Dance of the Stones

by Andrea Spalding

  “AYE!” shouted his fellow workers. They tossed their antler picks and bone shovels high in the air. The tools turned, catching gleams of firelight before falling into the darkness of the ditch.

  Men, women and children rushed between the stones and held hands to make their own circle — a circle inside a circle. The horn blew, the shamans chanted and the people lifted their voices and sang.

  Light and Dark, Dark and Light,

  Sun by day, Moon by night . . .

  Hewll grasped Ulwin’s hand and they joined a dance that wound between the stones. The song quickened. The dancers moved faster. They whirled and swirled until, “The stones, they dance with us,” Ulwin cried.

  The horn sounded again.

  The dancers reeled dizzily to a stop. Silence fell.

  The chief shaman pulled a leather bag from inside her tunic and held its treasured contents aloft.

  A small circlet of twisted silver strands glinted in the firelight. A white stone embedded in the front glowed like the moon.

  The people fell to their knees.

  “Since time uncounted we have protected Ava’s circlet,” shouted the chief shaman. “But look your last, People of the Hawk. Look your last, People of the Deer. Tell your grandchildren, so they can tell their children’s grandchildren, of the day we passed our treasure to the Sarsen Stones. Their memories are as long as Earth herself. Wind will not fell them, rain will not wear them, sun will not burn them and the moon will watch over them. When the People of the Hawk and Deer are gone, the Sarsens will stand to protect Ava’s circlet forever.”

  The chief shaman motioned for Hewll to step forward.

  The second shaman reached for an antler from his crown and handed it to Hewll.

  They walked into the second small circle. The shamans lit a ring of brands, then pointed to a spot on the ground in the center. Hewll knelt and with the antler’s tip scraped away loosened dirt. He exposed a flat rock and pried it up. A small slab-lined cavity was revealed.

  The chief shaman held the circlet up to the moon and murmured a blessing.

  Hewll trembled in awe, his eyes riveted on the circlet. He sighed as the chief shaman dropped it in the skin bag. She placed the bag inside the small pot held out by the second shaman, and he placed the pot in the cavity.

  “Who bringeth the water?” asked the chief shaman.

  An apprentice lifted a small gourd that hung from a cord around her throat.

  “Blessed be the water from the stream that doesn’t run, for it giveth life,” murmured the watching tribes’ people.

  The chief shaman plucked a feather from her helmet, dipped it in the gourd and shook droplets over the cavity.

  Hewll replaced the slab.

  Both shamans sprinkled a handful of earth over it, then Hewll refilled the hole and stomped on the ground to firm it.

  Again the chief shaman dipped her feather in the flask and sprinkled water.

  Hewll gasped. As the drops hit the ground, grass grew and hid the scar in the earth.

  “You all bear witness,” chorused the shamans, their voices breaking the silence.

  “We all bear witness,” replied everyone softly.

  “Reveal and die.”

  “Reveal and die,” the people promised.

  The tribes’ people held hands and made a circle, a human circle around the small stone circle.

  “Let the Circle keep its secret while stones stand and hawks fly,” everyone shouted, then chanted, “Ava, Ava, AVA, AVA.”

  Hewll pointed in amazement. He’d spotted two watching hawks.

  The largest bird spread her wings, left her stone and circled above them.

  “AVA! AVA! AVA! AVA!” the people roared as the hawk’s black shape appeared against the moon and circled above them before disappearing into the night.

  * * *

  Owen shifted uneasily in his hawk’s body. His concentration had broken when Ava left his side. He was tired and cold and could no longer see with Hewll’s eyes. He ruffled his feathers, moved his feet and wished that Ava would return.

  The cold seeped into his bones. Gradually Owen realized that this wasn’t just cold from the weather, but a deadly cold coming from the mist at the base of the next stone. He peered down.

  A wild boar had left the forest and was snuffling for mushrooms near the Circle. The wraith enfolded its mist around the boar and disappeared — absorbed into the boar’s body.

  Instantly, the boar’s eyes gleamed red. It snorted angrily.

  Owen watched in horror as the boar charged between the stones. With his last remnants of strength, he reached out to Hewll one more time.

