Shadows at Stonewylde (52 page)

Afraid for Magpie and glad of the excuse to get away from the stifling excitement and high-pitched anticipation in the Barn, Leveret pulled on her cloak and ran as fast as she could up to the Stone Circle. Poor Magpie – she’d not seen him all week as she’d been so busy, but she’d meant to go and see his paintings and tell him how proud she was of him. She felt terrible for neglecting him and now worried that he’d messed up his chance to be useful in the community. She met Merewen halfway up the Long Walk, puffed out from running most of the way and trying to ignore her stomach and back which hurt badly with every lungful of air she took. Merewen was stomping towards her, cloak billowing out behind her.

‘Ah, Leveret – good! They say you’re the only one he listens to. Come and see if you can talk some sense into the boy.’

‘Has he really messed it up?’ she gasped, in agony now from the great breaths she gulped in. It had been a mistake to run so fast with her injuries.

‘No, no, the boy’s brilliant – perhaps the best artist Stonewylde’s had. Love his style – completely natural. ‘Tis not that. He’s got confused and thinks it’s the Equinox and he’s painted the wrong symbol, right behind the bloody Altar Stone too so everyone’ll see it. He won’t let us clean it off, though, and he’s yowling and guarding it with his body. We don’t want to manhandle the boy – see if you can talk some sense into him, will you?’

When they entered the Circle, Leveret saw a whole group of people gathered around the great stone. As she drew closer she saw Magpie in his painter’s smock facing them all, arms outstretched to shield his painting and screeching in panic.

‘Come on, lad,’ growled Greenbough. ‘Stop making that noise and let us clean it off. Nobody’s angry with you, ‘tis just the wrong picture for Imbolc.’

Leveret pushed her way through the people crowding around him. When Magpie saw her his face crumpled with relief and he flung his arms around her, sobbing into her cloak. She patted his back gently and made soothing noises.

‘Stand back, folk!’ called Merewen. ‘Let Leveret talk to him. You’re all making it worse crowding in on him like this.’

Leveret pulled Magpie gently off her shoulder and wiped his tears with her sleeve.

‘It’s alright, Maggie,’ she said softly. ‘Levvy’s here now and it’s alright. Show me this painting then. Did you get muddled up with the Spring Equinox? Show me.’

He pulled away from the stone and let her see his painting. There was the pattern of snowdrops along the top, interwoven in the design they’d all agreed on. Under this there was an enormous flame outlined in gold and blue and taking up most of the stone, and within that a great bulb of rich brown. The scale was huge as this stone was the largest one in the Circle, and the ladder and paint pots stood nearby. Inside the bulb Magpie had painted a great silver crescent moon, the symbol of Imbolc. This much was perfect and all as it should be; exquisitely done and entirely right for Imbolc.

But instead of the usual single arrow pointing slightly upwards, he’d painted a golden-brown hare leaping across the crescent. It was beautiful, a perfect hare, lithe and long. On its head it wore a tiny silver crescent and it had bright green eyes. Magpie looked at her face anxiously and then beamed when he saw the understanding light up her eyes. Leveret turned to the watching crowd all staring in consternation, and smiled at them.

‘He wasn’t muddled at all!’ she cried. ‘It’s not the Equinox hare. Magpie’s painted the Maiden of Imbolc. The hare is me!’

For a moment there was a stunned silence and then Merewen roared with laughter and began to clap.

‘Well done, Magpie! What a splendid idea! A hare to represent Leveret the Maiden. Why didn’t I see it? ‘Tis obvious now.’

Everyone started talking at once and in the buzz of excitement, Leveret turned back to Magpie and hugged him.

‘You’re a dear friend to me,’ she said quietly, ‘and I love you, Maggie. What a lovely thing to paint for me. Thank you!’

He hugged her back and then took her hand, looking into her eyes. She felt his joy and exhilaration and images started to flow. He was painting the snowdrops. He’d seen snowdrops in the woods all around. He was thinking of the flame and how he’d looked carefully at a candle flame to see the exact shape and the right colours. He’d examined a bulb and peeled it apart. He’d remembered the crescent moon of only a couple of nights ago, and she could see it through him, the bright silver bow glowing in the night sky.

