Shaman of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  Gradually the birds stopped singing and the evening darkened. The first star twinkled timidly, then grew bolder and brighter in the lavender-blue sky that deepened to indigo. Other stars appeared slowly, one by one, and the hush descended. Then – at last – a bright pink sliver slid up from the misty bed, growing by the second into a slice and then a dome of pure, flamingo-pink moon. Leveret’s breath caught in her throat and she felt little Bluebell’s trembling wonder. Magpie was alive with the magic and Leveret could feel the colours through him; their telepathy enabled her to experience the beauty in an almost visceral way far beyond her own normal appreciation. Sylvie and Celandine were now silhouettes as they stood together, gazing at the moon as she rose from her slumber to walk the night.

  Leveret thought she saw something pale shimmer over Sylvie and frowned as, dropping Celandine’s hand, her arms rose from her sides to form wings above her head. She stood perfectly still, her long, slim arms outstretched, her silver hair in a swathe down her back, her entire body yearning towards the brilliant pink moon that had now cleared the horizon and was climbing steadily in the night sky. By her side Celandine did the same, her arms rising skyward. Leveret stared harder; Sylvie was shimmering. There were very faint silver threads on her skin and in her hair as if she were alive with tiny filaments of light. A strange cry came from her mouth, and Leveret put a reassuring hand on Bluebell’s arm as she felt the child stiffen. And then Sylvie was off, her feet skimming the short grass as she skipped and danced in a great spiral around the hilltop and the marker stone. Celandine stood for a moment longer, then with a pirouette she joined her mother, leaping into graceful arabesques.

  Leveret exhaled sharply and squeezed Bluebell’s arm.

  ‘We’ll just sit very, very quietly, Blue, and watch them dance,’ she whispered. ‘We mustn’t say a word or break the spell.’

  The child nodded, and then jerked in surprise. From below, where field met dark woods, a pale barn-owl came flapping towards them. Its massive wings were silent as it approached, to circle around the hill top and the moondancers. Bluebell let out a long and shaky breath and Leveret felt tears prickling behind her eyes at the sheer magic of the Hare Moon. She sensed Magpie’s complete bewilderment at the scene he was witnessing; his attempts to make sense of it so that he could interpret it onto canvas. And then out of the darkness came the hares, their long ears laid back and their bodies lithe and muscular. They joined the moongazy mother and maiden in their graceful dance to honour the Bright Lady and bring down the moon magic to feed the soul of Stonewylde.

  The moon shone down not only on the sacred hill but also on the Place of Bones and Death. Her rose-gold face had now turned to a brilliant, diamond-bright silver as she tiptoed through the canyons of stone. She could not banish the shadows and darkness there, nor scare away the creeping terror that stalked the quarry looking for new prey. The spirits of the many, many folk who over the centuries had lost their lives at this place, stirred in restless slumber. For them the Otherworld was a place of cruelty and entrapment from which there was no escape. Bones and treasures lay buried here, crushed beneath stone, abandoned here as sacrifice, huddled in forgotten, walled-off caves. Menace and death walked the corridors between the ivy-clad rock-faces. On the platform of the great Serpent Stone, writhing with carved snakes and gouged with empty sockets for moon eggs, a strange figure capered. He was made of shadow and moonlight, terror and moonlust. His hair was silver and his eyes were black, but he was not of this world.

  A girl sobbed convulsively into her hands as the youth tried to jam the keys into the ignition and start the engine. His hands shook so much that he kept missing, and then the key-ring dropped to the floor.

  ‘Bloody well SHUT UP, you stupid bitch!’ he yelled, his voice shaking. He stank of fresh sweat and his eyes bulged from his head.

  Finally his scrabbling hands found the key on the floor of the Landrover and shoved it into the ignition. He turned it sharply and the engine fired into life; relief flooded through him and brought a new wave of rank perspiration. The girl was huddled up in the passenger seat, her tears flowing freely, trying to keep her sobs quiet for fear of angering him further. He forced the vehicle into gear and yanked the steering wheel round as he let out the clutch too sharply. They almost stalled, but at the last second the engine held and they were off, bouncing down the track towards safety. Behind them, in the moonlit darkness, Quarrycleave sighed with disappointment.

