Magus of Stonewylde Book One (7 page)

Yul stood alone in the centre of the Galleried Hall, not sure whether to sit on one of the settles or stay where he was. He looked up at the ceiling and saw many carved Green Men staring down at him. Their gaping mouths sprouted foliage as if in horror at his predicament. Magus kept him waiting for nearly an hour, during which time Yul became more and more distressed. His hands and face were dirty and his scruffy work clothes caked
with mud. He was thirsty from his labour and fear now parched his throat.

Finally he heard firm footsteps clipping along a stone corridor. He stood awkwardly, trying to stop his hands from trembling. Scared as he was, he was damned if he’d let Magus see it. He turned towards the approaching sound and raised his chin, shaking the curls from his eyes. Magus wore riding clothes; the high, polished boots and well-cut jodhpurs accentuating his height and almost regal bearing. He appeared under an archway and strode across the flagstones, flinging himself into a throne-like chair set on a dais against a wall. The chair arms were carved in the shape of wild boar, the wood dark with a patina of age. He sat back, crossed his long legs, and surveyed the tousled lad who came to stand before him, head slightly bowed.

‘Right then, boy. You know why you’re here.’

Yul looked up and met his eye squarely.

‘I don’t, sir.’

‘I’m not in the mood for any nonsense from you, Yul. I’m referring to the incident last night at the celebrations.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I wasn’t happy when Buzzard told me what happened.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Good. You’re not denying any of it, then?’

‘No, sir. But I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong.’

They looked at each other. Magus wondered if the boy was being deliberately insolent. Yul tried to match this hard-faced frightening man, who exuded such authority and power, with the one he’d watched just that morning in the woods comforting the young girl.

‘I’m referring to your behaviour with Holly, the disrespectful remarks you made to her about Buzzard and the way you insulted a group of Hallfolk adults and disobeyed their orders. You also acted irresponsibly by running off into the woods in the dark and attempting to start a fight. Do you deny any of this?’

Yul tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. His heart had started its angry pounding.

‘Well?’

‘No, not exactly, but—’

‘No buts. If those things are true then you’re guilty and will be punished.’

‘I did run into the woods, and—’

‘So you directly disobeyed Buzz and ran away when he told you to stop?’

‘Yes, but only because he said he’d beat me.’

Magus frowned down at the boy, irritated by the blaze of boldness in his grey eyes.

‘Hallfolk are not in the habit of brawling with Villagers,’ he said curtly. ‘I think you misunderstood.’

‘But—’

‘Did Buzzard actually strike you?’

‘No, but he knocked me down and sat on me. I couldn’t breathe.’

‘He told me he tackled you to stop you from running further into the woods. And as for sitting on you – that’s hardly violent behaviour, is it?’

Yul remembered the dead weight deliberately crushing his ribcage and the vicious thrust of a knee hard into his back.

‘It was meant to hurt.’

‘Oh come on, boy. Nobody ever got hurt by being sat on.’

‘And he forced me to eat dirt. I thought I was going to choke.’

Magus surveyed him coldly.

‘Hallfolk don’t make people eat dirt, Yul, as you well know. I think you’re twisting the facts to make yourself sound like the victim. You’ve broken several rules for which you’ll be punished.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Yul knew then that there’d be no justice. Magus had judged him guilty before even summoning him to the Hall. He should take Rosie’s advice of the night before and accept whatever punishment Magus chose. But he wanted to scream at the injustice
and felt humiliatingly close to crying. Magus watched the boy and felt a surge of power deep in his abdomen, similar to the primeval pleasure of reining in and subduing a spirited horse.

‘So, my boy, do you admit that you’re in the wrong and deserve to be punished accordingly?’

‘Yes, sir,’ whispered Yul, his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth.

‘Very wise. In that case, your punishment is as follows.’

He paused, noting how the boy was trying to mask his fear. He smiled slightly, prolonging the moment until Yul’s eyes locked into his in supplication.

‘In addition to your normal duties in the woods, you’ll report to Woodland Cottage every evening and all day Saturday and Sunday, where you’ll work until sunset. The new occupants are to be supplied with firewood and fresh water from the pump in the kitchen gardens. You’re also to clear and dig over their back garden ready for planting up. Do you understand?’

Yul nodded, unable even to croak an answer. As punishments went it wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t to lose his job or be whipped. Unless Magus made a point of telling him, his father needn’t know that he was helping the newcomers as a punishment. It would be heavy work and gruelling after a day’s labour, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The real sting came from the fact that he’d have no free time during daylight. Yul would lose his freedom just when spring was coaxing the beauty from the land. Magus’ dark eyes examined the dirty boy before him, noticing his struggle to keep his anger and tears under control.

‘I’ve chosen this particular punishment as a reminder. You’ll be serving two Hallfolk and that is the role of the Villager, a fact you seem to have forgotten. Never insult a member of the Hallfolk again, and never disobey an adult. Those are two of our most fundamental laws and you’ve broken them both. You will also, of course, apologise to Buzzard and his friends for your rudeness and disobedience. I’ll call them in now. You’re very lucky I’m not having you whipped as well, so bear that in mind in the future. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Magus smiled.

‘Good. It had better be a contrite and heart-felt apology, Yul, or else I may change my mind about the whipping.’

S
ylvie took Magus’ advice and walked in the woods every morning after breakfast. She loved the jubilation of birdsong, the profusion of pale yellow primroses and the tiny violets with their dark heart-shaped leaves. She felt so much better already; she was eating well, her breathing was easier and the eczema was healing miraculously fast. Every day as she reached the little clearing amongst the trees she stopped, remembering how Magus had laid hands on her and filled her with his healing energy. He had a true gift and she knew she’d always be indebted to him. She hadn’t told Miranda about the strange experience; her mother wouldn’t approve and probably wouldn’t believe it either.