And then the hare. She saw his images of hares in the field, the leaping and dancing they loved to do, the joyous way they stretched their long hind legs and laid back their ears. She saw the image of Magpie sketching rapidly onto the stone with charcoal, saw the hare growing on the stone, turning from a few black strokes into a creature so real and precise. She saw the paint going on quickly before anybody could notice and stop him because he knew they wouldn’t understand. She saw the tiny silver crescent being painted on its brow, and the eyes – not amber as they should be, but green. She saw an image, a memory of herself smiling, her green eyes glowing brightly. She saw all the inspiration and imagery that had built up his painting.

And then Leveret saw something else, his final message to her. He squeezed her hand hard now so she knew this was really important. She saw the face of a very old woman; an ancient face, whiskery and toothless, the nose hooked and a shapeless old hat on the almost bald head. She saw a pair of eyes, sunken and rheumy but peering out intently. She went cold and a shiver chased down her backbone.

‘That’s Mother Heggy?’ she whispered. ‘You saw Mother Heggy?’

He nodded frantically, almost crying with relief that she understood. Then he opened his mouth and said clearly, ‘
Heggy
.’

O
n the morning of Imbolc Leveret awoke long before dawn. She lay silently in her bed and felt calm, accepting the role she’d been given and the honour she hadn’t sought. She was to be the Bright Maiden of Imbolc and had Mother Heggy’s blessing; by making contact through Magpie, the Wise Woman’s message was clear. At Old Heggy’s bidding, channelled through Magpie, Leveret’s image was depicted up in the Stone Circle for all to see. So now it was Leveret’s duty to accept the role of Maiden Huntress whether she wished it or not.

Deep inside she was terrified about the day ahead; the ordeal of standing up in front of the entire community, dancing and chanting, being the focus of everyone’s attention. It went against her nature but Leveret knew she must face it. She felt that Mother Heggy would be watching over her today and ensuring she did the whole thing properly. She wanted so much to make her mother proud and to prove wrong everyone who thought she was a bad choice. Kestrel would be delighted with her – and maybe she’d even manage to please her grim brother Yul.

She lay warm in bed and tried to contact Mother Heggy and her raven, but saw nothing apart from a brief flash of blue-black quills. So instead she imagined all the people who’d be up already in the darkness. The baker and his assistants would be making the special Imbolc bread, the sweet rolls in the shape of a crescent moon that everyone loved so much. Sylvie would probably be awake as she must be in the Circle for the dawn too and had her own robes to don and words to run through. Yul would be there also, as the magus, but his role was minimal today. Imbolc was a female ceremony, the only one where the women led and the men took a back seat.

In the Barn, women would soon be arriving to check all the maidens’ head-dresses and make sure the decorations were properly in place. The Barn had looked lovely yesterday when she finally left, with white candles everywhere and silver crescent moons and arrows hanging from the rafters. Edward and his helpers would be setting up the straw targets ready for the archery display on the Green, and the little dais where the Bright Maiden would sit and hand out trophies to the winners. Kestrel would be waking soon to don his costume as the Green Archer. He’d look gorgeous in the traditional green jerkin and leggings, brown boots and jaunty hat.

Leveret heard Maizie moving around in the room next to hers and knew this was the last peace and quiet she’d have today; once her mother was up and about the busy day would begin in earnest. Then she remembered her brothers and Jay and a black doubt crept into her heart. She knew they were plotting something; they’d hinted at it enough times. It was bad enough knowing they’d be laughing and jeering in the crowd as she performed the dances and sang the songs, without worrying about what else they had in store for her. They’d ridiculed her ever since she was tiny and taking part in her first ceremonies. They were why she now dreaded being the Maiden. They’d always spoiled everything and she felt a sudden rush of anger at the way they’d blighted her life. What a different person she’d be today if they’d treated her kindly, or at least as most brothers treat their little sisters. Leveret wondered yet again what they’d planned for her today that filled them with such glee, and shuddered at the thought.

