The Hagstone

by Helena Rookwood

  The wind whistled loudly, and Madeleine withdrew from the window. Today they were up on one of the highest floors of the library. Tabitha, under strict instructions to stay well away from the windows, was sat in the middle of the room where Madeleine could always see her as she prowled around the floor. She had a giant book of fairytales laid out across her legs, which she was reading aloud to Madeleine. For the most part, Madeleine refused to let herself think about her old life at all, but when she had found the section on fairytales in the library there had been no question about it: Tab must be encouraged to read as many of these as possible. If the fae invasion that the Iron Court were so anxious about ever did come to be, then at least her daughter would know some of the old stories – would have some knowledge that might help her in some way. And besides, Madeleine reasoned, fairytales were intended to be read to children. She was just a mother sharing old stories with her daughter.

  As Tabitha read, Madeleine slipped in and out of the stacks of ruined books that were sheltering those that were still good, running her fingers along their spines. The smell of rot was strong, and she thought again that she ought to make the time to construct a more permanent shelter in here. She idled through the selection, tilting her head to one side so that she could read the titles piled on top of each other as she deliberated over what she and Tabitha should read next.

  She had piled up anything she could find on fairytales here, and Madeleine's finger halted on a title called A Compendium of Faerie. Tabitha's attention was unlikely to be held by a collection of articles, but for some reason Madeleine's hand stilled and she extracted the book from the pile anyway. Carefully shouldering the weight of the books above it, she wiggled it out from where it was trapped beneath the other books. She opened it up and flicked through it, pausing on the odd page here and there if an entry caught her eye. Yes, she thought, this book would definitely be far too advanced for Tabitha. This A-Z work was by mythologists and academics, not storytellers. Habitually, Madeleine found herself turning to the section under H. She couldn't help it; it was automatic. But when she reached the section, her whole body went rigid.

  Madeleine couldn't move for a moment. Staring defiantly back up at her was the name of the very thing she had been avoiding thinking about in all the time that she had been here, the thing which had taken her so long to track down and eventually led her to this part of Bretan. It couldn't be – it wasn't possible that it should just have presented itself to her here. But no matter how hard Madeleine rubbed at her eyes, the word was there on the page, printed indelibly in black ink. Hagstones.

  Madeleine's mind began racing. She was struggling to believe that she could really be reading this. It had been mentioned in hardly any of the books she had ever tracked down from all corners of the country, and Madeleine had read very many books over the years. A distant, forgotten part of her mind was working wickedly in the way that it once had. This certainly seemed to support her suspicion that the hagstone might be in this part of the country, the little voice said. Why else would she stumble across a reference to such an obscure item here, which had been so impossible to find information on elsewhere? Surely, this was something she was meant to find…

  Madeleine closed her eyes, and tried to shut out the voice. But it was difficult to ignore. Her heart was hammering, and her mind wouldn't stop trying to dredge up all of the things that she had learnt about the hagstone before. She was right – she was right. She had been right all along. The hagstone was here somewhere.

  “Mama!”

  Guiltily, Madeleine realised she hadn't noticed that her daughter had stopped reading. She opened her eyes, and saw that a small, cross face had appeared around the pile of books.

  “You're not listening,” Tabitha complained.

  “Of course I am,” Madeleine smiled weakly.

  “No you're not,” Tabitha said, still very cross. “I read loads of words wrong just then and you didn't tell me off about any of them.”

  Madeleine wondered how many of the other words Tabitha had been getting wrong in her lessons had in fact been misspoken on purpose, to ensure that her mother remained engaged with her.

  “Well?” Tabitha said.

  Madeleine was still holding the book. She went to put it back on the pile, but her hand hesitated, as if of its own accord. She took the book down again, and tucked it into her bag.

  “Sorry Tab, darling,” she said, dropping to her knees so that she was at her daughter's eye level. “I promise, I'm listening now. Let's go and sit together.”

  Tabitha took her mother's hand and led her back out to where she had been sat before. Although she still spoke in a cross voice, in her usual considerate way Tabitha nonetheless insisted that her mother make sure she was really comfortable before she began reading to her again, and skipped back several pages in the story to make sure that she hadn't missed anything.

  Madeleine obediently did as her daughter instructed. She settled down beside her, contorted her face into an expression of rapt attention, and corrected Tabitha when she got a word wrong. Tabitha soon grew absorbed in the story again, evidently satisfied that her mother was listening properly to her now.

  But in the back of Madeleine's mind, a long-forgotten ambition was whispering to her again.

  4

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Madeleine heaved the bucket of water up to her hip, where it dug painfully into her side. It was too heavy to hold in her arms, and so she carried it like a child, lugging it around to the back of the house. Arms trembling, she set it carefully down next to an enormous pile of dirty clothes.

