by Kit Berry
‘Why are they here? I’ve never seen so many birds all together in one place.’
‘The crow is one of the emblems of the Otherworld,’ explained Clip. ‘Humphrey was a lovely chap and well-loved, and that’s why there’s a good turn-out of birds here today.’
Sylvie frowned at him – surely he was joking.
‘Humphrey was brought down here at dawn and his body placed on the bier; his family and friends have been with him all day. They’ll have had a picnic and spent the day thinking of him, talking about him and his life; all that he’s done, all that he was, and taking their leave of him. In a minute Magus will start the ceremony and as the sun sets, the family will light the pyre. We believe that then, as his body burns away in the twilight, his soul leaves this world and enters the Otherworld.’
Sylvie shivered suddenly and Clip looked closely at her.
‘You’re sure you’re alright?’
She nodded and looked around, trying to locate Yul amongst the great crowd. She could feel him there and knew he was watching her right now. She scanned the faces and then her eyes locked into his, feeling the jolt of fire behind the deep grey. She drew breath sharply as she gazed at him and Clip, watching her carefully, bent down close to her.
‘You’ll have to give him up, Sylvie,’ he whispered. ‘For his sake, if not your own. Magus won’t tolerate a relationship between you.’
She was saved from replying by the appearance of Magus in a long grey cloak emerging from the depths of the yew, stepping from beneath the boughs and out into the open. As he turned and the cloak swished, she saw the great crow with outstretched wings embroidered on the back, defined with golden stitching. Beside Magus walked another dark-cloaked figure carrying a burning torch, who wore a mask of black feathers with a long protruding beak. This transformed his head into that of a crow’s, reminding Sylvie of the sinister beaked doctors of the Great Plague.
Magus strode towards the funeral pyre, the crow man following, and the drumming changed beat. More instruments joined the music and suddenly the whole community burst into song. Sylvie and Miranda both jumped and clutched each other’s arms at the unexpectedness of it. The sound was strange – a sort of eerie serenade, almost an ululation, which filled the clearing. The birds shifted in the branches, preening and watching.
‘Who’s the man in the bird mask?’ asked Sylvie, noticing the blond Hallfolk hair beneath it.
‘Martin, from the Hall. He always assists Magus at funerals.’
It was too cloudy to see the sunset but Magus seemed to anticipate the moment. The light had been steadily fading from the grey skies, and at his signal, five men brought forward a large piece of heavy hemp cloth embroidered with a pentangle of green and gold.
‘Do you know about the pentangle?’ whispered Clip. ‘It represents the five elements and it’s a sacred symbol to us.’
Sylvie was about to reply when the music quietened and Magus began to speak. His deep voice rang out in the clearing, his words unhurried and beautifully spoken.
‘Blessings, folk of Stonewylde!’
‘Blessings, Magus of Stonewylde!’ chorused hundreds of voices in perfect unison.
‘Great Earth Mother who gives life to us all, in your sacred presence we gather to honour our friend Humphrey, who was a beloved member of our community. His time with us is now over and his soul is ready to leave our world and enter the Otherworld. We come to say farewell at his Passing On, to wish his soul good speed through the veil, and to comfort those who will miss him most.’
Every face was turned towards Magus; everyone was rapt and still. Even the birds were unmoving in the branches.
‘Humphrey was a good man, a much-loved son, brother, husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather, held in great affection by everyone. He was a true Villager who loved Stonewylde and served our community well. He loved the land, he worked hard all his life, and he honoured the Earth Goddess in every way. His special gift was music, and we’ll always remember Old Humphrey for his lively fiddling at every dance in the Great Barn.’
Magus stood gazing at the white-haired old man for a moment and Sylvie felt a catch in her throat.
‘We say farewell to you, Humphrey,’ Magus continued, ‘with thanks for your life, but sadness that you’ll no longer be among us here. We will remember you, especially at Samhain when the veil is thin. We send your soul now to pass on to the Otherworld, under the green symbol of the five elements that are the fabric of life itself. Earth! Air! Fire! Water! Spirit! We say farewell to you under the boughs of the Yew of Death, the great tree of rebirth. As the yew is reborn from death, so too may your soul be reborn in the Otherworld. May you ever walk with the Goddess, she who is life itself. Farewell, Humphrey!’
