Magus of Stonewylde Book One

by Kit Berry

  Alwyn had knocked him about the cottage until the boy was a cowering heap on the floor. Then he’d taken the strap from its hook. Rosie ran and shut herself in her room, trying to block the sounds that carried up the stairs. Maizie stood in the kitchen trembling, tears running down her face, her hands over her ears. She longed to protect her son, to beg Alwyn to stop the beating. But she knew from experience that any intervention on her part only made him worse. So she stood huddled up in the kitchen whilst Alwyn laid into Yul.

  At last his anger was assuaged. The beefy man stood panting with exertion, his face scarlet and the room reeking of his sweat. He grimly surveyed the boy lying at his feet. Then grabbing hold of his damaged shirt, he hauled him upright.

  ‘Hang up the strap,’ he growled, and Yul staggered across to the door to obey. He was shaking so badly he could barely hook the piece of leather onto its nail.

  ‘Let that be a lesson to you. You’re not special. You’re the bottom of the pile and don’t you forget it. I don’t want to see you showing off again. Next time I’ll use the whip and then you’ll be sorry. Now get up to bed, you little shit!’

  With a grunt he aimed a kick but Yul was already halfway up the stairs, trying to control the urge to retch. He was alive with pain. But the worst of it was the searing rage in his heart. Another beating in a long line of punishments stretching back as far as he could remember. He wouldn’t forget this night. The memory of it now was enough to make Yul’s fists clench with overwhelming, white-hot desire for revenge.

  Sylvie looked out of the front window. The shadows were growing longer. Soon the sun would set. The daylight would start to fade and then the hush would come, the expectant hush as the moon’s rim cleared the horizon. A strange tingling like fiery ice shot through her. She had to get out of this confinement and into the open. She banged out of the front door, tripped up the garden path and turned towards the woods.

  Yul saw her leave and wondered. Surely she should be going to the Hall for dinner? The thought of food made his stomach tighten. As the sun was now almost set he decided he could at last go home. His mother would have kept him some supper and he was starving hungry. He put the spade away and trudged to the back gate leading into the fields and the muddy short-cut down to the Village.

  He paused. Why had she taken the path into the woods? He’d seen her mother leave a while ago for the Hall. Sylvie obviously wasn’t going to join her. It would be dark fairly soon. Suppose she got lost, or fell and hurt herself? He knew the woods well but she certainly didn’t. He felt again that urge to protect her, and retraced his steps. He went round the cottage and out through the front gate, turning towards the trees as she’d done.

  Now I can breathe and feel the earth under my feet. The moon will bless me! She calls to me and tonight, at last, I can come to her.

  Yul saw her shoes lying abandoned on the path and frowned. What was going on? He caught a glimpse of her pale blue dress up ahead and quickened his pace. Why had she taken her shoes off? He heard her voice rising above the soft call of the woodpigeons. She was humming; a strange, high sound that carried in the still evening air. He saw her hair gleaming almost white in the dusky woods. The sun had gone down and the sky was soft with fading light. The trees thickened around the path, which now wound deeper into the heart of the woodland.

  Lovely trees reach for the sky, reach to touch the silver moon. I shall sing her a song of reverence and honour. She is rising!

  The music she sang made Yul’s skin prickle. It was like no other song he’d ever heard, with words that were not words but reminded him of birdsong. He narrowed the gap between them and wondered whether he should call out and let her know he was there. He knew her name was Sylvie. Sylvie with the silver hair. Should he call her name?

  She walked fast, speeding through the woods, pale hair rippling over her shoulders and down her back. Her feet and legs were bare beneath the blue dress and she skipped in her haste. Then suddenly she stopped dead. Yul almost ran into her. Slowly she started to raise both arms into the air as if unfolding her wings. Yul felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Was she mad? What on earth was she up to?

  She turned to face him and he blinked in shock. This deep in the woods the light was fading fast. But he could see enough to recognise that she was in some kind of a trance. Her beautiful silver-grey eyes were wide open and fixed. Her lips were moving and the strange noises still poured from her. She stared upwards through the branches, her arms stretched to the heavens. And then the truth dawned on him.

