couldn’t begin to imagine how it must feel to be married and forced to put up with another person’s behaviour; in his opinion being single and celibate was one of the joys of being a shaman. He recalled the conversation he’d had about this very subject only recently.

‘Can I really never be married or have children?’ Leveret had asked as they warmed up a pot of soup over the fire in the Dolmen. Living with her made Clip pay more attention to the
need
for food, which he guessed was probably a good thing. Stomach pains were still the bane of his life.

‘It’s not so much that you can’t, as that you’ll be a better shaman if you don’t,’ he’d replied. ‘Having a partner and children takes an enormous amount of your time and energy, as well as your focus. You could of course have those things and go on to be a successful healer and seer – but I don’t think you’d ever really achieve your full potential as Wise Woman or Shaman. But don’t worry about it now, Leveret. You’re only just fifteen and those decisions needn’t be made yet.’

‘No, but if I’m to be single and childless for the whole of my life, I think I should get used to the idea now, before the normal expectations really take hold,’ she’d replied. And, as ever, Clip was struck by her wisdom.

Knowing that she was asleep downstairs in her room on the ground floor filled him with satisfaction. Clip relished the role of mentor and guide, especially as she was such a brilliant pupil. Hes thought of the workload he’d piled on her these last seven weeks since Imbolc. So many books, so much study, yet she’d kept up with it, reading and learning and – judging by her responses during their discussions – understanding and retaining everything she read.

Tomorrow, thought Clip, that must start to change as she had to reintegrate into Stonewylde society. He’d have a chat with Miranda, as head-teacher, and arrange for Leveret’s classes to be cut significantly in areas where they wasn’t vital. Miranda must understand the importance of what the girl was learning here in the tower and how this would benefit the whole community one day. And now the days would be getting appreciably longer and the weather warming up, Leveret must go out daily to learn more of the Goddess and her ever-changing robes. She must become a herbalist – a cunning woman – and begin to brew her remedies and treat minor ailments. Clip thought of Hazel – he must arrange for Leveret to spend time with her as well.

He gazed once more into the flames as they licked lovingly at the wood. Yes, he should be up in the Dolmen now, but more
important
was to be here in the tower whilst Leveret slept. Ever since Imbolc he’d been vigilant, fearing for her safety after she’d been fed poison by those who wished her harm. Clip knew there were evil forces at work in Stonewylde and until he fully understood them, he must guard his young ward as best he could. There were challenging times ahead but eventually all would be worth it. This was the year when he’d gain his freedom; the year when he’d finally escape the clutches of this place. Stonewylde had always clung to him like an unwanted and demanding wife; it was a marriage he’d never sought nor agreed to, but somehow he’d become firmly shackled. And now, at long last, he could hand over all the responsibility – the stewardship to Sylvie and the role of Shaman to Leveret. As for Yul . . . hopefully he’d come to his senses and help share his wife’s and his sister’s burdens. This time next year, Clip thought gleefully, he’d be free, roaming the world wherever his spirit took him.

2

A
crow flapped towards the oak woods beyond the Stone Circle, his bright eyes gazing down at the folk pouring into the arena. It was barely light with the sun not yet risen, and everyone was wrapped in warm cloaks and robes. By the Altar Stone stood the magus, bleary-eyed and pale, and beside him stood his tall, silver-haired wife in her green cloak. The crow circled and then landed on a standing stone in a flutter of black feathers.

More people swelled the crowds already there, murmuring quietly amongst themselves. At a nod from Yul, the drummers ranged around the perimeter began a low, insistent beat that bounced off the huge stones and filled the air. The atmosphere began to change, charging with energy that grew by the minute, amplifying throughout the vast circle and weaving in and around all the people. The amazing pattern of leaping hares painted above their heads on every stone, formed a carousel that seemed to spin with the sound until the hares were alive and dancing. The beautiful goddess of spring painted on the stone behind the altar, an egg in each hand, smiled down on the folk of Stonewylde as they stood, swaying and nodding to the ever growing beat. Hearts thudded in unison with the deep reverberation of the drums, feet tapped in time, heads bobbed and souls synchronised until everyone present became attuned to the common purpose of welcoming in the Spring Equinox.

A large group of singers stood near the entrance, their voices joined in harmonious chant – which raised the energy still
further
. Yul’s eyes scanned the crowds and he was glad he’d insisted that most of the chanting was now performed by a choir rather than remain his responsibility. They’d been practising since Imbolc and would now do this at every ceremony, leaving him only to contribute the odd verse or two. He hoped this would help him focus on what really mattered – the Green Magic.

Yul climbed up onto the Altar Stone, closed his eyes and concentrated hard. The drumbeats throbbed in and around him and the life force of the folk packed into the arena shimmered. He tried, with all his might, to call up the earth energy that snaked underneath the soft earth floor of the ancient Stone Circle. He remembered lying here paralysed that Samhain, unable to move an eyelash but able to summon the energy to him. And now . . . he felt a flicker, a glimmer, but it wasn’t enough. He knew with a sinking heart that at the moment of sunrise, when the force should gather like a great dragon and pour up through the Altar Stone into his human frame – it would be merely a small, insignificant pulse.

