Magus of Stonewylde Book One (8 page)

‘But isn’t that terribly elitist? You have television at the Hall,
after all. Is it fair to deny the Villagers something which is such a crucial part of our culture? Shouldn’t they at least have the choice?’

Magus smiled as he sipped the coffee, his eyes appraising her in a way that made her feel like a schoolgirl again. She remembered that they were alone in the cottage, and found the coffee cup trembling slightly in her hand.

‘You’re very refreshing, Miranda,’ he said. ‘I’m not used to being challenged by anyone at Stonewylde. The point is that television may be crucial to your culture, or indeed, Outside World culture, but it’s irrelevant at Stonewylde. I explained the day you arrived that we’ve had to cut ourselves off in order to preserve our community. Television, radio, film, newspapers – they’re all modern media that have no place here. It would be an invasion, a threat, to bring such things into the Village. Can you imagine what it would do to our way of life?’

‘No, of course I can see that modern media wouldn’t fit in here,’ she said. ‘I can honestly say I haven’t missed any of it since we arrived. But I just thought the people in the Village should have a choice.’

‘It wouldn’t work. Simply by giving them access to the contemporary world with its rampant consumerism, we’d shatter the simplicity and harmony of their lives irrevocably.’

‘I suppose …’

‘You don’t know how our society works here, Miranda. The Villagers live the lives of their mediaeval ancestors, but without the negative aspects like disease, hunger and exploitation. They’re in touch with the natural world in a way that’s virtually unheard of nowadays in western civilization. They’re productive and creative, and not materialistic or avaricious in any sense. Television – and all the other stuff – would destroy that.’

‘Yes, I can see what you mean, but what about the Hallfolk? It doesn’t really seem fair. They visit the Outside World you said, and there’s television and the Internet at the Hall. They have a choice.’

‘Yes, they do, and many of them choose to leave Stonewylde
for good. They hanker for the modern world and find it stifling and slow here. Likewise, many leave, then become disillusioned and want to come back again. And most of them flit between the two worlds, spending time in both. But they’re educated differently to the Villagers. They’re taught to analyse and make informed decisions.’

‘But is that right? Surely the Villagers should also be taught to analyse and make decisions.’

‘It’s a matter of intelligence. We’re a closed community and our gene pool is relatively small. The Villagers are practical, hardworking and physical, and they’re the lifeblood of the community. But they’re not generally intelligent in the cerebral sense. They accept their position in Stonewylde society because they don’t question anything and don’t want the responsibilities they know the Hallfolk’s lifestyles bring.’

‘But surely there must be some intelligent Villagers? You make them sound like a bunch of half-witted peasants!’

Magus threw back his head and roared with laughter at this. He rose from the armchair and stretched, smiling down at her, his dark eyes dancing with amusement.

‘I’m so pleased you’ve come to Stonewylde, Miranda. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. I think your arrival will shake us all up a bit.’

She felt herself going pink at this, watching him covertly as he moved over to the window to observe the boy in the back garden.

‘How’s Yul been doing? Turned up every evening, I trust? Working hard?’

‘Yes, very hard indeed. He even carried on when it was pouring with rain.’

‘And so he should. Rain never hurt anyone. And neither did hard labour.’

‘May we offer him a drink or something to eat? He’s quite thin and Sylvie and I feel a little sorry for him.’

Magus turned to her, his eyes hard, and Miranda felt a prickle of shock.

‘Absolutely not! He’s not thin, just fit and wiry. And he’s here as a punishment, not to be fed and watered. If I think you’re molly-coddling him then I’ll find him something far more unpleasant to do. As it is I’m beginning to think I’ve let him off too lightly.’

Miranda stood up and joined Magus at the window, peering out at the boy in the garden. Sweat ran down his grimy face as he put all his energy into digging the heavy soil. He straightened, his back obviously aching, and pushed the damp hair from his eyes leaving a great streak of mud across his face. Then he glanced across at the window and saw the two adults watching him. With almost ludicrous alacrity he took up the spade and set to again. Magus smiled and sat down, accepting another cup of coffee.