  She is rising! She brings bright blessings to all. I sing to your beauty and magic, my silver lady. At last I am here to honour you.

  He’d seen moongazy hares like this. He knew about moon magic. She was in the thrall of the rising moon and was glorying in it. He’d known she was special from the first moment he’d seen her walking in the woods with Magus. She was moongazy. Now he understood. And he knew how to help her too.

  ‘Come with me, Sylvie,’ he said gently, moving up close to her. She turned sightless eyes to him, listening. ‘I’ll take you to a special place where you can gaze at her in all her beauty. Come with me, Sylvie.’

  She allowed him to bring her arms down and put a hand on her elbow, guiding her along the path.

  ‘Just a little way along here and then we can cut out of the side of the woods and climb to the hill-top. Just a little further, Sylvie.’

  She walked silently with him and he felt a great joy in his heart to be so close to her. Within a few minutes they were off the main path and heading to the edge of the woods. Here the sky was a much lighter shade of blue than amongst the dark trees. They left the trees behind and stepped onto the grass. Sheep were scattered around grazing quietly in the slight mist that rose from the warm earth. Yul and Sylvie made their way up the hill towards the top, skirting around the boulders. It was quite steep but Sylvie climbed with light feet, humming again under her breath. Yul felt the silken brush of her hair on his hand. He longed to feel it between his fingers and stroke down the flaxen length of it, but he couldn’t take advantage of her entranced state.

  It was violet twilight when they reached the summit of the hill. A single standing stone rose from the ground, ancient and sacred. The grass here was cropped short by the nibbling of many teeth. It was the place of the hares. Yul led Sylvie towards the stone and when they reached it, he gently turned her around. They looked together across the purple folds of land stretching away towards the sea.

  On the horizon floated the moon, pink and misty. A strange keening rose from Sylvie’s throat, a cry of mingled joy and longing. Yul still held her elbow and felt her body shudder. Her arms rose up again as if she spread her wings and he let her go. She needed to dance, to fly. She raised herself onto tiptoes, poised, and then she was off.

  Yul slid down to the ground in his usual spot, his back against the tall standing stone, and watched her dance. She seemed to fly over the grass, skipping, leaping, arms reaching out in joy. She was as graceful and light as thistledown in a summer breeze. She danced around the stone in a great spiral, sometimes singing her strange song, sometimes silent. Her silver hair flew out and her white limbs flowed. Yul had never witnessed anything like it. She was joined by a trio of hares, speeding long-limbed around the magical circle. Yul had seen hares do this before but he’d never dreamt they’d dance with a girl, even one so moongazy.

  The moon rose from her violet bed up and across the sky, turning first pink-gold, then gold, and finally buttermilk silver. Shy stars prickled through the darkening sky to take their place in the dance. Still Sylvie danced with the hares, more gently now. The silver of the moon gleamed on her hair and in her eyes; her skin glowed like pearl in the moonlight.

  At last, her energy spent, she sank to the ground near the stone. She knelt with her head thrown back, gazing up at the moon. Yul watched her in wonder. The hares too had stopped and sat a little distance away, their long ears laid down against their backs as they moongazed. He hugged his kne
es as he watched Sylvie, his black serpent sleeping. The pain he’d felt all over his body since the brutal beating seemed to disappear as the silver magic of the night caressed him. Something deep within him started to awaken, to stir for the very first time. Yul closed his eyes and sighed, feeling tears peppery and hot behind his eyelids.

  How long they sat Yul didn’t know, but after a time when the moon had sailed up high and become a small silver disc, he decided that Sylvie should get home. It was cold and she wore only a thin dress. He got up stiffly, feeling beyond hunger, and moved softly to where she knelt.

  ‘Sylvie,’ he murmured.

  He touched her shoulder with light fingertips. Slowly she lowered her eyes from the moon and looked at him. Her eyes were far, far away, but he watched as she gradually brought them back into focus.

  ‘Yes?’ she whispered.

  ‘We must go back now. Your dance is over. You must go home.’

