Shaman of Stonewylde (64 page)

‘Really? You wouldn’t get bored?’

‘I also plan to write a crime thriller. I’ve always wanted to have a bash at that. But Miranda, without wishing to . . . overstep the mark in any way, I’m keen to take my responsibilities as Administrator of the Board of Trustees at Stonewylde very seriously. It’s a truly marvellous project, this healing centre, and I knew as soon as Clip told me of the plans that it was something I’d like to help with. So . . . I wished to ask if you think there’s any possibility of me retiring down to Stonewylde? Perhaps renting or buying a cottage in the grounds somewhere? I wouldn’t want to tread on—’

‘That’s a wonderful idea!’ said Miranda, her heart singing with sudden joy. ‘You can use the library there – it’s a good one – and we can walk together in the hills, and . . . oh yes, I’m sure the Board will approve that, Christopher. I’d really
love
you to come to Stonewylde!’

‘That’s good,’ he said, his eyes soft and very blue in the twinkling candlelight. Gently he took her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Because I rather think I’ve fallen for you, Miranda. You’ve abandoned the fairy wings I know, but for me, you’ll always be the most beautiful girl in the room.’

30

A
s she stood in the queue at the Bakery, Mallow – for no obvious reason – snapped. She placed her basket on the floor and announced loudly that she was never setting foot inside Old Violet’s cottage again. Those around her, wrapped up in thick coats and shawls against the bitter January wind that moaned outside, stared in amazement. The small woman, so like a field-mouse with her brown shawl, brown hair and brown eyes, began to scream quietly. Even in the midst of a breakdown in the Bakery, she was timid.

Hazel was called and Mallow was eventually sedated and put to bed in the hospital wing, where all manner of previous cruelties to her skinny little body were revealed. She needed rest and nurture more than anything, and permission, after the death of her tyrannical husband and the departure of her uncaring son, to start her life again. Nobody had quite appreciated what she’d endured visiting Old Violet twice a day, and she hadn’t dared to end the visits even after Hunter’s Moon when Martin died.

Maizie was asked to call on the dreaded cottage at the end of the lane and also visit Starling to see what could be done for the old woman. But Maizie really didn’t feel able to cope, having suffered her own set-back since Meadowsweet’s terrible revelation at Yule. Maizie’s comfortable take on life had been redefined, and everything she’d held true about the unity of her family was shown to be a sham. The shock of this was exacerbated by her guilt, for it wasn’t as if Leveret had kept quiet about it over
the
years. Since she’d learnt to talk, Leveret had tried to tell her mother of the abuse her brothers subjected her to on a daily basis. Maizie knew she was very firmly to blame for refusing to listen and turning a blind eye. And now, despite the girl’s assurances of forgiveness, Maizie was in torment over her failure to protect her youngest child, whom she’d always loved so dearly.

So Sylvie offered to do the visits in Maizie’s place, even though she was busy with Christopher and all the work taking place up at the Hall. A team specialising in the architectural refurbishment and renovation of old buildings was looking at ethical ways of bringing the place up to date and making it suitable for visitors who might not be mobile. But Sylvie knew she could spare an hour or so to do the calls and make a report, and she was keen to help poor Maizie who’d been so kind to her.

First she visited the cottage where Starling now lived with her new partner Cledwyn and his old mother. It wasn’t a pleasant cottage – a far cry from Maizie’s beautifully clean and welcoming place – and the sour smell that greeted her was matched by the sour face of the old woman. Although she’d only seen Alwyn a few times, and those many years ago, Sylvie immediately recognised this brawny lump of a woman as his mother. Her hair was white but still showed some signs of ginger, and her belligerent underbite and porcine face were unmistakeable. She was reluctant to let Sylvie in, clutching her shawl to her meaty bosom and glaring, but after a while Sylvie found herself seated in the cluttered parlour surrounded by heavy leather furniture and ugly wood carvings.

‘Fancy getting a visit from the magus’ goodwife herself!’ she rasped. ‘Not that any relation o’ his is welcome here, not after what he done to my poor Alwyn. He never—’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, but it was a long time ago and nothing to do with me. I’ve come to speak to Starling.’

‘Our Starling’s busy out the back, lazy sow that she is.’

‘I’d like a word with her to see if she can help take care of Old Violet,’ said Sylvie, fighting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the unpleasant smell of the place. She felt her skin crawling; the old
cat
who also glared so belligerently was probably infested with fleas.