  The rest of the village took their washing down to a tributary of the river, but Madeleine had never quite been able to grow used to the pungent smell of the estuary water saturating her clothes, and so she preferred to wash her family's clothes in freshwater. Even if she did have to carry the bucket halfway across the village to do it. As the sun beat down on her neck, Madeleine had to keep pausing to wipe the sweat from her brow, which otherwise trickled into her stinging eyes. Fraser had often offered to take on this part of the household chores, seeing how it made her back ache and her hands wrinkle. But while Madeleine didn't mind the other villagers thinking that she was stuck-up, she knew that Fraser did. He would take the washing down to the stream, to wash them alongside everyone else, and their clothes would end up reeking of river water. And so Madeleine continued to do the washing herself.

  But Madeleine's mind wasn't really on the washing today, anyway.

  She had tried her hardest to forget about the hagstone again; to ignore the thought of the Compendium of Faerie which she had secreted in the corner of her home. And most of the time she succeeded at quietening that little voice, which suddenly seemed to have become so vocal. But whenever she had these kinds of mindless chores to get through, the voice shouted all the louder: what if she could find it, after all?

  Sighing, Madeleine returned to the washing. It was a tedious job, boiling the water and then stooping over the bucket to dunk and scrub at the clothes until the water cooled and turned grey and murky, when she would have to replace it again. This, at least, was the last load for the day. Madeleine straightened up for a moment, digging her hands into her lower back and leaning backwards in an attempt to ease her aching muscles. From within the house, she heard Tabitha let out an indignant wail, making Madeleine jump. But Fraser was inside with her. No doubt a game had just got out of hand, and he would tend to whatever hurt she was suffering. So Madeleine made herself ignore the instinct to drop everything and run inside to her daughter, and returned to the bucket of clothes.

  She began pegging the clothes to the line, wringing out the water so that it splattered unpleasantly over her toes. For the first time in a long while Madeleine thought how much easier this would be if only she could use her magic. But she persevered, and methodically continued to hang out the things to dry.

  Madeleine was almost done when she heard an ominous creak from the other end of the line. She froze, w
illing that what she knew was about to happen would not. But without using her magic, she was powerless to stop it. The post suddenly split and toppled, and the line of clothes fastened to it fell down into the dust. Still damp, they picked up every bit of dirt on the yard floor, and Madeleine felt tears beginning to threaten. She made herself stop, close her eyes, and breathe for a moment. But it wasn't really the washing that was making her so frustrated anyway, that little voice piped up, still nudging at the back of her mind.

  Then a peal of laughter interrupted her.

  “Oh Maude, look at that!” One of the other women in the village had halted at the gate to the yard, greedily taking in the scene of chaos. “What on earth caused the log to split?”

  Madeleine opened her eyes, and forced herself to smile. Jocelyn was standing by the gate with her daughter Brigit in hand, hardly able to contain her delight at Madeleine's misfortune.

  They ought to have been friends, really. Brigit was the same age as Tabitha, and so Madeleine and Jocelyn should have compared notes on motherhood, shared tips and complaints, organised times for their daughters to play together. But somehow Madeleine had never been able to bring herself to like this sharp woman, and as a consequence their daughters had never become friends either. Jocelyn and Brigit lived on the dairy, which provided milk and meat for the entire village throughout the winter, when the river would sometimes freeze over and fishing became almost impossible. And knowing that the rest of the village was under her thumb, Jocelyn trampled happily over everyone else just whenever she liked, and her daughter seemed to be following suit. Just like cows themselves, Madeleine thought savagely, and she began picking up the dirtied washing.

  “I suppose you'll have to start again with those,” Jocelyn said, and her eyes narrowed. “You know it would be so much easier for you if only you'd do your washing in the river like everybody else does.”

  Another howl came from Tabitha within the house, making Madeleine flinch. Jocelyn raised an eyebrow before looking down at her own daughter with satisfaction.

  “Goodness, Brigit never makes a noise like that,” she said, squeezing her daughter's hand. “What a frightful sound.”

  “Tab might have hurt herself,” Madeleine snapped. “Wouldn't Brigit cry if she fell over?”

  “Brigit doesn't run around like your Tabitha,” Jocelyn simpered, “so I wouldn't know. Come on Brigit, let's leave Maude to clear up the mess she's made.”

  A thousand forgotten incantations raced to the forefront of Madeleine's mind, and she had to dig her nails painfully into her palms to stop herself from shouting after Jocelyn and Brigit, sending her magic after their retreating backs. It worried her that it was the spells to hurt that came to mind first. Why was it those that she remembered most easily?

  Madeleine stayed quite still until Jocelyn and Brigit had disappeared from sight, not trusting herself to do anything until they were out of her line of vision, and then made herself walk slowly over to the fallen totem. She inspected the damage, and it was clear from a glance that the wood was no good. It must have been rotten to begin with, she thought, for it to splinter like that. But why hadn't Fraser noticed when he'd put it in?

  Madeleine deposited the clothes back in the water she had been using before. Raising her hands, she inspected the deep wrinkles that had appeared from the washing she had already got through. They looked like the hands of an old woman.

  Madeleine hesitated only for a moment before she guiltily abandoned the washing and slipped back into the house.

