Solstice at Stonewylde

BOOK: Solstice at Stonewylde
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SOLSTICE
at
STONEWYLDE
The Third Novel of Stonewylde
KIT BERRY
Contents
 

Cover

Title

Dedication

Also by Kit Berry from Gollancz

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Acknowledgements

Copyright

The Stonewylde Series
is dedicated to the memories of
Jean Guy
,
my best owl aunt
and
Debbie Gilbrook, my dearest friend
.
Also by Kit Berry from Gollancz:
Magus of Stonewylde
Moondance of Stonewylde
Solstice at Stonewylde
Shadows at Stonewylde

G
hostly wreaths of mist clung to the great stones, shrouding the sinister images painted all over them
.
Black crows with outstretched wings and gaping beaks, leering white skulls, grinning Jack o’Lanterns; the emblems of Samhain loomed ominously from all directions. Two old women, grimy shawls clutched tightly around them, entered the Stone Circle. Black feathers and white bones hung from the elder branches that arched over the entrance to the sacred space, brushing their whiskery faces as they shuffled beneath the archway. It was silent and eerie inside the Circle and the sisters surveyed the menacing scene with grim approval
.

A labyrinth delineated by smooth black stones was laid out on the soft earth. The ancient cursal pattern filled the arena and the path it marked out led to the centre where a great pyre had been built. The women hobbled across to the old cauldron squatting balefully on the Altar Stone, surrounded by boughs of yew. A great black crow painted on the stone behind the altar hovered threateningly above them, its wings splayed as if it were about to enfold them both. The crones lit their cracked clay pipes and puffed contentedly at the stinking smoke, undaunted by the dark and sinister atmosphere of the Stone Circle. They both took a swig of cloudy liquid from an old glass bottle and smacked their lips with satisfaction
.

‘’
Twill be strange, sister, both our boys here with us tomorrow
.’


Aye, blessed be that Magus fetched our Jackdaw home, his banishment over. My own dear son back again
.’


Things’ll change now Magus brung him back to deal with the brat
.
Dark Angel didn’t want the boy up on Mooncliffe at Hunter’s Moon
,
but tomorrow
,
sister, ‘tis Samhain! With both our sons to help, the boy will be taken
.’


Aye, Magus must have a clear path to the moongazy maiden
.
He needs her magic
,
like his father afore him with that Raven
!’

They cackled hoarsely at this and took another swig
.


Moongazy as they come but didn’t save her, did it? Nought but a pile o’ ash under the Yew! Old Heggy got it wrong there
.’

They spat in unison, then knocked their pipes against the stone
.


Work to be done now, sister
,
and best get on with it. We need to be ready for tomorrow night, when the Angel comes a-walking in the Stone Labyrinth
.’


Aye
,
when the Dark Angel comes looking for his own at Samhain
.’

1

M
agus strode purposefully along the Tudor gallery to the rooms at the end. He had much to do, with the festival so close, and no time to waste today.

‘You’re not still in bed!’ he said irritably. He stood with Miranda in the girl’s bedroom gazing down at Sylvie as she lay against the pillows, white and exhausted. She pointedly looked away, refusing to meet his eyes or answer him.

‘You should be up and about by now, young lady,’ he continued. ‘A week in bed is more than enough. Don’t you agree, Miranda?’

‘I’m not sure she’s quite ready yet,’ said her mother tentatively. ‘She’s still a bit weak – look at the shadows under her eyes.’

‘Rubbish!’ said Magus firmly. ‘Remember that I know best in these matters. I’ve warned you that Sylvie’s prone to malingering and attention-seeking. It’s Samhain tomorrow and she should be preparing for the festival along with everyone else. This is all for show – she’s absolutely fine. Leave us, Miranda. I want to speak with her alone.’

Reluctantly Miranda left the room and Sylvie struggled to sit up. She stared hard at him, her eyes pools of icy water in her white face.

‘It’s not for show,’ she said in a small voice.