‘Starling!’ bellowed the woman, making Sylvie jump. ‘Get your arse in here now!’

When Starling appeared, Sylvie did a double take. Surely this wasn’t the same squat and bellicose woman she’d last encountered at Imbolc, during Leveret’s disgrace? The woman before her today was thin in a sagging sort of way, loose skin hanging in folds and her face a dreariness of lines and grime. Her long greasy hair had been shorn into an unstyled bob, as if someone had simply hacked around it with shears. Her eyes were dull and her hands sore, and even in this freezing weather her legs beneath the old skirt were bare, and mottled with chilblains and fleabites.

She stood there silent and awkward, refusing to meet Sylvie’s eye.

‘The magus’ goodwife wants to know if you’ll take care o’ your old Auntie Violet,’ said Cledwyn’s mother. ‘What do you say to that, girl?’

‘I can’t,’ she mumbled. ‘I live here now.’

‘Speak up, girl! Stand up straight and speak clear!’

Starling straightened slightly and raised her face, meeting Sylvie’s horrified gaze. Her nose was a little misshapen and one eye was puffy with old yellow bruising. She appeared to be missing most of her teeth too.

‘I look after Cled and his ma,’ she said, her voice hoarse.

‘I see. But . . . could Old Violet perhaps move in here? There’s room I know, and that would free up her cottage. She’d still be part of—’

‘Never!’ cried the old woman, a fleck of spittle flying across the room. ‘I ain’t having that hag in my cottage! Let her rot for all we care, eh Starling?’

‘Aye, let her rot,’ echoed Starling dully.

At Old Violet’s home, Sylvie was even more repulsed. The cottage itself wasn’t too dirty, which was obviously down to Mallow’s
hard
work, but the old woman was filthy and smelt like rotten fish. She was furious that Mallow hadn’t called recently, and was cold and hungry. It was clear that she was incapable of looking after herself. The fire had gone out and there was no more wood, so Sylvie couldn’t even build it up for her. There was no food in the place either and the old woman had soiled herself where she sat.

‘You’re cursed, you spawn o’ Raven!’ shrieked the crone, as she sensed Sylvie’s pity. ‘Your fly-blown father took my boy, my own Martin, and now they’re all gone! All my dear ones taken from me, taken by the Dark Angel. Ain’t one soul left to care for poor Old Violet.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Sylvie, avoiding mention of the Death Cap cakes that had been especially baked for Clip. ‘I’ll get you something to eat now and I’ll arrange for you to be taken up to the Hall. You’ll be warm and cared for there, and it’ll—’

‘I ain’t going up the Hall!’ cried Violet. She picked up the heavy stick propped against her chair and tried to hit Sylvie with it. She was so feeble and twisted that she could barely raise it from the ground, but the intent was there. Her eyes glowed in her whiskery, shrunken face as she looked daggers at Sylvie. ‘You think your family’s safe, don’t you? Just you wait, you skinny white maggot! You’ll be a-squirming afore I’m done. That babe in your belly, he’ll never—’

‘Don’t you DARE curse my children, you evil witch!’ cried Sylvie, clutching her hands protectively to her abdomen. ‘You can insult me all you like but don’t you dare threaten my family!’

‘Oh aye, the worm turns now, don’t it?’ Old Violet cackled toothlessly, her eyes flashing malevolence. ‘Think you’re all set now, don’t you? But that black-haired bastard husband will—’

‘I’m going!’ shouted Sylvie, putting her hands to her ears before she could hear any more. Old Violet terrified her and she wouldn’t remain in such an evil place a moment longer, not with the precious new life inside her. ‘They’ll come down to get you today, whether you like it or not. There’s nobody in the Village to care for you so you’ve no choice. Goodbye!’

She dashed out of the dark cottage almost in tears, the crone’s mocking laughter in her ears.

‘The taint’s still there,’ crooned the hag. She rocked gently in her chair, all alone but for her moonlit memories. ‘Taint’s still up there a-biding its time, and when the toad is gone, Old Violet’s revenge will be sweet.’

Leveret was unable to travel any distance on foot because of the cold, but she was determined to address that in the spring. She’d practise walking with Shadow and her stick to all her favourite places: Mother Heggy’s cottage, the Stone Circle, the Village and even the Dolmen and Hare Stone eventually, though the tracks to those places weren’t so well defined. She was still learning to walk without the use of her eyes to guide her and it wasn’t easy, but she could now move around the Hall reasonably well and was confident that when the growing season began, she’d manage the Kitchen Gardens fairly easily.