Miranda had other things on her mind anyway, Sylvie thought wryly. She was convinced her mother fancied Magus. She’d noticed all the signs – the giggling, fussing over her appearance, the breathless comments. She found it hilarious to see her serious mother behaving like a teenager. When she’d asked Miranda outright she’d been firmly ticked off and told to stop being ridiculous, which only confirmed her suspicions. Sylvie could understand it though. Magus was very attractive and he’d appeared like a knight in shining armour at Miranda’s darkest hour. She just hoped her mother wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

Sylvie had visited the Hall now on a couple of occasions and had been overwhelmed by its grandeur and beauty. She
particularly loved the mediaeval and Tudor parts with their stone-flagged floors and dark panelling. There was a strange, magical atmosphere in these oldest wings of the Hall and Sylvie felt the history of the place seeping into her bones.

She also loved the massive Edwardian wing, which was used as the school. It had polished floors and large, well-proportioned rooms with French windows over-looking a long stone terrace and rolling lawns. It was a world away from the shabby comprehensive in London where she’d learnt to hate the education system. Sylvie had already been given her own computer with access to the network. The girls whom Magus had introduced to her were an attractive lot, many of them sharing the blond Hallfolk hair, although none as silvery as hers. She’d felt their curiosity but it wasn’t hostile, and they were full of vitality and exuberance. When she started coming up for lessons she hoped to make some friends. In the meantime she’d collected books from the library to keep herself busy during the long peaceful days spent in the cottage.

The Village boy had started work in their garden and was different to the Hallfolk boys she’d seen in the school wing. She knew he was being punished and that she mustn’t speak to him, but that made her more curious. On the first evening he’d arrived unannounced. They’d heard a noise outside and had seen him by the chopping block near the back door with an axe in his hand. She’d been fascinated by the long, almost black hair hanging in his eyes and the surly look on his hollowed face. There was an air of darkness and secrets about him which Sylvie found intriguing. He hadn’t smiled or looked them in the eye when Miranda opened the door to acknowledge his presence, but muttered something in a rather outlandish Dorset accent. He’d chopped a pile of logs efficiently and stacked them in a little shelter built onto the cottage. Then he’d started digging the garden, continuing until it grew dark. Sylvie had watched him surreptitiously from her bedroom window and felt a little sorry for him. There was something almost tragic about him, as if he carried a deep wound inside.
She wondered what he’d done to deserve the punishment.

He came again the next night and started digging straight away. His hands were filthy and Sylvie couldn’t understand how he got so dirty at school. His hair was wild; uncombed and curly and full of bits of twig and dead leaves. When he looked up she saw his eyes and was surprised at how attractive they were – a clear, deep grey and slightly slanted at the corners. He was handsome in a rough, dirty way she decided, and then felt annoyed with herself for even thinking such a thing. She was as bad as her mother.

Yul worked very hard that evening; it started to rain but he carried on. He had no coat, just a thin shirt, old trousers and the strange brown leather boots that Sylvie had seen other Villagers wear. When the rain grew heavier, Miranda opened the window and called out to him to go home if he liked. He didn’t even answer but shook his head, becoming soaked to the bone as the shirt clung to his lean frame. Sylvie hated to see anyone looking so wet and exhausted. She asked Miranda if they could give him something to drink but her mother was anxious not to go against Magus’ wishes.

Magus called in at Woodland Cottage one morning not long after, while Sylvie was out on her morning walk. It was Sunday, the day of leisure at Stonewylde. There was skittles in the pub, games for the children in the Great Barn and archery practice on the Village Green. Boys went up to the warrens armed with catapults and heavy sticks, for rabbits were plentiful and formed a staple part of the Villagers’ diet. On the playing fields by the river youngsters played the Stonewylde versions of hockey and rugby. In the Village School there was country dancing, with many practising the intricate Maypole dance for the next festival, whilst in the Nursery, musicians taught interested youngsters how to play a variety of instruments. Yul, however, turned up at Woodland Cottage.

Earlier he’d noticed Sylvie leave by the front gate heading for the woods. He’d seen her out walking on several occasions,
usually around the same time, and found reasons to be there himself. He always remained hidden, perfectly camouflaged in his rough clothes, but he liked to watch her as she wandered along the path. She gazed around and stopped frequently to examine flowers and plants, and often closed her eyes and just stood still, smiling slightly. Yul thought her beautiful, especially now her skin had lost most of its sore patches. Her silky hair was like a waterfall around her delicate face; her silvery eyes seemed far away and dreamy. When he saw her like this, alone in the woods, he felt a strange and almost painful sensation inside. He wanted to protect her, although from what he didn’t know. But he didn’t dare even show himself, let alone talk to her.

Yul was digging when he heard the front gate creak open. He looked up, thinking it was Sylvie returning, but saw through the windows of the sitting room that it was Magus. Luckily he was here and hard at work. He glanced again and saw the silhouette of Magus inside the sitting room. The great man came to stand by the window and watched for a moment. Yul nodded respectfully and put his back into the digging. Inside the cottage Magus sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs whilst Miranda made coffee.

‘I came to invite you and Sylvie down to the Village this evening. We have these wonderful storytelling events every so often and they’re great fun. I know you’ll both enjoy it tonight, even though it’s not really a Hallfolk thing.’

‘Storytelling? That does sound fun, and very traditional too,’ said Miranda warmly.

‘Well, the Villagers don’t have television or film, so this is something special for them. Everyone needs the power and magic of story in their lives. It’s a very basic human need.’

‘Oh yes, absolutely! But I hadn’t realised the Villagers don’t have television. Isn’t there an uproar?’

‘Not at all. You don’t miss what you’ve never had and, believe me, their lives are the better for it.’