Shaman of Stonewylde (70 page)

As Ioho suckled, the moon rose higher. In the silence, the barn owl floated noiselessly overhead to land on the stone above her. Christopher, his arm around Miranda, was moved to tears at the beauty of the occasion. Everyone was hushed as they watched the moon grow brighter and Celandine dance around them in leaping, whirling spirals, bringing down the moon magic into the waiting earth. Yul nudged Christopher and pointed out the hares that had crept up to join her, and he shook his grey head in disbelief at such a wondrous sight.

Further down the hill Bluebell and Magpie crouched by the boulders that marked the entrance into the hollow hill. Her heart thumped wildly and she muttered continuously under her breath, ‘
R,S,T,U,V
. . .’ They were searching the ground, difficult
in
the darkness even though the moon shone brightly above, and had been doing this for some time now. Bluebell was torn between worry about putting her hand on a viper, and terror at not being able to find the toad-bag. But she’d told herself that snakes slept at night time and the threat about the toad-bag was worse. She didn’t even know what she was looking for exactly and she couldn’t ask anyone in case Baba Yaga got her tongue.

It felt very strange down here by the boulders; completely different to the top of the hill. Bluebell was aware of the yawning gap between the two rocks, almost her height, but too narrow for even her small body to squeeze through – not that she’d have wanted to. If it were a Hollow Hill as Rufus had said, and there were faeries inside, Bluebell couldn’t imagine them being good, pretty faeries like the ones in her stories. Good ones would never want to live inside a dark, secret cave with a nest of adders. These must be bad faeries, especially if that Baba Yaga crone knew about this place. Bluebell pictured them now in silver and black dresses covered in the zigzag viper pattern. Their papery wings were made of old snake-skins, and tiny black forked tongues flickered from their mouths. They hissed viciously at the prospect of their treasure, the wicked toad-bag, being stolen away by the Princess of the Bluebell Faeries.

Then she heard her mother calling her name in the moonlit darkness, panic in her voice, and her father’s voice joined in. Magpie tugged at her sleeve; he wanted to go back up the hill to the stone and all the family up there. Bluebell felt the tears burst through her eyes because she simply HAD to find the toad-bag tonight. The crone has said she must find it and release the bad magic, but Bluebell had made up a plan. She’d find the nasty thing and she’d somehow get it back to the cottage and then she’d throw it into the range and burn it. She knew that burning was a way of destroying and purifying. So if she burnt it then the magic couldn’t be released on the Hollow Hill like the crone had said. Her sister would be safe, and the dancing feet would continue and the hares and barn owl would be stronger than the serpent. But Magpie was pulling her, trying to make her return
to
her family, and she could hear lots of voices now, all calling her name. And then she felt Auntie Leveret calling her name inside her head in the way she sometimes did.

She heard people rushing down the hill and realised that Magpie was standing up waving at them all to get their attention, and she sobbed and sobbed, still on her hands and knees patting the ground, trying to locate the toad-bag in the silver moonlight. Her father arrived first and scooped her up almost roughly. He was a mixture of happy and angry and he hugged her so tightly she thought her body would pop and she kept saying that she was sorry but she was crying too much. Back up on top of the hill by the stone there was much relief and everyone asking what she’d been doing and feeling bad they hadn’t noticed she’d gone missing. But then Auntie Leveret said that Magpie told her they’d been searching for a toad, and her voice sounded strange as if she were frightened too. Luckily nobody was cross with Magpie, and Mummy held her tightly on her lap where she sat up against the stone and kissed her face again and again and stroked her hair.

‘Bluebell, it was very, very silly to disappear like that in the darkness. Why were you looking for a toad? We’ve got lots of toads in the garden at home, haven’t we? Yul, please let’s go back now. Celandine’s finished dancing, I’m tired and I’m sure everyone else is.’

Granny Miranda was holding Baby Ioho, jigging him gently in her arms, and Auntie Leveret was talking quietly to Magpie, who was still upset that they’d done wrong by disappearing. Bluebell felt bad as it was her fault, not his, and he hadn’t wanted to come. Celandine was standing very still gazing up at the blazing silver moon, her long hair glinting with moonbeams, and Rufus was talking to Christopher about hollow hills and chambered tombs. Granny Maizie was sitting on the grass in a dream, staring up at the Hare Moon, and there were silver tears glinting on her cheeks. Bluebell got up from her mother’s lap and felt her heart thumping again in panic, because any minute now they’d all be trooping back down the hill and she wouldn’t have found
the
toad-bag and the taint would still be here, its dark magic prowling around, searching for its prey.

