Solstice at Stonewylde (24 page)

The Villagers buzzed excitedly about this and again Tom quietened them. Then Edward arrived from the clifftop and joined him up on the dais, taking over. He knew the people would do as he said and was well used to managing and leading.

‘Listen well, folk. We must bide our time and wait patiently, go about our business as normal. We must keep Yul safe until the time is right, and most of all, we must not make Magus angry. He’s not right any more and who knows what he may do next?’

The Villagers muttered loudly again, recognizing the truth of these words.

‘Tis nearly the Winter Solstice when Yul will turn sixteen,’ continued Edward, ‘and I reckon things’ll fall into place then. But until then, we must keep our heads down. When the time is right, Goddess willing, we’ll have a worthy new magus to be the guardian of Stonewylde, to lead us in our festivals and our celebrations.’

The crowd roared at this and Edward had to raise his voice.

‘A magus to bring up Mother Earth’s magic and share it amongst the community. I seen for myself the boy being blessed with the Earth Magic, and ‘tis a sight to behold! We will stand together and wait for Yul, for the good of Stonewylde! For the folk of Stonewylde!’

There was cheering and clapping at this as the people felt themselves bound together with a new sense of solidarity and purpose.

Yul felt Sylvie slowly respond to his body heat and the gentle chafing of her hands and wrists. He knew he must get her back home soon as it was getting colder and she should be tucked up safely in bed. She no longer trembled but lay docilely in his lap, her head against his chest, curled up like a kitten. She rarely spoke much after moongazing, and he realised that she wasn’t going to come round any more than this, so he stood carefully and found that with a bit of help she could now stand. He picked up the lantern, leaving everything else to collect another time. With his arm around Sylvie’s waist to support her, he led her back through the woods to the glade where Edward’s grey mare waited patiently.

They rode back slowly, Sylvie sitting in front this time so Yul could hold her. He let the mare choose her way in the darkness until the Hall lights became visible ahead. Yul extinguished the lantern and lifted Sylvie down, light as a goose down quilt, and carried her towards the back door of the Tudor wing. He saw lights in her room and was scared what he might find, but knew
he had to take her up there, as she was as vague as ever and couldn’t possibly manage it herself. He opened the door and climbed the narrow stairs, almost tripping over her cloak, then pushed the arched door. It swung open to reveal Miranda sitting silently by the window.

She was perfectly still in the soft lamplight, her long red hair hanging down over her shoulders. Her eyes were so puffy they’d almost disappeared. What had happened here tonight? She rose as he entered the room.

‘Yul!’ she said softly, her voice raw. She gestured for him to put Sylvie on her bed. He did so and stood back, unsure of what to do next.

‘Sylvie, darling,’ Miranda whispered. ‘You’re back now.’

Sylvie’s eyes were closed and she seemed to be sleeping. Her mother tugged off the black suede boots and unfastened the cloak, pulling it out from underneath her. She tucked Sylvie under the bed covers fully clothed and turned to Yul, her head slightly bowed to conceal her swollen eyes.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

He shifted uncomfortably.

‘I’m afraid I hurt Sylvie tonight. I was trying to protect her but I ended up harming her, and I’m very sorry, ma’am.’

She shook her head and looked down at the floor, hiding behind the curtain of hair.

‘Thank you, Yul, and sorry I misjudged you. I’m grateful to you.’

He nodded, feeling that if he spoke he might embarrass himself by crying. It had been a terrible night and all he wanted was to get home. With a final glance at Sylvie lying peacefully in her bed, he left down the back stairs and rode the patient grey mare back through the foggy November night to the Village.

On the cobbles outside the Great Barn, the Villagers milled around as they continued to discuss Edward’s and Tom’s words. The men headed for the Jack in the Green to speak further over a pot of cider, whilst the women gathered their children together
to take them home. The Village buzzed with eagerness and speculation. Only Maizie seemed unaffected by the excitement stirred up by Tom’s and Edward’s speeches.

