Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  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.

  Leveret, like most other people present, was bundled up in a cloak over her festival tunic. She still had almost a year to go until her Rite of Adulthood, which included the presentation of her own ceremonial robes. Her cloak was plain, the ordinary homespun dyed a muddy green, and her tunic underneath was similar, although a brighter green as befitted the calendar. A vast supply of tunics for all the children at Stonewylde was held in the central store in the Village, and as each garment was out grown, it was returned and a larger size taken until adulthood was reached at sixteen. Leveret had realised that morning, as she pulled the linen tunic over her head and fastened the braided sash around her waist, that she’d had this same green tunic for at least a couple of years now. Clearly she’d stopped growing and would never be tall like Yul, Geoffrey or Gefrin. Gregory and Sweyn weren’t particularly tall and neither was Rosie, but Leveret was by far the smallest in size, with a slight frame that made her seem even younger than she was. She longed for stature such as Sylvie’s, which would have made her feel more powerful and a force to be reckoned with.

  She shuffled forward with Clip close by her side, her old brown leather boots made in the traditional Stonewylde style scuffing the ground. She didn’t look around, reluctant to catch her mother’s eye or the attention of her brothers and Jay. She and Maizie were locked in a silent, resigned truce. No further accusations were hurled, but neither was there evidence of any affection between them. So be it, Leveret had decided grimly, when she understood how it was to be. Trust nobody other than Clip, and learn, learn, learn. That was her mantra as she endured the days and nights, gradually distancing herself from the terrible disgrace of Imbolc. She’d barely set foot in the Village since her move up to the Hall, breaking with tradition and not joining the menstruating women in the Great Barn on the previous Dark Moons. Today too was a Dark Moon, but as it fell on the Spring Equinox nobody could gather in the Barn for crafting work and gossip.

  Leveret felt many eyes on her although most people were gazing in open amazement at Rainbow. She still stood near the Altar Stone, for the crowd inside the Circle had to circulate in order to take part in the communion. Rainbow, however, rather than facing the Altar Stone and the goddess Eostre, had chosen to stand facing the throng, thus giving everyone the chance to gawp. Leveret too stared at Rainbow, now she was close enough to see her clearly. The woman glowed with golden ripeness, like a perfect sun-warmed peach, and Leveret was fascinated. Clip, by her side, was also gazing at the newcomer and as they edged forward, the last in line to receive a little cake and sip of mead, he nodded to her. Her pretty face split into a massive smile and Leveret was reminded of the tiny sundew plants that grew in the marsh; they too reacted instinctively but uncaringly to any stimulus.

  Leveret had noticed that Yul wasn’t bestowing the gift of Green Magic to anyone and was
glad she wouldn’t have to put her hands in his. He was still glancing surreptitiously at Rainbow despite ostensibly greeting every communicant with a blessing, and then Leveret noticed Sylvie’s face. It had shrunk back into a mask of dislike, her white, white skin unnaturally taut and her cheekbones and the tip of her nose delicate but very pronounced. Sylvie’s strange eyes glittered in a way Leveret had never seen before. She looked like a silver snake and when her tongue darted out to moisten her white lips, the illusion was complete. Leveret shuddered and moved slightly closer to Clip.

  They’d finally reached the table of cakes, almost empty now as Marigold knew the quantity required and didn’t waste resources on baking extras. Clip ushered Leveret in front of him and she took her morsel of cake in both hands. She bowed and bent her head to take it into her mouth as Clip next to her held out his cupped hands. Martin, presiding over the Goddess’ gifts, reached out to place a cake in Clip’s waiting hands. At that moment, the crow on top of the stone jumped down in a noisy flapping of feathers and wings and landed on the table between the two men. Both jerked back in surprise and the crow immediately jabbed forward to snatch the cake from Martin’s fingers. Its great black beak closed around the tiny golden cake and an eye swivelled to Clip. Hopping along the table it launched off, the prize still clasped in its beak, and then they saw its very strange tail. It had one long white feather amongst the mass of glossy black ones.

  The crow’s theft caused a ripple of surprise amongst everyone close enough to witness it. Clip smiled amiably and held out his hands for another cake, whilst Martin cursed its ill manners. Leveret felt a strange prickling and held onto the table as the two men, the painted stones and the crumb-covered table began to tilt and sway. She swallowed hard, trying to hang on to consciousness, and looked up at the nearby stone where the crow had taken refuge. As it gobbled down the morsel, pecking at stray fragments, it sidled round so that once more the startling white feather was visible. And then, sitting beside the crow on the megalith, she saw the shadowy outline of a tiny woman with long white hair, dressed in tatters and rags. The strange creature smiled and nodded to her, calling across the gap between them in a silvery voice, ‘Leveret! Bright blessings, little one.’

  ‘Will she still be there, do you think?’ Leveret asked anxiously, as she and Clip hurried back along the Long Walk.

  Everyone else was now making their way down to the Village for breakfast in the Great Barn. There’d be huge baskets of warm spiced buns awaiting them, their tops marked with a cross to denote the four fire festivals and the four seasons. There’d also be hard-boiled eggs with the shells dyed in pretty, natural hues, hunks of cheese and fresh milk. The Spring Equinox breakfast was always lovely, and Clip had thought this would be a good way of easing Leveret back into the community and in particular back into the Great Barn, the scene of her ignominy at the last festival.

  After breakfast, the Village would be alive with activities: the display of exquisitely decorated eggs in hand-woven nests of spring flowers, the Spring Bonnet competition in which every child in the Nursery and Village School proudly took part, the drama and dance that the older children and young adults always presented, involving Eostre and her hares and the vanquishing of winter, and the men’s hurdle-making competition. The day was packed full of events and of course the dance was held in the evening in the Great Barn, after the sunset ceremony. Despite her reluctance, Clip had imagined himself and Leveret spending at least some of the day with the community.

