Magus of Stonewylde Book One

by Kit Berry

  ‘Has the boy gone already?’

  ‘Aye, sir. He was asleep on his feet.’

  ‘A pity you let him go. I wanted a final word with him.’

  ‘The lad was worn out, sir.’

  ‘Hard work never hurt anyone, Tom, as we both know. I hope he’s learnt his lesson. Can you believe I found the boy lying about in the fields watching hares? He was supposed to be clearing undergrowth in the woods!’

  ‘Yul worked well whilst he was here, sir. He has a way with the horses, right enough.’

  ‘Yes, too much of a way. While I was reprimanding him, he actually had the cheek to stroke Nightwing! Nobody touches my horse – everyone knows that. The boy’s lucky I let him off so lightly.’

  Tom thought it best not to mention that he’d allowed Yul to groom Nightwing.

  ‘Aye, sir. I’m sure he’s been put in his place now. I reckon his father’s had a go at him too.’

  ‘Good! There’s something in that boy that needs taming – a look in his eye I don’t like. He’d better not overstep the mark again.’

  Yul flung himself onto his narrow bed, too tired to wash or even undress. He kicked off his boots as he lay on the worn bedcovers, the sharp slope of the ceiling preventing him from sitting upright. The tiny attic room was unlit as his mother didn’t like having lanterns right under the thatch. He breathed deeply of the night air that poured in through the small window by his head, listening to the owls calling across the darkness.

  The pub down the lane began to disgorge men. Their voices seemed loud in the silent, starry night as they went home to their cottages. He heard his father whistling as he stomped up the lane. Yul shuddered, his body instinctively curling up. The front door opened and closed and he heard his mother’s soft voice. His father’s voice was only a low murmur so she must have persuaded him to sit down for a bit of bread and cheese.

  Yul imagined his father stretched out in his armchair, feet warming by the fire. The cider could make him magnanimous but more often he became irritable and even aggressive. Alwyn very rarely hit his wife or the other children; their fear usually mollified him. But it had always been a different matter with his eldest son, and lately had become worse. Yul longed for the day when he could stand up to his father. He fell asleep thinking about it, and dreamed that he and Nightwing were flying through the black sky, the moonlight on their faces and the wind in their hair.

  Miranda’s relief at Sylvie’s slight improvement during her stay in hospital was marred by a new worry. Sylvie talked incessantly of Hazel’s country home and how she longed to escape the city to walk in the hills and woods of Stonewylde. Miranda wished that the proposed visit to Dorset had never been mentioned. The last thing she needed was an expensive trip, which, in her weakened state, might only make her daughter worse. But her hopes that it would all come to nothing were dashed when she collected Sylvie from hospital a few days later.

  ‘Thank goodness I caught you before you left,’ cried the young doctor, approaching breathlessly. ‘Good news! Magus is in London, I’ve talked to him, and he wants to meet you both!’

  Sylvie, clinging on to her mother’s arm for support, beamed at this.

  ‘Can we come to Stonewylde for a visit then? Is it okay?’

  ‘I don’t know, Sylvie, but it sounds promising. I thought he’d reject the idea out of hand.’ Hazel turned to Miranda, her face glowing with excitement. ‘I’m sorry, I know this must seem terribly unorthodox but I honestly believe that a stay at Stonewylde could help Sylvie. We’ve run all the tests. We’ve tried all the drugs and creams, the medicines and treatments. Nothing seems to cure her because I think the illness goes deeper than simple physical allergies. Sylvie needs spiritual healing more than anything else. Please give this a try – I’m sure you won’t regret it.’

  The look on Miranda’s face was almost comical. Spiritual healing! But she shrugged in resignation, not wanting to be the one to wipe the animation from Sylvie’s thin face.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor. We’ll meet him at least, and take it from there. Maybe, as you say, a nice weekend of fresh country air would help Sylvie.’

