My name is Duncane Lyfelde. My tale begins in December, in the year of Our Lord 1641. It was still early winter with no snow on the ground. I took my flock over Andras Hill two days ago to graze before the winter storms would cover the last of the grass.

Cold it was, but the sun was shining, the sheep were content, and I’d seen no sign of wolves. All was right with the world and my mind slipped off to think about Hannah, of the downcast eyes and sideways smile. Her father being a fisherman, would he allow her to cross the line twixt farm and fish? The village is small. Its not like I’d be taking her away.

I pull out my pipe and play a little tune for the sheep. In this dell it echoes well, and you can get a little call and response, though that is wasted on the sheep. Suddenly, a whisper joins the melody. The sheep look up as a shadow crosses the sun and I see the clouds begin to build to the west. Dark and heavy with snow, well before I expected it.

Time for home. I whistle, and Fire and Frost perk up. Another whistle and they are up and racing out to bring the sheep together. Good boys, the best a shepherd could hope for.

The first flakes started falling as we finally got the sheep turned towards home. We just get over the fourth crest and start down when the snow decides to declare war on all below. We’re not going to make the third crest> My stomach twists as the Standing Stones start to loom out of the driving white flakes. We’re a little north of the normal path. Even Frost and Fire won’t be able to keep the sheep together in the storm if we keep going. I tell myself the pagan gods are dead and we can shelter in the shadow of the Stones for the night without fear.

A final whistle, almost leaden in the quiet snow, and Fire and Frost turn the flock towards the Stones. Dumb animals, they never heard the stories of the past. Pagans sacrificing babies to their false gods. The stories we told each other when we were young of the ghosts that haunted the Stones. 9 or 10 fee tall they were, and though we sometimes dared each other, none of us as children tried to climb them. We could use their bulk as windbreaks and start again in the morning, after the storm had passed. I chose one stone and let the sheep choose their own. As I sat down, back against the stone, Fire and Frost lay down and pressed close beside me. At the rate the snow continued to fall, we’d all be buried by morning.

Even if I tell myself there are no such things as ghosts, I can feel myself praying that I don’t die tonight. If I die, I’m not sure the Vicar would allow me to be buried in the churchyard. I think of Hannah, and how it would feel to be in her arms. To hold and be held. The warmth of her body next to mine. The …

“Hello”

The word came with no sound. Just in my mind. From everywhere in my mind. Not loud, but very careful, like one talking to a lost child lest the speaker scare the child.

I looked left and right, but could see no one. I scrambled to my feet, away from the stone, startling Frost and Fire, and they sniffed the air. Sheep looked around, trying to decide whether to flee into the dark.

“Don’t be frightened”

Again, the words seemed to sound in my mind, bypassing my ears. This time I tried to control my breath. If this wasn’t a ghost or demon, I couldn’t afford to lose the sheep.

“Who’s there?” I choked out.

“You may call me ’Anthracyda’. I can hear your thoughts, you don’t need to say them out loud.”

“Are you a ghost or demon?” I tried to say it inside my head. Not all of my trembling was because of the cold, but I also didn’t want to offend.

“I am what I am. You might call me the god of Andras Hill. The hill, not your village. Or just call me a hillside spirit.”

“There is only one God! The God of all.”

“If you say so. Have you spoken?”

“I pray every day, he will protect me.”

“Did he respond? Protect you against what? The cold?”

“Yes, against the cold.”

“Why do you say ’he’?”

“He is our father.”

“How can he be a father without a mother?”

“What?”

“Your creator God. How can you have a father without a mother? You’re a shepherd. You do understand how babies and lambs are made? You need two parents.”

“What?” I’m now cold and confused rather than scared. I’ve never heard tales of ghosts or demons that talked like this. Suddenly, Frost and Fire stand up and start circling the sheep. The sheep in turn stumble to their feet and crowd together, passing into the center of the stone circle, and then lie down again. When did the snow in the circle disappear?

“You can’t take my sheep!” I cry at the stones. Are they going to be sacrificed and eaten right in front of me?

“I’m not taking ’your’ sheep. I’ve made it warmer inside the circle and they, at least, have the sense to move toward the warmth. If you want to stand outside and freeze to death, be my guest.”

“Are you Fae?”

A chuckle sounded inside my head. “No. You will not be trapped within the circle and I will not offer food and drink that you mustn’t eat. You can return to your village in the morning and only the night will have passed. Those stories aren’t real.”

I looked at Fire and Frost. They were now inside the circle of stones and settling down on the grass. The light was failing. I decided to trust their instincts and stepped past a standing stone. It was warmer here. The grass was even dry. How? Why?

“You may sleep in safety.”

I wrapped my coat around me and laid my head against Frost’s side.

Frost awakened me, heaving himself up and stretching in the morning light. I sat up and looked around. The sheep were starting to stand. As far as I could tell, they were all here. Outside the stone circle, the snow was a foot deep, two feet deep in places where the wind blew. Inside the circle, just dry grass except where the center stone sat buried. It would be tiring to get home through the snow, but was certainly possible.

“So, little shepherd, will you tell a tale about the haunted stones that protected you from the blizzard or was this all a dream?” The voice appeared in my head, both curious and amused.

“Have you dealt with humans before?”

“Yes. Long ago as you count, but a short time as I count, there was a farming village near where yours is now. They would dance around the stones in the spring and at harvest. They sang and thanked me for good harvests, whether I had anything to do with it or not. New parents would introduce their children and the children would introduce their puppies. Lovers would ask for blessings and the elderly for a quiet passage.”

“Then your people came and killed them all in the name of a loving god. That was just an excuse of course, but no one ever thinks of themselves as the villain of their own story. It has been awhile since I talked to anyone other than the birds, trees and animals.”

“T’would be safer to think it a dream, but I owe you thanks, for my life and my flock.”

“Return then in the spring and play me some tunes on your pipe. I will count that as recompense.”

I nodded and whistled to Fire and Frost to start the sheep toward home.

Next - Hannah’s Tale

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