by Kit Berry
He paused, gazing into the crackling flames in the hearth. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost wistful.
‘I could’ve loved you, Sylvie. It’s been a long time since I loved a woman, and that was only a brief, impossible interlude which came to a bitter end. Apart from that I’ve never loved anyone, not one single person – parent, child, sibling or lover. But I thought I loved you and I wanted to make your life so special.’
‘Why can’t—’
‘No! You’ve thrown it back in my face, all of it. You’re ungrateful and heartless and you’ll pay dearly for that, believe me. I could’ve given you the earth, you know.’
‘No, Magus,’ she whispered. ‘You couldn’t have. The earth isn’t yours to give.’
16
Magus woke her up at midmorning the following day – not with kisses but a rough shake of her shoulder. Sylvie felt even worse than usual, her throat scratchy as sandpaper and head pounding relentlessly like a pneumatic drill. Her stomach hurt badly and she’d pulled muscles with that awful retching the night before. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, the diamond collar and bracelets heavy and uncomfortable against her skin, but glinting brightly in the sunlight that streamed in. Magus sat at the other end of the large sofa watching her struggle to regain consciousness.
‘Yul has been sent for,’ he informed her. ‘He’ll be arriving at the Hall in a little while so I want you up, showered and dressed straight away. You must look your most beautiful when you tell him that you’re his sister. I’ve put out the clothes you’re to wear and you’ll love the dress. It’s one from that mediaeval collection we admired from Milan, and very appropriate, given the setting.’
‘Can I have some breakfast please? After last night I feel—’
‘No,’ he said curtly. ‘Too late for that, and anyway, if you’re going to deliberately make yourself sick then you don’t deserve any food. Now go and get ready – Yul will be here soon.’
Sylvie did as she was told and after showering, went to her room. The servants had cleared all the mess a while ago and the room was now immaculate, the wardrobes and chests full of expensive outfits, her perfume and cosmetics arranged neatly on the large dressing table. The dress she must wear lay spread on the four-poster bed and despite her resentment, she was over-awed at its beauty.
It was of heavy brocade silk, a deep rich purple with a sweetheart neckline and long pointed sleeves. Tiny seed pearls and amethyst beads were embroidered into the full, flowing skirts. The boned bodice was smooth and silky, with a long line of hooks that must be laced up with thick satin ribbons from the back. Sylvie slipped on the gossamer-fine shift first, then stepped into the heavy dress, pulling it up around her. She froze as Magus opened the door, his expression inscrutable.
‘Go away! I’m getting dressed and I want some privacy.’
‘Mediaeval clothes weren’t designed to be put on unaided,’ he replied with a smile, his earlier coldness now replaced by friendliness. ‘And neither are the modern replicas. It’ll be my pleasure to assist you, my lady.’
Sylvie slid her arms into the long tight sleeves, her heavy bracelets catching in the material. The points came down over the tops of her hands, but the slashes in the sides of the sleeves revealed the diamonds as she moved her arms. The dress was the ideal foil for the diamond choker around her throat. The neckline sat low on her milky white chest, revealing her delicate collar bones and the heavy, priceless collar.
‘Turn around and I’ll lace you up,’ said Magus softly. He began to tug hard on the laces, firmly and methodically pulling the material tighter and tighter as she breathed in. Gradually the dress was fastened to skin-tight, unyielding perfection. Sylvie could barely breathe and she certainly couldn’t bend, but when she saw her reflection in the full-length mirror she knew the effect was stunning.
Magus picked up her hairbrush and brushed until her hair shone around her in a silver cloud. He helped her slide her feet into the embroidered slippers that matched the outfit, for she couldn’t bend to do it herself, and then surveyed her critically.
‘Make-up,’ he said. ‘You need to cover up the marks on your cheek and put on some eye shadow and mascara too. All that crying hasn’t done you any favours.’
‘Why are you making such a fuss about my appearance?’ she asked sullenly. ‘What’s it to you? Surely you don’t care how I look when I’m seeing Yul alone?’
