Solstice at Stonewylde (55 page)

Magus cried out in agony and staggered backwards, the heavy egg in his hand giving his movement momentum. He teetered as if frozen on the brink of the enormous stone. He gaped in horror, knowing that he’d fall, knowing in a flash of understanding that this was his childhood nightmare finally come to pass.
He would lie in agony
,
alone and cold in the silver darkness
,
with a terrible pulsing in his head as the life-blood spurted out of him and the creeping blackness closed in
.

His terrified eyes met Sylvie’s and she threw back her head and laughed. He saw her small, pointy teeth and Magus knew he’d been wrong – this moongazy girl wasn’t Sylvie at all. And he realised, in that split second, that the Dark Angel comes in many guises and was here now to lead him from this stone to that cold, lonely haemorrhaging in the darkness.

‘Yul!’ he howled as he hung in the silver brightness, the name echoing again and again around the stone graveyard in the cold night. ‘Yul! Yul!’

There was nothing to stop him from falling from this platform where so long ago a cruel and violent man had hurt a young, helpless girl, and in doing so had caused his conception. There was nothing to hold on to and save himself from death.

Yul leapt forward across the stone and his hand shot out to save his father’ life. But it was too late; he caught nothing but thin air, where Magus had stood a second earlier. It was a long way down from the Snake Stone, at the head of the moonlit quarry. A long way down, still falling, to the jagged rocks that waited like sharp pointed teeth at the bottom.

Blood had been spilled – the blood of three men, an appeasement to the dark evil that stalked this ancient arena of death and bloodlust. Three lives had been taken to satisfy the hunger that prowled the labyrinth in the Place of Bones and Death. And now the young magus stood on the ancient Snake Stone, the place of sacrifice, with a raven by his side. Her eyes and feathers glinted silver in the moonlight. The young man gazed out across the white moonscape of the quarry with a heavy heart and eyes full of tears; a strong and brave man had died here tonight.

The stars twinkled in the cold midwinter air and frost dusted the land with sparkling glitter as the moon, clothed in silver, walked the night. The time of the Winter Solstice was approaching. The great Wheel of the Year turned, and the earth turned, and the centuries came around, and time almost stood still, like
the sun in the sky at this point in the calendar. Time stood still, but the ancient patterns played themselves out. The ancient stories clamoured to be retold, again and again …

Stonewylde had her new magus, the darkness had been satisfied and the dance could go on.

As the fourth green light was suddenly extinguished, Mother Heggy peered at the mangled remains in her clawed hands. It was a tiny wax figure and bore a lock of soft, silver hair taken long ago from a child’s head. She nodded, knowing that the prophecy she’d given, all those years past, had been fulfilled.

Under blue and red
,
the fruit of your passion

Will rise up against you with the folk behind

At the time of brightness in darkness
,

And will overthrow you

In the place of bones and death
.

She cackled toothlessly and raised the goblet again, drinking deeply this time, toasting the new magus. She threw the tiny mommet out of her circle and into the blazing fire. It hissed and melted, the lock of blond hair sizzling and giving out a foul stench as it burnt.

She gazed at the one green light still burning. Only one left – who could it be? If Magus was dead, Yul should now be safe. But Sylvie – what of her? Old Mother Heggy felt the cold clutch of fear around her heart in a sharp squeeze. Not her little bright one – she couldn’t bear to lose Sylvie. The girl was so precious, just as her Raven had been. So whose was the fifth death?

There was a soft knock at the door, making her jump in her old, wrinkled skin. Who could be knocking on her door at this time, in the darkness, up here at the cottage on the hill? It couldn’t be Yul yet, for he was miles away. Perhaps some kind soul to check that she was alright? Maybe to see if she’d come to the sunrise ceremony after all? She shook her wizened head – it was warm in this room but she knew how cold it was outside,
and she was far too old and feeble to risk exposure to the freezing night air.

The knock came again, louder and more insistent – impatient almost.

‘Lift the latch and come in!’ she croaked, looking up.