As she led her children back to the cottage, Leveret fast asleep in her arms, Maizie felt her heart heavy in her chest. She alone recognised the enormity of what the men had said tonight in the Barn. As she’d done so many times since Yul’s birth, Maizie cursed Mother Heggy and her dangerous prophecy. She knew how iron-willed and utterly ruthless Magus could be and it was too much to ask a young lad to take him on, support of his people or no. Maizie alone seemed to understand that the fight ahead was unfairly matched and the outcome far from assured. She ignored the excited chatter of all those around her, filled with fear for the life of her eldest son.

J
ust before dawn the next morning an ill-assorted group gathered on the cliff top a little way from the disc of white stone. A chill wind whipped their hair and cloaks as seagulls screamed and drifted around them. Magus stood granite-faced before the mound of wood, hastily assembled overnight by Martin and a couple of young servants. Jackdaw’s body lay within the pile, hidden beneath a piece of hemp cloth. No embroidered pentangle for him, nor the community’s comfort for the bereaved. Vetchling huddled against her sister Violet, her dirty face grimed with tears for her son. Her daughter, Jackdaw’s sister Starling, supported her on the other side, as squat and bellicose as her mother. Martin stood beside them with his young wife, and three small boys looked fearfully on.

The wood smelt strongly of the resin Martin had splashed over the funeral pyre to ensure a thorough blaze. Magus glanced at the group mourning the passing on of the most hated man at Stonewylde. Not the normal send-off, and it must be done quickly, for the sooner it was over the sooner the Villagers could put the incident behind them.

He produced a lighter from beneath his cloak and bent over the pyre. The wind extinguished the tiny flame instantly, and Magus cursed as he tried again and again to set light to the body and its cradle of branches. Martin stepped forward to shield him, and at last there was a sharp crackle as the wood ignited. The flames flared wildly to one side as the salty wind gusted, but the
pyre burnt well, the heat and smoke causing the group to step back. The little boys stared at it in fascination.

Standing tall on the desolate cliff top, his black cloak flaring out behind him, Magus looked up into the leaden grey sky. His face was as bleak as the cruel sea far below.

‘Dark Angel, take the soul of Jackdaw now, before the sun rises, to the Otherworld. He was killed before his time and we ask that you accompany his soul as he passes through the veil. He will be missed by his family. He served me well.’

Vetchling let out a wail as the fire consumed her son’s body. Starling patted her mother’s arm and clasped Jay, Jackdaw’s young son, to her great thigh. She ignored her own little boy who stood next to Martin’s child, sucking a filthy thumb and gazing at the blaze with vacant eyes.

‘’Twas Heggy’s crow that killed my boy!’ Vetchling cried. ‘She sent it to do her bidding. May the Dark Angel take her and all!’

‘Aye, sister, but on whose account was the crow sent? ‘Tis that dark-haired brat who’s to blame for this. Maizie’s bastard – he’s the one!’

‘You speak true, Violet. Angel take his soul too.’

Magus’ dark eyes rested on her wrinkled face and he nodded.

‘Four weeks,’ he said softly, his words stolen by the wind. ‘Four weeks until the Solstice and then at last I shall be free of him.’

The white gulls screamed around their heads as the fire burnt away to nothing, leaving no trace of Jackdaw’s presence at Stonewylde.

‘Mum, aren’t you coming down to breakfast?’

Sylvie stood uncertainly outside her mother’s bedroom.

‘No,’ came the muffled reply. ‘Go on down without me. I’m not hungry.’

Sylvie frowned. She felt disorientated this morning. She’d been horrified to wake up and find herself badly bruised and aching all over. Her wrists and lower arms were agony; the skin was swollen, chafed red and covered with bruising and her upper
arms hurt too. Her leg and the right side of her body was scraped and sore, there was a large blue lump on her forehead and her ribs hurt if she breathed too deeply. She had vague memories of Yul pulling and pushing her, of being bound and gagged and then shoved into a cage. She remembered his anger and her desperation to escape; to go to Mooncliffe and dance for Magus. She knew Yul had treated her badly but was at a loss to explain why. She’d hoped that her mother would shed some light on what had happened. Magus must be furious with her as she’d promised to give him all her moon magic and she’d broken that promise.