‘Who said you’re seeing Yul alone?’ he asked.
‘Well I’m not telling him in front of you!’ she said, smoothing foundation into her skin to cover the faint but tell-tale imprint of his hand on her cheek.
When she was made-up to his satisfaction, they left her room and returned through all the other chambers back to the sitting room. Sylvie stood by the windows ignoring him, looking out across the drive with its avenue of bare trees, to the lawns and then parkland off to the side, and the wintry hills beyond. She yearned to be freed from this prison. It was so long since she’d been outside, at liberty to roam where she wanted and enjoy the fresh air. She remembered walking around Stonewylde with Yul; in the woods, the ridgeway, the Stone Circle, the hill at Hare Stone.
As the memories flooded in, her heart turned to stone. They’d never be together like that again. She thought of Yul’s curly dark hair, always falling in his face, full of bits of wood and leaves. His grey eyes, slanted and long-lashed, smouldering with tightly controlled passion as he watched her. His body, long-limbed and slim but strong too, and so very tough and resilient, bearing witness to the beatings and cruelty he’d been subjected to all his life. She remembered his beautiful golden brown back crisscrossed with ugly scars, and his hands, long-fingered and square nailed, often dirty but always so gentle.
A sob escaped her throat and then Sylvie dissolved into tears, finally understanding fully that these thoughts, these memories, were now forbidden. She had to deny them. She could still love him – nothing would ever stop that – but it must be a sister’s love and she could never again experience that deep melting sensation as he kissed her or touched her. She must never hunger for him and long for him, as she’d done for so many months, always in the certain knowledge that one day her longing would be fulfilled. She sobbed silently as if her heart would break, the bones of the corset tightening cruelly around her ribcage as she cried.
Magus came and stood close behind her, grasping her arms gently. The bruises were hidden under the silk but he knew exactly where they were. He exerted the tiniest pressure and she caught her breath sharply.
‘I really think you should pull yourself together, Sylvie,’ he said softly, as her body convulsed with suppressed sobs. ‘You’ll still be able to see him, after all. In fact, you’ll be seeing him in a few minutes and I want you calm and composed, so be a good girl and stop this silly blubbering. You’ll smudge your make-up if you carry on like this.’
He gripped her arms a little harder, pinching on the damaged flesh under the tight silk sleeves until she could no longer keep silent but cried out in pain.
‘Leave me alone!’ she sobbed. ‘I hate you! I wish you were dead!’
He laughed, letting her go and turning her to face him. He put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up so their eyes met, hers soft and grey and full of tears, his black and gleaming. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully dried her cheeks.
‘I do enjoy a girl with spirit – so much more fun. You’ll learn to love me, Sylvie. When I decide to be kind to you again, you’ll lap it up and come running back like a little kitten, desperate for my attention. Think how keen you were only a week or so ago, how much you enjoyed all the pampering and spoiling. But of course you didn’t know you were my daughter back then. Anyway, it’s almost time to go downstairs.’
‘Why? What for?’
‘So you can tell Yul you’re his sister, as you wanted.’
At that moment there was a discreet knock and Martin came in. He ignored Sylvie, his face expressionless.
&
nbsp; ‘All is ready, sir,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Martin. Come on then, my moongazy girl – time to make your entrance.’
‘I want to see Yul alone!’ she cried, shaking his hand from her elbow.
‘Oh no, Sylvie, such an important announcement must be made to everyone – or everyone that matters, anyway. Come on!’
She began to struggle and Martin stepped forward, his grey eyes cold.
‘Would you like some assistance, sir?’ he asked quietly.
Magus shook his head and roughly spun Sylvie round to face him, thrusting his face into hers.
‘Do you want us to carry you downstairs kicking and screaming, you stupid girl?’ he demanded brusquely. ‘Stop this behaviour at once or you’ll suffer for it later. You know I mean it, Sylvie.’ He grasped her damaged arm again and she had no choice but to move; the pain was excruciating. She followed Martin down the stairs, with Magus behind her prodding her in the back.
