Magus of Stonewylde Book One

by Kit Berry

  The hum started again and grew louder and louder. The storyteller’s voice told of the magical Rainbow Snake which wriggled and writhed into the world. As he whispered, every person in the Great Barn was completely silent, all leaning forward enraptured. Clip held his great staff horizontally across the palms of his hands. He circled the stage again, leaning out towards the audience as if offering the staff to them. Yul watched with fixed eyes and saw the staff begin to change colour. The bleached wood took on the hues of the rainbow, subtly at first, then deeper and brighter. When the staff came close to him, Yul’s eyes widened in amazement. He could’ve sworn it wriggled slightly.

  ‘See the snake! See the Rainbow Snake!’ chanted Clip, pacing the circumference of the stage, a sea of faces gaping at him open-mouthed. Yul felt his hand twitch involuntarily, reaching towards the rainbow-coloured stick which was now definitely moving. Clip noticed the boy’s movement. But rather than withdrawing the staff from reach so his sleight of hand would go unchallenged, he smiled. His deep eyes burned into the boy’s.

  ‘This boy sees! This boy sees the snake! Come, boy. Come and touch her.’

  He beckoned to Yul, his eyes gleaming and mesmeric, his smile saturnine. Without thinking, Yul rose from the bench and stepped onto the stage, his hand still outstretched. Clip offered the snake to him and Yul touched it. His sharp gasp was audible throughout the Barn.

  ‘It’s real!’ he whispered.

  ‘Behold, the Rainbow Snake! Do you feel her scales?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Do you feel her move?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Now take the snake, boy. Take her in your hands.’

  Yul held out his hands, palms outstretched, and Clip placed the writhing snake there. Yul felt the cool roughness of the scales, the pulsating life in the lithe body.

  ‘Hold her up to the skies! Raise her above your head!’

  Yul lifted his arms high, the snake slightly drooping between his hands. Clip continued the story but Yul found he couldn’t concentrate; all his energy was focused on holding the great snake up to the roof. He heard Clip shout. With a cry the bird flew from his shoulder in a mad flapping. There was an enormous bang and a flash, this time a spectrum of colours, and the sharp smell of gunpowder. He felt the snake’s body go rigid. He looked up and realised he was holding a bleached wooden staff once again.

  The crowd went wild, clapping, shouting and stamping feet. Yul slowly lowered his arms and passed the staff to Clip, who took it with a bow and smiled conspiratorially.

  ‘And a cheer for the boy who believed, and whose belief made the magic more powerful!’

  Everyone clapped with renewed vigour and Yul returned to his seat, burning with embarrassment but also pride. He knew he’d been part of the enchantment that night.

  The following night Sylvie lay in her bed listening to the eerie cries of an owl in the woods. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Story Web of the night before. She was convinced she’d witnessed real magic. How else could the change have happened? There was no way the snake or the staff could have been concealed and switched – it just wasn’t possible. This had been a genuine transformation, true magic, rather than trickery. Yul’s amazement as he held the snake had clearly been genuine.

  As she thought of Yul she felt a little thrill of excitement. He’d looked so handsome standing up on the stage and she sighed, remembering the dark curls falling into his eyes, his high cheekbones and chiselled jaw accentuated by the firelight. The moment when she’d bumped into him had been a revelation. Those slanting grey eyes had held hers for a long heartbeat. When he’d smiled at her it was like the sun blazing suddenly from behind a dark cloud. She’d only ever seen him sullen and miserable; this was a different boy. Her heart had leapt at the sheer energy and vitality behind that smile. Sylvie had admired his slim, straight body as he held the heavy snake above his head, and decided that he was far more interesting than any of the Hallfolk boys she’d seen.

  But then she recalled sadly how he’d been this evening in the garden. She’d looked forward to his arrival all day. But he’d reverted to his old self, ignoring her as she stood in the window and keeping his head down as he thrust the spade into the earth with almost vicious dedication. It wasn’t until Sylvie had tapped on the window to wave, and he’d looked up like a startled rabbit, that she’d noticed the black eye. He looked away instantly but in the second before he hid behind his hair, she’d clearly seen it. His eyebrow was swollen and cut, the skin dark around his puffy eye. Sylvie had felt so disappointed. He’d probably been brawling in the street after the storytelling, which just confirmed what Magus had told them about him being a trouble-maker. It was difficult to equate the beautiful smiling boy of last night with the sullen wretch of this evening.