‘It’s all a question of multiple intelligences, to return to your question. Many of the Villagers are very creative and have great physical and motor intelligence. Not so many are academically gifted. That’s why we gear their Village School and curriculum to their needs. But we regularly screen every child. If any Villager shows real potential they’re moved up to the Hall School, and eventually will live there and become one of the Hallfolk.’

‘Well that sounds a little fairer,’ said Miranda. ‘I’m not criticising but I really hate to see anyone kept down because of a social thing. I saw too much of that in London – kids never standing a chance in life because they were born in the wrong place. Stonewylde does seem very feudal. You know: the lord of the manor and his privileged family living in luxury while the unwashed villeins do all the hard labour. But I can see perhaps it’s not quite as simple as that.’

Magus sighed impatiently.

‘No it’s not, and as you settle in you’ll see the logic and fairness of life in the community. Believe me, Miranda, the Villagers lead very full and happy lives. They’re certainly not exploited, which is what you’re implying.’

‘No, I’m—’

‘You’re mistakenly equating hard physical work with a poor, unfulfilled life. But it’s not like that! I sometimes wish my life was as rich and uncomplicated as the Villagers’.’

He stood up again, brimming with a restless energy that prevented him from relaxing for any length of time. Miranda could almost feel the crackle in the air around him.

‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,’ she said hastily. ‘I realise it’s not my place to start questioning the social structure here.’

‘You haven’t offended me,’ he said. ‘You just don’t understand yet. I realise that to an Outsider, Stonewylde must seem archaic and maybe even cruel. In time you’ll see just what a perfect society we have here.’

She nodded, hoping he wasn’t irritated. She didn’t wish to antagonise him with misplaced criticism. His warmth and approval were like sunshine and she wanted to bask in it without any dark clouds of displeasure threatening to overshadow her.

‘So what time should we come to the Village tonight, for the storytelling?’

‘Come at dusk, and don’t eat beforehand because there’ll be food and drink in the Great Barn.’

‘Do we need to bring any money?’

He chuckled at this.

‘Miranda, haven’t you realised yet? We don’t use money at Stonewylde.’

‘Really? No I hadn’t realised! How extraordinary!’

‘You have so much to learn about our lifestyle. You must remember that before you pass any judgements. But we’ve all the time in the world for you to get to know our ways and become one of us. And I really must go now. Come to the Village at sunset. You’re in for a treat tonight, I promise.’

‘Who’s the storyteller? Someone famous?’

‘He is, actually. He’s a bit of a nomad, our Clip, and he’s just got back from Australia. You can meet him properly tomorrow up at the Hall if you wish.’

‘So he’s one of the Hallfolk?’

‘Oh yes, I should say so. He’s my half-brother!’

The late March afternoon wore on slowly, showers and sunshine chasing each other in the cool breeze as Yul continued clearing the overgrown garden. He’d stopped at mid-day to eat his bread and cheese, but now felt quite faint with hunger. The light was fading and soon he’d be able to stop. He was desperate to leave and get back to the Village for the Story Web in the Great Barn tonight.

As he arrived in the Village he realised how late it was. The main cobbled street and Village Green were deserted which meant everyone must be in the Barn already. Picking up clean clothes from his cottage, he hurried to the bath house. The doors were shut and the place empty. Yul lit a lantern and looked around. All the bath cubicles were vacant, as was the communal shower room. Piles of rough, clean towels were stacked neatly by the entrance. Yul heard the boilers heating the water, partly fuelled by the solar panels on the roof and partly by the wood-burning stoves. With nobody else around, the water would be piping hot for once.

