‘What are they?’ Joanna asked in a hushed voice.
‘Outworlders call them the Rollright Stones,’ Cailleach replied. ‘They’re frightened of them — they won’t come here.’
‘Why should they be frightened?’
‘Because they sense what we sense but they don’t understand it. They make up tales to explain the stones — they say they’re soldiers of some old king’s army turned to stone by a witch, and they say that nobody can count them and get the same result twice. They even say the stones go down to the stream by night to drink.’
‘And how do you — how do we view the stones?’
Cailleach turned to look at her. ‘This your first Great Festival?’ Joanna nodded. ‘Then I won’t spoil the surprise,’ she said kindly. ‘Wait and see!’
The feast of Imbolc, the celebration that honoured the first stirrings of new life, was held a few days later, as January gave way to February. Joanna sat feeding Meggie early in the morning of the festival, calling to mind all that she knew about it. ‘The ground may still seem as hard as rock and all of the Great Mother’s creation still fast asleep beneath it,’ Lora had told her, ‘but the first signs are there, for those with the eyes to see. The ewes are in lamb, see, and their milk’s coming in. That’s the signal. That tells us that all’s well, that the Light’s coming back and bringing renewed life with it. The Goddess has borne the Star Child and he’s growing strongly. She doesn’t have to worry over him, so she’s got a little time on her hands away from child rearing to look around her and enjoy herself. It’s especially for mothers, Imbolc,’ she stressed, ‘that’s why it’s important that you’re there. It’s a time of initiation.’
‘Initiation,’ Joanna said softly to herself now as Meggie, alert dark eyes looking all around at the unfamiliar crowds of people, let her mother’s nipple slip from her mouth. ‘This night will be my initiation.’
Then Meggie burped loudly and Joanna, smiling, found herself abruptly brought back to Earth.
Nothing could have prepared her for what happened that night.
The babies and children were settled and two of the older women were left to watch over them; they would be relieved after a time and others would take their place. ‘Not you,’ Joanna had been told when she had offered to share in the duty. She had felt a faint shiver of apprehension.
She was taken out of the encampment and led away, apart from the other young mothers, to a place deep in the pine trees where someone — a man, she had no idea who he was — gave her a white robe. She was ordered to strip off her own robe, wash herself and then put on the white garment. A bowl of very cold water had been put out for her and, forcing herself to ignore the shivering protest of her naked flesh, she washed herself thoroughly. Then she dried herself on a linen towel and put on the white robe. It was simply made and hung down straight from the shoulders, flaring out generously towards the ground-brushing hem. The sleeves were long and deep. When she was dressed, the man wrapped a green sash over her right shoulder and tied it in an intricate knot on her left hip. He put a garland of ivy and evergreen leaves on her head and wrapped her in a cloak of some dark material.
Then he said, ‘Behind you is a bunch of the first flowers. Pick them up.’
She did so; they were snowdrops. She felt something hidden among the slim, delicate stalks of the flowers and, looking down, saw that it was a small beeswax candle, set inside an open-topped cone of some hard, transparent substance. It was a long time since she had held in her hands so costly an object as the candle. She bent to smell its sweet scent.
Then the man put a blindfold over her eyes. ‘You will be left alone here,’ he intoned. ‘You must find your way into the circle, where we shall be waiting for you. Do not set out from this place until you hear the hoot of the owl.’
Trembling, the sense of unreality growing rapidly, Joanna stood, blind, and waited. After what seemed a very long time, she heard the owl.
Holding the snowdrops in her left hand, she put her right hand up to hold the bear’s claw. As her fingers closed around it, she seemed to see his eyes. They were warm with love and she felt her fear begin to diminish. When she felt brave enough to put one foot in front of the other, she set out.
She had no idea in which direction the stone circle lay. There was a path by which she had arrived — should she get on to it, follow it back to the camp and make her way from there to the summit of the hill? But where was the path? And how, blindfolded as she was, would she find it?
Something that had just flashed through her mind seemed to call her attention back to it. She waited, stilling her thoughts. It returned: the summit of the hill.
Of course! The stone circle was at the top of the slope, so all she had to do was to walk uphill.
Still clutching the snowdrops, she put her right hand out in front of her face and tried a few steps, first one way, then another. One way led her straight into a bramble bush; the next went, she was almost sure, downhill. She tried again, and then again. She was just beginning to feel the unpleasant, unwelcome sense of her fear returning when she half-tripped on something, lurched forward and took three or four short, involuntary steps. They were enough for her to discover that she was climbing. Eagerly she started to go on up the hill, stepping tentatively at first — she met another bramble and felt the low branch of a pine tree whip her left cheek — but then, as the path appeared to open out, she began to go faster.
Because her eyes could not see, her other senses had sharpened. And, although she did not then appreciate it, Mag’s teachings and almost a year of learning the old ways had changed her subtly. The combined effect was that she knew, suddenly, that the stones were close; she could feel their power. Putting out her right hand, she extended the fingers. . and touched cold stone.
Which way now? They would all be out there watching, even if she could not yet sense them; she did not want to stumble about, perhaps in quite the wrong direction, and trip over her own feet. Although the impulse to hasten on was strong, she made herself stop. Standing quite still, she quietened her breathing and waited until her racing heartbeat had slowed down.
Then she listened. And, with her newly sensitive skin, felt. She thought: power from the stones there. . and there. So the line of the circle must run around just in front of me. The open space has to be right before me, and so the people must be standing over there. .
She strained to hear. Nothing. But then, as she tried harder, she seemed to sense a tension in the air as if a great crowd waited expectantly.
Yes. They’re there.
She stepped forward confidently into the stone circle.
Instantly, where there had been silence came noise. And, even through the cloth covering her eyes, she could vaguely see them, running and dancing, jumping for joy. Somebody behind her whipped off the blindfold and in the light of the waxing moon she saw the stones circling the summit of the hill, the protecting trees crowding around as if they, too, were eager to be a part of the celebration.
The circle itself was empty. But, as she had suspected, the people were gathered all around it, the majority of them on the far side. Seeing her standing there they began to cheer, smiling at her and calling out her name.
With tears streaming down her face, she smiled back at them. She could not think of any moment in her entire life when she had been quite so happy.
12
Then one of the oldest of the women stepped out of the shadows and walked towards her. She was holding a flaming torch in her hand. By its light, Joanna could see her face. The deep-set dark eyes held the wisdom of years, although the skin was smooth, like a young woman’s. The long hair was silver. The woman wore a dark robe over a gown that sometimes appeared white, sometimes silver. It looked almost as if it had been made out of moonlight.