Magus of Stonewylde Book One (9 page)

‘Clip, if I knew where you were, I would. But you disappear off the face of the Earth.’

‘Alright, I’m ready now. You’ll like the next story; it’s an Aborigine myth. Watch the staff carefully.’

‘Oh no,’ chuckled Magus. ‘I know when to look away. You won’t catch me out with your tricks. I know you far too well for that.’

Yul wove his way through the crowds to get back to his seat for the second half, still puzzling over the strange conversation he’d overheard. Suddenly he found himself face to face with Sylvie and Miranda, also trying to get to their seats.

‘It
is
you!’ gasped Sylvie, touching his sleeve.

He looked down at her upturned face. For the first time, Yul stared into her eyes, so beautiful and strange. She smiled and he felt blessed by her warmth. He smiled back, unable to tear his gaze from hers, his heart hammering unexpectedly.

‘Sylvie!’ hissed Miranda. ‘Come on!’

She yanked her daughter away and Yul stood perfectly still amongst the jostling crowd, shocked at the intensity of his emotions.

People were finding their seats; some, including Alwyn, still lingered by the bar and food tables. Clip stepped onto the central stage and there was instant hush. Those still standing quickly found their seats and everyone was still. He had exchanged his robes for a strange garment made from strips of every colour, iridescent and vivid and swirling about his spare frame. In his hand he held a long wooden staff. He began to move around the stage slowly, circling the fire, walking a spiral pattern that turned in and out of itself. He spun as he moved so the rainbow strips shimmered and fluttered about him. He started to hum, then softly chant. The people picked up the chant and joined him until the great building was filled with the sound. He began to move faster and the rainbow blurred. He was difficult to look at. Something strange was happening on the stage.

The chanting rose to a crescendo and there was a mighty green flash. A black bird appeared in the circle of the stage, wings flapping. It settled onto Clip’s shoulder and pecked at his hair.

‘Long, long ago there was … a raven!’ he intoned in his
musical voice. Many people gasped at this and there was a fidgeting and rustling along the benches. Yul noticed Magus frown, shaking his head slightly. Clip smiled and winked at him.

The story continued, weaving and weaving its strands; a tale of magical animals and birds, of the world being born and the power of the rainbow over the people. The story was told as darkness fell, and Clip held everyone spellbound as he danced around the stage, staff in hand, with the black bird – a jackdaw, not a raven – on his shoulder. Yul sensed that the story was heading towards its climax and felt a drowsy dreaminess creep over him. The air was sweet with the smell of herbs and spices burnt on the fire. The storyteller’s voice had dropped to a soft chant, almost an incantation. Yul dragged his eyes away from the swirling rainbow colours of Clip’s robes and looked at the firelit faces of the audience around the circle. All shared the same faraway, mesmerised look.

The hum started again and grew louder and louder. The storyteller’s voice told of the magical Rainbow Snake which wriggled and writhed into the world. As he whispered, every person in the Great Barn was completely silent, all leaning forward enraptured. Clip held his great staff horizontally across the palms of his hands. He circled the stage again, leaning out towards the audience as if offering the staff to them. Yul watched with fixed eyes and saw the staff begin to change colour. The bleached wood took on the hues of the rainbow, subtly at first, then deeper and brighter. When the staff came close to him, Yul’s eyes widened in amazement. He could’ve sworn it wriggled slightly.

‘See the snake! See the Rainbow Snake!’ chanted Clip, pacing the circumference of the stage, a sea of faces gaping at him open-mouthed. Yul felt his hand twitch involuntarily, reaching towards the rainbow-coloured stick which was now definitely moving. Clip noticed the boy’s movement. But rather than withdrawing the staff from reach so his sleight of hand would go unchallenged, he smiled. His deep eyes burned into the boy’s.

‘This boy sees! This boy sees the snake! Come, boy. Come and touch her.’

He beckoned to Yul, his eyes gleaming and mesmeric, his smile saturnine. Without thinking, Yul rose from the bench and stepped onto the stage, his hand still outstretched. Clip offered the snake to him and Yul touched it. His sharp gasp was audible throughout the Barn.