Magpie lived in the tower with her and she had many visitors each day, everyone contributing to her care. Even Gefrin had called, accompanied by Meadowsweet, and those words of apology he’d been unable to offer before now tumbled from his lips in a flood of self-recrimination and guilt. Sweyn apparently refused to come, but Leveret told Maizie that was fine. That the abuse had stopped was enough – she wasn’t out to humiliate him and didn’t want a forced apology.

‘One day, Mother,’ she said, her green eyes gazing faraway into the distance, ‘Sweyn will have a little dark-haired daughter. He’ll love her dearly and when he looks at her, he’ll remember my childhood and his heart will be heavy. So don’t force him to make amends because the time isn’t yet right, and don’t deny him your love either – he can’t help how he is. It may take a few years but he’ll be alright in the end.’

Maizie looked in complete awe at her blind daughter, blessed with such vision. And her heart was heavy too; for the hundredth time, she silently berated herself for the blighting of her girl’s childhood.

The Wolf Moon of January was approaching, and Leveret felt she should honour it in the Stone Circle alone with Yul. He’d almost completely gone to ground in Mother Heggy’s cottage and not many people had seen him since the Winter Solstice ceremony, when he’d entered the darkness of exile. Rufus continued to be his link with the community and the bond between the two brothers had grown strong.

The moon rise that night was early and Leveret was driven up to the Circle by Tom’s son Fletch in the little pony and trap. She insisted that he drop her off where the avenue of stones began and go straight back to the Hall, as Yul would walk her home later. With her stick of blackthorn and faithful Shadow, she now carefully made her way up the Long Walk. That it was pitch black made no difference to Leveret, who only experienced light when she held Magpie’s hand. She felt a moment’s shiver of fear as she entered the prickling darkness of the Stone Circle. But, taking a deep breath, she pictured again that vision from the night of her Yule Story Web, when she’d seen just how the ancient folk had built and used the temple of megaliths. She was wrapped in many layers topped with her cloak, and even her feet were warm in their lined boots, but as she stepped across the iron-hard earth she felt the coldness of the January night on her cheeks.

As she slowly walked across it, Leveret knew that nobody else was here in the great arena. She sensed the massive stones standing sentinel all around her, watching the small person who’d come into their presence. She felt the spirals beneath her feet, a coiled labyrinth of energy, and imagined how it would be when the healing centre were open and folk from Outside could come here to draw on the magic. She reached the Altar Stone and stopped, turning around to lean against it. Shadow, always silent and always close, sat down and together they waited for Yul.

He was a long time coming and Leveret knew that the moon would soon be rising. What if he didn’t come? Nobody would fetch her. But she had faith and tried to picture him hurrying
along
from Mother Heggy’s cottage. In her mind, Yul was a tall and dark presence, deep and teeming with passion and life. She longed to be alone with him tonight, just the two of them together as they’d been when she was young. Yul had helped her when she’d struggled to make sense of her life after Clip’s death; she hoped when the time came that she could help her brother similarly. However she understood that he needed this period of darkness now, just as some seeds need the coldness of winter to germinate. Yul was wild and he was of nature, and when the time was right he’d show green shoots and flourish again.

Leveret felt Shadow stiffen by her side and heard him give a low growl. She too could sense someone approaching – she couldn’t hear or smell anyone, but she felt it very strongly. Then a voice called to her and she answered, and soon Yul had hurried across the Circle and hugged her tight, his cheeks icy but his breath warm.

‘Sorry!’ he breathed. ‘I fell asleep and it was only the crow that woke me up. I wonder if we’ve missed it? There’s thick cloud so I can’t see.’

‘No, we have a little while,’ she said.

‘Shall I light the fire?’

‘Yes, let’s get nice and warm.’

They hadn’t seen each other for some weeks now, but Rufus had been a reliable go-between, and Leveret had requested that Yul bring fire. She’d brought some mead and cakes along with Mother Heggy’s athame, and as Yul unpacked wood from his bag and deftly built a small fire near the Altar Stone, she unrolled a thick felt rug from her back-pack and laid out the things. She pulled on the hare headdress over her felt hat, becoming once more the Shaman. Soon they sat side by side on the rug, shoulders touching and backs against the long Altar Stone, as close to the crackling fire as possible. Leveret held the sacred dagger and Shadow lay close, nose on paws, watching Leveret unblinkingly. He didn’t know Yul and was vigilant with everyone except Magpie, whom he loved almost as much as he loved Leveret.