Her milky eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her unexpected visitor.

‘Oh, ‘tis you! Aye, right enough, ‘tis time. I should’ve known.’

Moonlight silhouetted the robed, hooded figure standing tall and silent on the threshold, the darkness around him just a little blacker than it should be. She nodded – now she understood. With a sigh, Mother Heggy gazed deep into his fathomless eyes and then her head fell to her chest. The fifth green light faltered, flickered and died.

I
n the darkness before dawn, the folk of Stonewylde packed into the Stone Circle, their breath forming white clouds around their heads. The sun had not yet risen on the shortest day of the year, but the longest night was over. The great Solstice Bonfire stood at one edge of the circle, its boughs dusted with frost. A boy shivered up on the platform at the summit, by the brazier, waiting to herald the dawn. Below him the folk shifted restlessly with anticipation.

The drummers played their rhythms softly and Clip chanted with quiet assurance at the Altar Stone. Tall and thin, he looked resplendent in white robes with a headdress of mistletoe and ivy on his wispy blond hair. His movements and voice were soothing but his grey eyes danced with excitement. As the sun approached the horizon the tension rose and the drumming picked up speed and insistency.

People’s hearts beat faster, the drumbeats reverberating in their chests, and their heartbeats became as one, a great pulsing rhythm of sunrise and hope. The boy on the platform cried out and lit the flame. The brazier flared brightly and the people chanted, welcoming the return of the sun and the return of longer days. The boy climbed down the ladder inside the fire, clutching the torch he’d lit in the brazier. But every face was turned towards the Long Walk where two figures approached.

Yul and Sylvie stepped into the Stone Circle hand in hand. He wore a golden Solstice robe and a great headdress of
mistletoe, ivy and holly. The woven winter foliage seemed to sprout from his dark curls in a riot of greenery and berries and his beautiful face was solemn but joyful. Next to him Sylvie was tall and slender in dark green Yule robes. The evergreen material was embroidered with a pattern of leaves and the white mistletoe berries, red holly berries, and black ivy berries. Her glorious silver hair cascaded down her back, topped by a filigree circlet bearing a silver crescent to signify the Maiden. Her moonstone eyes danced with quiet delight to be united at last with Yul.

As they came level with the bonfire, the boy emerged from the concealed exit. With a bow he passed the flaming torch to Yul, who held it aloft as he and Sylvie continued their procession to the Altar Stone. Sylvie took her place next to her father whilst Yul climbed the step and stood upon the stone, outstretched arm holding the Sacred Flame high. He stood there for a heartbeat and then the first beams of the sun flashed through the gap in the aligned stones. The golden rays hit Yul and his robe seemed to light up, the embroidery of radiant suns glittering and reflecting the beams of light.

As sunlight illuminated him, Yul felt the earth energy beneath him start to spiral up through the stone and into his body. But this was stronger, much stronger, than ever before. The very earth seemed to sing, a strange music of rock and soil, the voice of the Goddess in the Landscape.

A deep shuddering rumbled beneath the Stone Circle, almost like an earthquake, making the ground tremble and the people shake. It lasted only a brief heart-lurching moment. Reaching a terrifying crescendo, the spiral of Earth Magic shot out of the Altar Stone and swirled around Yul in a whirlwind, encasing him in an aura of pure energy. He radiated light, his robed body and wreathed head were haloed with green brightness. The torch in his hand flared brilliant green and his eyes burned like stars as he stood tall, doused in Earth Magic that seemed to set him on fire.

‘Folk of Stonewylde,’ cried Clip, ‘behold our new magus! The
Green Man has returned to Stonewylde! All will be well! All will prosper! We greet him and offer him our loyalty!’

‘MAGUS OF STONEWYLDE!’ roared hundreds of voices.

The energy flew around the Circle touching the hearts of every person there. The drums rolled triumphantly and the community burst into song, an ancient song whose words were remembered but no longer understood. The ceremony continued in the crisp morning air, brilliant with sparkling sunlight and a new atmosphere of liberty and joy.

