Shaman of Stonewylde (27 page)

She nodded.

‘This Asklepian was carved from rowan, the tree of healing, and it’s your medicine wand. Before I leave, I’ll have a shaman’s staff made for you too. That will be ash, like mine, as it’s the tree that links our realm to the other realms.’

‘Clip, I hate it when you talk of leaving. You don’t
have
to leave this autumn, do you? I mean, if you could stay a little—’

But he shook his head.

‘Leveret, we both know that I have to.’

‘But I won’t be ready! I don’t know enough!’

‘What you don’t know, you’ll learn. We spend our entire lives learning, Leveret, and you’ll never feel that you know enough. Now, let’s prepare ourselves for this evening. We’ll need all our strength and concentration if we’re to lead the whole community in a story. Magic takes its toll and we need to be both strong and at peace with ourselves.’

They closed their eyes and Leveret stroked the hare in her lap, her own magical creature, sent to her at the Spring Equinox when light and darkness are balanced. She tried to attune herself to the energy all around, and also align her spirit with Clip’s. He’d already told her they’d be working very closely together tonight and must trust each other completely. Leveret just hoped she’d be worthy of assisting him in this Story Web for the community. She had no idea what he’d planned.

When they arrived in the Village the Great Barn was empty but for a couple of musicians; everyone else was at home eating supper. Clip rearranged the stage a little, relaying the fire-cauldron with fresh wood and replenishing the supplies. Leveret was despatched to a small side room to get changed into her costume, which included her shaman’s headdress that had so delighted the children earlier in the day. Hare was safely nesting in her closed basket on a bed of hay, happy to snooze quietly.

Leveret slipped on the outfit of short brown tunic and brown leggings with pointy toes. Clip had told her she was echoing a famous illustration, published in a book in Antwerp in the early 1600s, of a Saxon hare goddess. She found it a little bizarre, but he insisted that she adopt this style of dress, saying it had important cultural and mystical significance. She covered up the outfit with a plain brown cloak, and for now kept her headdress tucked
into
the big pocket inside. Her other prop was a large pewter plate that had been burnished until it shone – Clip said this represented the moon and was also part of the magical illustration she must recreate.

When Leveret re-emerged into the main body of the Barn, she found Clip fiddling about with bags of herbs which he strapped to his belt.

‘You understand why and how we use herbs for effect,’ he said. ‘But it’s important that they’re to hand, and that you don’t muddle them up. Otherwise they can’t be used properly and could actually be counter-productive. So, when you do this alone for the first time, keep it simple.’

She nodded, terrified at the very thought of standing on this stage with Clip, let alone by herself.

‘I don’t
have
to do Story Webs though, do I?’ she asked. ‘Shamans can just be there to consult on an individual basis, can’t they?’

‘Yes, but putting on a performance to a crowd – nothing beats that,’ he said. ‘The Shaman is the only one who can travel easily between the realms. People want to be led to places they can’t reach themselves. They want to be shown truths they couldn’t see alone. A really successful shaman can hold the entire community spell-bound and take them on a magical journey to other places. This is what we’ll do this evening, my Leveret. We haven’t had a Story Web for so very long and I don’t suppose you even remember the last one.’

‘No, I don’t. I wish I knew exactly what we’re going to do tonight,’ she said, quaking inside. Despite the afternoon’s success in front of the children, she was now suffering from stage fright. She also couldn’t help but remember the last time she’d stood in the centre of the Great Barn in front of the entire community.

‘I don’t really know myself,’ Clip replied, and putting his arm around her shoulders gave her a hug. ‘But don’t worry – it will be wonderful, I’m sure. I’ve never had a disaster yet.’

The air was hot and heavy with the scent of so many people crammed in tightly together. The tiers were packed solid and even the aisles were full. The musicians sitting cross legged near the stage had been drumming for a while and the magical sound of the flute drifted around. Leveret sat on one of the logs on stage, small and hunched up in her brown cloak with the hood pulled up over her headdress. Hare lay quietly inside her covered basket on the floor; she seemed to sense when she must stay still.