  * * *

  A sense of foreboding filled Hewll. He stared around the Circle, but nothing seemed amiss. All was quiet for the final blessing.

  Then a terrible snorting erupted as a wild boar, tusks glinting wickedly in the firelight, entered the Circle. Its angry eyes searched for a victim.

  Children screamed and hid behind stones. Women gathered up infants and dragged back the elders.

  The chief shaman turned. Her glittering mask attracted the boar. It charged.

  A fleeing figure stumbled and fell. The boar gored her leg. Ulwin screamed and twisted to keep her belly from the pointed tusks.

  Hewll ran to the fire, pulled out a burning brand and thrust it into the boar’s face.

  “Crawl away,” he yelled to Ulwin.

  “I can’t,” she shrieked. “Its tusk is caught in my cloak.”

  Squealing with terror and anger the boar tried to retreat.

  Its cloven hooves trampled Ulwin. She screamed again.

  Hewll jammed the blazing brand into the boar’s eye and tugged at Ulwin’s cloak. The hunters were closing in to help, but no one wanted to loose a spear while the girl was entangled.

  “A knife,” called Hewll. A tusk grazed his arm. He thrust the burning brand forward again.

  The shaman threw her sickle and Hewll sawed at the twist of cloth. It parted and he staggered backward, pulling Ulwin with him.

  The hunters rushed forward. They skewered the boar in the neck and belly and yanked it up on its hind feet. The chief shaman retrieved her sickle and slashed the boar’s throat.

  Ulwin’s weak cry of triumph was echoed by the crowd.

  * * *

  Owen could stay inside Hewll no more. He huddled, retching, on the stone, and watched the faint wraith mist rise from the dead boar’s mouth.

  Unseen by the tribes’ people, the stone beside Owen quivered. The earth at its base yawned open. The stone spun quickly on its axis, creating a vortex, a whirlpool in the ground. With a silent cry of pain and defeat, the wraith was sucked beneath the earth. The hole closed. The wraith was banished.

  A shout drew Owen’s attention again to the Circle. The hunters had removed the boar’s head and were stripping meat from its bones.

  Children rushed forward and grabbed the head. They tossed it one to the other and paraded it around the Circle for all to see.

  “Stuff its wicked mouth,” shouted Old One Eye. “Show it ain’t going to worrit and terrorize us no more.” He threw a dried apple to the children. Laughing, they wedged it between the teeth. The children paraded the head again as the crowd hooted with glee.

  Sickened by the scene, Owen barely noticed the snow falling or the icy wind growing in strength until he was finally blown off his stone. Snowflakes swirled around him. The people blurred, the firelight vanished, the stones disappeared. The roaring blizzard tossed Owen like a feather in the wind.

  HELP . . . AVA!

  Fly, Owen.

  I can’t.

  You can, I’m here; I’m always here.

  Strength flooded Owen’s body. He flapped his wings and beat by beat rose above the storm. Far below was a whirlpool of white flakes, but here the night sky was clear, the stars bright. Beside him was Ava.

  Side by side they circled. Faster and faster they flew. The universe whirled.

  You’ve taken a long journey, Owen,
said Ava. Thank you. Now you can rest.

  Owen closed his eyes and spiraled down into the comforting velvet blackness of sleep.

  6.

  SWING YOUR PARTNERS

  “Ava, Myrddin, I am uneasy.” Equus pawed the sky restlessly.

  “Chantel has sensed an evil presence near Ava’s stones.”

  “The wraith is gaining strength again,” said Ava.

  “Gaia’s elementals are stirring,” rumbled Myrddin.

  “More will stir the closer the Dark Being gets. How close is she, Equus?”

  “The shadow falls across at least a quarter of the Milky Way.”

  “Do the humans not see it?” asked Myrddin.

  “They see only clouds.” Equus sighed. “Maybe it is better that way.”

  “No . . . they are unprepared.” Ava’s voice was sharper than usual. “If they understood, they could try to conquer the despair and hate the Dark Being brings. Instead they will never know why suddenly they are fighting one another.”

  “Do the children know they may be attacked?” asked Myrddin.

