Shadows at Stonewylde (15 page)

Yul reached down and beckoned, grasping her outstretched hand and whisking her up so her feet climbed the domed wicker walls. She stood beside him on the roof of the shelter, feeling the radiance of his power throbbing from a hidden source. Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes filled with tears under the black silk mask. Yul was the true magus and she belonged by his side – this was as it should be. The drums increased in their intensity and he began to chant again, joined by the voices of the hundreds of people all around him.

Clip stood in the deepening shadows under an ash tree, its bunches of seed pods dark and shrivelled. He watched the scene on the Village Green and he too felt the power of the Earth Energy channelled by Yul. Like Sylvie, he knew that this was how it should be. Yul was ready, was already all-powerful, and Clip could safely leave the ceremonies to him. He was free to pass on the responsibility at last after all these years, and follow his own inner journey.

Clip smiled and let out a great sigh of relief. He’d be free to wander the whole earth, not just this tiny corner of it. He could travel again and commune with spiritual people from different cultures, join in their celebration of the Earth and the sky and the glorious deity that manifested itself through nature. He turned away from the spectacle as the light thickened to dusk, heading for the Dolmen where he planned to spend the Samhain night greeting the Otherworld that shimmered so close at this time of year. He’d awaken to the dawn of a new year, the year when he’d finally gain his freedom.

Clip slipped past the open doors of the Great Barn where the folk of Stonewylde would eventually finish their celebrations tonight. First they’d light the bonfire on the playing fields by the river and dance in huge concentric circles around the roaring fire to symbolise the turning wheel of the year. Then they’d break their fast with delicious food cooked outside on smaller fires, and later they’d crowd into the Barn for party games and dancing. The festivals were an important factor in bringing the community together, but it wasn’t for Clip. He had another, less worldly, path to follow tonight.

But as he passed the Barn, Clip heard a sound that made him stop in his tracks. It was the sound of somebody choking, followed by a growl of laughter. Puzzled, he peered into the vast cavern of the building. The Jack o’ Lanterns hadn’t yet been lit but ordinary lanterns glowed around the walls. The games had been set out already and it was by the big half-barrel of water, filled with bobbing apples, that he saw them. Two figures in black cloaks – Clip gasped as the man forced the girl’s head over the edge of the barrel and into the water filled with floating apples. Her head was held underwater and her arms flailed wildly about as she fought to escape while he laughed, keeping her in position almost effortlessly.

In horror Clip watched her struggles becoming weaker and her body limper as the man relentlessly held her head down. Shouting, Clip launched himself across the floor and the man looked up in surprise, releasing the girl as he did so. She staggered upright, coughing and choking and making a terrible rasping noise as she struggled to fill her lungs with air.

‘What in the goddess’ name are you doing?’ yelled Clip, wrenching her from his grasp. The wet face turned to him and he saw it was Leveret, her eyes almost starting from her head, her lips blue. He realised that the man was very young, only just a man, and he recognised the porcine features of one of Leveret’s brothers whose name he never remembered. The lad was scarlet with fury but backed away at the sight of Clip.

‘Just teaching her a lesson, that’s all,’ he mumbled thickly. ‘No harm done.’

‘No harm done? You bloody idiot, you’ve practically drowned her! Get out of here! And I’ll be talking to your mother about this!’

Clip took hold of Leveret’s shoulders and made her breathe more slowly, pushing the wet hair away from her face and rubbing her back rhythmically to help her calm down and take steadier breaths. Gradually her lips lost their blue tinge and the whooping sounds stopped. She leaned into him and he put his arms around her, comforting her in her distress.

‘It’s alright, Leveret,’ he said soothingly, ‘it’s alright. Your brother’s gone and you’re safe now.’

She began to sob and he held her tight, small and pathetic in his arms like a frightened wild creature. Clip felt a great rush of affection for her and thanked the goddess that he’d arrived when he did. He heard the chanting outside as darkness fell and knew he must get up to the Dolmen quickly before he became swept up in the celebrations. He held the girl away from him slightly for a better look, and was shocked at how very dilated and unfocused her eyes were.