Clip wore his cloak of black feathers and held his staff. The fire crackled and flared different colours as he added various herbs. He spoke in the language of the storyteller, his resonant voice soft but compelling as he carried the audience away on a magic carpet of words and images. Again, he spoke of a land that had been put under a spell, but now his story was more complex and much darker. The audience shivered and trembled as he conjured images of evil and death, and nameless beasts that stalked the realm.

‘But behold, there came amongst the people a hare goddess. No ordinary hare, no ordinary goddess, but a strange and powerful mix of the two.’

The drums had started to beat again and Clip moved around the stage with the staff pointing into the audience and attracting all the attention to himself. This bit they had agreed on, and Leveret knew she must now climb onto the highest of the up-ended logs, which she managed without mishap. The headdress was secure under the hood, and in her hand she clutched the huge polished pewter plate. At a signal from Clip, she undid the ties at the neck and the cloak fell to the floor. It revealed her standing motionless, dressed in the hare headdress, brown tunic and leggings, and holding the silvery plate in front of her stomach. Clip looked up at her and shuddered; she was an exact replica of that famous alchemical woodcut depicting the goddess – it was uncanny and felt almost archetypal.

The story progressed as he told of how the hare goddess had come, with the full moon rising in her belly, to break the wicked spell. The drum was insistent and she heard the change in Clip’s
voice
– the moment when he stopped merely telling the story and started to weave the magic. He spoke of the hare goddess and her powers, her ability to heal and cure and make whole again that which was broken.

He created more coloured and aromatic smoke and began once again to circle, whirling so that the black-feathered cloak flew out around him. This was Leveret’s cue to climb down from the tree trunk, where she’d surely lose her balance eventually, and start to engage with the audience. Carefully she stepped down and looked out at the rows and rows of faces all around her, the firelight flickering on those near the front, all of them glistening with sweat. She could see they were spellbound, their eyes fixed on Clip as he moved and spoke. Nobody seemed to notice her at all, as if she were invisible now she’d climbed down from the stump.

But then the drumbeat changed again as Clip signalled to the drummers to stop. He’d picked up his own shaman’s frame-drum and now created a single, insistent beat that calmed the nerves and soothed the senses. He stood still, at the side of the stage, and seemed to melt away into the shadows so only his voice remained.

‘Behold!’ he cried again, ‘The Hare Woman of Stonewylde is come in our midst. She is here to heal, here to cure, here to work her magic. She will lead us all now into a magical, faraway realm . . .’

He stopped speaking, but the drum continued its monotonous, compelling beat. He nodded to Leveret and she realised with a sharp jab of terror that this was her cue. She must now perform. She took a deep breath and felt the fear tingling in her fingertips and her heart thumping in her chest. Still the drum beat: boom, boom, boom. It called, it summoned the people to follow . . .

‘Come close, my folk of Stonewylde! Come follow me towards the wood,’ she said in a soft, clear voice. ‘We are ready to travel on a journey, a journey that will take us far and deep, to a place not of our normal realm but to another, magical realm. I take
your
hands and lead you there safely. I will let nothing harm you. No fire-breathing dragon, nor flesh-eating vulture will come close, for I, the Hare Woman, will protect you. Come, come with me through the archway of trees, through the archway into a new and strange land . . .’

And there was Raven, huge and glossy black, waiting for her in the bright place. They greeted one another. He told her to climb on his back, for first he was taking her to the Upperworld, a place of clouds and dreams. And when she told him of all the folk who were with her tonight he opened his great beak and let out a mighty
CRUK!
of welcome.

They flew through a crack in the clouds, to a place of great beauty and possibility. They flew up to where all was soft and sparkling, where colours were brighter and everything seemed to be newly washed. In this beautiful place they wandered a while, exploring the wonderful land and marvelling at the fantastical creatures that roamed there. And when it was time to leave, they spoke with the queen. She was old and wise but still beautiful, with sky-blue robes dusted with stars and long white hair that reached her waist. She touched each traveller with a wand of crystal, telling each that they might take back with them one small token from her lands.

And then the queen turned to the Hare Woman and said that, as Shaman of Stonewylde, she might ask one question. Although nobody else would hear what that question was, they would all hear the answer. When Hare Woman had asked her question, the old queen nodded and replied that yes, there certainly
was
reason to fear and they must all beware of the snake that sheds its skin only to return in a different one. With that, they flew back down through the crack in the clouds, and Raven said they must now enter the Underworld, the place of darkness and labyrinthine passages.