  However this was not to be. They hurried back up the lane branching off from the Long Walk, and then forked off again onto a quiet, overgrown path that bordered open fields. They’d come along this circuitous route earlier as Clip had hoped to avoid bumping into the crowds of people walking down from the Hall. He hadn’t wanted Leveret bolting back to the tower if anyone made an unpleasant comment.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ said Leveret quietly. ‘She crawled off to hide by that birch. I wonder if she’s still about?’

  Clip stood back as Leveret carefully picked her way through the dense undergrowth of heavy, wet grass, old brambles and new shoots of greenery. She paused and stood completely still, staring intently into the tangle. Then she bent, pushing the clinging brambles aside, and reaching into a thicket, she pulled out a tiny brown bundle. Lifting a corner of her cloak, she gently wrapped up the creature and, cradling it against her stomach, picked her way back out of the vicious thorns that clung to her cloak.

  ‘She’s still alive!’ Leveret whispered, her green eyes shining with joy. ‘Look!’

  Carefully she peeled back the protective wrapping of her cloak to reveal a tiny leveret, a mere ball of fluff and ears. She stroked the flecked, baby-soft fur as the little animal’s nose twitched in panic.

  ‘See, Clip – it is her hind leg that’s damaged. She seems to have lost half the paw.’

  Leveret tried to examine the mess but the hare’s leg was dark with dried blood and she was obviously in distress. Covering her up again within the warm material of the cloak, Leveret gazed up at Clip.

  ‘We gave her the opportunity to disappear,’ she said quietly. ‘But she’s obviously injured and won’t survive in the wild. Even if her mother does return this evening to feed her, she wouldn’t stand a chance of reaching adulthood with an injury like that. And if it were a fox that did this to her paw, maybe he’s already finished off the mother?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ he said.

  ‘So we’ll have to take her home, won’t we? We can’t leave her here for a predator to find.’

  Clip nodded, knowing that Leveret was longing to tend and heal the tiny creature. They walked back to the tower steadily so as not to jolt the hare, all thoughts of joining the celebrations in the Village now forgotten. Leveret’s head was teeming with how she should splint the leg if it were broken and which herbs would best speed the healing of the wound. Clip was wondering who to ask for some ewe’s milk. Both were very happy to have found the tiny thing before it met almost certain death. And both were conscious of the significance of finding a hare on today of all days; it was as if Eostre herself had sent one of her creatures to them.

  Down in the Village, folk were sitting at long trestles in the Barn eating breakfast. Yul had invited Rainbow to sit with him and Sylvie, and Dawn and David had joined them. The noise in the enormous barn was loud as everyone tucked into their hot crossed buns and cracked the prettily coloured hard-boiled eggs. Pitchers of milk were passed around and the atmosphere was buzzing.

  Rainbow bit hungrily into a spiced bun and her gaze roamed the building, from the high vaulted ceiling with its massive rafters to the well-worn stones that formed the smooth floor. The rough trestle tables and benches, all made by the Stonewylde carpenters, were a far cry from what she was accustomed to nowadays. Her eyes were as round as the pendants that hung around every adult’s neck. Every neck except her own.

  ‘We’re really looking forward to seeing your work,’ Yul was saying, trying to compensate for his wife’s lack of conversation.

  ‘I haven’t brought any with me,’ laughed Rainbow. ‘Most of my stuff’s pretty big – I like a large canvas.’

  ‘From what I’ve seen online, your paintings look very good.’

  She smiled and laid her hand on his.

  ‘Thank you! And I can’t tell you how happy I am that your Council of Elders – or whatever it’s called – decided to let me come,’ she said. ‘I’m very grateful indeed.’

  ‘It wasn’t unanimous,’ said Yul a little awkwardly. ‘You may encounter some hostility and—’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about that!’ she laughed again, tossing her tangle of hair. ‘I’m quite capable of dealing with any opposition.’

  Sylvie was talking to someone across the table but all the time trying to hear what was being said.

  ‘What are you intending to work on first?’ asked David eagerly. ‘Have you brought materials?’

  ‘Only sketch pads and pencils,’ Rainbow replied.
‘When I’m ready I’ll have canvases and my paints and brushes sent down. I’m planning on spending the first week just roaming about and catching up with everything. There’s so much to see!’

  ‘You’ll find it all very different now,’ Sylvie said stiffly, leaning across Yul.

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Rainbow. ‘And it’s been so long – over thirteen years. I keep expecting to bump into Magus around every corner.’

  Sylvie was tight-lipped at this.

  ‘You’ll find that my husband is magus now and you won’t bump into him at every corner,’ she said.

  ‘We’d really like you to do some work with the children,’ said Dawn quickly. ‘As I said in my e-mails, David’s hoping to start a new project with—’

  ‘Good grief, I’m useless with children!’ Rainbow said with a throaty chuckle. ‘Don’t let me anywhere near kids – I can’t stand ’em.’

  Dawn frowned at this but David smiled encouragingly.

  ‘You’ll be great with them, Rainbow. And there’s one I especially want you to meet. I think the boy is destined to be a great artist and I’d like your opinion.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Rainbow. ‘But my real hope for this visit is to get a lot of sketching done and to start work on a series. I want to do an entire exhibition with the elements as the theme, and that’s just for starters. And I also want to catch ordinary Villagers going about their business, dressed in their quaint clothes and practising their crafts.’

  ‘We don’t call anyone “Villager” any more,’ said Yul sharply. ‘That’s all finished now.’

  ‘So what are they called then, all these people?’ She looked around artlessly. ‘Have you promoted everyone to Hallfolk?’