Moondance of Stonewylde (13 page)

Sylvie felt very grown up but a little awkward, sitting in a pub. She wasn’t sure if she should be here at all, but Professor Siskin assured her that nobody would mind on a Sunday afternoon. She was also fretting that Yul was outside and she wasn’t there to watch him. Her dilemma was overcome when suddenly the two cricket teams burst in through the door and crowded around the bar, clamouring for cider. Sylvie immediately picked out Yul. He was handed a brimming tankard and stepped back from the bar to give the others room. He was very surprised to see Sylvie sitting in the window seat drinking mead and came over straight away, smiling as if his face would split in two.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, desperately trying to quench his thirst and be sociable at the same time. Sylvie watched his throat in fascination as he swallowed the cool cider in long gulps.

‘We were watching the cricket practice and Professor Siskin here was explaining some of the history of Stonewylde to me,’ she said. ‘Come and chat with us.’

She moved up on the pew so Yul could sit next to her, and smelt him as soon as he got close. He was very hot and had been running fast; he smelt of fresh male sweat. The aroma made her feel quite weak with an almost animal recognition. She saw the beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip, the way his dark curls clung damply to his flushed face. He seemed so much bigger next to her. She felt again that somersault of longing in the pit of her stomach, and was shocked by the intensity of her feelings. They alarmed her, belonging to another phase of their relationship for which she wasn’t yet ready. She took a deep breath and tried to control the drumming of her heart.

‘How do you do, Yul,’ said Siskin. ‘I hear you’re a woodsman. No wonder you’re so fit and healthy. And I remember now! You were the Herald of the Dawn at the Solstice. And a very fine job you made of it, I recall.’

Yul smiled at him politely, accepting the compliments but not accustomed to making small talk with Hallfolk. He wished the old man would clear off so he could have Sylvie to himself. She was still looking a little delicate, but nowhere near as fragile as the last time he’d seen her. He wondered if her recovery had anything to do with the fact that Magus was away at the moment.

‘I didn’t know you played cricket,’ said Sylvie, smiling at him. Sitting so close, she was very aware of the heat he was giving off as his body cooled from such hard exercise in the hot July afternoon.

‘Oh yes, I love cricket! But this is the first year I’ve played with the men and not in a boys’ team. We’re coming up to the big match at Lammas and I’m really hoping to be chosen for the Village team. We play against the Hallfolk. See Edward over there?’

He pointed across the pub to an enormous man with the stature of a mighty oak tree, who was busy downing a pint of cider.

‘He’s the captain and it’s up to him. But he’s pleased with the way I played today, so I’ve a chance.’

He finished his drink and stood up, noticing the other men
beginning to make their way to the door. He brushed Sylvie’s shoulder longingly with his fingertips when he was sure Siskin wasn’t looking, towering above her and staring deep into her eyes. She felt his love in that gentle touch. Her heart leapt as she was pulled into the intensity of his burning grey gaze. She poured her love back to him and hoped he read her message as clearly. His lips mouthed a tiny kiss and then he was gone, and the pub was suddenly empty around them.

‘What a charming young man,’ murmured Siskin. ‘I can quite understand your attachment to him.’

Sylvie sighed, wishing Yul could’ve stayed longer. The sight and smell of him today had brought everything flooding back. Without him she was only half of what she was destined to be. Her heart ached for him. Why had they wasted their day up on Dragon’s Back? It could have been perfect.

‘Please don’t mention it to Magus,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s forbidden us to see each other and he’s really got it in for Yul.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ chuckled Siskin. ‘He has serious competition there and he’s not the sort of man to take kindly to that. Now then, Sylvie, we ought to be leaving as well. Tom will be arriving to collect us soon. But before we go I want to show you something.’

They stood up and Siskin took her over to one of the back walls. Inlaid amongst the huge blocks of stone was a massive slice of wood. It was almost circular, well over a metre in diameter and clearly the complete cross-section of a once enormous tree trunk. Like the counter it was black and shiny with age, but Sylvie saw that it had been carved upon. It was dark at the back of the pub and she found it difficult to see exactly what was carved on the wood. She touched it gently with her fingertips and began to trace out the shapes – mostly leaves.

