by Kit Berry
Sylvie started again as the door opened and Yul came in. She glared at him as he strode across the room towards her.
‘Sorry to barge in on you, but I heard you’d come in here and I thought . . . maybe we could talk?’
Sylvie shrugged and turned away, gazing out at the wintry trees and sky. Since that awful moment on the day of the Hunter’s Moon when she’d been gloatingly informed of her husband’s infidelity, Sylvie had managed to avoid speaking to him. The horrific incident at Quarrycleave had superseded all other concerns, with Leveret in hospital in the Outside World, Jay’s horrible death, and everyone’s distress. Then, only a few days later there’d been the events of Samhain: the terrible double death in the Stone Circle. Her grief at the loss of her father had superseded everything. All this had dragged on for weeks, displacing the need to deal with Yul. The funerals had been difficult – Magus and then Clip had always conducted them in the past. Grieving himself, Yul had struggled to perform the simple ceremony at the Yew of Death.
He’d skulked about since then, knowing that he must face Sylvie and wanting to do so, but also almost glad of the excuses not to. His wife had developed the art of looking through him as if he wasn’t there; yet for the sake of the girls, at least, some kind of arrangement must be reached. Yul sat tentatively beside Sylvie on the cushions of the window seat, careful to leave plenty of space between them. He really didn’t know where to start and she wasn’t helping.
‘I’m glad it’s working out with Christopher staying here for a while,’ he began. ‘He’s so helpful, and certainly—’
‘I’m not interested in making small talk with you,’ she said. ‘If you have something important to say, then say it. Otherwise go away.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I won’t ever be able to tell you just how sorry I am.’
‘Sorry? About?’
He couldn’t look her in the face.
‘About Rainbow,’ he said quietly. ‘I’d like to tell you what happened but there hasn’t really been a chance.’
‘I don’t want to know what happened,’ she said coldly. ‘Why on earth would I want to hear the details of your . . . your adultery?’
‘I . . . I just wanted to make sure you were in possession of the facts,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure what you heard but I thought that—’
‘It really doesn’t matter to me,’ she said. ‘I heard about it from Rowan, who seemed to find it amusing, and certainly enjoyed telling me. The whole community knows about it and Rainbow’s picture of the pair of you in flagrante on the rock has been much discussed. You’ve never denied having sex with Rainbow, so I assume it did happen. What more is there to say?’
She moved to stand up, but Yul clutched her arm, his eyes desperately seeking hers.
‘Please, Sylvie! Let me explain!’
She shook off his hand as if it burned her, but remained seated.
‘No! There’s nothing to explain. It happened and that’s enough!’
‘But I want to tell you about how I—’
‘I don’t want to hear any whining excuses or pathetic justifications! What it boils down to is that you didn’t love me enough to be true to me.’
‘But I did! I loved you so much, and you—’
‘Yul, you were unfaithful to me whilst she was staying here for those three months, and she left not long after the Summer Solstice. We made love on the eve of Lammas. We made love yet all the time you’d done this behind my back and never told me. You had all those weeks, months even, to tell me about it. All that time when you could’ve come clean – but you didn’t. Instead, you lived a lie. We made love under our yew tree – it was so magical – and I truly believed that everything was going to work out between us. I was so happy! We went to London and had a lovely time together, only to find Buzz here when we came back. Oh, you must have been so scared he’d tell me about Rainbow! And before that, when Holly and Fennel came! You must have panicked that they too might expose your filthy secret! But they didn’t. And then Buzz told you about the ballet incident.’
‘Yes, and—’
‘And because of that you backed off! You put me through hell, made me feel so guilty for not telling you about Buzz being there in the theatre next to me, and all the time . . . all the time you’d actually had sex with someone else!’
Sylvie’s voice had risen steadily to a shout. With cheeks flushed and eyes bright with angry tears, she jumped up and stood glaring down at him as if she could kill him.
‘You had the bloody nerve to make me feel guilty when all along you were harbouring that dirty little secret! That’s what really, really gets me more than anything. It’s your hypocrisy. I can’t bear it! I no longer have any respect for you and I will not be treated like this. You betrayed me, Yul. You betrayed our love and our magic together.’