Then she noticed darling Shadow, pale in the moonlight, over behind the standing stone. He was pawing at the ground and Bluebell just knew . . . she dashed over to where he snuffled at the earth and she dropped to her knees, ignoring the dog drool she’d normally have hated and his big messy paws. He’d turned over a flat stone embedded in the ground and there it was, in his mouth, but she pulled it away in case he chewed it up and died.

‘Bluebell!’ called her father sharply. ‘Come back here now!’

She jumped up, her hand closing around the damp thing and its long cord. She must hide it fast and she didn’t have a pocket so very quickly she pulled the cord over her head. She tried not to think of the dirt and Shadow’s spit on it, nor the bad magic it contained, and pushed the little bag down inside her dress. All the way home on that long walk down the hill, past the scary boulders and the secret door to the Viper Faeries’ nest, into the woods and then eventually on the track leading back to the Village, Bluebell held on tightly to her mother’s hand and felt her feet skipping and her heart fluttering on little wings of joy. She had the wicked toad-bag! She’d saved her sister and she’d taken the bad magic away from the moondancing hill and as soon as she’d managed to burn it, everything would be alright. And that silly old Baba Yaga was wrong after all – Bluebell wasn’t going to do her bidding and help her, despite the cruel mark on her cheek.

‘I’m sure he’ll have researched something about it,’ said Sylvie. ‘I did start reading all his notes years ago but somehow . . .’

She and Rufus walked along a dusty, dark corridor to the tiny room that had once served Professor Siskin when he visited Stonewylde. Sylvie remembered how shocked she’d been at its meanness, and how she’d resolved to put him in a grand suite of rooms on his return. That was not to be, and in the ensuing chaotic months, and then years, after his demise, his belongings had remained in this little room, tucked away and forgotten in
this
distant wing of the Hall. His suitcase and laptop had been found in the Jack in the Green and then all his personal belongings had been sent back from Oxford – everything was now crammed in here.

‘I never knew anything about this!’ said Rufus. ‘It’s amazing – he was actually chronicling the history of Stonewylde?’

Sylvie nodded, opening the door to the musty room which was little better than a glorified cupboard. She felt a pang of sadness, recalling her dear little professor and his excitement about giving her the photo of Yul – the one Magus had ripped up in a paroxysm of rage. Coming in here with her brother brought it all back again. She could picture him perfectly with his wispy white hair and half-moon glasses, his velvet jacket and Panama hat, hopping about on small feet boring people with his old-fashioned homilies and scholarly enthusiasms.

‘He was a highly respected historian, a professor at Oxford no less, and I’m sure he’d be delighted that one of his relations was taking an interest in his life’s work. I’d always meant to do something with his notes, but somehow life got in the way. To be honest I wouldn’t have done it justice. I had thought maybe one day Bluebell, with her love of story, might be interested. But if you’re keen, that’s marvellous! You’re so clever, Rufus, and I know Professor Siskin would approve of you taking up the mantle. Although I thought you wanted to be a doctor?’

‘Yes, yes I do! But I love history and archaeology too, and I find anything to do with Stonewylde fascinating. I’d love to know if there
is
a chambered tomb up in the hill at Hare Stone. It’s so exciting, Sylvie! I’ve been reading up about them and if we actually had one here at Stonewylde . . . I’ll read Professor Siskin’s research notes and if he does mention it, maybe we could excavate the tomb?’

‘I don’t know about that,’ she said doubtfully. ‘I really don’t think we should start digging around Hare Stone.’

‘No, no, not dig!’ Rufus said excitedly, his dark brown eyes dancing. ‘There’s definitely a gap between those boulders and I’ve read about this – sometimes they’d roll a stone across the
entrance
to seal it up. They wanted to keep out any wild animals that might smell the body or the bones that had been laid inside. So we wouldn’t have to dig at all – just shift the rock perhaps, and only a little bit to make the entrance large enough to squeeze inside.’

Sylvie smiled at his enthusiasm. He was as passionate as the dear old professor had been. If only he’d lived to see Stonewylde now, she thought. He’d have loved Rufus, and little Ioho too.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, with a final glance around the dark room. ‘If you want to take anything back to your room, please feel free. I know you’ll take care of it. This stuff has sat here since he died over fourteen years ago, and as I said, I’m sure he’d love the thought of you taking an interest. He was such a lovely man and you’d have got on well with him.’