‘Can you feel it, Sylvie? It’s a Green Man, a Jack in the Green, a Lord of the Greenwood. Feel the face and the foliage radiating from it. And there’s writing too, carved all around the edge of the circle. Can you see it?’

She bent and looked carefully, making out the face and some
letters, although she couldn’t read what they said.

‘It’s written in Old English. Not much writing survives from that period for few people could write. And apart from stone there wasn’t much to write on. That’s why this yew tree bole is so unique. Translated, it reads, “
When the Green Man returns to this place, all will prosper and thrive
”. I’ve always felt it to be some kind of prophecy, a message from our ancestors.’

Sylvie felt a shiver trickle down her back at the feel of the wood beneath her fingertips. It was so ancient. All those hundreds of years ago, someone at Stonewylde had gone to such trouble to carve this message.

‘Stonewylde is still waiting for its Green Man to return,’ mused Siskin as he led Sylvie out into the bright, hot afternoon. ‘Maybe then all will be right with the world.’

They blinked in the almost blinding sunlight outside and looked up the track, but there was no sign yet of Tom with the pony and cart. They wandered over to a great beech tree and stood in its cool shade.

‘Are these trees really the descendants of the ancient ones?’ Sylvie asked.

‘More than likely, my dear. The people of Stonewylde would’ve collected the seeds and grown saplings, then eventually replaced the old trees as they died. Except for the yew, as I said, which reinvigorates itself in the most extraordinary, phoenix-like fashion. That splendid specimen over there could well be the original tree from the woodland temple. There could’ve been a woodhenge here too. A great circle of tree trunks erected into post holes, with lintels joining the uprights together.’

‘Like Stonehenge?’

‘That’s right. A henge is simply an enclosed circular structure. Beyond doubt there would’ve been one here before the Stone Circle was built, for wood henges preceded stone ones. I’ve begged Magus to let me organise a dig, but he refuses. He doesn’t want any Outsiders here, putting the place on the map, and a dig would certainly do that. There are many important archaeological sites at Stonewylde, you see. The place is utterly unique
and we’d be over-run by the media if the Outside World were to learn of what we have here. So until there are trained Hallfolk archaeologists, we’ll have to wait to get our proof of a wood henge.’

Professor Siskin removed a large white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow, adjusting his panama hat. He smiled kindly at Sylvie and patted her arm.

‘I would dearly love to know if I’m right – just a small excavation would suffice. There must be a wealth of artefacts and evidence buried beneath our feet. But it’s merely a dream and maybe Magus is right. He usually is in his decision-making where it concerns the care and protection of the community. One shouldn’t desecrate a sacred place out of idle curiosity, or jeopardise Stonewylde’s community to make an archaeological discovery. Remember this, though, Sylvie: whenever you’re on this Green or under these trees, you are in a place of ancient worship and potent magic. You are in a place where the spirit of the Green Man is at its strongest.’

‘O
h just look at this bed!’ exclaimed Miranda, her eyes shining with excitement. Sylvie groaned, knowing full well what was going through her mother’s mind as she stroked the carved wood of the antique four-poster. Harold and another servant dumped the last of their belongings in the sitting room and trooped off down the corridor. The suite of rooms was at the end of a long Tudor wing, which also housed a beautiful panelled gallery and several inter-connecting rooms that were kept for visitors, so remained empty for much of the year.

‘And this room will be perfect for the baby,’ said Miranda ecstatically, surveying the small adjoining room with pleasure. ‘I wonder if Magus will mind if I re-decorate it? I’ve already chosen the new linen and some of the women have promised to help me embroider the crib covers. Apparently the Imbolc colours are white, silver and green, and it’d be nice to pick that up on the walls in here, maybe the curtains too. Though if the baby’s born nearer the Spring Equinox, the colours are different of course. Yellows, I believe. Mmn … I’m never sure about yellow. What do you think, darling?’

‘Whatever you think best,’ mumbled Sylvie, not caring one bit about the baby or its bedroom and thoroughly bored with Miranda’s endless ramblings on the subject. She had a splitting headache and knew it was due to her terrible nightmares, which had resumed on Magus’ return. The moon was growing fatter in the sky each night, and as the Hay Moon of July loomed closer,
Sylvie found her appetite waning and her fear increasing.

