by Kit Berry
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
Ghostly 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
Magus 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. Magu
s 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.
Magus wheeled Nightwing around and trotted down one of the lanes that radiated away from the Village Green like spokes of a web. He’d already visited three of the families involved, and had one more call to make this morning. Maizie saw the tall figure of Magus through a window and hurriedly opened her door. She’d been worried sick since receiving a message after the Hunter’s Moon informing her that he was keeping Yul up at the Hall for a few days, following an incident with Sylvie at Mooncliffe. The implication was that her son had committed a serious misdemeanour. Maizie’s heart had sunk at this news, and she now greeted Magus with some trepidation. He dwarfed the cottage parlour, his head brushing the beams as he gazed down at the anxious woman before him.
Despite having borne seven children and enduring a brute of a husband, he still recognised the spark that had so attracted him all those years ago. Those dark curls and slanted grey eyes, the rosy cheeks that burned now with emotion, just as they’d once done for entirely different reasons. Her dimples were the same, and her proud chin. He shook his head to dispel the memories and sat down in an armchair, indicating that she too should sit. A little girl came running in from the kitchen, freezing when she saw the grand figure of the master of Stonewylde seated unexpectedly in her home.
‘Blessings!’ he smiled, holding out a welcoming hand to her. Shyly she approached and he lifted her onto his lap. He gazed down at her pointed little face and gently ruffled her mass of black curls.
‘She’s so like you, Maizie,’ he said, his dark eyes soft. ‘Not in Nursery yet? Or do you like to keep her at home with you?’
‘She won’t be two till Imbolc, sir,’ replied Maizie. ‘Time enough then for Nursery.’
‘Nearly two years? Doesn’t time fly?’
‘Like a crow, straight and true. Have you come to tell me, sir, what’s happened to Yul?’
‘No, Maizie. I wished to speak to you about your husband. I think—’
‘But what about my boy, sir? When will he be coming home?’
‘I’m keeping him at the Hall for a little longer.’
‘I don’t wish to be disrespectful, sir, but last time you had Yul up at the Hall you nearly killed him. Whatever he’s done, surely he don’t deserve that?’
Magus looked deep into her eyes and remembered how he’d once felt about this woman, only a girl then. There’d been women and girls aplenty, but she’d always been different. She was by his side all through that long year when he’d worked himself to the bone, struggling to rescue Stonewylde from the slough of neglect that was the legacy of his father, uncle and grandfather. Three bad masters in a row, and the very fabric of Stonewylde almost torn apart by their laziness and greed. It was a daunting task for the young, idealistic man, who’d put his burgeoning career in the Outside World on hold to return home and put things to rights.
Maizie had been his saviour that year, her vivacity, prettiness and uncomplicated sense of fun the only light in those dark days of endless labour and exhaustion. She’d been a complete contrast to the smart, sophisticated women he’d left behind in London – Maizie was pure Stonewylde, just when he’d discovered his obsessive love for the vast country estate. She’d sparkled brightly, his one ray of sunlight right up until the fateful Winter Solstice when everything had fallen apart so cataclysmically in the Stone Circle. He sighed and smiled sadly at her.
‘Now, Maizie, you must trust me on this. We both know that Yul is wilful, disobedient and a complete troublemaker. That’s why poor Alwyn had such a difficult time with him over the years. It can’t have been easy bringing up a son as rebellious as Yul.’
Maizie regarded him steadily, also remembering the past. She’d once loved this man so desperately and she was sure that part of her always would. She took a deep breath.
‘We both know, sir, that Yul is no son of Alwyn’s. Now that the man’s ill and not likely to recover, we can speak openly. After all this time, surely you can acknowledge the boy as your own.’
There was silence in the small parlour. Magus’s black eyes glittered dangerously. He tapped his whip against his boot, mouth tight with displeasure.
