Shadows at Stonewylde (45 page)

‘We’re emptying our minds once more and seeing only the brightness within. Everything is touched with soft radiance and we see only brightness and light.’

She felt the light inside her head softly glowing and the smoothness of the crystal ball under her palms was soothing. Clip continued to drum for some time until her breathing slowed right down and the drum beat entered her soul, became part of her being.

‘We’re waiting now in this place of limbo, in this liminal space, for our guides to appear. Our guides are our friends and they’ll look after us as we journey, always bringing us back safely. If we feel frightened or threatened they’ll bring us back to this place of brightness. They’ll always be by our sides as we travel and they’ll protect us.’

It was peaceful waiting patiently for the guides, who were coming but from a distance and couldn’t yet be seen.

‘Now I see my guide. The silver wolf slinks into the brightness and his eyes are all-knowing as he stands and waits. Maybe your guide will appear, but probably not this time and we don’t yet know what form it’ll take. We must wait calmly and perhaps get a glimpse, if the time is right. If not, we’ll both travel with my wolf.’

Leveret couldn’t see the wolf or anything else. Nothing was coming – it was just warm and bright.

Suddenly there was a great black presence. It crowded out the brightness with its blue-blackness, its glossiness, its quills and barbs. There was a great pointed beak and a knowing eye and then it shrank into clear focus – a great crow! No – it was a raven! Leveret smiled and her heart welcomed her raven, her spirit guide. The massive bird bowed its head and then she saw the wolf too, silver and lithe, standing next to her raven. Together the wolf and the raven moved forward into the brightness and then she saw two shadowy figures following – herself and Clip, insubstantial compared to their vibrant guides. Their steps were steady as they walked towards the source of the radiance
.

And then they were in a wood – all around them the birds sang and squirrels leapt from branch to branch. It was green and fresh, every plant and tree sparkling with crystal droplets of dew. There was an archway amongst the trees made of boughs that arced together overhead. Feathers hung from the archway and the wolf and raven brushed past them through the gap
.

‘
Only follow if you will,’ said the raven, although its beak didn’t move and the voice was soft but sweet
.

The shadowy Clip took Leveret’s hand and together they stooped and went through the archway into the realm of dreams
.

They journeyed far in that strange place and Leveret saw things which amazed her. It was a wondrous place, not frightening in the least, but so different from the world of reality. They saw sights and tasted scents that were so far removed from the everyday as to be magical. They journeyed far but then it was time to return, and up ahead they saw the archway with its hanging feathers. By the curved boughs the wolf and raven paused. The raven grew large again, filling her vision with its blue-black glossiness
.

‘
You may ask one question,’ it said gently. ‘But I may be unable to answer and you may be unsatisfied. Ask me now
.’

Leveret thought swiftly, for time was trickling rapidly out through the arch
.

‘
Will Mother Heggy return to guide me in the world of reality?
’

The raven cocked its head
.

‘
She cannot return who’s not truly departed. She’s waited long for you and she’s ready – it was you who wasn’t ready
.’

They bent and passed again under the arch into the place of brightness. All around was radiance but gradually it dimmed into greyness, and then the fire appeared and the shadows of the room were all around. The flames had died down to a deep red glow illuminating Clip’s smiling, joyful face.

‘I knew you were the special, magical one, Little Hare,’ he said softly. ‘I felt it in my bones. You’re here to succeed me and now I know that the spirit of Stonewylde will be in safe hands.’

O
n the Village Green, the young men were practising their marksmanship with the bow. Several groups had gathered in the bright sunlight and a gaggle of girls stood around watching and making a lot of noise. The scene was quite idyllic with the Village Green surrounded by mature trees, mostly skeletal in mid-winter, but displaying their different textures and colours of bark in the low winter sun. The Great Barn stood behind them like a massive mother, golden and ancient, a haven and gathering place for all. The smaller building, the Jack in the Green, nestled close by and all the cottages clustered nearby like chicks around a hen. Smoke trickled from most chimneys promising cosiness inside and something tasty bubbling on the range. A woman walked by with two small children in tow, all wrapped up warmly in bright woollen jackets and thick felt hats. A youth pulled along a great trolley of logs and a man clattered by on a horse, whilst a crowd of children played on the cobbled street in the wide area outside the Barn, chasing each other and laughing.