  Putting her silly feelings of disenchantment aside, Sylvie closed her eyes and breathed in the night smells of the woods flowing in through her open window. The owl was still calling outside, joined now by another. She smiled in the darkness, remembering the smells and sounds of night time in London. Traffic, sirens, shouting and screams, and the sour, filthy smell of the streets. But this was paradise. She’d never before felt so calm and at peace with her environment. Everything about Stonewylde was perfect.

  Sylvie knew she was becoming more confident and today, at Magus’ invitation, she and Miranda had visited the Hall to meet the storyteller Clip. He was as bizarre in the daylight as he’d been the night before. Today he’d worn a purple robe and had smelt of incense, his pale hair falling to his shoulders, light grey eyes startling in such a tanned and lean face. He’d been very charming, fussing over them both and ushering them up to the strange round tower attached to the Hall where he lived when he was home.

  They’d sat on old leather sofas while Clip made some exotic tea. His tower was like a magpie’s nest of treasures, and Sylvie and her mother stared around in bemusement at the curious objects that crowded every surface of the circular room. Clip explained that he travelled extensively and collected things wherever he went; stones, pieces of wood, native artefacts. He told them how he loved to roam the world, living simply off the land with the indigenous people and gathering stories and magic. He said if he stayed too long at Stonewylde, much as he loved it, he began to feel claustrophobic. He preferred the spartan life of the nomad to the luxuries of living at the Hall.

  Sylvie had enjoyed talking to him and listening to some of his tales. He was other-worldly and eccentric, and she liked that. His grey eyes twinkled and he moved about the huge circular room restlessly, his long, thin limbs almost dancing with nervous energy as he showed them precious things and fed them snippets of information. Sylvie had felt at ease with him. He seemed kind; less overpowering than Magus whose presence could sometimes be almost too intense.

  Miranda, however, had been less enthralled, suspicious of his strangeness and uncomfortable in his company. So Sylvie had had to do the talking, asking him questions and telling him of their life in London before Magus had transported them to this place of her dreams. He’d smiled at her enthusiasm.

  ‘You do belong here, Sylvie,’ he’d said. ‘It’s in your voice, the way you speak of Stonewylde. Sol’s told me just how ill you were when you first came here barely two weeks ago. The magic of Stonewylde is healing you.’

  ‘Sol? Do you mean Magus?’

  ‘Yes of course. Magus is only his title. His name’s Sol, short for Solstice.’

  ‘And Clip? Short for …?’

  ‘Eclipse. I was born on the night of a full lunar eclipse. And Sol at the Summer Solstice.’

  ‘And you’re half-brothers?’

  ‘That’s right. Same mother but different fathers. When my father died, Sol’s father became my guardian and took over the running of Stonewylde as I was only a child.’

  ‘But then he passed it on to his son? Why not you? I don’t understand …’

  ‘Leading the community is something I’ve never wanted to do. Sol and I grew up as brothers but we’re ve
ry different. He can’t understand why I need to travel and roam. I can’t understand how he can be so rooted. Even though he regularly visits the Outside World to run his company, he can’t bear to be away from Stonewylde for long.’

  ‘I see. So you’re happy for Magus to be in charge?’

  ‘Yes – he’s a good leader and I’m certainly not! Strange how things work out.’

  Sylvie noticed the great staff from the Story Web propped against the wall and rose to take a closer look. Her fingers traced the smooth wood in wonder.

  ‘How did you do it?’ she asked in awe. ‘I’d never have believed such magic could happen right in front of me.’

  Clip smiled, his eyes bright, and shook his head.

  ‘Magic cannot be explained,’ he said softly.

  ‘And no conjuror divulges his tricks,’ said Miranda stiffly.

  ‘It wasn’t a trick, Mum!’ said Sylvie. She felt embarrassed at her mother’s coolness towards this fascinating man who was, after all, the owner of Stonewylde and as such deserving of her civility. ‘You saw Yul and his reaction when he touched the snake. That was genuine, I’m sure.’