  The meeting was not at all how Miranda imagined. Hazel picked them up a few days later and drove them to Magus’ offices in the heart of the City. The building was very grand and they were ushered in by an immaculately groomed woman. Behind a mask of professional welcome, she hid any curiosity the bedraggled pair may have aroused. Magus’ office was luxurious and the man himself was a complete shock to both of them.

  Instead of the crusty old landed-gentry type in tweeds and brogues whom Sylvie had envisaged, or the bearded weirdo in ethnic clothing, crystals and sandals of Miranda’s imaginings, Magus was the most attractive man either of them had ever seen. In his late thirties, with ash-blond hair and velvety dark eyes, he was tall and long-limbed and wore an expensive business suit with effortless style. His face was strong and chiselled; his manner charming and quietly powerful. Miranda rapidly changed her opinion of the whole venture and wished she’d worn lipstick. This was no sinister cult leader bent on brain-washing them for his evil ends, but a cultured and successful man. Maybe Stonewylde would be a similarly attractive proposition.

  He put Miranda and Sylvie at ease, for both were flustered and shy. Like Hazel, whom he thanked and dismissed once she’d introduced them, he was fascinated by Sylvie’s likeness to the residents of Stonewylde. He couldn’t take his eyes off her and apologised for his curiosity with a smile. He was concerned to hear of Sylvie’s illness and allergies and questioned her sensitively. His dark eyes glowed with sympathy when she hesitatingly explained her awful medical problems. She felt genuine warmth in his smile and liked the way he listened so carefully, his eyes kind and voice gentle. There was an aura of strength and security about him that she found very comforting, and she loved the smell of his rather exotic cologne.

  Magus also wanted to know about Miranda’s teaching career and her hopes for the future. When he learned that they didn’t extend beyond finding a cure for Sylvie, he nodded.

  ‘Your ideals would fit in well with our philosophy at Stonewylde,’ he said in his deep voice. ‘We too put health and well-being before material gain. Forgive me for asking, but what about Sylvie’s father? I assume he’s not part of your lives?’

  Miranda refused to be drawn and Sylvie felt embarrassed by her curtness on the subject.

  ‘I only ask because of the striking resemblance between Sylvie and members of my family,’ he said gently. ‘We’re an extended tribe and many of us don’t live at Stonewylde. I wondered whether Sylvie’s father could be a relation. I didn’t mean to intrude.’

  He then told them about Stonewylde, and showed them photos of the great country estate. As Sylvie gazed at the slide-show of images she felt a deep longing begin to take root. She was sure she’d regain her health if she could stay in such a beautiful place, even if only for a few days. More than anything in the world, she wanted to go to Stonewylde. She found herself trembling and tried to calm down as her breathing became jagged. Then Magus rang for tea and said he had a proposition to make.

  He told them he was impressed with Miranda’s values and sorry to see Sylvie’s suffering. She was clearly a bright and sensitive girl, unable to cope with her difficult life in London. By luck there was currently a position available in the boarding school at the Hall, teaching English. He offered Miranda the post, with a free place at the school for Sylvie too. Accommodation, food and essentials would be included in the package. The position would initially be for a year, and he’d negotiate with Miranda’s school to waive her notice. They could move down to Dorset in the middle of March. He needed to find a new teacher soon, but would give them a week to consider the proposal.

  Magus sat back on the sofa and watched them, his dark eyes gleaming. Sylvie appeared to have stopped breathing and stared at him with enormous eyes, her face white. Miranda was flushed and dumbfounded, her mouth opening and closing as the implications of his offer sunk in. She looked ac
ross at Sylvie and knew what her answer must be. Their present lifestyle was killing her daughter. They had nothing to lose. She smiled reassuringly at Sylvie, knowing they shared the same bubbling exhilaration and sense of unreality.

  ‘I don’t need a week, Magus. I can give you our answer now. We’d both love to come to Stonewylde.’

  Sylvie burst into tears and Magus handed her a white linen handkerchief, patting her arm kindly.

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that, Miranda,’ he said softly. ‘You won’t regret it, I promise.’

