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.’
23
On 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