  It wasn't much, the place that she now called home. Not compared to the Iron City. But still, Fraser was proud to own a house which retained an entire brick wall in protection against the elements, and Madeleine had grown to like it too. Who knew what building had stood here long ago, but now the lone remaining wall had a house built of wood and mud leaning against it. Fraser was a talented craftsman, so the house never felt cold or unstable, and between the two of them, Fraser and Madeleine together had carved beautiful detailing around the windows and the doorways. They had space to prepare food in one room, although most of the actual cooking was done outdoors; another common room to sit and be sociable in; a room for Tabitha to sleep in; and a room for Fraser and Madeleine. Towards the back of the house, which opened out onto a small plot where they grew fruit and vegetables, a smaller room housed all of their tools and equipment for fishing. Fraser was fussy about the place being kept neat and tidy, and so it remained a clean, comfortable enough home to live in.

  Madeleine slipped quietly past the doo their living space, where Fraser was dealing with Tabitha's tantrum, and stole through to their bedroom. Again, it was simple but comfortable. In the middle of the room stood a raised bed with a down mattress and blankets layered over the top, and to the side were two great wooden chests filled with their everyday clothes. A smaller, third chest contained their nicest clothing, worn only for special occasions or celebration days, and kept well away from the garments they wore to fish and farm. A woven rug covered most of the floor – a gift from Ondine, who was very talented at weaving – and there was a bucket in one corner with which they washed.

  But it was up to the rafters that Madeleine looked now, to the wooden beams which sat beneath the sloping roof. She paused, listening to Fraser and Tabitha's voices drift through from the other room, and when she was certain that they were thoroughly engrossed in their conversation, Madeleine nimbly swung herself up onto the beams. A shudder of pleasure went through her as every part of her remembered that this was what it felt like to be a thief. Her joints complained a little, but every muscle, every limb tingled with the sense of knowing that this was what she had been built to do.

  Madeleine remained still for a moment, old instincts telling her not to move until she was certain that she hadn't been heard. When she was sure that Fraser and Tabitha hadn't heard her, she moved gracefully over the beams and carefully picked her way along the edge of the roof to the farthest corner of the room, where she lay herself flat on her stomach; she was less likely to be spotted in this position if Fraser did come through for any reason. Quietly, Madeleine removed a piece of wood from the rafters that looked just the same as all of the other wooden supports – but which clearly no longer served that function. Placing it gently to one side, Madeleine reached back to a hollow in the wall, and retrieved the Compendium of Faerie.

  She flipped again through the pages, and stopped at that same page. Hagstones. She felt the same shiver of excitement as she had done in the library. To think that she could be so close to finding one of them. The description was nothing much – nothing that Madeleine didn't already know. But she read it greedily to herself again:

  Hagstones

  Also variously known as holey stones, adder stones, or Druids' glass, a hagstone is a stone which has a naturally occurring hole running right the way through its centre.

  This hole is usually caused by a force of water working on a weak point in the stone, and since it was commonly held that magic cannot work on running water, it was believed that the method of its formation meant that a hagstone could offer this same protection against magic. Hagstones were therefore often worn around the neck to protect the wearer from faery enchantments or nightmares. They were also hung above beds, thresholds, or on boats, for this same protective power.

  Elsewhere it was held (incorrectly, in Madeleine’s historian view) that hagstones may be used to cure ailments, or to aid fertility.

  A particularly common view was that hagstones functioned as windows into the faery world. Some held that the spirits you saw depended upon where you found the hagstone. For example, while looking through the centre of a hagstone found in the sea might enable you to see sea spirits or mermaids, a hagstone found in the forest might enable you to see tree spirits.

  What the entry didn't say – what hardly any of the books ever said – was that as well as using them as windows, some people had also suggested that certain hagstones could be used as doors.

  Madeleine
reached back into the cavity in the rafters again, and eased out a package bound up in thin leather. She ran her hands over it, knowing that once she opened it there would be no going back. But she couldn't stop herself. Madeleine slowly unwrapped the bundle, and looked tenderly at the only possessions she had kept from her old life: a book of spells, her notebook, and her knives.

  Madeleine let out a long, steady breath that she didn't know she had been holding in. She had not allowed herself to look at these even once since she had resolved to stay here. She had thought she had stashed them away forever when she had met Fraser. She had promised herself that she would never be tempted.

  But now Madeleine picked up her notebook, lay it out open on the wooden beam before her, and began skimming the pages. It was strange, re-reading her notes. Like a collision between two worlds. She could see her old self in its pages, the Madeleine she had been when she wrote these notes in her careful, precise hand. But the person she was now, who was reading those notes – Maude – she understood something that Madeleine had not. She knew the land she was living in now, and to her surprise, she realised that she recognised many of the places she had written about. It gave her a strange sense of pleasure, to be able to picture the places that she had only ever known as ink on paper before.

  Madeleine had been curious about this strange part of Bretan from the start. To begin with, there were virtually no stories about the fae in this part of the world. There was no reference to any of the ancient tales which were shared around the rest of the country in its literature. Rather, the stories in this part of the world had all been about witches. And while some of this, Madeleine thought, had simply been an excuse for the persecution of women who Madeleine very much doubted had any kind of witch magic at all, accounts of witches in even earlier texts suggested that witch magic had always run very strongly in this part of the country.