  The next days passed in a blur of frantic activity. There was much to do before leaving behind their old life with its worry and complications of outstanding bills and rent. Even though she was exhausted, the night before their departure Sylvie found it difficult to sleep. She lay on her familiar bed for the last time, listening to the roar of the city and howls of sirens. She gazed through her dirty window at the sodium-lit night sky, where the red and green lights of aircraft flew overhead to unknown destinations. But nowhere could be more exciting than her destination. Stonewylde! At last she was to escape this prison and find the peace and beauty she craved.

  Miranda too found it impossible to fall asleep despite the gruelling day she’d spent packing up the last of their things. She hoped desperately that she’d made the right decision and was now besieged by last minute doubts. But then she remembered Magus’ kindness that day in his office. He knew they were penniless and alone in the world, and how seriously ill Sylvie was. A man of his means and background would never let them down – he’d take care of them. Feeling comforted by that thought, Miranda finally slept. But her sleep was haunted by the ghost of her past. The memory replayed itself for the thousandth time, buried firmly during the day but using the dark night, as she slept, to rise from the grave.

  A great red harvest moon was rising in the clear night. The autumn air was crisp and fragrant as she dared to follow the man through the woods leading away from the house. The party was in full swing behind her but she welcomed the cool darkness ahead. She thrilled with excitement. She was just sixteen and immature for her age, dressed in a sparkling white fairy costume. Her parents had insisted she accompany them to this grand charity fancy-dress ball hosted by her father’s business associate. She should’ve been demurely sipping lemonade at her mother’s side. Instead she was creeping off into the woods with a tall stranger, tipsy on a glass of forbidden punch and not caring what happened next.

  In a clearing amongst the trees, the man with the pale hair and feathered bird mask stopped. He gazed up through the branches at the red moon in the sky, enormous and unreal. Then he gently pulled her down onto the carpet of fallen leaves and damp grass, her wings crushed beneath her. He spread her long red hair about her head, creating a fiery halo on the earth. She started to protest as his hands touched her and he murmured deeply, hushing her first with his voice and then with a hand over her mouth. His masked eyes bored into hers, but as he entered her, he flung back his head and stared long and hard at the blood-red moon. The sound that escaped his lips was as primitive as a wolf’s howl.

  2

  Yul climbed to the very peak of the bonfire in the Stone Circle and looked around. Groups of people were preparing for the imminent celebrations and today the huge arena felt busy. The great standing stones had been scrubbed of the faded Imbolc decorations left from the beginning of February, and a group of artists now painted the Spring Equinox symbols onto the freshly cleaned stones using beautiful colours prepared from natural pigments and dyes. A pattern of spring flowers decorated the tops of the ancient stones: celandine and violet, wood anemone and primrose. The spring fertility goddess Eostre was represented holding an egg in each hand and wearing a great headdress of flowers and stars.

  But the dominant image was that of the hare. All around the Circle, hares were painted onto the stones in every possible stance – boxing, crouching, washing and leaping. Amber eyes and long black-tipped ears formed a great carousel of hares. The hare was the symbol of the festival, totem animal of the ancient spring goddess. The artists were now finishing the finer details, hoping the sudden showers would hold off until the paint and glaze were dry.

  Yul was watching one girl in particular. Her pale Hallfolk hair was cut in a bob and she had a pretty cat-like face. Holly was a Winter Solstice child like him, and he wondered, as he had before, if they’d be partners at their Rite of Adulthood later in the year. She’d seemed keen on him at the Imbolc celebrations. They’d known each other for years as all Hallfolk children attended the Village school until they were eight. Since then the segregation had deepened and although in the same community, they were now worlds apart. But differences were forgotten at the festivals and the Rite in particular was a great leveller.

  Today, however, Holly ignored him. She hung around the artists offering cloths and paint pots, ostensibly helping but in fact just getting in the way. Merewen, in charge of the decorations, growled at her a couple of times. But Holly was cheeky and a law unto herself, which was one of the reasons Yul liked her. He wondered how to attract her attention without getting into trouble. He was supposed to be packing the gaps in the huge bonfire with smaller branches, carried in a bag on his back, and stuffing in different mosses and lichens to burn with strange colours and effects.