  “I have warned Owen about the Dark Being, but told him we will protect Gaia by letting her claim the tools,” Ava said unhappily.

  “And so we shall, though at dreadful cost.” Myrddin sighed. “The earthly elementals must be carefully watched. Though many will keep the balance, some make much trouble.”

  Ava drew herself up and spread her wings. Her fierce beauty shone. “You are right, Myrddin. I must warn Owen that they may have to do battle with the wraith. The stones have subdued it for so many centuries that I had discounted it, but the wraith could be dangerous as it gains strength. I showed it to Owen, but I will explain further.”

  “I have hopeful news,” said Equus. “The oldest child, Holly, senses Old Magic. The Mother Tree has spoken to her.”

  Myrddin’s face showed his relief. “The new dawn has stirred more than Ava’s stones. The supporters of light are rallying.” His lips parted in a rare smile. “So the oldest child heard the Mother Tree without our help. Well, well, well! I have great hopes for her.”

  Equus shifted uneasily. “She is too young.”

  “So was Adam. Yet when searching for your talisman, he was tempted by the dragon and resisted. He found his own strength,” said Myrddin.

  Equus sighed. “We too must strengthen our defenses for battle. Concealment is not enough. We must seek knowledge of the Dark Being’s movements. I will ride the wind to the edge of the shadow.”

  “Be careful, Equus.” Ava touched his back with a wing.

  “I regret that you must go alone, but without our tools Myrddin and I are powerless to travel with you.”

  “Travel only among sunbeams,” advised Myrddin. “The Dark Being abhors the sun.”

  “Going alone will be less dangerous,” replied Equus.

  “It will be easier to escape detection, and the talisman can protect me.” He bunched his hind muscles in preparation.

  The gold disk on his forelock gleamed as he leaped across the sky and disappeared in a swirl of stardust.

  Myrddin stamped his foot. “Oh, for my staff! I cannot abide this feeling of helplessness.”

  “Faith, Myrddin. We will all regain our tools and the Lady will rise again. Traa dy liooar, remember?”

  “Yes, yes. Traa dy liooar . . . we hope!” echoed Myrddin in a voice of deep foreboding.

  * * *

  “So!” Adam said as Owen finally woke.

  “So, what?” Owen yawned sleepily.

  “So, did Ava come?”

  “And how.” Owen’s face lit up. He stretched out his arms and looked at them in wonder. “She turned me into a hawk and we flew into the past.” He rolled out of bed. “Come on. Let’s wake the girls and I’ll tell you about it.”

  Adam thumped his pillow and followed, slamming the door in fury. He couldn’t believe Ava had chosen Owen over him. It wasn’t fair.

  * * *

  It was still well before breakfast time when the boys converged on the girls’ bedroom and Owen recounted his night’s adventure.

  Adam listened but fidgeted as frustration built inside him. This adventure was supposed to be his.

  “The boar sounds awful,” said Chantel, shuddering, her eyes as big as saucers. “Were you scared?”

  “Sort of.” Owen wrinkled his nose. “The way they killed it was gross. I thought I’d throw up when the kids started chucking its head around.”

  “So Ava said we are supposed to get things and reenact some kind of ritual?” asked Adam.

  Owen nodded.

  “Well if that means cutting the throat of a boar, count me out!” Adam’s voice was full of disgust.

  Chantel went white. She shook her head furiously. “No . . . no, that’s not right . . . Equus and the others . . . they wouldn’t . . . ” Her voice trailed off.

  “Shut up, Adam. You’re scaring Chantel,” Holly said.

  Owen patted Chantel’s arm. “Of course we won’t have to kill anything. That was thousands of years ago.” He turned back to Adam. “Ava was just showing me what happened when the Circle was completed. We don’t have to kill animals. I think we just need to gather some of the things they used in the ceremony.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Adam. “How will that help? If Ava’s circlet is buried somewhere in the center of the Circle, in another circle that’s disappeared, we still don’t know where to dig.”

  Owen looked worried. “I know.” He gestured beyond the end of the garden. “Nothing out there looks like the place I saw in my dream. Stones are missing. The village is in the middle. A road is cutting across. There’s no forest.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t recognize anything.”