Yul and Sylvie caught each other’s eye and smiled, unable to believe that this day had finally dawned. Sylvie looked around the packed Circle, wondering if Professor Siskin had managed to return to Stonewylde. She hadn’t seen him yet, but as the light glowed brighter by the minute she scanned the faces expectantly. She hoped that he’d seen the amazing moment when the Green Man returned to Stonewylde, just as he’d foretold. She knew the professor’s soul belonged here, as did hers, and with his long exile finally over the elderly man could now find contentment in the place he loved so dearly.

Yul thought of Mother Heggy and his intended visit to her today with Sylvie. She’d be so happy to see the pair of them together, the grandchildren of her Raven. The man she’d hated since his brutal conception on the Snake Stone was gone and her prophecy had come true. As he thought of Mother Heggy and the part she’d played in this, there was a flapping and a flurry. The great black crow appeared, flying slowly into the sacred Circle cawing loudly. Yul noticed many people make the sign of the pentangle, remembering old Mother Heggy and her natural magic. The crow circled overhead, his wings splayed, and then alighted in a tumble of feathers onto Sylvie’s shoulder. People around the Stone Circle nodded. The Wise Woman’s crow had spoken – Sylvie truly belonged by Yul’s side.

When it was time for the customary sharing of cakes and mead, the people came forward as usual in lines towards the altar. But there was also an exodus, by silent consent, of many Hallfolk. They left quietly, streaming back up the Long Walk towards the
Hall and their suitcases, understanding that Stonewylde was now a different place. Visiting adults took their children, and soon there were few blond heads to be seen amongst the vast crowd of Villagers.

The folk who stayed were surprised to find the cakes delicious but not spiced with strange herbs. The mead was heady but not laced with anything stronger. Instead they received something infinitely more enthralling. One by one they stood on the step before Yul, reaching up to him on the Altar Stone. Glorious in golden Solstice robes and evergreen winter headdress, he bent and clasped their hands in his. Grey eyes blazing with energy and light, he looked deep into each person’s eyes and gave them a taste of green magic. For this was the true but long forgotten role of the magus, the magician, the wise one. The energy at Stonewylde was everyone’s – not a privilege to be hoarded by one, but a gift to be shared by all.

Maizie and Miranda came up together, both glowing with pride at their children’s bravery and triumph. Clip too received the energy from Yul, full of respect for the young man. When he looked up at the handsome dark face before him he knew Yul would succeed as magus. He was too much his father’s son to do otherwise.

Finally, when every person had been blessed one by one, Sylvie came from her place beside the stone. She stood before Yul, the black crow on her shoulder. He guided her up from the step to stand next to him on the Altar Stone. Holding hands they faced each other, and the energy flowed in both directions. Green magic and quicksilver. Their eyes locked together as they gazed into each other’s souls. The fear, pain and suffering of the past months melted away to nothing, like frost in the sun. Their passion and adoration glimmered around them in an aura for all to see. The crow took off and flew to the stone behind them, where the image of the Green Man smiled amidst the traditional symbols of the Winter Solstice.

The sun blessed them both, gilding them like bright angels. They looked deep into each other’s eyes and time seemed to
stand still for a moment. Then, moving as one, they fell into a fierce embrace. The folk cheered as they held each other tightly, two hearts beating wildly in unison.

Sylvie and Yul felt the cogs of time falling into place. They felt the wheels of fate revolving and knew this was their rightful destiny. The ancient story was told again. The pattern was repeated as it had been throughout the ages in this enchanted place. The Green Man and the moongazy girl, the darkness and the brightness, together as one.

The true guardians of the magic of Stonewylde.

M
y acknowledgements written for the original, self-published edition of this book still stand. So continued and deepest thanks to:

Clare Pearson, my first agent – you were right all along!

My three sons George, Oliver and William for putting up with my obsession.

My family and friends, many in Dorset, for your love and support.