The targets had been set up at the far end of the ancient clearing in front of the trees, just as they’d been for centuries and centuries – great woven circles of thick straw with a small star made of card in the centre marking the bullseye. The air was full of the sounds of arrows being released from the powerful bows, zinging through the sunlight to thwack into the straw. Each youth had a quiver on his back, a special belt with a socket for the arrow to be loaded, and a leather glove to protect his firing hand. Edward was over-seeing the practice, signalling when the latest volley of shots had been completed and the excited boys could run to their group’s target to see the evidence of their marksmanship. Stars that had been pierced were proudly removed and labelled as proof of expertise, although there were few of these for the central star was small and difficult to hit.

Kestrel was in his element. He was a strong archer, very accurate, and at eighteen this was his final year to compete for the honour of being the Archer of Imbolc. He’d done it last year and fully intended to win again this year. He was an almost archetypal figure, tall and strongly built, handsome and youthful. His powerful arms pulled back the string and made an extended line with his tilted jaw. His back rippled with sinew and muscle; legs apart and slim hips twisted, his chest opened up when he aimed and his blue eyes held the gleam of victory. He loved the attention of the girls watching and the admiration of the other boys. He wasn’t showing off – he knew he was the best there and was merely enjoying his position of supremacy.

Not all the youths took part as some were no good at archery and others just not interested. Sweyn and Gefrin were two such as this, but they stood with Kestrel’s group watching and praising him. Jay and Swift were taking part, both being reasonably adept if not in Kestrel’s league. Jay found failure difficult; if his arrow missed the straw target altogether he’d become angry and abusive and find some excuse for missing.

Swift was a better sportsman and accepted his poor shots with equanimity even though success mattered to him. He was very aware of the crowd of girls hanging around his archery group and knew they must find Jay’s aggressive bluster very trying. So Swift only laughed if he missed, flicking his fringe and looking sideways at the girls, and going for their sympathy. Kestrel caught one such exchange and thought again that he must watch Swift, who was becoming a bit too popular for his liking.

‘Stop showing off, Swift!’ he said loudly. ‘And where’s Sorrel anyway? You shouldn’t be making up to all these girls, not when you’re walking with someone. These little beauties are all mine, aren’t you, girls?’

There was much giggling and wriggling at this, all eyes back on Kestrel again which was how he liked it. In fact most of the girls watching had been his at one time or another and they all knew it. Swift gave him a long look, his grey-blue eyes slightly narrowed.

‘Sorrel’s helping her mother set up the lunch for us,’ he replied. ‘And I’m not walking with her – we may do in the future but not at the moment.’

‘Oh go on, Swift!’ said one of the girls. ‘You know she’s mad about you and you went with her at Yule for your Rite of Adulthood. She thinks you want to walk with her.’

‘I might do. I’m thinking about it,’ he replied, smiling charmingly.

‘You should,’ said Kestrel. ‘She’s good and I should know – broke her in myself.’

‘Kes!’ shrieked the girls.

Swift eyed him carefully then pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocking the fletching into the bowstring.

‘So you did,’ he said evenly. ‘And what a good job you made of it.’

‘Naturally,’ laughed Kestrel. ‘It’s what I do best, isn’t it, girls?’

Jay scowled at the pair of them; no girls were interested in him at all. He was too belligerent and his clumsy, arrogant overtures made girls run off in alarm. He’d had slightly more success at college where he wasn’t so well known but Stonewylde girls were very wary of him, particularly with his family history.