As the five men draped the green cloth over the body, high up on the bier, the community spoke in one great voice.
‘Farewell, Humphrey! Goddess speed your soul to the Other-world!’
The drums took up a gentle beat and Magus nodded to an old woman who stood nearby, flanked by her family. She took the burning torch from the crow-masked man and bending stiffly, lit the kindling at the base of the pyre. Sylvie swallowed hard and felt Clip’s arm slip comfortingly around her shoulders. There was a whoosh as the flames caught hold, and the resin-soaked pyre very quickly became a crackling mass of red-hot fire. Everyone stepped back and, as the fire burnt, the music played and the people swayed gently, many with tears rolling down their cheeks.
Sylvie felt incredibly moved. Her tears flowed freely as she thought of the old man she’d seen but never even met, who’d been so loved all his life and would now be so missed. She felt part of something special; a coming-together of human kindness and love. As the pyre burned, people held hands or hugged for comfort and the music was gentle and calm. The body under the hemp cloth seemed to have been consumed already; there was a strong, spicy smell in the air and ashes floated upwards. Suddenly, and with no warning, the birds rose from the trees together in a great black cloud. The music stopped immediately and the air was full of dark wings as if black confetti had been scattered over the silent clearing. There was a collective sigh and everyone raised their arms, holding them outstretched to the darkening sky. They stood transfixed gazing upwards, all attention focused on the sky and the birds.
Then, after a minute, it was over and people began to talk almost normally.
‘His soul has gone,’ said Clip. ‘Did you feel it? Whatever the essence of Humphrey was, it’s no longer here with us in this world. The birds know the moment when the soul passes on.’
‘That was amazing,’ said Sylvie, wiping her eyes. ‘Wasn’t it, Mum?’
Miranda nodded, also clearly moved by the experience.
‘The most beautiful funeral I’ve ever seen,’ she agreed, blowing her nose. ‘All I remember of the last one I attended was the plastic flowers and the stink of air freshener. I’ll never forget this moment. Magus does things so wonderfully, doesn’t he?’
‘What happens now?’ asked Sylvie.
‘We all go back to the Great Barn. We share some mead and a bite to eat, and that’s it. His immediate family will probably stay in the Barn together this evening, and in the morning they’ll come back here and sweep the ashes under the Yew of Death. They’ll also place a pebble under the tree to represent Humphrey’s presence at Stonewylde. The next boy to be born into the family will be named after him.’
Back in the Great Barn Sylvie sipped at a glass of mead and looked about her. The bakers had been busy; great basketfuls of fresh rolls sat on the tables, each one dusted with black poppy seeds and baked in the cruciform shape of a flying crow. There were bowls of butter and chutney, many round cheeses, several huge, pink hams and baskets of apples. Everyone milled about, talking and eating, and the fiddlers played softly. Sylvie found herself standing next to Cherry, whom she saw often enough but rarely to talk to. It was frowned upon to be sociable with servants at the Hall, although was more acceptable at festivals and ceremonies. Cherry wa
s always so busy but Sylvie remembered her kindness when they’d first moved in to Woodland Cottage. She welcomed this chance for a chat, although she found it hard to get a word in edgeways.
‘May I say, miss, how tall you’ve grown lately? I remember when you came here barely a six-month ago, a scrawny little scrap, and now look at you! Still much too skinny for my liking, mind, but you’re so tall and leggy now.’
‘Thank you, Cherry. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Well, ‘tis a blessing you’ve lost that nasty scaly stuff on your skin too. Told you our wholesome food would do the trick, didn’t I? You’re happy at Stonewylde, aren’t you m’dear? Not planning to go back to the Outside World, I hope?’
‘Oh no!’ said Sylvie quickly. ‘I shall never leave Stonewylde – I love it here! That funeral … I mean, the Passing On, was wonderful. They don’t do it like that in the Outside World at all.’