‘How are you feeling now?’ he asked softly.

‘The stars glitter but the night is dark,’ she whispered in a strange, faraway voice. ‘I need to fly in the blackness.’

‘You took the Fly Agaric,’ he said, nodding. ‘Silly girl, you should never take it alone when you’re inexperienced. You said you knew what you were doing and I thought you’d have friends with you to take care of you. When did you take it?’

‘The blue is black and it’s so speckled.’

‘Leveret! When did you eat the mushroom?’

She gazed up at him with unseeing eyes. Her bedraggled curls were stuck to her face and her eyes were enormous, the pupils great black pools and only the bright green rim of her irises showing. She was a strange girl, he thought, feeling an affinity with her. He knew she was in another reality altogether and not aware of him or where she was.

‘I can’t leave you here alone in this state, not when you’re so new to this. You’d better come to the Dolmen with me.’

There was no response so he took her arm and led her out of the Barn and up the track leading away from the Village. She followed docilely enough but darkness was deepening by the minute, so he scooped her up in his arms and carried her. It reminded him of the Moon Fullnesses when he and Magus had carried Sylvie to and from the great stone at Mooncliffe. He felt a stab of guilt at the awful memory, but this was different. He was helping this girl, rescuing her, and it was the Dark Moon not the Full Moon. He sensed Leveret was a girl of darkness and depth, not quicksilver and brightness like Sylvie. Clip realised there was a lot more to Leveret than met the eye. She was different and other-worldly, and maybe before he left Stonewylde he could help set her straight on her own journey.

A
small fire burnt in the mouth of the cave keeping the darkness and cold at bay. The guardian owl sprinkled something onto the flames which crackled blue and green and the temple filled with aromatic smoke, heavenly in its sweetness. She breathed deeply and laid her head down again in the darkness, comforted by the fire and the owl. He wore a strange cloak of dark feathers but had a silver head, and he crouched by the entrance protecting her. Already he’d saved her from the waters, carrying her in his wings high into the hills to this temple cave where she was warm and safe. Curled up on a coarse old blanket and a bed of crispy bracken she smiled and let her mind roam free.

Some time later she became aware that her owl was completely still and silent, sitting sentry at the mouth of the Dolmen. She heard his deep, rhythmic breathing in the darkness and knew his mind was travelling, roaming, journeying. She hoped his wings were carrying him to great heights, soaring above the everyday and into the realms of dream. She’d been there herself tonight, to the place between the worlds where all is shadow and smoke. Despite the rush of terror the place induced she loved it, glimpsing things beyond her knowledge and experience, feeling the thrill of the mystery. But now there was a strange feeling – a pulling and tugging at her soul. There was something she should be doing now, something very important, but she’d forgotten what it was. Her eyelids grew heavy as she felt herself drift away again.

The black-robed figures dragged the heavy burdens around the labyrinth, lurching in the soft earth. On their sledges the five white-clad bodies lay motionless, already close to death from exposure to the crisp night air. In the centre stood the masked figure representing the Bird, who led the Death Dance. The Bird looked up and noted the hundreds of black birds perched on the standing stones and jostling in the trees around the Stone Circle. That was how it should be; raven, crow, rook, jackdaw, starling and blackbird. All were here to pay their respects to the Dark Angel, having left the labyrinth in the Village Green once the great bonfire had been lit for the wheel-turn dance.

The Bird nodded and continued chanting, calling upon the Dark Angel to visit tonight, to walk this labyrinth of death and take with him those souls ready to depart. Soon this part of the ceremony would be over as the people pulling the sledges reached the centre of the labyrinth and left their white burdens there, arranged around the funeral pyre ready for the cup which the Bird would offer them. Then came the long vigil through the dark hours of night until dawn.

