Moondance of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘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.’

  6

  ‘Oh 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 a
t 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.

  In the morning Sylvie awoke feeling exhausted. She didn’t want to get up and face the world, and was overwhelmed with a sensation of dread. She knew that tomorrow was the full moon and thought desperately of Yul. He’d said he’d wait for her in the woods. More than anything she wanted to be with him, protected and loved, dancing around the Hare Stone in honour of the Bright Lady. But every time she thought about it a fog rolled over her, blocking everything out. All she could think of was her compulsion to visit Mooncliffe and give her magic to Magus. It was why she’d been brought to Stonewylde and she must do it without question. There was no doubt about it in her mind – only a deep sense of trepidation.

  Sylvie dragged herself out of bed, gazing through the windows at the bright gardens below. It was a glorious day, full of bird song and blue skies, but her heart was heavy. She showered and got ready to go down to breakfast. Food was the last thing she wanted, but she knew she must look after her health. Miranda was still in bed feeling queasy with morning sickness as Sylvie left their rooms. She stumbled down the long gallery of the Tudor wing towards the upper landing, subdued and full of foreboding.

  The first person she saw was Magus, glowing with vitality after an energetic early morning ride. He was making his way up the wide staircase as she was descending. His long legs in tight jodhpurs and highly polished boots took the stairs two at a time and he stopped on the stair below her as they met, still taller than she was. Sunlight shone through the great stained-glass window behind her, falling full onto his handsome face and bathing his silvery hair with royal red and purple light. His skin was golden from the summer sun and his dark eyes danced with energy; he looked glorious.

  ‘Good morning, my moongazy girl!’ he said, his voice smooth as mead. He couldn’t see her face clearly for the light was streaming in behind her, throwing her into silhouette. He did notice that she seemed taller; no longer a young girl but now coltish and leggy. When had that happened? She was growing up so fast. He reached forward and took both her hands in his, surprised to find her trembling violently.

  ‘Sylvie, what’s the matter?’

  He took a step up to the same level and turned her so the coloured light from the stained glass washed her face. The effect was quite uncanny; a masque of blue light fell onto her ashen skin and she seemed to go cold before him. He saw the strain and fear in her eyes, the way her lips quivered.

  ‘What’s wrong, Sylvie?’ he asked softly. ‘What’s frightened you?’

  She shook her head silently, unable to articulate her fears, her pale grey eyes enormous and pleading. Magus cocked his head, frowning at her.

  ‘Has anyone hurt you? Upset you?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing, really. Just … I had a dream. A nightmare.’

  He stared at her, watching the expressions chasing over her face.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There were stones, rocks everywhere, crushing and suffocating me. It was horrible.’

  He stroked her cheek gently.

  ‘Just a dream, Sylvie. Forget it and it’ll fade. Look outside – it’s a beautiful day. Go for a walk and chase the darkness away. And you know it’s the full moon tomorrow night? I’ve come back from London especially for you. You remember why?’

  Her face clouded over immediately, like a shadow passing across her.

  ‘You’ve come to take me to Mooncliffe,’ she whispered. ‘I want to dance on the stone for you.’

  He smiled at her and bent to kiss the top of her head.

  ‘And so you shall. I’ve been looking forward to it all month. See you later, Sylvie. Forget your nightmare. I’ll never let anything hurt you.’

  He patted her arm and bounded up the stairs, heading for his rooms. He needed a shower after his hard ride on the spirited Nightwing. Sylvie continued down the stairs feeling close to tears but not sure why. The hall below was full of people moving around, heading into or out of breakfast in the Dining Hall. Their loud voices and the greasy smell of food were overwhelming, and Sylvie felt sick and panicky. Rainbow stood at the foot of the stairs, her hand idly stroking the carved newel as she watched Sylvie intently with bright, sea-blue eyes. Sylvie found that her little appetite had now gone completely. Ignoring Rainbow’s speculative look, she hurried outside into the balmy morning to find some solace.

  Sylvie wandered around the grounds of the Hall gazing up at the great trees in their full July robes, their greenery at its thickest and best. She thought of the woodland nearby where Yul would now be working. She longed to go and find him, craving his company and security. She hadn’t seen him since the cricket practice on the Village Green, when she’d felt that maybe things would be alright between them after all. But she had no idea where in all those acres of woodland he’d be, and she felt too listless and downcast to walk far today.

  Instead Sylvie made her way to a beautiful sunken garden she’d re
cently discovered around the side of the Hall. Climbing down the uneven stone steps, she sat on a lichened bench carved into the rock walls and tried to let go of her tension. The secret garden was lined with dark grey stone, furred with emerald green moss. Every flower that bloomed down here was white: roses, lilies, jasmine, alyssum, clematis, marguerites, asters and even white snap-dragons. Great lush green plants and ferns offset the whiteness, giving the garden an exotic and luxuriant feel.

  The scent of roses and jasmine and the soothing sound of water trickling from a mossy frog’s head fountain in the wall caressed Sylvie’s senses as she closed her eyes. She soaked up the warmth and languid calm and sighed deeply. Bees hummed drowsily in the somnolent peace. She tried to cast off the heavy sense of oppression that blanketed her mind, making her want to cry. The sunken garden was too beautiful for unhappiness.

  ‘May I join you, my dear? With apologies for disturbing your reveries.’

  It was Professor Siskin, who picked his way carefully down the mossy steps and into the warm enclosed garden. He raised his panama in greeting and lowered himself onto the stone bench next to her, gnarled hands resting on his ornate walking stick. He too closed his eyes in appreciation of the fragrance and heat.

  ‘Ah, that scent! As one gets older, one better appreciates the simple pleasures in life. The Earth Mother is indeed bountiful with her favours. Blessed be!’

  Sylvie sat in silence, still close to tears but pleased of his company. She felt an affinity with the elderly man and liked the way he’d spoken to Yul in the Jack in the Green. He hadn’t shown the usual Hallfolk condescension, nor the automatic superiority they claimed as their prerogative. Yet given his close lineage to the old magus, Professor Siskin had more right than most to lord it over others.

  ‘Are you feeling a little fragile, my dear? I noticed your absence at breakfast.’

  She nodded and he patted her hand.

  ‘Sol has that effect on some people. I don’t know what’s going on, Sylvie, but I would warn you to be very careful. To be on your guard.’