‘What’s wrong, Leveret? You’re looking peaky,’ said Maizie, her gaze flicking around the circular room at the top of the tower.

Leveret shrugged, feeding fresh salad leaves to Hare who sat contentedly across her lap.

‘I don’t know . . . something doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve tried everything I know but it seems that I’m not to be shown what lies ahead.’

‘You look tired,’ said Maizie.

‘Yes, I’ve been sleeping badly, with horrible nightmares.’

‘Nothing worse than that for putting a body out of sorts,’ said Maizie, sitting herself down with a sigh. ‘Our Bluebell’s been having bad dreams too, waking up the whole household with her screaming every night.’

‘Poor little Blue – that must be hard with Ioho too.’

‘Aye, ’tis. She’s jumpy as a frog, blinking and fretting and chanting her alphabet all the time, which is plain rude, and she’s started bed-wetting too. I even caught her at the range the other day with the door wide open trying to set fire to something! She very near burned herself and she wouldn’t tell me what she were up to. I don’t know what’s got into the child lately. I told Sylvie it sometimes upsets the older ones
when
a new babe comes along, but I’m not sure ’tis that . . .’

‘Why doesn’t she come here and stay with me for a bit?’ suggested Leveret. ‘We can keep each other company and maybe she’ll tell me what’s bothering her.’

‘Violet, if you don’t stop this we’ll have to move you into a room even further away from everyone else,’ said Hazel firmly. ‘It’s got to stop.’

The stream of invective that poured from the crone’s mouth sickened her and she raised her eyebrows at the nurse standing by.

‘Where’s that maggot-spawn girl? Send her to me! I ain’t got my scrying bowl no more and I need to know what’s abroad!’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about, I’m afraid,’ said Hazel, glancing through the medical notes.

‘Did she find the toad-bag?’ screeched Violet. ‘Stupid bitch doctor – just answer me that! Old Heggy put ‘un round the cuckoo maiden’s neck to protect her and it burnt my hand – see? I still bear the marks to this very day and Heggy done that with her toad-bag!’

‘Really?’ said Hazel, nodding to the nurse preparing the syringe.

‘Aye, the Moongazy Maiden wore the toad-bag and it were from that whore Raven, all crammed with magical charms o’ protection! And it burnt me when I laid hands on her to cut out her tongue and I threw ‘un off. But then I couldn’t find it and all these years it’s lain up there, spoiling my taint, keeping my spell at bay! ’Tis a powerful talisman, that old bag o’ charms.’

She glared up at the nurse, who silently handed the syringe to the doctor. There was a little struggle as Hazel began to roll up her sleeve, revealing a stringy arm, the withered flesh hanging off in folds of crepe. Old Violet wriggled impatiently.

‘Just keep still, please,’ said Hazel soothingly.

‘You ain’t listening!’ cried the old woman. ‘Nobody listens to me no more and you’ll all rue the day you packed me away here! That child, the curly one with blue eyes, she’s a-doing my
bidding
right enough, afore the Black Moon.’ She stopped, an evil grimace spreading over her face. ‘And when the girl takes the toad-bag off the hill, Raven’s protection is gone, finished . . . my spoiling and my tainting will . . .’

Her eyelids fluttered and her chin slumped to her chest. A rattly snore escaped her toothless gums.

‘I think she’s deteriorating,’ said Hazel, handing back the empty syringe. ‘She’s talking complete nonsense now and she’s vicious with her tongue. We’ll up her medication a little – I don’t want her ranting and raving like this again. It’s really not fair on all the other old folk.’

‘Yes, Hazel,’ said the nurse. ‘Old Violet terrifies me – all of us – and I agree with you. She’s been getting much worse recently. We need to keep her nice and quiet for everyone’s sake.’

Sylvie sat in Maizie’s rocking chair day-dreaming, baby at her breast. She had the cottage to herself and was enjoying the brief spell of peace. Her gaze swept the familiar white-washed walls, the old oak floor-boards, the hearth with its besom tucked neatly into a corner. She was happy here, but earlier that morning as she and Yul lay in each other’s arms watching the sunlight creep into the bedroom, they’d discussed the future and whether or not to remain in the cottage. He’d mentioned the new building programme in the Village and had asked if she’d like him to build a home for the family.