He opened his eyes and looked straight into the eyes of the crow, perched unmoving on top of the stone. Just at the moment when the drumming stopped and the singers fell silent, the corvid opened its black beak and let out a mighty ‘
CAW
’. People jumped and many made the sign of the pentangle; Yul scowled at the bird’s inconsiderate timing but wondered if Mother Heggy were sending him a message. He scanned the moving lake of faces before him and noted with annoyance that two figures were hurrying down the Long Walk, late for the ceremony. One tall and one small – Clip and Leveret. They stood right by the mouth of the circle and Yul saw them both noting the crow standing sentinel. Sylvie frowned up at him and he realised he’d missed his cue for the chant. He scowled again and cleared his throat. The light was growing by the second and as the words began to fall from his lips, the sun appeared in the gap between the two stones where it rose every Spring Equinox.

Yul saw the bright golden sliver above the skyline and his soul
cried
out to it, cried out to the Goddess beneath him, begged for the gift of Green Magic to once more bless him. He felt a dart of energy fly up from the great stone under his feet, piercing him in pallid imitation of the massive thrust he used to feel. But, nevertheless, tears of gratitude welled and Yul raised his hands towards the fast-rising sun, the words now tumbling in a torrent of praise. It wasn’t much – it wasn’t enough – but it was something at least. The Goddess hadn’t completely abandoned him.

During the communion part of the ceremony, when the Stonewylders came up to the Altar Stone to receive their cake and tot of mead, Yul decided not to share the little earth energy he’d been fortunate enough to receive. In the old days he’d been doused with magic and was happy to pass on a measure to each person in the community. But now, with so little for himself and certainly not enough to give everyone a taste, he realised his best course would be to store it within. He’d use it to put right some of the wrongs that beset Stonewylde.

The folk began to file up to the head of the circle where the tables were set up around the Altar Stone. One held the tiny cakes baked by Marigold and nowadays entirely free of the extra ingredients once added by Violet. The other was weighed down with casks of mead, again unlaced with the additives that used to bring an added dimension to the proceedings; this was now done only in the wicker dome at Samhain. Very young children were given fruit cordial and everyone present in the huge arena understood the significance of this communion; the fruits bestowed by the Goddess were shared by all. Over the years since Magus’ demise, Yul had enjoyed sharing his own special gift with everyone and they’d now grown to expect the brief touch of magic.

But today, as people young and old shuffled up to receive their cake and mead, Yul stood back from the Altar Stone and merely greeted them. Instead of reaching out to clasp their hands and release a measure of earth energy, he picked up the ceremonial staff standing by the horizontal stone. He jabbed one end firmly into the soil at his feet and held the other end with both hands,
as
if channelling the energy back down into the waiting ground. Folk looked surprised, quickly dropping their hands when they realised their magus wasn’t going to touch them. Sylvie’s eyes scanned Yul’s face when she saw what was happening and for an imperceptible moment their gazes met. Neither was fooled by the other’s neutral expression; both knew exactly what the other was thinking.

The communion had been going on for some time when a group approached the Altar Stone and one in their midst, still hooded against the chill, came forward. She took the cake and ate it, tossed back her thimble of mead and then moved up to where Yul stood, splendid in his green Spring Equinox robes. His headdress for this festival was a wicker wreath woven with dog mercury, primroses and violets. He stood as straight and handsome as ever, the magus of Stonewylde and leader of the community.

The cowled woman stood before him and stopped, dramatically throwing back her hood to reveal a tangle of dark blonde hair that cascaded down her back. Nobody behind in the great crowd could see her face – but Yul could. His eyes widened and lips parted and in his hands, the staff twitched. Then he smiled and although the renewed drums and singing drowned his voice, he mouthed ‘
Welcome
’ to the woman before him.

Rainbow’s beautiful sea-blue eyes met his and she gave a little bow. She stood still, holding up those behind her, and stared at him. Her gaze roamed over his face and missed nothing. She took in the hard planes of cheekbone and jaw, the strong nose and firm mouth. She noted the long hair, no different to when she’d last seen Yul as a sixteen year-old youth – a wild mass of dark curls that fell into his eyes. And the eyes; she remembered those so well. They were still deep and slanted, dark grey with long lashes. But now they were hard, no longer shining with hope and passion. There was something steely lurking behind them, something brittle and dulled. And Rainbow was surprised to see they were also somewhat bloodshot.

Sylvie stared at the woman who seemed to be transfixed by her
husband
. She felt her cheeks flush but Rainbow barely glanced her way. She’d always known Rainbow would be a beauty; the promise had been there in the thirteen year-old girl all those years ago. What she hadn’t expected was the energy that danced around the younger woman. She exuded an animal aura like a sleek big cat; contained, assured and ready to pounce. Rainbow moved her head deliberately and the angle between her neck and jaw was perfect. Slowly she raised her eyes to Yul’s, every beat counting. She twitched her beautifully curved lips into a cheeky grin that was both disarming and provocative. Rainbow radiated earthiness and an enveloping femaleness, and Sylvie felt every hackle in her body rise in antipathy.

Clip and Leveret, having arrived so late, were near the very end of the queue. Almost every other person had filed up to the Altar Stone and taken part in the sharing of cake and mead. Even the babies had their lips wetted with fruit juice in this ancient ritual that bound everyone together in an act of unity – giving thanks to the Goddess for the means of survival. Leveret had been nervous about attending the sunrise ceremony but it wasn’t the cause of their lateness. That lay in a hedge awaiting their return.