‘Aye, ‘twas a fine ceremony today, lots o’ birds. He’d have liked that, old Humphrey. The Village’ll seem strange without him around, sweet old soul that he was. But never mind; we go when the Dark Angel summons, and not before nor after. And Humphrey knew his time on this earth was finished – he were ready.’
‘The Dark Angel?’
‘Why the angel of death, m’dear. You must have him in the Outside World too. How else is a person to know when they must pass on? He appears when death is close, and if he summons you, your spirit must follow. We all obey him, even the magus himself. Nobody cheats the Dark Angel.’
Later, as they walked slowly back up to the Hall, Sylvie reflected on the funeral. It had been simple, with no drawn out speeches or tributes, no prayers, hymns nor dogma, yet all the more effective for its simplicity. The community had despatched Humphrey’s soul with love and sadness, disposed of his body respectfully and comforted his family. Sylvie thought of what she’d said to Cherry about never leaving Stonewylde. If she stayed, one day she’d end up under the Yew of Death as a handful of ashes with only a simple pebble to mark her presence at Stonewylde. The thought made her shiver and she took Miranda’s arm in the darkness. Sylvie felt in need, all of a sudden, of her mother’s protection.
19
The community began to prepare for the next festival in the pagan calendar celebrated on the last day of October. Samhain was a major event at Stonewylde as it was the festival of the dead and also the end of the old year. Sylvie was expected to take part in a dance-drama performed by all the young people, Villager and Hallfolk, and must make her own costume and mask. She’d been given the materials and sat alone in the window seat of one of the downstairs school rooms carefully stitching the seams, glancing outside every now and then at the misty lawns. A cluster of gardeners worked steadily, raking dead leaves into large piles for composting into leaf mulch.
Sylvie, sitting alone in the gloom with the black material draped around her, felt the death of the year approaching and a sadness creep into her soul. She looked up as the door opened; her heart sank at the sight of Magus. He came over and sat down next to her, examining the fabric of her costume and then looking intently at her, his dark eyes searching.
‘All on your own, Sylvie? Don’t you want to sit with the other girls to do your sewing?’
She shook her head.
‘They don’t like me very much. I’d rather be on my own anyway.’
‘That’s a shame, but to be expected in a way. You’re different, like a pearl amongst pebbles. You’re not one of them and I like the idea of your not mixing too much with the other girls; I think you’re right to keep yourself apart.’
He continued to watch her, his proximity and the scent of his fragrance making her nervous.
‘Sylvie, I need to talk to you about the Moon Fullness next week.’
Sylvie kept her head down over her sewing, knowing he was testing to see if she were still under the spell. She tried to remember the exact words. She looked up directly into his deep brown eyes; they bored into her as if he were entering her soul.
‘I want to dance at Mooncliffe. I want to give you my moon magic.’
He smiled at her and put his hand on hers, stroking it gently with his long fingers.
‘You’re a good girl, Sylvie. You know how much I need it, and you know it’s why you were brought here.’
She forced herself to smile in return and carried on stitching, her hand shaking slightly under his touch. He turned to gaze out of the window.
‘Unfortunately you didn’t give me any of your magic last month, did you? So this month it’ll take longer and afterwards I expect you’ll be a little more tired than usual. I need to take extra special care of you now, so the effects won’t be quite as tiring for you.’
‘Thank you, Magus,’ she said quietly, trying to sew and hide her fear.
‘I want you strong and healthy; you know how important your well-being is to me. Remember how I healed you, Sylvie? If you wish to moondance for me every month, you need to conserve your energy.’
‘Yes I will.’
‘I’m sure you will, but I’m taking no chances, not with your health at stake. So I’ve decided that you can be excused the demands of school until after the Moon Fullness. You’re not to leave your rooms at all next week, and I want you to stay in bed quietly. All you must do is rest and eat. Is that clear?’
‘But I don’t want to go to bed for a week,’ she protested, her heart sinking even further at the thought. ‘I like school and I’ll be bored if—’
‘No arguments, Sylvie. Your health must come first.’