‘I thought we’d agreed never to discuss this? The matter was dealt with years ago. You were already pregnant at that Moon Fullness up at Mooncliffe and if I’d realised, I’d never have taken you up there that night, nor carried on with you all summer and autumn. I don’t make love to women already pregnant by another man. You deceived me, Maizie, and you even admitted it just before your handfasting to Alwyn.’
She gave him a hard stare, then looked away, her cheeks burning fiercely.
‘I was not pregnant and you know it! Anything I admitted was because ‘twas forced out of me. I’d never lain with anyone other than you, not till after Yul was born. You and I both know that night of the Blue Moon was my first time, and we both know right enough why you’ve denied Yul all these years. But Mother Heggy’s a mad old biddy and you should never have taken heed of her foolish words.’
‘It was nothing to do with that, Maizie.’
‘You know ‘twas! You were happy enough about me carrying your baby up until then! But because of that stupid rant, you condemned me to years of misery with Alwyn, and condemned your own son to suffering beyond belief!’
‘You’re wrong, Maizie. I—’
‘No I’m not! All these long years I’ve kept quiet! All these years I’ve held my tongue and stood by silently, scared silly of Alwyn and his fists. And of you. You know how I’ve tried to talk to you about it, asked you to put the terrible wrongs right, but always it were the same limping excuse from you – Alwyn. But he’s not around no more and at last I can speak plain. Any fool can see Yul’s yours.’
‘Yul’s nothing like me! He has dark hair and grey eyes.’
‘Yes, that’s from me. But he has your build and height, your way o’ moving and riding, your hands and fingernails, your eyebrows and cheekbones – I could go on forever. He’s clever like you, determined, quick-witted and so strong-willed. He won’t be told what to do unless he wants to do it – and he has your temper.’
‘Maizie, that describes you too. You’re strong-minded and bright – it’s what I loved about you. All those qualities are from you. And anyway, Yul was born eight months after the Blue Moon up at Mooncliffe. That was our first time together so you must’ve conceived before then.’
‘No! He came a month early! ‘Tis not that unusual! Would I have been up in the cold and dark at the Stone Circle for the Winter Solstice if he’d been due then? I thought I’d another month to go! I was as shocked as anyone when he were
born during the ceremony, in the middle of that eclipse, with me squatting on the earth while everyone looked on and Mother Heggy capering about and laying him on the Altar Stone all bloody and screaming. Not the best way of birthing your first child, and not expected neither!’
She stared angrily at Magus, her nostrils flaring and grey eyes flashing. He was reminded forcibly of the boy who now lay like death up in the byre; this was how Yul looked when he was angry. He knew Yul would’ve been a worthy son, someone to groom as his heir, as the future magus. The boy had courage, pride and was a natural leader. He was tough and intelligent and passionate about Stonewylde. But Magus’d been haunted by Mother Heggy’s prophecies ever since Yul’s birth. If he acknowledged Yul as his own, he risked their coming true. Conceived under a blue moon, born under a red one, the fruit of his passion. This child would one day rise up with the folk behind him to overthrow him at the place of bones and death.
Magus had woken in the middle of many a night in cold, sweating panic, haunted by the thought of a child of his growing up at Stonewylde, whose destiny was to destroy him. It was like something from a Greek tragedy and must never be given any credence whatsoever. How could such a beautiful act of love-making with a young girl who’d captured his heart, result in such horror? Maizie had seemed to be his destiny, his true love. Despite the differences in their upbringing, he’d recognised something in her that called to his soul, and in his naivety had thought that love would overcome all. With a pretty, intelligent Village girl by his side, he’d bring Stonewylde back to a golden age of happiness and prosperity. That was his plan and he’d intended to announce it that Imbolc after the baby’s birth, when he would crown Maizie as his Bright Maiden and be handfasted with her. But the terrible events of the Winter Solstice had put paid to that idea. So he told himself that the baby coming a month early was proof of just how wrong a man could be to ever put his trust in a happy-ever-after future with any woman.