  “Hold on,” said Holly. “We’re dealing with magic. We might not have to know where it’s buried. You said something about . . . gathering elements of magic . . . and . . . and using them to release the circlet.”

  Owen nodded excitedly. “You’re right. Ava said. ‘This will release my circlet.’ So maybe we don’t have to dig. Maybe, if we use the right magic, the circlet appears on its own.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Do you think the mistletoe is an element?”

  “I can get you that!” Holly said. She jabbed Owen’s ribs.

  “You laughed when I told you the Mother Tree had offered me mistletoe. Go on, eat your words!”

  Owen grinned. “Watch it, Clever Clogs, or your hat won’t fit.”

  “What about the fire?” asked Chantel hesitantly. “That seemed important too.”

  “Easy!” said Adam sarcastically. “We’ll light a big bonfire in the Circle and invite the whole village.” He smirked at Owen. “I suppose you’re going to dance round it?”

  “‘The time is near for the Circle Dance,’” quoted Holly softly. “Someone has to dance.”

  “Yeah right,” Adam snorted. “Then there’s the water . . . I suppose that’s something we have to use?”

  Owen opened his mouth to reply, but Adam rushed on. “Yup, we’ll take a pail and fling water around and tell everyone we’re blessing the stones.” Adam snorted. “Rituals, smituals!” He stood up. “I’m going for breakfast.”

  Owen grabbed Chantel’s hairbrush and pitched it after him.

  “What’s eating Adam?” asked Holly as he left the room.

  “He’s mad because Ava’s chosen me instead of him,” muttered Owen.

  “He’s often mad,” said Chantel sadly. “But it used to be all the time and just at me.” She grinned suddenly. “Now he gets mad at you and leaves me alone.”

  Owen threw a pillow at her. “Thanks a lot.”

  Holly jumped off her bed and stretched. “Forget Adam. Do you think we’ve guessed some of the elements, Owen? Mistletoe, fire and water. That makes three.”

  Owen nodded. “I think so.”

  “Is that it, or do we need to figure out more?” said Chantel.

  Owen shrugged. “Dunno.” He looked at Holly. “How will you get to the forest for mistletoe?”


  “I’ll think of something. Maybe we can persuade Mum to take us for a picnic.”

  Owen moved over to sit beside Chantel. “What should we do about Adam?”

  Chantel pulled her face. “Leave him. He’ll come round.”

  “He makes me feel guilty.” Owen sounded frustrated. “He really expected to be chosen this time.”

  Chantel wriggled uncomfortably. She tried to choose words that didn’t sound disloyal. “He always feels left out. Then he gets mad.” She raised her eyes to Owen. “He didn’t use to be mad all the time. He played with me lots when I was little . . . it’s just been this last year . . . since Mom and Dad . . . ” Chantel’s voice faded away. “It’s not your fault,” she finished.

  “They’re your parents too. How come you’re not mad all the time?” asked Owen.

  “I don’t think about it,” Chantel said simply. “When things get bad, I kind of go away in my head and make up stories.”

  Holly chuckled. “Adam told us you lived in an imaginary world. He was right.” She came over and hugged the younger girl. “Because of your imagination you weren’t surprised to hear the Wise Ones.” She looked thoughtful. “We’d better think of a way of distracting Adam.” She walked over to the dressing table and held up the four plastic tickets her dad had produced the night before. “Let’s visit the museum. He’ll like that. Maybe he’ll discover some information to help us find other magical elements.”

  * * *

  Adam stomped downstairs, sick with disappointment. It wasn’t fair. The Wise Ones were ignoring him. He wanted to fly with Ava or ride with Equus in his dreams, but first it had been his nerdy little sister and now Owen. When was it going to be his turn? He deserved it. He had given Equus the talisman when he could have kept it for himself. Maybe that was what he should have done . . . kept it. Then he would have power over the whole world and the Wise Ones would have to talk to him. He sighed. He was so sick of being a ten-year-old kid no one cared about.

  * * *

  Uncle Ron was reading the newspaper, and Adam was munching toast when the rest of the kids gathered at the breakfast table.

  Uncle Ron flipped down the corner of the paper and smiled at them. “Good morning.”