  9

  Yul’s eyes drooped and he pulled himself up quickly, imagining the humiliation of actually nodding off as Tom, Greenbough and even Cherry had all done in the past. He tried very hard to stifle his impatience as the meeting continued into its third hour. Outside the sun was scorching and, in the Galleried Hall where the stained glass windows were so high, this created a blaze of brilliant colour up near the vaulted roof, and bright patterns on the floor and the people below. Every door was pushed wide open to bring in a draught. Though none led directly outside, Yul could smell one of his favourite fragrances in the world – the scent of freshly cut hay. It was the eve of the Mead Moon, which some liked to call the Honey Moon, and the Summer Solstice was only a couple of weeks away. The warm, dry weather of April and May had continued into June, bringing everything on very early and causing a great deal of worry about irrigation.

  This was the subject under discussion at present, and Yul had to admit that he’d stopped listening quite a while ago. What he wanted now was a ride on Skydancer; a hard gallop along Dragon’s Back under the arching blue skies in the searing heat until both he and the stallion were drenched with sweat. And then a swim in the sea, plunging into the cool water, swimming fast through the lagoon to haul himself up onto the long rock that guarded the beach, and lie there as the water evaporated and the salt crusted his skin. He sighed so heavily that it sounded like a groan, and those closest to him in the circle glanced in surprise.

  With a scowl, Yul dragged his attention back to the stifling room and the stifling people in it. Edward was droning on and on about the state of the crops. Yul knew he should care – he did care – but the endless discussion of every single matter was driving him crazy.

  ‘We’ll pump water from the river, as we’ve done in the past,’ he interjected suddenly, ‘and if that gets too low, we’ll sink bore holes outside the Village. We’ll concentrate on the fields nearest to water, work out the minimum yield we can survive on for the harvest, and just forget the rest. It’s happened before and it’ll happen again. Drought is drought and we’re not going to starve.’

  Everyone stared at Yul as he cut across Edward’s monologue, and he thought how closely they resembled a herd of cattle.

  ‘Right then,’ said Edward, nodding slowly. ‘So we’ll—’

  ‘For Goddess’ sake, Edward – you’re the farming manager! You’re in charge of the farms – make a decision and then implement it. It doesn’t need to be discussed here with people like . . . Cherry, and Rowan . . . and Sylvie – people who know nothing about farming. That’s your area of expertise, so get on with it, man!’

  Edward clamped his mouth shut and his ears burned red. Yul exhaled sharply and looked at the agenda in front of him. It was interminable today and he couldn’t bear much more.

  ‘We’re a council, Yul, a committee,’ said Sylvie evenly. ‘We need to make major decisions by majority vote. Edward was only following procedure. Sinking bore holes isn’t something we do lightly and he was right to bring it up here, for open discussion.’

  ‘Aye, I only thought—’

  ‘You thought absolutely right, Edward,’ she said firmly. ‘So, are we all agreed on Yul’s recommendations? Calculate the minimum crop yield required and irrigate accordingly? Good! And the next item—’

  ‘The next item is Stonewylde.com,’ said Yul irritably, furious with Sylvie for her efficient put-down. ‘Harold will now report on this.’

  ‘ ’Tis a bloody disaster!’ said Martin. ‘Several months down the line and I still can’t find m
y files. I never wanted the stupid computer in the first place and if it’s not back to working order soon, I tell you all now, I’m not using it again!’

  He glared round the circle, his thin face pinched with anger, his slate-grey eyes brooking no argument.

  ‘It would be good to have access to all the medical records soon,’ agreed Hazel. ‘I’m managing without them, but it’s not good practice.’

  ‘Same for the schools,’ said Miranda. ‘We’re struggling. What news, Harold?’

  The poor young man, who’d lost weight since the system failure at Imbolc and was even more jerky and nervous than ever, cleared his throat.

  ‘Well, it seems—’

  ‘And when I think o’ the work I did on organising all the information we need to get a price for a new boiler in the Hall,’ interrupted Martin, ‘it makes my blood boil!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid all the data is gone,’ stuttered Harold.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’ barked Martin. ‘Surely you can find the old files, now we paid a fortune for that computer solutions man to fix it all?’