‘Can I come in, Mum? I want to talk about last night.’

‘No! Go away, Sylvie,
please
. Just leave me alone.’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Go to breakfast and your lessons, Sylvie, and leave me in peace.’

All day Sylvie waited in terror for Magus’ summons. He’d be furious, she knew, but it wasn’t her fault. She hid her injuries as best she could, pulling her tatty jumper sleeves down as far as they’d go to conceal her wrists and shielding her forehead behind her hair. But Magus was nowhere to be seen. The summons never came, and eventually her lessons finished and she returned to the Tudor wing to start the pile of homework that awaited her. In her bedroom she discovered a large and shiny bolt attached to the arched staircase door, a brass padlock securing it shut. Miranda was still in her room and Sylvie began to worry about her mother.

When it became too much, she ignored her mother’s wishes to be left alone and went into the darkened bedroom anyway. Miranda lay curled up on her bed, and Sylvie was shocked to see her looking so dishevelled. Miranda’s face was puffy and her eyes dead. She didn’t want to talk; all she would say was that it was over between her and Magus. She refused to say anything about the night before, other than the fact that Yul had brought Sylvie back quite late and had apologised for hurting her. Miranda
didn’t even ask where she was hurt, she simply closed her eyes and told Sylvie to shut the door behind her.

The atmosphere in the Village was strange. People went about their business as usual but it was as if everyone held their breath. The events of the previous night were discussed in shocked voices, and in the cold light of day nobody could quite believe what had happened up on the cliff top. Everyone was worried that Magus would turn up, clattering over the cobbles on Nightwing, harrying them and maybe even punishing them for daring to speak out against him. The planned Story Web had been cancelled and there was a feeling of anti-climax after the excitement and anger of the Moon Fullness.

As Yul walked through the Village he sensed a change in attitude towards him. Many people nodded, almost in deference, whilst others glanced at him fearfully as if he spelt danger. He’d heard of what had happened at Mooncliffe and was shocked; Magus’ cruel treatment of the girls strengthened Yul’s determination to rid Stonewylde of such a tyrant. Of Jackdaw’s gruesome death he said nothing, but Mother Heggy’s words rang in his head over and over:

Those who stand against you will fall
,
one by one
.

Yul made his way up the path to Mother Heggy’s hovel, anxious to unload his guilt about poor Sylvie.

‘Couldn’t be helped,’ she said firmly, a blackened clay pipe clamped between her gums. ‘’Twas that or the rock. At least she’s not weak and drained today, and he has none o’ her quicksilver flowing in his veins.’

Yul nodded, knowing she was right, but unable to forget the damage to Sylvie’s wrists when he’d finally unbound the ropes, and the way she’d been bashed and scraped against the tree as he’d thrust her so roughly into the cage. He also remembered his anger with her. He couldn’t justify it, nor banish the terrible thought that he was becoming like his father. Heggy surveyed him and chuckled.

‘Aye, boy, you are your father’s son, right enough, and you must watch yourself in the future. You like things your own way just a mite too much and you brook no argument with them that don’t agree with you. But you’re not cruel, Yul, and you love the bright one with your soul and your heart. Learn from it, and then put it behind you and think on what’s to be done. Four weeks till the Solstice. Four weeks to prepare. Build up your strength, my boy, and make your plans. Take yourself up into the land and open your heart to the song of Stonewylde. The Goddess herself will help you prepare.’

The next day Hazel collared Sylvie at breakfast. Her normally attractive face was grim and frowning.

‘Why didn’t you come for your weigh-in yesterday?’ she demanded. ‘I’ll see you this morning before lessons start.’

As Sylvie faced the doctor in her office in the hospital wing, she thought sadly of how Hazel had once been her friend. She remembered the kindness of the young intern in that awful London hospital; the only friendly face amongst the wolf-pack. Hazel had been so warm and caring then – what had Magus done to make her so cold? Sylvie stepped down off the scales and Hazel tapped the figures into her computer, barely looking at her.

‘You’re not gaining anything. Eat properly and don’t start messing around again, or I’ll be forced to keep you in the hospital under constant supervision.’