Half an hour later a very different boy emerged, scrubbed and glowing, hair glossy and fingernails clean. He left his muddy work-clothes bundled up outside the doors to collect later and hurried along to the Great Barn. He could hear nothing for the doors were shut, but guessed that Clip would be in the middle of his preamble to the first story. He slipped in one of the small side doors and was hit by a wall of warm air and the smell of many people gathered together. The Great Barn was transformed into a theatre in the round, with tiers of wooden benches encircling a central stage. The entire Village community was seated on the benches, all focused on the man who stood in the centre.

Clip was dressed in sky-blue robes decorated with silver stars and strange symbols. His hair was pale blond like Magus’, but he wore it much longer, hanging to his shoulders in wispy strands. He was tall too, but not so powerfully built. His eyes were deep and penetrating and his face lined, from hard living rather than
old age. He shared Magus’ magnetism and the audience was spellbound. He was in the middle of a story, his soft voice filling the Barn, long arms moving gracefully to emphasise a point. A small fire flickered on the stage, the smoke rising to find an opening concealed in the roof. The firelight etched lines and hollows in his face, for the Barn was only dimly lit. The air was aromatic and tense with anticipation.

Yul wriggled down a narrow aisle between two tiers of benches and crept onto a seat at the front. The firelight lit him too, making his loose white shirt and the clear whites of his eyes gleam in the shadowy light. His glowing skin and hair were burnished by the flickering of the flames, and Sylvie stared hard at this person who’d just appeared. She and Miranda were sitting opposite him, near the front with a small group of Hallfolk. Sylvie couldn’t decide if this attractive boy was actually Yul, whom she’d left filthy and exhausted in her back garden amongst the weeds and mud only an hour ago. It looked like him and yet the transformation was astounding.

Clip wove the story in and out, around and around, encircling the audience and catching them in his threads until he had them trapped and waiting for the finale. The fire suddenly flared into brilliant blue flames as he ended with a flourish. People roared their appreciation and the applause was thunderous. They were invited to have a break for food and drink. Yul slipped away as soon as the story finished and ravenously helped himself to food. He saw his mother and waved; she smiled her approval at his clean and presentable appearance. He also noticed Alwyn over by the bar swallowing down a tankard of cider as fast as he could, dribbles of the liquid running off his chin into his collar. He finished the drink and immediately held out the tankard to be refilled from one of the barrels. He looked up and caught Yul watching him; his face darkened instantly. Yul quickly broke eye contact and melted away into the shadows. He thought it best to go outside for a while to avoid his father.

It was cool and fresh and the stars glittered above. A fat,
gibbous moon hung over the trees. Yul felt content; clean and full of food at last, with the prospect of another story to come. He leant against the stone wall of the Barn and breathed deeply, his tired muscles relaxing.

‘Don’t you agree, Clip, the likeness is uncanny? It could almost be her.’

Yul jumped at the sound of Magus’ voice coming from the other side of a stone buttress.

‘You’re right. Just like that photo in the archive room, the one in the silver frame. She’s almost identical.’

‘I tell you, the day she walked into my office in London I went cold. Hazel had said she looked like Hallfolk but I’d no idea … The face, the hair, the eyes – everything’s exactly the same. I’m only going from the photo, of course, but you remember her better.’

‘Not that much. I was very young myself when she died and we didn’t see her often even when she was here, did we? Where did you find this girl?’

‘Living in some wretched tower block in London. She’s been seriously ill but the Earth Magic has started to heal her and she’s a great deal better already. Hazel came across her by pure chance at the hospital where she’s working.’

‘But we know nothing ever happens by pure chance, don’t we? There’s obviously a purpose, a reason for her coming here. It’s just too much of a coincidence, that extraordinary likeness. Doubtless all will be revealed when the time is right. How old is she?’

‘Fourteen, coming up to fifteen at the Summer Solstice, would you believe? Definitely one of us! And there’s something else about her … I can’t quite put my finger on it. She’s got a certain quality … Anyway, we need to get back inside. Are you ready?’

‘Give me a moment to finish this divine cake. Nothing else compares with Violet’s special cakes. Make sure you keep me supplied with regular batches next time I’m away.’