Shadows at Stonewylde (31 page)

Once Yuletide was over he’d move her into a dormitory with other boarders – why should she have special treatment? Sylvie had said she felt sorry for the tragic teenager and wanted to talk to her about her side of the story, but Yul had been angry at the idea and forbidden her to talk to Leveret. The last thing he needed was his over-emotional and unpredictable sister setting off his unstable wife’s depression. Sylvie had given him one of those looks and he’d felt the resentment seething inside her. He knew she thought he was too dominating but he couldn’t help it; it was just his way and she’d known that all along from the start. She used to joke about it and call him the lord and master – now she seemed to hate it, but it was too late for him to change.

Yul admitted, reluctantly, that he was like his father in this respect. Magus had been dominating too, but how else could the leader of such a large community be? It was no use being weak and indecisive like Clip – surely Sylvie saw that. Everything he did was for her, with her comfort or happiness in mind. He didn’t want her getting involved with his wayward sister because it would only cause her heartache in the end. Sylvie was so kind, so gentle and soft-hearted, and she’d only get hurt. Leveret had turned out badly and she was his problem, not his wife’s. He needed to put his sister straight by whatever means he thought fit and it wasn’t Sylvie’s place to get friendly and act as if Leveret had done nothing wrong. In Yul’s books, upsetting their mother was one of the worst things anyone could do.

‘Meat’s cooked, Yul!’ called Edward, his face red and glistening from the heat of the roaring fire. ‘Are you going to help carve?’

‘No, I think Tom should help you,’ said Yul. ‘I’m after some cider. It’s time to get rat-arsed, as they say in the Outside World. It’s been quite a while since I did.’

Edward chuckled at this and lifted the roasting meat off the fire. Yul needed to let his hair down a bit, he thought. He’d seemed so distant and bad-tempered lately. Maybe with a few drinks inside him he’d forget his worries and go back to that lovely wife of his to end the day with the perfect celebration. He grinned at the thought and decided that maybe he’d do exactly the same when he got home. That’s what all this male bonding was about anyway – reaffirming the status of the man in society, or so he’d read somewhere. And there was nothing wrong with that at all.

‘Swift, take the magus a tankard of cider, would you, boy? And have one yourself – you’re far too solemn. This is your big day remember? You’ll be a man tomorrow and I expect my Kestrel will be leading you astray over Yuletide. That boy’s so popular with the girls – I wish I’d had his success at that age!’

Swift smiled politely and carried a dripping tankard over to where Yul sat against the tree. When the magus downed it in one he refilled it … and then made it his mission for the evening to ensure that the tankard was always full. He realised he’d never seen Yul drunk before and it would be interesting to watch.

Back in the Hall, Harold sat at his desk in the office as always, tapping away at the keyboard. It made no difference to him that it was Solstice Eve and everyone else was either drinking and making merry or preparing for the next day’s events. He’d been invited to join the youngsters at their Rite of Adulthood get-together in the Wildwood with some of the other men but he’d naturally refused. Harold wasn’t a physical sort and had grown from the nervous youth of the old days into a rather anxious and intense man, almost the same age as Yul. He hid behind an owlish pair of glasses and spent most of his life behind a screen in this room.

Harold jumped as Martin suddenly appeared – he hadn’t knocked and moved silently on the thick Aubusson carpet. Pushing his glasses back up his nose Harold swung round in the swivel chair to face the tall, silver-haired man who stood near the door staring at him.

‘Martin! You scared me for a minute,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Can I do something for you?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Martin, moving into the room and coming closer to the screen. Harold’s instinct was to try to block it as he was working on some rather confidential figures at the moment, but that would’ve been very rude. Martin’s wintry grey eyes flicked over the screen but showed little interest.

‘If you’re looking for Yul he’s out with the youngsters,’ said Harold.

‘I know,’ Martin replied coldly. ‘My son Swift is there. ‘Tis his Rite of Adulthood this Solstice.’

‘Ah yes, I’d forgotten.’

There was a pause and Harold wondered what Martin wanted.