  ‘Ah yes, the boy. He was very good.’

  ‘Yul’s been working in our garden every evening,’ said Sylvie. ‘As a punishment.’

  ‘Really? Well, the boy was a help to me last night.’

  ‘So just how did it happen?’ said Sylvie, still stroking the staff. ‘I’ve been racking my brains to think how you made a piece of wood change into a live snake.’

  But Clip had merely smiled enigmatically, staring deep into her eyes until she felt almost uncomfortable.

  ‘Seeing is believing,’ he’d replied, as if that explained everything.

  Sylvie now opened her eyes in the darkness, restless and still unable to fall asleep. She knew why; the cause peered through the branches at her. The moon was now almost full. She thought of her mother sitting downstairs, reading some of the texts she’d soon be teaching. She hadn’t told Miranda of her fears, which grew nightly as the moon waxed fuller. She knew how worried her mother had been in London at her apparent madness every month, even though they never discussed it. The lunacy had become a taboo subject, for Miranda couldn’t believe that Sylvie had no control over her actions as the full moon rose. Sylvie had never been able to talk about it openly and explain her feelings.

  How could Miranda understand what the full moon did to Sylvie when she didn’t understand it herself? She’d hoped that coming to Stonewylde would cure her of it, just as it was curing her other ailments. But inside she knew that nothing had changed. In another night or so the moon would be full, and she felt it calling to her. In fact it was even stronger here at Stonewylde than in London. Nor did it help that the moon shone in through her bedroom window, bathing her in silver all night long. Maybe she should ask Magus for advice. But she decided to wait until she knew him a little better, and anyway, he probably wouldn’t understand. Nobody understood what happened to her at the rising of the full moon.

  5

  It was late afternoon and Sylvie paced the sitting room restlessly. The tension and frustration were building as sunset drew closer. She looked out into the garden where Yul was again hard at work thrusting his spade savagely into the heavy clods, his pent-up anger releasing itself into the earth. Miranda came over and watched him for a moment, fascinated by the dark energy of the boy. She’d seen the same anger and aggression in teenage boys she’d taught in London; there it spilled out into violence and vandalism. At least, she thought, at Stonewylde it was put to good use and channelled into hard physical labour.

  ‘Sylvie, will you be alright if I go up to the Hall for a while? Or do you want to come with me?’ asked Miranda, turning from the window. ‘I need to use the Internet and get some more books.’

  ‘Of course I’ll be alright,’ Sylvie replied. ‘You go on up.’

  ‘I thought I may stay there and go straight into dinner rather than come home first.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  ‘Will you be alright coming up on your own to the Dining Hall? You won’t be scared in the dark?’

  ‘For goodness sake, Mum, I’m not a baby!’

  ‘There’s no need to snap, Sylvie!’

  ‘Well honestly, you fuss over me all the time and I’m sick to death of it!’

  Miranda frowned in bewilderment, at a loss to understand where this was coming from.

  ‘Oh Mum, I’m sorry!’ groaned Sylvie. ‘Please don’t look like that. You know I don’t really mean it.’

  ‘Maybe it’s your hormones, Sylvie. Perhaps you’re starting all the awful moody adolescent stuff?’

  ‘I don’t think so, Mum. Look at me! It’s ridiculous. I’ll be fifteen in a few months’ time but I still look about ten years old.’

  ‘Actually, you don’t. I was only thinking today that you’ve started changing recently. I’ve heard that sometimes if development has been delayed, as yours has, when it does happen it’s really fast.’

  ‘About time too! Anyway, I’ll be fine on my own here. In fact, I’ll stay here for the evening and have a sandwich. I don’t really fancy coming up to the Hall.’

  Miranda looked doubtfully at her daughter.

  ‘Alright. I’ll be back around nine. Just make sure …’

  ‘Don’t say it! I’ll be fine. And please don’t hurry back.’

  ‘Sylvie! That’s very hurtful.’

  ‘I just meant don’t worry and rush back to check up on me. Please, Mum. I can’t stand the fussing. I’m not sick now, and I’m not a little kid anymore.’

  ‘Alright. But don’t talk to that boy out there. Remember what Magus said about him.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘Sylvie! I mean it. There’s something wild about him, something almost dangerous. He looks so angry. Even without Magus’ warnings I don’t like the thought of you having anything to do with him.’