Yul stood up too, a fixed and defeated expression on his face. He stared at the carpet, unable to meet her flashing, furious eyes.
‘Sylvie . . . I know. I can’t bear it either. If it’s—’
‘So as far as I’m concerned, Yul, you can go to hell. Or the Otherworld or whatever you like to call it. You’re dead to me. I don’t wish you dead – there’s been too much death – but as far as I’m concerned, you’re not my husband and I don’t love you. I want absolutely nothing more to do with you!’
‘Sylvie, please! I’ll do anything to make it better, anything!’ he cried, suddenly inflamed by her cruel words. ‘How can I show you just how wretched I feel about what I did? How can I make it better? What do you want me to do? I’d give my life—’
‘Stop being melodramatic!’
‘You want light? I’ll set myself on fire! You want blood? I’ll cut my veins! Whatever you want, absolutely anything—’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous! Light? Blood? Stupid dramatics – the only thing I want is for you to go away. I don’t want to see your face. Every time I see you or hear your voice, it cuts deeper and hurts even more. So if you really want to make it better, keep away from me so I don’t have to endure your presence. You fill me with disgust.’
His brief fire was doused at this and he hung his head in despair.
‘But the girls?’ he mumbled. ‘I—’
‘We’ll live with Maizie in the Village, permanently – we love it there and she’s happy with the arrangement. You can come down to see the children whenever you wish, but give me warning when you’ll visit so I can make sure I’m not around.’
He nodded dumbly, inwardly writhing with remorse.
‘As far as the Council is concerned,’ she continued, ‘Stonewylde doesn’t need you to run it, despite your attempts to take over in the past. In fact you don’t need to be part of it at all. Legally we’re now a Board, and Christopher will ensure the Trustees run the estate properly. Edward’s in charge of the farms, my mother leads the schools, I’m organising the new healing centre, and Leveret and Rufus’ money will be channelled into repairing and building anything that can’t be covered by my grandparents’ endowments. I don’t think there’s really much of a role for you any more, is there? So you can give up your place on the Council and then I won’t have to engage with you at all.’
‘Sylvie! How can you do this?’
‘Quite easily, actually. You’re still the magus of course, and from now on I bow out of all the ceremonies. Leveret’s the Shaman and the Wise Woman, and she can help you with the rituals. I won’t make a fool of myself by standing next to you in costume for everyone to laugh at. I’m no longer your wife or your partner, Yul. I’ll never forget what you’ve done and I’ll never forgive you for it.’
At this, Yul slumped down onto the seat again and began to cry into his hands. His dark curls fell over his face and his shoulders heaved as raw sobs engulfed him.
‘Please, Sylvie, I beg you! Please don’t—’
But she turned away and headed for the door. She felt so dead inside that even the sight of his distress didn’t touch her. As she yanked open the door, wanting only to esca
pe his company, the baby leapt again in her womb as if in protest at her anger. But Sylvie marched down the wide staircase, grabbed her coat and hat from the cloakroom off the entrance hall, and set off down to the Village which she now thought of as home. As she hurried back to the comfort of Maizie’s warm cottage, tears streamed down her face. But surely, she thought fiercely, brushing them away, they were only from the biting wind and nothing to do with the final break-up of her once beautiful marriage.
29
Rufus knocked on the door of the cottage, glad to see that today there was smoke coming from the chimney. Inside he found Yul sitting in the old rocking chair by the fire gazing into the flames. The crow with the white tail-feather roosted peacefully up in the rafters, head tucked under its wing. Yul looked up blearily at the boy who’d brought cold air and the real world into his cocoon of isolation.
‘More provisions from Marigold,’ Rufus said quietly, putting some of the food into the little meat-safe at the coldest end of the cottage. He noticed the remains of last night’s meal still lying on the table; judging by the mess, the crow had pecked at most of it. An empty mead bottle also sat on the table, and in the corner the bedclothes were messed up in a heap on the hard settle. It was warm and reasonably cosy, but Yul wasn’t looking too good.