  The woodsmen were all around, constructing the great pyramid of wood. They always built the bonfires and took pride in the job; as an apprentice, Yul was learning from experts. The Spring Equinox was one of the four fire festivals of the year, the time when the community celebrated the balance of light and darkness, the returning warmth of the sun and the start of the growing season. The customs dated back far beyond any recorded memory, passed on through the centuries by tradition and folklore. Yul particularly liked this festival because of the hares, and looking around the Stone Circle, it gladdened his heart to see the way Merewen and her group of artists had captured the spirit of the hare so perfectly.

  He was annoyed to see Holly showing off in front of a young man from the Hall, but amused by his inability to balance on the ladder propped against a stone. Fennel was working on the image of Eostre painted on the largest monolith right behind the Altar Stone, adding silver stars to the halo of flowers around the figure’s head. Merewen watched closely from the ground, directing him in her gruff manner. Several times Fennel wobbled precariously and Yul wondered what mischief he could get away with. But he knew he couldn’t afford to invite any more attention from Magus.

  From his vantage point at the pinnacle of the bonfire he looked over the stones and across the woodlands that clustered around the clearing on the flat hilltop. He saw the blue smoothness of the sea to the south and the soft folds of the hills to the north. He gulped in the fresh air as the salty wind stirred his hair and caressed his face. Merewen glanced across the Circle and her artist’s eye was drawn to the striking picture he made, perched so high and looking as if he grew from the bonfire itself.

  Holly followed the woman’s gaze and wandered away from the artists, bored now with helping. She stood staring up at Yul, impressed by his agility and the way his black curls moved in the wind. He grinned down at her, white teeth flashing in his dark face, and she smiled back. He slithered down the pyramid of great branches but, when only halfway down, he turned outwards to face her. Then he leapt. As he flew through the air he caught a glimpse of her face, open-mouthed at his dare-devil antics. He yelled out in delight, landing gracefully in a crouched position on the earth at her feet. He shook the hair from his eyes and laughed up at her.

  ‘You’re mad, Yul,’ she giggled, her pretty little face dimpling.

  ‘As a March hare,’ he agreed.

  ‘You could’ve broken your neck.’

  ‘But I didn’t, and just as well. Or we wouldn’t be able to dance together at the celebrations.’

  ‘Oh I see, you’ve got it all planned, have you?’ She tossed her blond hair so the well-cut bob fell into perfect place. ‘And I thought I’d be dancing with F
ennel. Or even Buzz.’

  Yul snorted at this.

  ‘Why on earth would you do that when you could have me?’

  He’d stood up and was pleased to see he’d now grown much taller than her. She was still quite small but curvier, her slim boyishness transformed into something more enticing. Yul puffed out his chest with satisfaction and surveyed the Stone Circle, his gaze sweeping all the people hard at work, busy making the sacred space ready for the Equinox.

  Then he noticed Magus. The tall man leant against a stone on the opposite side, watching him. Magus raised a hand and beckoned slowly.

  ‘See you, Holly,’ he muttered.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said lightly. As he walked away she noted how his shoulders had become broader and his legs longer. She smiled to herself; Yul was shaping up nicely.

  Yul lowered his eyes carefully as he approached. He wasn’t so much worried about upsetting Magus as scared of what his father would do, should he get into any more trouble. The slash that Magus had given him across his cheek was now a pink weal, but other than that he was at present uninjured and wanted to say that way, with the festival so close. He stopped at a respectful distance and stood with his head bowed.

  ‘I see your manners have improved since our last encounter,’ said Magus softly, still leaning against the towering standing stone.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And Tom tells me you worked hard in my stables every night.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So let’s hope you’ve learned your lesson.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Mmn.’

  Magus surveyed the lowered head before him, not in the least taken in by this apparent show of deference. He could also see the set of the boy’s shoulders and the flare of his nostrils.

  ‘So what was the meaning of the acrobatics just now? This is a sacred place.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’