Over by the Altar Stone the two crones were silently watching the sledges’ inexorable progress. Tonight they’d performed a special ceremony; using the powerful magic of the Dark Moon, they’d cast a great circle within the Stone Circle itself and marked the five points of the pentangle. They’d summoned the elements, calling upon the powers of earth, air, fire, water and spirit. They’d raised the energy and even now it was spiralling deeper and stronger, strengthened by the sacred pattern within the labyrinth, by the chanting and the drumming, by the fear of those taking part in the Dance of Death. It was negative energy, a dark malignant energy, whose climax would be reached at midnight when the Wheel of the Year notched full circle and Samhain flowered fully into dreadful bloom. Then the gateway into the Otherworld would be wide open momentarily and the invitation could be made.

Already the veil was thin and gauzy, allowing tantalising glimpses into the place where the dead walked. Already contact had been made with those who’d passed on, those who crowded at the door looking back. There were many waiting, layer upon layer of faces jostling for a glimpse of all they’d left behind, hoping their loved ones were also waiting on their side to greet them. A glimpse was all they could hope for because the portal was one way only, living to dead. Unless … unless the magic could be raised by those who knew how, who knew the right words and the right rituals. And two such ones did know, the two who waited patiently by the Altar Stone watching the energy growing, waiting for midnight. Then the invitation would be made under the spell of the Dark Moon, and maybe it would be received and accepted by the one to whom it was made. Maybe he’d be able to cross back into the world of the living and walk once more upon the earth of the goddess. Maybe, if the ritual was perfect and the will was strong.

In the Village the celebrations were in full swing. The huge bonfire in the playing fields still blazed but the initial conflagration had died down to a white heat. Smaller cooking fires burned low all around, the forgotten fragments of food burning to a crisp. The air was rich with the smells of roasting meat, baked potatoes and toasted chestnuts. The damp grass had been trampled by many feet shuffling and dancing in great circles, faces scorched by the inferno and hearts leaping with excitement. Samhain was a wonderful festival enjoyed by most at Stonewylde.

Older children still raced around outside in their black cloaks. Some wore masks and others had paint daubed on their faces, scaring each other and chasing around like kittens in the wind. Everyone had feasted well and the majority were now inside the Great Barn dancing and drinking. The younger ones had been taken home or to the Nursery and put to bed, away from all the wild behaviour.

The doors of the Great Barn were flung open to the night for it was very hot inside. The Jack o’ Lanterns flickered and grinned wickedly and the papier-mâché birds and skulls fluttered in the hot air. The musicians were playing frenziedly; the whole place shook with the vibrations of noise and thundering feet. Maizie sat in a quieter corner with Rosie and Robin, sipping miserably at her glass of elderberry wine.

‘Mother, do stop fretting about her,’ said Rosie, patting Maizie’s hand. ‘Remember what Sweyn said? She was all dozy and he splashed her to wake her up and then she went off with Clip. So we know she’ll be safe.’

‘But why did she leave the Barn? Where is she now?’

‘She’s probably up at the Hall. You said she looked strange – he’s doubtless taken her somewhere quiet. We all know how stubborn and difficult Leveret can be, but I can’t think of a safer pair of hands than Clip’s – you know how gentle he is.’

‘Dratted girl! She’s completely ruined Samhain with her antics,’ muttered Maizie. ‘Tis a difficult time anyway, with all the memories …’

‘Just forget it, Mother Maizie,’ said Robin. ‘She doesn’t have to spoil it for you – for all of us – so forget Leveret and drink up.’

‘Aye, come and have a dance, Mother, and cheer up,’ said Rosie, knowing that Robin had just about had enough of Maizie’s fretting. ‘I’ll talk to Leveret in the morning and we’ll get Yul involved too. She’s behaving terribly at the moment but we’ll sort her out.’

Sweyn, Gefrin and Jay stood by the bar where the enormous oak barrels and smaller kegs were lined up, drinking cider by the tankard. They’d already had a great deal but this was Samhain and it was usual for the young men to drink themselves to the floor. They were flushed and over-excited; Sweyn in particular was sweating like a pig. Earlier on he’d told the others about his run-in with Clip and they’d sympathised with him. None of them liked Clip much, for he represented the old and traditional element of Stonewylde, the voice of reason and moderation. News of his intended departure during the coming year had spread like wildfire and the trio were drinking to celebrate this fortunate turn of events.