‘Please don’t sulk, Sylvie,’ said Miranda. ‘I know you liked Woodland Cottage but these rooms are lovely, and it’ll be so much more convenient living here at the Hall.’

‘If you say so.’

‘This is such an exciting time for us, darling. Don’t spoil it by being moody and difficult. Woodland Cottage was far too isolated and we weren’t really part of the Hallfolk community there.’

‘But I miss the privacy. I liked it being isolated. Everyone’s on top of each other here.’

‘Hardly! This is a real stately home, Sylvie, and it’s enormous. Did you ever imagine, when we lived in that awful, cramped high-rise flat, that we’d end up somewhere like this? Not only do we have our own suite of rooms, with a private bathroom and sitting room, but we also have the whole of the Hall with all its facilities! I still find it hard to believe.’

‘Well I preferred Woodland Cottage. I wish you’d let me stay there, Mum.’

‘Don’t be silly. You’re far too young to live on your own and I enjoy your company, even if you don’t like mine any more. And I’ll need you around to help as my pregnancy progresses, and even more next February when the baby comes.’

‘Great,’ muttered Sylvie, wandering back through the sitting room and into her own new bedroom. Despite her misgivings, she had to admit that it was lovely. Situated at the very end of the wing, it was light and airy for a Tudor room with diamond-paned windows all around and her own fireplace. As well as her bed and dressing table, there was a bookcase, desk and chair and an armchair too, so she could shut herself away with her homework and reading and not have to be with Miranda and the baby in the sitting room all the time. This would give her a little privacy at least.

The best part of all, however, was the little pointed door in the corner which led straight onto a tiny stone staircase. This wound down to a heavy oak door at the bottom which opened straight into the garden, and it was this access to freedom that
pleased Sylvie more than anything. Without it she would’ve felt completely trapped at the end of the long wing at the back of the Hall.

‘Just cheer up and be grateful,’ said Miranda briskly from the sitting room. ‘You’re a very lucky girl, and don’t you forget it. Now stop moping about and come and help me unpack. I want our rooms to be cosy and inviting.’

‘I wonder why?’ said Sylvie under her breath.

Clip returned from his trip to Ireland and as Lammas drew nearer, the Hall began to fill once more with visitors. Uncomfortable facing so many people at every meal, Sylvie wished she could retreat from the bustle and noise and the obligation to be sociable at all times of day. She missed the peace of Woodland Cottage with a passion. Holly and her group continued to make her life unpleasant at every opportunity. Sylvie found she had no fight in her and avoided them wherever possible. Buzz was due back soon and she dreaded his return too, which could only make Holly worse. She longed to see Yul, but now she was living in the Hall there was little chance of that. As the end of the month drew closer, she became quieter during the day and ever more disturbed at night, her nightmares growing steadily worse.

Just before the full moon Sylvie had the worst nightmare yet. She woke in the middle of the night in the strange bedroom in a blind panic. Moonlight poured in through the latticed panes and onto her bed, shining straight into her eyes. She sat bolt upright, her body trembling and heart pounding with terror. For a moment she couldn’t think where she was and stared wildly around the room. The shadows on the walls seemed sinister, but gradually, as the dream faded slightly, Sylvie remembered where she was.

She drank some water and lay down again, damp with sweat and too scared to go back to sleep in case the nightmare returned. It was all the more terrifying because she couldn’t quite recall it properly. What had happened? She vaguely remembered being buried alive on the moon rock, unable to move or even breathe
as a great weight of stones pressed down on her, crushing her lungs. And there was something else. Something sucking, leeching the life from her, a great snake with gaping jaws. It punctured her skin and coiled around her as it drank the moon magic from her, drained her dry until she was just an empty husk. But above it all, swimming in and out of focus, was Magus’ face. His chiselled features were hard, as if carved from stone themselves. His silvery-blond hair glinted in the moonlight; his dark eyes glittered, cruel and implacable. He watched her suffering, her feeble struggle to breathe, and just stood and looked at her with a greedy smile on his face.