Last night they’d called round to ‘wish her luck’. Fortunately Jay hadn’t been with them, although Maizie probably wouldn’t have let him in the house anyway. They’d sat in the armchairs by the fire sniggering to each other while Maizie bustled in the kitchen, a delicious smell of baking wafting into the sitting room.

‘Come and sit down, Mother!’ called Sweyn. ‘You work too hard.’

‘I will in a minute, Sweyn love,’ Maizie had replied. ‘I’m just doing Leveret’s breakfast for the morning. She’ll have such a long day and she’ll need to keep her strength up.’

Their mother had always done this on festival days – knowing it would be a rush and there’d be no time to cook a normal breakfast she laid out their breakfast the night before. She usually baked little cakes and left two on each person’s plate under a cloth, with a mug ready for milk. It was one of the kind things she always did, one of the many things that made her a special mother and earned their love, even from boys like Sweyn and Gefrin.

Finally she’d come to sit down, bringing a big plate of extra cakes with her. She still baked enough for seven children even though there was only one left at home. The boys loved their mother’s baking and had tucked in ravenously, devouring the delicious little cakes in no time. When Sweyn had gone through the kitchen to use the privy in the back garden, Maizie had called out jokingly to keep his hands off Leveret’s breakfast lying under the cloth on the dresser. On more than one occasion in the past he’d eaten her cakes as well as his own, before she got the chance.

‘I wish you boys were taking part in the archery display,’ she’d said as they sat round the fire together.

‘Don’t like archery, Mother,’ mumbled Gefrin through a mouthful of cake.

‘I know, your father didn’t neither, nor Geoffrey and Gregory,’ she’d said. ‘Yul’s always loved it though.’

There was a silence at this. The fact that Yul had a different father had always been a sore point. Sweyn and Gefrin couldn’t stand the idea of a young and pretty Maizie catching Magus’ eye and being pregnant before she married their father. The mood in the cottage darkened and eventually Maizie had shooed them out, saying she and Leveret must be awake very early in the morning and needed their sleep. They’d stood up, grinning at their sister as Maizie went into the kitchen to stoke up the range for the night.

‘We’re so looking forward to your big day tomorrow,’ said Gefrin, his narrow face alive with mirth. ‘We’ll be there looking out for you as always.’

Sweyn had come over to her chair and she’d shrunk up trying to avoid any contact with him, scared he’d hurt her again. But he’d bent and ruffled her hair in a travesty of affection.

‘How’s the stomach, Hare-brain?’ he asked softly. ‘Still painful?’

She’d glared at him, despising him with all her heart.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Lev – it just makes me want to punch you again. Oh, I have a message for you from Jay. He said to remind you what an ugly little bitch you are and how he’ll laugh when he sees you dolled up in your stupid clothes tomorrow. And so will we – everyone will laugh, especially when you make a fool of yourself, as we know you will.’

‘Why are you always like this? Why can’t you …’

Maizie had come back in then.

‘Haven’t you boys gone yet?’

‘Just wishing Leveret good luck for tomorrow, Mother. We can’t wait to see her all dressed up.’

‘Oh, you’ll be amazed!’ beamed Maizie happily, kissing both boys soundly on their cheeks. ‘She looks so lovely in the Imbolc clothes and you’ll be really proud of her.’

‘We can’t wait, Mother.’

Then they’d gone, Sweyn making a flick gesture at Leveret behind their mother’s back. And that, Leveret had thought with a flash of insight, was the real problem. Maizie saw what she wanted to see and no more; it was no reflection on her kindness and love, it was just how she dealt with life. She’d eliminated all the bad things that had made her so unhappy in the past by focusing resolutely on the good things, such as family unity. Leveret couldn’t be the one to make her face the reality of Alwyn’s legacy to his two youngest sons. She couldn’t and wouldn’t break her mother’s heart by revealing their predisposition to cruelty and bullying that bolstered itself up by victimising the weak.

Leveret got out of bed as Maizie came in with a jug of hot water.

‘Ah, you’re awake my little Maiden. Bright blessings for Imbolc! Come here and let me kiss you.’