‘Didn’t you want to join them?’ he asked eventually. ‘I thought the fathers usually—’

‘I’m far too busy on Solstice Eve to go off drinking in the Wildwoods,’ replied Martin stiffly. ‘There’s work to be done and I can’t rely on these youngsters and their rotas to do things properly. ‘Tis not like in the old days when staff were trained properly, is it? Not that you ever finished your training, did you?’

To Harold’s astonishment, Martin sat down in the other leather swivel chair – Yul’s chair.

‘Well, no I didn’t, but then …’

‘I know – everything changed and you started school again. Pah! Though I seem to recall they found you could already read and write a bit, didn’t they?’

‘A little,’ said Harold. He had no idea why Martin was here and talking like this to him. Normally the older man maintained a dignified and formal distance.

‘Always did have ideas above your station,’ muttered Martin. ‘And look at you now; in on everything, thinking you control it all—’

‘No!’ said Harold, pushing back his glasses and jerking his long wrists in dismay. ‘I don’t think that, Martin. I do what I can to help, that’s all.’

‘You were just a pot-boy,’ said Martin bitterly. ‘Someone to clean out the fires and polish the Hallfolk’s shoes. And now you’re sitting in the magus’ office with all his private things at your fingertips thinking you rule the roost. I know what you’re up to, young Harold!’

‘No, that’s not it!’ cried Harold, his voice squeaking. ‘I don’t—’

‘If you recall, it were on this very night thirteen years past that I asked you to help me as I lay on the floor in Magus’ chambers bleeding. This very night that you refused to help and locked me in there, left me for dead!’

‘No, Martin, I—’

‘Yes you did! They didn’t find me till the next morning and I were almost dead! ‘Tis a wonder I didn’t die in the cold night with that head-wound. I haven’t forgotten, Harold, don’t think I have. Every Solstice Eve I think on it, and tonight’s no exception. I warned you at the time there’d be consequences. As I said, I know what you’re up to and I shall put a stop to it. You won’t get away with it.’

Martin rose and glared down at the younger man whose Adam’s apple was working furiously in his throat.

‘The vipers will be cast out!’ Martin muttered, leaving the room. Harold stared at the door long after it had closed, trying to make sense of his words.

As darkness fell, Clip hunched over the kindling in the Dolmen and nursed the small fire into life. He fed sticks into the flames, gradually adding larger ones until the warmth spread and permeated his thin limbs. The back of the Dolmen was shadowy, the bracken and rug that Leveret had slept on at Samhain still there. He sat down on a log next to the fire, making sure he could still see outside; it was important to see the stars if he could. He took a swig of water from his bottle and glanced at the bag of fruit and nuts. But he had a journey ahead of him tonight and had been fasting for three days as he generally did – food would have to wait until the Solstice tomorrow. Clip was so used to this aesthetic lifestyle that it was no hardship at all. His body had long since learned that sending hunger signals to his brain would make no difference. His abdomen was hurting right now, though not with hunger. This pain had begun to gnaw at him regularly and he thought of it as the serpent within his belly. He was learning to live with it and even spoke to it sometimes, but tonight it would be easy to ignore. Once he’d left this realm, he’d feel nothing anyway.

Clip knew this would be his last Winter Solstice at Stonewylde. By this time next year he could be anywhere in the world – maybe in the Australian Outback or with a tribe in North America. He wanted to visit Peru and the Steppes, Tibet and the Amazon; Clip had been captive here for thirteen long years and longed to be free to roam. He’d only ever been the custodian – never the guardian – of Stonewylde, always haunted by the bad things that nobody else seemed to notice. He knew of the evil up at Quarrycleave that lay waiting for new victims. He knew too of the corrupting influence of power and he wanted nothing of it.

Clip didn’t remember his own father, but he recalled the terrible way his Uncle Elm had lived, debauched and utterly selfish, spoiling everything around him. He’d heard of the rape that had resulted in his own conception up at Mooncliffe and the torment his mother had suffered every single month, with his brother also born out of such brutality. The taint of power had all passed on to his brother and Clip knew only too well just what an evil man Sol had been. The sophisticated, charismatic persona had been a mere mask which had slipped alarmingly by the end of his life.