Rufus refilled the water jar at the spring and scraped the remains of yesterday’s food onto the hard ground outside for the foxes. He checked the firewood situation and saw it was getting low. Back in the flickering warmth of the cottage, he put the kettle on to boil.
‘Did you bring more mead?’ asked Yul, rousing himself from his reverie.
‘No, sorry. I didn’t think you’d need any more yet.’
‘Well, I do. Make sure you bring more tomorrow, would you?’
Rufus nodded, making them both a mug of herbal tea. He pulled the other chair over to the hearth and sat down next to Yul. Their legs, stretched out before them, were almost identical in length and this gave Rufus a burst of pleasure. He’d be fourteen at Imbolc and was proud to be nearly as tall as his brother already.
‘Leveret asks whether you’ll come to her Story Web tomorrow, for Yule?’
Yul shook his head, his face impassive. He hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and was starting to look unkempt.
‘Tell her I’m sorry but I just can’t face everyone at the moment. It was bad enough at the Winter Solstice ceremony.’
Rufus nodded again, thinking back to the sadness of the proceedings in the Stone Circle. Yul had stood on the Altar Stone alone, as he usually did for the ceremony, wearing the sumptuous Solstice robes. But Clip, Martin and Sylvie were all missing from the ritual, which Yul had deliberately cut short by leaving out many of the chants. Others had helped with the mead and cakes but had somehow lacked Martin’s solemnity. Sylvie had stood at the back with Maizie and the girls, and folk had nodded at this, understanding her reasons. Leveret had stayed in the tower on Hazel’s insistence; she was having one of her bad days when her head hurt and limbs shook.
Rufus had felt so sorry for Yul, knowing he was doing his best whilst his heart was breaking. The boy vowed that at the next festival he’d help Yul, and later when he’d told Leveret about it all, she’d promised she would too. Afterwards, Yul hadn’t bothered going back to the Great Barn for the celebrations. Instead he’d stumbled up to Mother Heggy’s cottage, having found solace here at the Hunter’s Moon. Somehow, Leveret had known where he was and when Rufus called on her in the tower, she’d told him to care for his brother while he needed it, for nobody else could do it. While filled with concern for Yul, Rufus couldn’t believe his luck at being given such an opportunity.
The Barn, full of Yule decorations, was magical. Candles twinkled, evergreens hung from every point, and mistletoe was bunched in profusion. Everyone had gathered for the lighting of the Yule log, which always took place a few days after the Solstice at Yule. Leveret had arranged to do a Story Web after the log was lit. She was nervous and didn’t really feel ready for such a demanding task, but she knew that something was needed to bring the folk back together again. Seven weeks on from Samhain, everyone was still in shock from the tragic events and their awful consequences. Folk were bemused by talk of the healing centre, and with Rowan, Faun and Swift having left, Stonewylde felt in turmoil. Everyone was confused and in need of solidarity.
Leveret had Magpie to assist her. She’d decided to keep the event very simple with no theatricals, and wasn’t really sure what would happen. The folk gathered early and the place was packed; almost everyone in the community who was able to come did so, wanting to show their support for the young girl who’d been so cruelly robbed of her eyesight. Leveret wore a simple fine woollen robe of dark green, as befitted the festival. Her hair hadn’t been cut since last Imbolc when she’d moved out of Maizie’s cottage, and fell right down her back in a wild tumble of dark curls. On the stage was a small fire-cauldron to provide some aromatic smoke, and, unexpectedly, the carved chair from the Galleried Hall, with the boars’ head arms. Nobody admitted to bringing this down, but there it was and it seemed fitting as the Shaman’s chair.
When all was quiet, Leveret walked through the channel in the crowd, flanked by Magpie who carried the basket, and Shadow. She sat down in the ancient chair and, as she settled and calmed her wildly-beating heart, she was enveloped by something strange emanating from the wood itself. She knew, instinctively, that it was yew and so right for the occasion – the tree of rebirth and regeneration. In the deep silence, with all eyes upon them, Magpie carefully put Hare onto her lap. He then took up the hare headdress, made so lovingly by Clip, and placed it on her head. Leveret hadn’t worn this since the time on Snake Stone; for a moment, she was back there with the brilliant white moon blazing down, her clothes lying at her feet and the knowledge in her heart that she’d embrace the Dark Angel rather than submit to Jay’s intent.