‘It’s real!’ he whispered.

‘Behold, the Rainbow Snake! Do you feel her scales?’

‘Yes!’

‘Do you feel her move?’

‘Yes!’

‘Now take the snake, boy. Take her in your hands.’

Yul held out his hands, palms outstretched, and Clip placed the writhing snake there. Yul felt the cool roughness of the scales, the pulsating life in the lithe body.

‘Hold her up to the skies! Raise her above your head!’

Yul lifted his arms high, the snake slightly drooping between his hands. Clip continued the story but Yul found he couldn’t concentrate; all his energy was focused on holding the great snake up to the roof. He heard Clip shout. With a cry the bird flew from his shoulder in a mad flapping. There was an enormous bang and a flash, this time a spectrum of colours, and the sharp smell of gunpowder. He felt the snake’s body go rigid. He looked up and realised he was holding a bleached wooden staff once again.

The crowd went wild, clapping, shouting and stamping feet. Yul slowly lowered his arms and passed the staff to Clip, who took it with a bow and smiled conspiratorially.

‘And a cheer for the boy who believed, and whose belief made the magic more powerful!’

Everyone clapped with renewed vigour and Yul returned to his seat, burning with embarrassment but also pride. He knew he’d been part of the enchantment that night.

The following night Sylvie lay in her bed listening to the eerie cries of an owl in the woods. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Story Web of the night before. She was convinced she’d
witnessed real magic. How else could the change have happened? There was no way the snake or the staff could have been concealed and switched – it just wasn’t possible. This had been a genuine transformation, true magic, rather than trickery. Yul’s amazement as he held the snake had clearly been genuine.

As she thought of Yul she felt a little thrill of excitement. He’d looked so handsome standing up on the stage and she sighed, remembering the dark curls falling into his eyes, his high cheekbones and chiselled jaw accentuated by the firelight. The moment when she’d bumped into him had been a revelation. Those slanting grey eyes had held hers for a long heartbeat. When he’d smiled at her it was like the sun blazing suddenly from behind a dark cloud. She’d only ever seen him sullen and miserable; this was a different boy. Her heart had leapt at the sheer energy and vitality behind that smile. Sylvie had admired his slim, straight body as he held the heavy snake above his head, and decided that he was far more interesting than any of the Hallfolk boys she’d seen.

But then she recalled sadly how he’d been this evening in the garden. She’d looked forward to his arrival all day. But he’d reverted to his old self, ignoring her as she stood in the window and keeping his head down as he thrust the spade into the earth with almost vicious dedication. It wasn’t until Sylvie had tapped on the window to wave, and he’d looked up like a startled rabbit, that she’d noticed the black eye. He looked away instantly but in the second before he hid behind his hair, she’d clearly seen it. His eyebrow was swollen and cut, the skin dark around his puffy eye. Sylvie had felt so disappointed. He’d probably been brawling in the street after the storytelling, which just confirmed what Magus had told them about him being a trouble-maker. It was difficult to equate the beautiful smiling boy of last night with the sullen wretch of this evening.

Putting her silly feelings of disenchantment aside, Sylvie closed her eyes and breathed in the night smells of the woods flowing in through her open window. The owl was still calling
outside, joined now by another. She smiled in the darkness, remembering the smells and sounds of night time in London. Traffic, sirens, shouting and screams, and the sour, filthy smell of the streets. But this was paradise. She’d never before felt so calm and at peace with her environment. Everything about Stonewylde was perfect.

Sylvie knew she was becoming more confident and today, at Magus’ invitation, she and Miranda had visited the Hall to meet the storyteller Clip. He was as bizarre in the daylight as he’d been the night before. Today he’d worn a purple robe and had smelt of incense, his pale hair falling to his shoulders, light grey eyes startling in such a tanned and lean face. He’d been very charming, fussing over them both and ushering them up to the strange round tower attached to the Hall where he lived when he was home.