  ‘Okay, Mum. He’s not exactly friendly anyway.’

  Miranda finally left and Sylvie threw herself into an armchair with a groan. Her mother was driving her up the wall. How come she’d never noticed before just how irritating she was? The sooner she could start school the better. She looked out of the window again. It was a lovely clear evening and the garden was bathed in golden light. Yul’s cheeks were hollow and shadowy and the hair fell over his eyes as he attacked the clods of earth. Her mother was right – there was something wild about him. His powerful arms thrust the spade viciously into the earth and she saw the muscles in his back rippling as his thin shirt pulled taut with every swing of the spade.

  Sylvie felt a rush of something she’d never felt before, a visceral somersault of longing deep down inside. Her fingertips trembled and there was a strange feeling in her chest as she gazed at him. Then she remembered; tonight was the full moon and the sun was nearly setting. Of course her bizarre feelings had nothing to do with Yul at all – this was her moon madness starting.

  Feeling a little reckless, she opened the back door and walked into the garden, stopping at the sea of mud.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  Yul looked up in surprise. He hesitated and then nodded. She returned with a glass of water, which he gulped down in one.

  ‘I’ll get you another.’

  She returned with more water and a piece of Cherry’s fruit cake. He took both with muddy hands and drank the water first, before biting hungrily into the cake. She watched in fascination. Then she noticed the black eye again, as he shook his hair back from his sweaty face. It was nasty – the skin around the eye dark and swollen.

  ‘How did you get the black eye?’

  He shrugged, still wolfing down the cake.

  ‘Did you have a fight with someone?’

  His face darkened.

  ‘Yeah, something like that.’

  He brushed the crumbs from his hands, picked up the spade and turned his back on her.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ he mumbled.

  ‘It’s okay. Can’t you st
op and talk for a while?’

  She was amazed at herself. Maybe it was the moon madness making her more assertive. He shook his head.

  ‘I daren’t. If Magus sees I’ll be in even more trouble.’

  ‘Why? What have you done?’

  ‘Please, miss, I can’t talk to you. Leave me alone and let me get on with my work.’

  ‘Fine! If that’s how you feel. I was only trying to be friendly.’

  With a flounce she turned around and stamped back into the house, slamming the back door. Then she felt stupid and childish and wished she hadn’t. She wanted to scream. Nothing went right for her. First her silly mother annoyed her and now this boy wouldn’t talk to her. What to do, what to do? She marched around the room, touching things, kicking the armchair, wanting to yell, full of twitchy energy.

  Yul continued to dig, cursing himself for a fool. She’d come out specially and had been kind to him but he’d been surly and unfriendly. She’d probably never bother speaking to him again. That possibility twisted his heart.

  But … she’d asked about his black eye, the humiliating evidence that he was a pathetic victim and at his father’s mercy. Once again, Alwyn had branded him for all the community to pity. He simply couldn’t bear the thought of that beautiful girl feeling sorry for him. Molten anger welled up inside him and he yelled out loud into the still garden. Yul hated his father more than anyone had ever hated anybody before. He carried this hatred like a great black serpent inside him. He’d done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve the beating he’d suffered.

  Yul remembered how happy he’d been on the night of the Story Web. He’d felt honoured to have been part of the magic, and proud that Clip had chosen him to go up on the stage. When he’d arrived home that night, his mother and Rosie had just got back themselves and were making tea. The younger ones were sleeping in the Village School with all the other children. His mother and sister had made a fuss of him and Yul had just started explaining how the snake had felt when the door crashed open and Alwyn stomped in. Yul seethed at the memory.

  Alwyn was spoiling for a fight, his jaw jutting aggressively and his small eyes alight with belligerence. He picked first on Rosie and then Maizie, both of whom jumped to obey him. Then he turned on Yul. He berated the boy for showing off, for making a fool of himself on the stage and thinking he was better than everyone else. Yul kept his head down and did nothing to antagonise his father in any way. His very lack of response seemed to enrage Alwyn even further. Maizie could see what was coming and tried to get Yul and Rosie up to bed. But Alwyn needed to vent his brutality and of course it was Yul who bore the brunt of it.