The practice was drawing to a close and the boys had been given ten minutes’ notice of lunch in the Barn; after that would come the actual competition to determine the Archer. The youngest boys there, at fourteen, knew they wouldn’t be picked but it was good to practise now to improve their chances when they were older. Just to get one arrow in the star was a great achievement and the little cards were pinned on display in the Barn until after Imbolc for all to see. The group of girls went off to help in the Barn and Edward blew the whistle for the archers to stop firing and go to collect all their arrows, making sure their quivers were full for the competition later.

As they strolled towards the targets Swift regaled them with the latest news of Magpie.

‘He was screaming this morning, Father said – making that awful screeching noise. Apparently he’d trodden on a dead rabbit outside the front door when he went out.’

Jay roared with laughter, his bullet head turning almost crimson with mirth.

‘I knew that would set the bugger off!’ he shouted with glee.

‘You put it there?’ asked Gefrin. ‘That was a good idea.’

‘Yeah, I caught six of ’em yesterday, too much for even my fat Auntie Starling to eat. So I took one round last night for the half-wit and left it by his door step. I knew it would get him going.’

‘Be careful though,’ warned Swift. ‘Cherry and Marigold are on the look-out for you anyway.’

‘Do you think I care? I like winding ’em up, stupid old bags.’

‘Yes but they’ll tell my father and then he’ll have to have a go at you.’

‘So?’ said Jay belligerently. ‘What’s he going to do?’

‘Well if you won’t take it from him, he’ll probably tell Yul.’

‘And? What’ll Yul do – banish me? I don’t think so!’

Swift shrugged. He’d warned Jay – he couldn’t do anymore. They’d reached the target and Jay began to pull his arrows from the straw boss.

‘Looks like you missed the star again,’ teased Kestrel, pulling a couple from the ground that had missed the straw target altogether.

‘Yeah, it’s these arrows – they’re shit.’

Kestrel laughed. ‘My father gave me these at my Rite of Adulthood,’ he said, tapping the quiver on his back.

‘Well I ain’t got a father, have I? Some bugger had him killed off – some bugger set a crow on
my
father!’

His face darkened with anger and his eyes bulged, glaring at them all.

‘Too bad, isn’t it?’ nodded Sweyn in sympathy. ‘Mine choked on a bit o’ cake and never got over it. Had a stroke, he did.’

‘At least that were an accident – mine wasn’t. One day I’ll get my revenge. My father didn’t deserve to die.’

‘I thought he’d killed your mother?’ said Swift mildly. Jay turned on him, looking for someone on whom to vent his aggression.

‘He didn’t mean to! My Granny Vetchling said it were my mother’s own fault. She went on and on at him, nagging and whining all the time until one night he snapped and tried to shut her up. Remember she was that cow Marigold’s daughter and we all know how
she
goes on. That’s why the old Magus brought him back, Old Violet said, ‘cos he knew my father were innocent. Alright?’

‘Yeah, of course,’ said Swift. ‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘Too right I’m right. So don’t say anything against my father again!’

‘I wasn’t.’

‘Yes you—’

‘Enough!’ said Kestrel. ‘For goddess’ sake, let’s talk about something else. The Maiden, for instance – have they picked her yet? Anyone know who it’s going to be?’

They all shook their heads. Every year a girl was chosen for the Imbolc ceremony as it was the festival of the Maiden, celebrating new growth, purity and femininity. The girl had to be under sixteen and would partner the Archer in the ceremonies. All the little girls of Stonewylde took part too, and each one dreamed of one day being chosen to be Bright Maiden.

‘I reckon it’ll be Tansy,’ said Sweyn.

‘Or Honey.’

‘No,’ said Kestrel. ‘Not Honey – it’s her Rite of Adulthood at the ceremony. She told me herself and we all know why.’

‘Maybe Bryony?’ suggested Jay. ‘She’s fifteen.’