Magpie threw a handful of herbs onto the fire and then moved out of sight. The lights were low and a single soft spotlight shone down on Leveret. She was once more the Hare Woman of Stonewylde as she sat straight-backed and rock-still in the aromatic smoke that swirled around her. Shadow lay at her feet and all eyes were fixed on this strange girl. Everyone wondered what story she’d tell them tonight, at Yule, when Herne the Hunter was loose in the forest and the sun had passed its lowest point at the Solstice.
‘Folk of Stonewylde, gather round,’ she began, her sightless eyes scanning the crowds. Everyone shivered, for it was as if she could see each one of them, and see not only their Yule finery and excited cheeks, but inside their hearts as well. Every person sat up a little straighter and stared a little more intently at the Hare Woman of Stonewylde as she began, slowly, to weave her story of the myths of midwinter magic.
She spoke of the hunt and the chase, the endless and ancient quest for survival in the face of cold and hunger. She spoke of tribes and firelight, caves and magic, of totem animals and shamanic powers. She told her people how it felt to be safe and warm inside whilst wolves howled in the snowstorm outside. She spoke of blood ties, of the bonds and loyalties of the tribe and how the folk of Stonewylde had stayed together, cared for one another and thereby become strong. She described the beautiful and abundant land around them with fresh spring water flowing into a river, clay and reeds for brick, pots and thatch, stone for cutting and woodland aplenty for firewood and building. She painted the picture of a land of fertile earth, sheltered from the harshest of weather by rolling hills and the soft sea breezes that blew in warm. It was a land where crops could grow and animals could thrive, so that the folk wanted for nothing. And when the tribe had grown so strong and healthy, with their elders living for many winters and becoming old and wise, and their babes surviving and growing into sturdy children who ate well and learned new skills – then the people wanted to give thanks to the Goddess who walked the sacred land. They wished to mark the places in their lands where they felt her magical energy the strongest.
A special place was built, an
d it took many winters and many generations of strong men before it was complete, although from the very first day when the ground had been cleared, it had become a sacred circle. Generations of Stonewylde folk had laboured and sweated and had given their best to build the circle and make it the most beautiful, most perfect arena in the entire land. They’d placed the great stones with precision, taking many measurements over the years to accurately mark the exact points in the turning wheel of the year where the sun would rise or set and where the moon would appear. When the great stones were finally in their proper places, they’d painted them with pictures and symbols to enhance their magic. They’d built hallowed fires inside the circle and had drummed and danced, feeling the spirals of magical, earth energy beneath their feet, knowing that truly they were blessed to live in such a place.
Others from weaker tribes Outside would visit Stonewylde bearing gifts, begging to be permitted to see the wondrous Stone Circle of legend, surrounded by sacred oak trees. They would creep in anticipation down the Long Walk leading to the magical arena, leaving their gifts on the stones that marked the way. They would enter the consecrated circle and gaze in awe and wonder at the massive painted stones, feel the immense throb of energy that danced in the place, and overwhelmed, they would fling themselves to the ground and embrace the living magic of the place.
Sometimes the Goddess of Stonewylde would bless them with her Green Magic, making them strong if they were in good health, and making them healthy if they were sick. She would fill them with her power, and so they became whole and healed. Slowly word spread throughout the lands and even across the seas, and people travelled to Stonewylde from far and wide. They came on pilgrimages to visit the sacred place that the folk had built. Some would also discover the magical places that weren’t marked quite so obviously – the even older circle right here within the Village, and the hill where the hares loved to dance the moon spirals, the cave where the owls flew by and the wolves would howl. All these blessed places of Stonewylde became the stuff of legend, and folk journeyed far from other lands just to be there, to be permitted to stay a while and be healed.