‘But I want to tell Yul alone! Not in front of you! Please, Magus!’
‘You’ll do as you’re told, girl. Move yourself!’
She understood his intentions when they entered the mediaeval Galleried Hall. Magus regularly held his court of justice here and now the great room, with its stone-flagged floor, vaulted ceiling and oak-panelled walls, was filling up with Hallfolk. They milled around, pouring in through various arched doors that led into the vast area, and as Magus and Sylvie made their entrance into the packed hall, everyone fell silent. She faltered and stopped, horrified at the sight of such a large crowd to witness such an intimate, awful moment. But the vicious grip, so agonising on her upper arm, forced her forward to the dais at the far end of the hall. The great carved throne stood empty and waiting for Magus, an ornate stool at its foot. Magus guided her up onto the dais and indicated she should sit on the stool.
Sylvie felt as if she were on a film set; everything seemed staged and unreal. The bodice of her purple silk dress fitted like a tight glove, flowing into the heavy skirts that swirled in a mass of pearls and amethyst around her. She sat down carefully, straight backed as the rigid steel bones in the bodice bit sharply into her ribs and waist. It was so painful and she couldn’t breathe properly, having to take small, shallow breaths which made her feel dizzy. Her hair fell about her face and shoulders, almost down to her waist, in a shining silver veil, and the thick diamond collar and wristlets glittered brightly, startling against her very white skin. The bones in her face were fine and sharp after her starvation, like delicately carved alabaster.
Sylvie sat perfectly still, her grey moonstone gaze fixed on the half-hidden carvings of Green Men and dancing hares up in the high vaulted roof. She’d become a fairy-tale princess, not flesh and blood at all. Every single eye in the great room was on her; she had the rare gift of true beauty and everyone feasted on it. Magus relaxed on the throne chair, enjoying the attention Sylvie was attracting. She was an exceptional trophy. He revelled in her charismatic beauty and the beguiling air of tragedy about her. Reluctantly he dragged his eyes away and looked around at the crowds of Hallfolk, all of them related to him in some way. Nearly everyone was blond and there was a definite genetic link, clearly visible when they gathered together like this.
And then Yul arrived, dark and different, but also clearly one of them. It was apparent in his cheekbones, the way he held his head, his long limbs, and in his nose and jaw. Magus had never before seen it as clearly as he did now, with the boy surrounded by his kin. But Yul shone brighter than any of them; something fine and honed glowed from deep within, something magical crackled in an aura about him. Magus hated him with a vengeance, but the dark hatred was shot through with a surprising glint of pride. His son was so much greater than any of these others in the room.
All eyes had turned to watch Yul’s arrival through one of the arched doors. He wore his festival clothes, the flowing white shirt and black trousers and boots giving him a mediaeval air to match Sylvie. He strode in and stopped, unsure what was expected of him but not nervous or awkward in the slightest. He stood straight, chin raised proudly, shaking the curls from his eyes in his familiar mannerism.
Then he saw Sylvie on the dais. Magus noticed with satisfaction the effect she had on him. Yul’s body stretched, seeming to yearn towards her. His eyes brightened and his lips parted, none of which was wasted on Magus, so perceptive and astute. It was plain that the boy was absolutely in love with her, which made the forthcoming revelation even more delightful. The buzz of noise that had greeted Yul’s arrival died down and all eyes now turned to Magus, who’d summoned them there. He rose from the carved chair, tall and commanding, and anticipation throbbed in the air.
‘Blessings to you, my Hallfolk,’ he began, his deep voice filling the great room. ‘Thank you for gathering here today at such short notice, and welcome to all the visitors who’ve arrived early for the festival. I wanted to speak to you before the Winter Solstice ceremony and the Yule celebrations and holiday. I know most of you are leaving for Switzerland after the twelve days of Yule for our annual skiing trip. Sylvie and I may join you some time later in January.’
There was a burst of excited chatter at this news and he raised a hand for silence.
‘I’ve two important pieces of news to tell you all today. The first I believe most of you know already, but I’d like to make it official. The young man you see standing there, whom you’ve known as Yul, a Village boy training to be a woodsman, is in fact my son and therefore one of the Hallfolk.’