They found a tiny cave mouth, like a foxhole, in a bank of earth. Above it grew purple foxgloves, their little trumpets freckled inside with deep magenta spots. By the side of the foxhole was a great oak tree, and looking up they saw mistletoe growing
thickly
where the branches met the trunk. On the other side was a slender rowan tree with delicate leaves that seemed to wave them on, into the dark hole that awaited them.

They passed through the earthy entrance, avoiding the roots of trees and plants that hung all around them like vines, ignoring the stones that pattered from above, down onto the path. After a while, it grew brighter ahead and they were out of the tunnel and had entered the Underworld. It was a strange place, and the folk gathered closer together behind Hare Woman, fearing what might come. Raven led them all along, telling everyone to beware where they trod, for there were dangers underfoot.

After a while, they came to a clearing in a great forest where the moss grew emerald green and was rippled with faerie rings. There were brilliant red and white Fly Agaric toadstools around, and on one of these sat a strange little creature, part elf, part moth. He told them all to eat of the tiny mushrooms in the faerie rings if they were hungry, and they fell upon the sweet golden fungi, devouring the lot. Frowning, he offered them acorn cups of fresh dew, which they gulped down. He frowned again and told them that they were greedy folk, who should take care not to destroy with grasping avarice the bounty they had.

‘Only take a little – just what you need, and no more,’ he said. ‘For when everything has been consumed, you will wish you’d shown restraint.’

And, like the wise queen before, he told the folk they might each take one token back to their land. Whilst they chose this, he whispered to the Hare Woman that she may ask one question. When she had done so, he pondered for a while.

‘That is a hard question to answer,’ he replied. ‘But here are my thoughts: in autumn you see the leaves dying and falling, and you think the world is ending. In the dead of winter, everything is grey and bleak and it seems this will last forever. But then comes the spring and all is renewed. The leaves grow again – not the same leaves as before, but new ones, just as beautiful, from the same source. So take heed of this, and never try to stop that which you cannot change.’

With that, he disappeared and a wind blew up. Hare Woman gathered them together quickly to retrace their steps back to the long earthy tunnel. They hurried along behind her and, as they popped out underneath the foxgloves, Raven said that he must be gone. All around the land seemed to fade and then grow bright, and the white light was everywhere, flooding their blinking eyes . . .

She opened her eyes and the rows of faces were all blinking owlishly at her, dazed and confused. The fire was low, the drum still beat, the air was close and dark around them. There was a movement across the floor and the lid to the basket was pushed open. Hare lifted up her head and then hopped out, loping across to Leveret who bent to pick her up. She stood in the centre of the Great Barn, still in her brown tunic and leggings, with the shaman’s headdress on her head, holding the soft golden hare in her arms. All eyes were upon her.

There was a sudden
CAW
audible over the single drum beats. From up high in the barn’s rafters, a crow sailed down, a crow with a white tail feather. He landed on the stump where she’d stood earlier and began to preen himself. Leveret took a deep breath.

‘So now, folk of Stonewylde, take back with you tonight the two gifts you’ve been given, and ponder on the two answers. Sleep well in your beds and know that the magic is safe and guarded. For I, the Hare Woman, am here amongst you and the magic is in me.’

Clip stopped drumming and there was sudden silence. Leveret bowed. The audience erupted into wild applause that made the crow take off back into the rafters again, and Hare flatten her ears. Leveret gave a small smile and her eyes found Clip’s. She could do it – she was worthy of the new title she would inherit when he’d gone.

14

S
itting in her office in the School Wing leafing through the files of students still to be interviewed, Sylvie realised that she was one of the lucky ones. Because of Yul’s reluctance to let her take on the role of Student Counsellor, she hadn’t had any data to lose when the virus had hit Stonewylde’s network. All the youngsters finishing Hall School this summer had been interviewed and she was now working through the year group below, as they’d soon be making their choices for higher education or apprenticeships. Sylvie had found the role rewarding so far, and Miranda had assured her it would make a great deal of difference in the community.