Clip acknowledged that he too had behaved very badly, although Miranda had told him kindly it was just as well or she’d never have had Sylvie nor her wonderful life at Stonewylde. But that didn’t detract from his own wicked act. And now Yul seemed destined for the same fate. Today he was a far cry from the passionate, idealistic boy who’d fought his father thirteen years ago. Clip sighed – he’d done his best and stayed here all these years from a sense of duty and guilt. It had to be enough. Stonewylde and her demands had bled him dry and now he wanted to wander the world and honour the Goddess in all her guises, not just her Stonewylde robes. That’s all he’d ever wanted to do – to be free of this place.

He settled into his customary position and began to clear his mind; usually the process was quick. An empty, clear mind, a bright shining radiance filling his head … his totem, the silver wolf, would appear and lead him through a strange, symbolic landscape, feeling a sense of heightened perception. There’d be some sort of entrance – maybe a cave, or passing beneath a waterfall, or even through a foxhole – and then they’d be in and the journey could begin. Clip fidgeted, his bony bottom uncomfortable.

He glanced into the shadows at the back of the cave again, seeing only the bracken and blanket where Leveret had slept. Should he be acknowledging another presence tonight? Had a spirit joined him? No, it wasn’t that. He stared deep into the heart of the fire, trying again to clear his mind. Empty, just a bright, shining radiance … he glanced again into the cave’s shadowy depths. Something was pulling at him, nagging at his subconscious – something he should understand. He sighed again and stared into the dark shadows, letting his mind wander freely.

All was bright and here was his silver wolf at last, slinking through the trees, his eyes so wise as he led Clip towards a great cave-mouth. Clip walked, one hand on the wolf’s head and the other holding his ash staff. As they approached the mouth, Clip felt a tingle of fear and looked around. The landscape was bizarre, huge, pale boulders and outcrops of Fly Agaric, the brilliant red startling against the white rock
.

Clip hesitated at the entrance, frightened to go inside. He looked up and saw two huge pointed stalactites of stone curving down from the roof. Passing between them he shivered, thinking they looked like fangs, but the wolf urged him onwards and Clip followed … into the darkness of the cave and then, too late, he understood. He was inside a serpent, and travelling deeper, down into the long tunnel of its body. This wasn’t a journey he wanted to make and he halted, reluctant to continue deeper into the snake’s body, which had become labyrinthine in its twists and turns
.

‘I don’t want to go any further,’ Clip said to his spirit guide. ‘This place is evil and it frightens me.’

The wolf turned his silvery eyes to Clip’s and looked deep, deep into his soul
.

‘The time has come,’ said the wolf, ‘to face all those things that you fear the most. Now is your chance to right all wrongs, to prove yourself a man of honour. You’re the saviour and you must act now
.’

Clip looked ahead, peering into the long tunnels and saw a tiny hare crouched in the shadows. He felt a tug at his heart and stepped towards it, wanting only to scoop it up and keep it safe
.

‘Now awaken,’ commanded the silver wolf. ‘You know where she is and what she will do. Don’t let the evil claim her for its own.’

Clip’s eyes flew open and he lurched to his feet in the entrance of the Dolmen, almost stumbling into the small fire. He poured his water onto the embers, and taking up his staff, hurried down the hill in the deepening dusk.

‘Can you sit up, Maggy? We need to eat our special mushrooms now.’

He struggled upright, groaning at the pain in his ribs but wanting to do as she asked. He leaned against her heavily and she almost toppled over, the mushrooms dropping from her hands onto the stone.

‘No! Oh, here they are. Be careful, Magpie – we mustn’t lose these. They’re going to take us to the Otherworld.’

Leveret peered at the dried and shrunken caps in the gathering gloom, hoping desperately they were the right ones. She knew how potent Death Cap was; there really was no escape, no antidote. She wanted the end to be quick although she knew there’d be some pain as the lethal toxins entered their nervous systems, destroying their livers and kidneys. It could take some hours. She’d done her research on the Internet and learned far more details than the Book of Shadows had offered her.