There was a great eruption of noise as people turned to each other. Behind one of the many arched doorways leading into the Galleried Hall, two women who didn’t belong at the gathering met each other’s eye.
‘Has to tell the truth now, don’t he? Got no choice any more, and after all those years of hiding it!’
Cherry pursed her lips and nodded, jowls quivering.
‘Aye, sister. But our Yul ain’t no Hallfolk! Look at him now, so handsome and full o’ the magic. He’s better than all o’ that lot put together!’
‘So what’s this about then?’ said Marigold. ‘What’s Magus playing at now? I don’t like this, not one bit. I reckon he knows there’s something going on. He’s heard something, and I bet ‘tis from Martin, that miserable old sod.’
They both looked across the crowded hall at Martin, standing tall and sombre in another doorway and watching the proceedings intently. His eyes were on Yul and his expression was one of bitterness.
‘He hates Yul, don’t he? Look at his face! We must be careful, Cherry. If Martin gets any wind o’ the plans afoot, he could spoil everything.’
‘Aye, Marigold, he’d snitch straight off. Go running to Magus telling tales. And Goddess help us all if Magus finds out what the folk got planned. We must guard our tongues, right enough.’
‘’Tis not long now. Not long till our Yul takes his rightful place.’
‘We won’t be hiding away like this then, will we? Skulking in corners and not being allowed to show our faces. Us Villagers’ll take our rightful places too.’
‘Aye, we will if all goes well. But I don’t know … something’s not right here. Magus is too clever and he looks so pleased with hisself. Oh, I feel for that poor maid. Look at her now – what’s he done to her?’
Yul stared across at Sylvie, who sat bolt upright and as pale as death. Her eyes found his and he poured his love to her across the room, ignoring the noise and the people, sending a silent message of comfort and adoration. But he saw there were tears in her eyes. Sunlight shone down on her through one of the stained-glass windows up high above her, and in the shaft of bright blue light, her tears sparkled almost as brightly as her diamonds. She was bathed in a pool of mediaeval azure as if someone from the past had shone a blue-filtered spotlight on her. She shook her head sorrowfully at him, her message unclear.
‘It’s unusual for one of the Hallfolk to have been raised in the Village, for normally a Hallchild is brought up here at the age of eight,’ Magus continued. �
��Unless of course he’s completely daft, which Yul certainly isn’t. There’s no doubt that Yul is my son and I want to formally acknowledge this and tell you all that after the celebration, he’ll be coming to live with us at the Hall. He and Sylvie have formed a strong attachment and I know they like to spend as much time together as possible. So with Yul living here under the same roof, they can see each other as often as they wish.’
There was more chatter at this, for nobody could understand Magus’ thinking. The Hallfolk had assumed Magus wanted Sylvie for himself; he’d kept her up in his rooms for two weeks now, barely allowing her out. They’d all seen the boxes and boxes of presents that had arrived for her and the diamond jewels she wore were clearly priceless. Why was he now handing her to his son?
Yul was utterly confused too. He frowned at Magus and looked at Sylvie for enlightenment. But she was staring down at her hands in her lap, and he realised from the slight shaking of her shoulders that she was still crying. Something terrible had happened, he was sure, and perhaps something terrible was still to come. Magus was playing with them, pretending to free them as he prepared to pounce. Yul could bear it no longer. He’d only answered the summons today because Clip had advised him to, thinking it best to keep Magus happy. But he wasn’t taking orders from Magus, nor playing the victim in his cat and mouse games; he’d moved beyond that. Yul stepped forward and called out in a voice very like Magus’, deep and clear.
‘I am your son and there’s no doubt of that, as you say. But as for being one of the Hallfolk – I tell you all now, I will never, ever be Hallfolk! I’m proud to be a Villager, the lifeblood of Stonewylde, not a Hallfolk parasite. I will not be coming to live at the Hall. I don’t belong here and I don’t want to belong here.’