‘You’re being pathetic, Sylvie,’ he said tersely. ‘All you did was stand on a rock for a few hours. I don’t understand why you’re making such a fuss over nothing.’

‘I’m not making a fuss over nothing! How could you be so cruel? You had no right to do that to me and I won’t go up there next month. I’ll never let you take my moon magic again.’

Magus’s lips tightened into a hard, white line and he sat down on the bed next to her. He leant forward and pushed his face close to hers, black eyes glittering.

‘You’ll do exactly as I tell you,’ he said in a voice of steel. ‘Everyone else does and you’re no exception. You know full well why you were brought to Stonewylde and what I need from you. You’ll go to Mooncliffe every month for as long as I want you to.’

Sylvie closed her eyes, trying to summon the strength to stand up to him.

‘I won’t,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll leave Stonewylde rather than go on that rock again.’

He chuckled at this and reaching out, gently stroked the hair back from her face. She flinched at his touch but was unable to move away.

‘No, no, Sylvie – you won’t leave Stonewylde. You’re only fifteen and far too young to be all alone in that big wide world out there, especially given your allergies. The Outside World could kill you. And your mother’s expecting my baby and she’ll never leave – you wouldn’t abandon them here, surely, wondering how they’d cope with my anger and displeasure. To say nothing of what I’d do to your sweetheart Yul. You’ll stay here for their sakes and you’ll do exactly as I want.’

Sylvie stared at him helplessly through a mist of tears. She had no energy to fight. He continued to brush the hair off her forehead and the feel of his sure fingers made her skin crawl.

‘Is Yul alright?’ she whispered, vaguely recalling his dramatic arrival at the moonrise but with no idea of what’d happened to him after that.

‘No, not really,’ he laughed. He stood up and looked down at her with a pitiless smile. ‘And by the time I’ve finished with him, he’ll never be alright again.’

‘I hate you,’ she whispered, even more softly. ‘I really hate you.’

Magus laughed again and then called her mother back in. He put his arm around Miranda, his other hand resting proprietorially on her swollen belly.

‘Sylvie’s to get up now. She’s not ill, she’s just wallowing in self-pity. She’s far too keen on playing the martyr and expecting us all to run around after her. Get her out of bed now and make her eat. Do you understand me, Miranda?’

‘Yes, Magus, whatever you say. You know best.’

He smiled and gently patted her stomach.

‘Yes, I do, so make sure she’s ready for Samhain. That’s an order, Miranda. I want her down in the Village tomorrow taking part in the festival. This attention-seeking behaviour stops right now.’

The Village Green was alive with activity as Nightwing trotted along the cobbles. Magus reined the horse in, holding the black stallion in check as he surveyed the scene before him. The Green Labyrinth was almost complete. Scorched lines marked the pattern on the grass, which was picked out further with white pebbles interspersed with tiny candles in coloured glass jars. In the centre of the enormous seven-coiled labyrinth the Villagers had built a large wicker dome, and many people were still busy adding the finishing touches. This labyrinth would be the spiritual focus for tomorrow’s events.

Magus swung the horse around and urged him towards the open doors of the Great Barn. Peering in, he nodded with satisfaction at the preparations taking place. The ancient building was decorated in the same manner as the Stone Circle, with black birds, pale skulls and bright Jack o’ Lanterns. Twigs of elder and slips of yew hung around the walls and rafters, tokens of the trees sacred to Samhain. The elder was the crone’s tree, the waning and dark face of the Triple Moon Goddess and thought to guard the gates to the Otherworld and the dark mysteries of the dead. The yew was the tree of death and regeneration.

Emblems of death were everywhere and Magus smiled grimly. Death was exactly what he had in mind for the ashen-faced boy lying in the byre. Yul had led a charmed life thanks to that meddling old crone, but maybe this Samhain her binding spell could be side-stepped. Maybe, at last, the Dark Angel himself would intervene to break her spell of protection over the upstart Villager who’d caused him so much trouble this year.

BOOK: Solstice at Stonewylde
6.78Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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