‘But please, Magus, I really—’
He sighed, and took the sewing out of her hands. He laid it on the window seat and put his hands on her shoulders, twisting her so she had to look at him. She felt the full glare of his relentless will as he shook her very slightly, his fingers digging into her bones.
‘I may have to ask Clip to speak to you again if you don’t co-operate. And I may even get Hazel to sedate you. Do you understand, Sylvie? This isn’t negotiable so don’t make me angry – just be a good girl and do what I want without a fuss. Take your sewing and go to your room right now. I’ll send your mother up to look after you.’
She nodded slowly, her mind racing; the last thing she needed was Clip intervening. The thought of losing her free will again was terrifying, as was the idea of being medicated by Hazel. She had no choice but to co-operate and not arouse any suspicion. But her heart seethed with anger; Magus was confining her to bed for a week before the Moon Fullness, and then she’d probably be ill for another week afterwards. He couldn’t steal away her life like this, two weeks a month just to satisfy his need. How could she avoid it this time – surely Mother Heggy couldn’t arrange an accident for him every month?
Sylvie miserably made her way to the Tudor wing and tried to talk to her mother about it. She came up against the spell Mother Heggy and Yul had spoken of straight away, and understood why they saw it as magic. Sylvie knew little about hypnosis, though she recognised what Clip had done, and she was shocked at Miranda’s complete subjugation. It was frightening to hear her mother, the one person in the world who should be protecting her from predators like Magus, parroting that she’d always obey him and that he knew what was best for Sylvie.
Confined to bed even though she was perfectly well, she’d now have no chance of getting help from Yul or Mother Heggy. Over the next few days of enforced bed-rest Sylvie realised just how very vulnerable she was, and became increasingly frightened about the ordeal Magus had planned for her up at Mooncliffe.
A couple of nights before the full moon, Magus asked Clip to come into his office for a chat. They sat down and Magus rang for coffee. As they drank it, surveying each other on opposite sofas, Magus produced a tin of cakes.
‘Almost forgot I had these in here. Would you like one?’
‘Are they …?’
‘They certainly are – help yourself.’
Magus watched as Clip devoured the cake, eyes closed in bliss. He didn’t ha
ve one himself.
‘Absolutely scrumptious! May I have another?’
‘Have as many as you like, Clip.’
When he saw that Clip was relaxed and amenable, he set to work.
‘I need your help this month with the Mooncliffe business.’
Clip waved airily.
‘I’ll help if you want, but you really don’t need me. The hypnosis hasn’t worn off, has it?’
‘No, I’ve checked and Sylvie’s still under, but there’re other things that could go wrong. After missing it last month, the moon energy’s gone completely from the big stone at Mooncliffe. There’re only a couple of charged eggs left and it’s Samhain in a fortnight. For some reason I’m not getting anything from the Altar Stone any more so I must have this power next week. You know what Samhain’s like – I really need the extra energy. So if something were to go wrong at the next full moon and I’m up there all on my own, I’d be stuck. I need your help, Clip.’
‘Well, it’s nice to be wanted. Mind if I have another little cake? They’re so more-ish, aren’t they?’
He sat eating the cake slowly, savouring each morsel.
‘I’ll help you,’ he mumbled, wiping crumbs from his lips, ‘but Sol, I don’t want Sylvie kept up there for hours and weighed down with all those heavy stone eggs. It’s cruel and I can’t stand it.’
Magus sighed and shook his head slowly.
‘I wish there could be some other way of taking the moon magic but regrettably there isn’t. Sometimes, Clip, to be part of a community one has to make sacrifices and this is Sylvie’s sacrifice in return for all that we give her. At the moment she’s the only one we know of with this ability to channel the moon’s energy. Sadly it takes some of her own energy to do it but she does recover fully, and I think she overdoes the suffering just a little, don’t you? It can’t hurt that much surely. I think there’s something of the teenage martyr about her and she enjoys wallowing in it. She needs to toughen up a bit, don’t you agree? And it’s not as if she gives anything else back to Stonewylde after all. Here, have another cake.’