  Harold shook his head miserably and felt as if he were collapsing under a hail of stones. He was the victim of his own success in persuading people to use the network for everything.

  ‘And what about the quotas?’ asked Maizie. ‘The Village folk asked me last Dark Moon if they still need to do them quotas or what. What’s happening, Harold?’

  He twitched and threw a beseeching look at Yul, who stared stonily ahead.

  ‘I’m sorry to say . . . Stonewylde.com has been forced to cease trading,’ Harold said. ‘Permanently.’

  ‘So we’re not getting any revenue from it at all now?’ asked Miranda. ‘I thought that things were pretty desperate. Why—’

  ‘They are,’ whispered Harold. ‘All the reserves we’d built up have gone.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Dawn. ‘Why has Stonewylde.com ceased trading? I thought it was all doing so well. I know we lost the customer database, but surely—’

  ‘I heard it were on account o’ some nasty photos,’ said Tom. ‘I never did like photos. That Rainbow, she were clicking away at Beltane, and—’

  ‘Shall I tell them, Harold?’ said Yul in a clipped voice, not pausing for an answer. ‘Basically, after Imbolc and the crash, Stonewylde.com apparently sent out a marketing e-mail to every customer on the database asking if they’d like to buy the new Stonewylde calendar at a reduced rate, as it was already February. These beautiful calendars, at a bargain price, featured animals from Stonewylde in idyllic country settings. But, when the customers clicked the link to actually see these calendars . . . let’s just say, it was definitely a case of “four legs bad”.’

  ‘That’s not funny, Yul!’ said Sylvie. ‘The photos on the link were obscene and illegal, and many of the recipients complained to the police. They’d trusted Stonewylde and now our name is dirt. We can never sell our products again, or at least, not under the Stonewylde brand name.’

  There was shocked silence, broken only by Martin’s angry breathing.

  ‘Whole place is falling to rack and ruin, as I always said it would!’ he muttered.

  ‘On a lighter note, I’d like to thank everyone for the wonderful handfasting last month,’ said Dawn, brightly. ‘We had the most perfect day and we do appreciate everything everyone did, especially as David was an Outsider.’

  ‘Still is!’

  ‘We’ll ignore that remark, Martin,’ said Miranda, ‘and concentrate instead on what we can do to put things right again here.’

  She flicked a glance at Clip, who’d said very little so far today. His face was grey and she wondered if he were ill.

  ‘There’s only one thing as can put all to rights at Stonewylde,’ Martin said, ‘and that’s—’

  ‘I think maybe I should tell everyone now!’ burst in Harold unexpectedly. Blushing and fidgeting, he looked down at his notes. ‘I been pondering a long while about when best to mention this, and I’m not sure . . .’

  ‘What?’ snapped Yul. ‘Just spit it out, Harold, so we can bring this tedious meeting to an end!’

  ‘I don’t know . . . I weren’t sure whether to say about it to just you privately, Yul, or what . . .’

  ‘We’ve already mentioned the need to discuss things as a committee,’ said Sylvie gently. ‘So you’re right to raise any issues now, Harold, with everyone here. You must remember that Yul isn’t actually in charge of Stonewylde – we all are.’

  ‘Well, ’tis about an e-mail I got a while back, before the system were infected with the virus. And since then I’ve had more e-mails, once I’d got a new address up and running, and I’ve had a letter and even a phone call . . .’

  ‘The suspense is killing us!’ said Miranda, as fed up as Yul about the length of the meeting. She had students taking exams and couldn’t waste time on banalities. ‘What? What about an e-mail? Is this something that’ll help get Stonewylde out of the current financial crisis?’

  All eyes were on Harold as he flushed scarlet and jerked his wrists.

  ‘Yes!’ he said. ‘Yes, it will! Or it could, if we agree to it.’

  ‘If ’tis another o’ your daft schemes about selling off our spring water or our deer—’

  ‘I’ve been talking with someone who wants to help us. Someone who loves Stonewylde as much as we do and—’

  ‘Harold!’ Yul’s voice was like a whip-crack. ‘Who have you been talking to? It had better not be—’

  ‘ ’Tis Buzz!’

  There were several gasps but other than that, complete silence. Yul’s face had turned scarlet but now all the blood drained from it. He was dangerously white, his lips thin and pale, and his eyes flashing fire.