They’d sat on old leather sofas while Clip made some exotic tea. His tower was like a magpie’s nest of treasures, and Sylvie and her mother stared around in bemusement at the curious objects that crowded every surface of the circular room. Clip explained that he travelled extensively and collected things wherever he went; stones, pieces of wood, native artefacts. He told them how he loved to roam the world, living simply off the land with the indigenous people and gathering stories and magic. He said if he stayed too long at Stonewylde, much as he loved it, he began to feel claustrophobic. He preferred the spartan life of the nomad to the luxuries of living at the Hall.

Sylvie had enjoyed talking to him and listening to some of his tales. He was other-worldly and eccentric, and she liked that. His grey eyes twinkled and he moved about the huge circular room restlessly, his long, thin limbs almost dancing with nervous energy as he showed them precious things and fed them snippets of information. Sylvie had felt at ease with him. He seemed kind; less overpowering than Magus whose presence could sometimes be almost too intense.

Miranda, however, had been less enthralled, suspicious of his strangeness and uncomfortable in his company. So Sylvie had
had to do the talking, asking him questions and telling him of their life in London before Magus had transported them to this place of her dreams. He’d smiled at her enthusiasm.

‘You do belong here, Sylvie,’ he’d said. ‘It’s in your voice, the way you speak of Stonewylde. Sol’s told me just how ill you were when you first came here barely two weeks ago. The magic of Stonewylde is healing you.’

‘Sol? Do you mean Magus?’

‘Yes of course. Magus is only his title. His name’s Sol, short for Solstice.’

‘And Clip? Short for …?’

‘Eclipse. I was born on the night of a full lunar eclipse. And Sol at the Summer Solstice.’

‘And you’re half-brothers?’

‘That’s right. Same mother but different fathers. When my father died, Sol’s father became my guardian and took over the running of Stonewylde as I was only a child.’

‘But then he passed it on to his son? Why not you? I don’t understand …’

‘Leading the community is something I’ve never wanted to do. Sol and I grew up as brothers but we’re very different. He can’t understand why I need to travel and roam. I can’t understand how he can be so rooted. Even though he regularly visits the Outside World to run his company, he can’t bear to be away from Stonewylde for long.’

‘I see. So you’re happy for Magus to be in charge?’

‘Yes – he’s a good leader and I’m certainly not! Strange how things work out.’

Sylvie noticed the great staff from the Story Web propped against the wall and rose to take a closer look. Her fingers traced the smooth wood in wonder.

‘How did you do it?’ she asked in awe. ‘I’d never have believed such magic could happen right in front of me.’

Clip smiled, his eyes bright, and shook his head.

‘Magic cannot be explained,’ he said softly.

‘And no conjuror divulges his tricks,’ said Miranda stiffly.

‘It wasn’t a trick, Mum!’ said Sylvie. She felt embarrassed at her mother’s coolness towards this fascinating man who was, after all, the owner of Stonewylde and as such deserving of her civility. ‘You saw Yul and his reaction when he touched the snake. That was genuine, I’m sure.’

‘Ah yes, the boy. He was very good.’

‘Yul’s been working in our garden every evening,’ said Sylvie. ‘As a punishment.’

‘Really? Well, the boy was a help to me last night.’

‘So just how did it happen?’ said Sylvie, still stroking the staff. ‘I’ve been racking my brains to think how you made a piece of wood change into a live snake.’

But Clip had merely smiled enigmatically, staring deep into her eyes until she felt almost uncomfortable.

‘Seeing is believing,’ he’d replied, as if that explained everything.

Sylvie now opened her eyes in the darkness, restless and still unable to fall asleep. She knew why; the cause peered through the branches at her. The moon was now almost full. She thought of her mother sitting downstairs, reading some of the texts she’d soon be teaching. She hadn’t told Miranda of her fears, which grew nightly as the moon waxed fuller. She knew how worried her mother had been in London at her apparent madness every month, even though they never discussed it. The lunacy had become a taboo subject, for Miranda couldn’t believe that Sylvie had no control over her actions as the full moon rose. Sylvie had never been able to talk about it openly and explain her feelings.