Two Kinds Of Truth(47)

“I adore the wings,” I say. “What a fabulous idea.”

She links her arm in mine as we wander towards a stand selling homemade leather belts. There’s every colour imaginable, even multicoloured, like a rainbow. Jamie and Gordon trail behind as we browse each table in turn. There’s woven coloured bags and tee shirts, wooden coasters and pieces of bespoke jewellery.

“How much for the silver thistle brooch?” Rhona asks a vendor with the longest dreadlocks I’ve ever seen.

He lifts his thumb and forefinger to his chin and gives it a light tap as he appraises her.

“For you, sweet lady, fifty pounds.”

“I’ll give ye forty and not a penny more,” Rhona tells him, but then a young bohemian-looking girl, large yellow beads strapped across her forehead, steps out from behind the makeshift counter.

“You have a deal,” she says. “Forty’s fine,” and Rhona lets out a shriek of pure delight.

“I have the cash right here,” she says, pulling a wad of money from out of her bra. I try not to gasp and quickly close my mouth. Rhona tips me a wink. “I saw them last year but dinnae have enough money on me at the time.”

A man dressed like a druid comes up to me, a drinking horn in his hand.

“Here, have a drink,” he says. I shake my head and take a step back, but Jamie shoves money into his hand and takes the horn. He lifts it to his lips and throws back his head, takes a large swig and then offers it to me.

“It’s sweet wine. Try it; it’s guid,” he says, and hesitantly, I take the horn which is still brimming with a pale golden liquid. I sip it, to find it’s tasty, but it goes straight to my head. I giggle and pass it to Rhona. The druid then wipes my wrist with a fluorescent pen.

“It means ye can drink from any watering horn,” Jamie explains, reading my confused expression.

“Is that safe?” I ask with a frown. “I mean, you’ve heard of people spiking drinks.”

“They won’t, not if they want to enjoy midsummer here,” and Jamie gives me a knowing smile.

“Oh, yes. I hadn’t thought of that.”

I can hear more drumming, and the noise of the wind in the trees is now pumping through my bloodstream, along with the wine. Older children shriek as they jump between the tents and tables, playing hide and seek. Younger children sit at camping tables, learning how to make wands, or cute animal ornaments out of salt dough.

A delicious aroma sweeps along on the air and my stomach rumbles.

“I’m starved. Shall we go grab something to eat?”

“I thought you’d ne’er ask,” says Gordon, and he points to where a thin-faced man wearing thick black eyeliner is busy cooking curried lamb. As we approach, the meat sizzles loudly inside a ginormous frying pan. The aromatic smell of caramelised onions mixed with curry paste tantalises my taste buds. My mouth waters as the man offers me a plate of marinated lamb. Hungry, I devour the delicious curry within a matter of minutes, and as I’m wiping my mouth with a cheap serviette, I hear the tinkle of a bell.

“It’s time to go and listen to the shaman,” I say, excitedly.

“Not for us,” Rhona replies, throwing her empty paper plate into the nearest bin. “We’re off to join the Magik workshop. It’s all about the power of the mind.”

“Enjoy,” I say, “and we’ll catch up with you both later.”

“In ‘We’, does that mean I have to go, too,” Jamie groans.

“Yes, if you don’t mind,” I say. “It’s fascinating how someone has access to, and influence in, the world of good and evil spirits.”

I link his arm with mine and drag him to where a woman is shaking a pair of maracas and chanting. She sits, crossed-legged, on the ground, an older lady dressed in a black robe in attendance, who, as we approach, beckons us to join her. She greets us by offering us a small brown carrier bag, but I can’t help but stare at her: she has a distinct resemblance to Professor McGonagall from Harry Potter.

“Inside the bag, you’ll find essential items needed for casting a circle,” she explains. “There’s no charge, but a donation to the local donkey sanctuary would be much appreciated.” I nod as she ushers us forward. I take a peek inside the bag to find there’s a carton of salt, four tealights, a stick of incense, and a small bottle of water. There’s also a clear, see-through bag filled with dirt and a piece of card on which is printed a ritual.

I point to a vacant spot close to the shaman and we both go and sit beside her.

“Good afternoon and welcome,” she says to those gathered around her, placing the musical instruments down by her feet. “I’m pleased to see you all here today, and I thought I would start the workshop by teaching you how to cast a circle. Now, before we begin, may I say that you don’t have to be in a group to create a circle, and in the future, you may wish to do this on your own.”

Tiny pinpricks of excitement stab the back of my neck and I’m pleased there’s only eight of us in the entire group. The shaman gestures for us to rise.

“The purpose of casting a circle is to create a barrier between you and the rest of the world. Inside the circle, you can raise your energies and protect yourself from negativity or any harmful entities.

“Now I’m going to show everyone how to cast their own circle. You can do it in pairs if you wish, and I will attend each circle in turn and help you with your ritual.”