  ‘You traitor!’ he hissed. ‘How could you, Harold? I trusted you!’

  ‘No, no!’ protested Harold, ‘I done nothing, Yul! He contacted me – and I haven’t done nothing at all, only read of his ideas and proposals. And honest, he’s got such good ideas about how we can—’

  ‘How dare you discuss Stonewylde with Buzz!’ shouted Yul, quivering with fury. ‘The one person in the world who will never, ever—’

  ‘The one person who rightfully should be here leading Stonewylde!’ said Martin. ‘About time he came back where he belongs.’

  Yul jerked in his seat and looked as if he might leap across the circle and punch Martin, but Clip stood up and held out his arms in a soothing, placatory gesture.

  ‘Alright, alright,’ he said softly. ‘Enough of this. Martin – you’re being deliberately inflammatory and if you continue, you will have to leave the meeting.’

  ‘No, I only—’

  ‘Enough, Martin!’ Clip’s voice was like steel and he fixed the other man, so like him in appearance, with an unbending gaze. Martin lowered his eyes and muttered, but fell silent as Clip continued to stare at him. ‘We’ll discuss this in a calm, rational manner. Harold, we appreciate you’re not to blame – if that’s the right word – for being in contact with Buzz. You’ve clearly been targeted as someone who may have influence and who’s in touch with the financial situation here.’

  ‘Yes, and if Harold has been blabbing—’

  ‘No, Yul, Harold’s loyalty is not in question. Now, Harold, tell us what Buzz has proposed.’

  ‘Well, I think he wants—’

  ‘NO!’ shouted Yul, shockingly loud. His deep voice echoed around the stone walls of the Galleried Hall and carried up to the vaulted ceiling where the Green Men gaped. He scanned the ring of stunned faces and, for a second, had a vivid flashback to a scene so long ago in this same place: countless faces staring at him, shocked and frightened, as he confronted Magus. His beloved Sylvie, tightly laced into an amethyst dress with diamonds at her wrists and tears in her eyes, and Magus’ cruel, pale face twisted in hatred, deliberately tormenting him . . .

  ‘Buzz can never come back here and must never be part of Stonewylde,’ said Yul, his voice low and shaking with emotion. ‘I vowed once t
o kill him and that still stands. I will not – could not – live in the same place as him and not fulfil my vow. So, if you decide as a “committee” to bring Buzz back here, then I shall be forced to leave Stonewylde for good.’

  ‘Oh Yul, there’s no need for such talk!’ said Maizie in consternation. ‘Surely after all this—’

  ‘Mother, you of all people should understand why I could never tolerate Buzz returning,’ he said. ‘You must recall what he did to me as a child, what he did to our Rosie, and then what he did to Sylvie. How can I ever allow a person like that to contaminate Stonewylde? My father banished him and, in this instance, he acted rightly.’

  ‘I think Buzz should come back and help put us right.’

  Everyone in the room turned incredulously to stare at Rowan. She very rarely spoke at any meeting and never said anything controversial. Her creamy skin was flushed, and her chest rose and fell sharply.

  ‘Rowan, surely you don’t want— ‘began Dawn, but Rowan interrupted, her mouth trembling and words tumbling out in a rush.

  ‘Buzz is our Magus’ eldest son and ’tis his rightful place, leading us. He were born and bred to do it, unlike some, and ’twere never right that he were banished and not allowed back. When our Magus were murdered, Buzz should’ve come back then to take over the running of Stonewylde.’

  ‘Well said!’ agreed Martin. ‘ ’Tis exactly what I think, and many o’ the folk too.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Cherry hotly. ‘Nobody would want that nasty piece o’ work back here.’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t!’ agreed Tom. ‘Goddess knows what Buzz’s turned out like, but if he’s anything like the cocky bugger he used to be . . .’

  ‘He must never come back,’ said Sylvie quietly. ‘Yul’s absolutely right and I support him entirely. I for one would never want to be at Stonewylde if Buzz were here—’

  ‘Now we see your true colours!’ spat Martin. ‘Is this about winning and losing, or is it about saving Stonewylde from ruin? Because if anyone here really cared about Stonewylde, they’d welcome Buzz and his money with open arms!’