  Obediently she rose and followed him as he led the way down the hill, then cut into the dark woods. The blackness was thick, but through the branches they saw the star-spangled sky and the bright silver moon. Sylvie stumbled, and remembering her bare feet, Yul took her arm. He knew every tree root and obstacle on this path, even in the dark. His hand tingled where it touched her skin and he trembled at her quicksilver. Her body was alive with it, almost glowing.

  She was silent as they walked through the wood but seemed at peace now, her earlier strangeness and agitation vanished. Yul wondered if her mother was back yet and quickened their pace. The last thing he needed was a search-party of Hallfolk finding him alone in the woods with Sylvie. All was silent as they reached the point where the path left the woods. Yul found her shoes and watched as she slipped them onto her bare feet, longing to take her in his arms and hug her goodbye. He shivered at the thought of holding her close to him.

  ‘Are you alright now?’

  ‘Yes! I feel wonderful. Thank you, Yul. I …’

  ‘There’s no time to talk. You must get home quickly, before your mother does. And if she’s back, you must think of something to tell her about where you’ve been. Please, I beg you, don’t mention me at all. I’m in enough trouble as it is.’

  ‘I understand. Thank you again.’

  She gave his arm a little squeeze and slipped away, going ahead of him. The cottage was still in darkness. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed for home, hoping that his supper would be waiting and his father out.

  6

  The land had now truly awakened from its winter sleep. As the warmth of April settled over Stonewylde, the trees became smudged with a green hue. Sheep and well-grown lambs were taken up into the far hills for grazing, and cows were led to the water meadows now that the winter floods were drying out. Cartloads of beehives were driven up to the heath for the early blooming gorse and spring flowers, whilst the Village pond bobbed with ducklings and squirming slicks of tadpoles.

  Villagers put away their thick winter clothes and woollens and shook out their lighter flax garments from storage. Cottages were spring cleaned, rugs thoroughly beaten, thatched roofs repaired after winter damage. Vegetables in the cottage gardens began to sprout in profusion. The dry compost privies at the end of each long garden were given a complete clean out, and the compost containers that caught the waste were exchanged for empty ones.

  Senior students revised for their imminent exams, confident that they’d do well, as standards in the Hall School were high. Cherry was busy supervising the spring-cleaning of the great stately home; a massive job done by an army of regular servants and extra recruits brought in from the Village. She’d stopped visiting Woodland Cottage as Miranda and Sylvie took their meals in the Dining Hall with the other Hallfolk, and were happy to look after themselves.

  Every day Magus left the stables at dawn, where Nightwing was saddled up ready for him, and rarely returned before dusk. He rode far and wide all over the vast estate, visiting every field, every wood, every hill-top. He rode along the cliffs, the beach and even the caves. He rode up to the great boundary wall that kept the Outside World at bay and personally inspected its entire length, miles and miles of it. This month was his time to check all the land at Stonewylde and take stock.

  Once this was done, he began to meet with each group of Villagers to put together his reports. He visited the dairies, looking at production of milk, cream, butter, yoghurt and cheeses. He visited the tannery, the slaughterhouse, the mill, the bakery, the butchers, the meadery and the cider press. He checked on the bee-hives, orchards, chicken-houses, cowsheds and pig-pens. He looked at the buildings where cloth was woven and wool produced, where fabric was dyed and cut, where clothes and boots were made. He visited the potters and coopers, the furniture makers and fence builders, the woodsmen and charcoal-burners. He checked on the blacksmiths, builders, brick-makers, flintknappers, stone-carvers, carpenters, thatchers and tilers. He called on the sewage workers who managed the recycled waste, the plumbers and the wind farm engineers, and every single farmer, labourer and herdsman.

  In April, Magus visited every household for his annual survey and census. This was prior to the busy summer months ahead when so much of the work and production was done. He needed to ensure that everything was managed and run properly. He gathered information about the whole community from every member. He must look ahead and see where young Villagers could be trained, where more labour was required, and where inefficient methods were wasting valuable resources. He was an absolutely determined and dedicated master and nothing escaped his eye.

  Clip also spent his days roaming Stonewylde, but on foot. He too would set off at dawn with his staff and a small bag of food and water. His robed figure could be spotted sitting deep in the woods amongst the trees, or striding along the skyline on the Dragon’s Back ridgeway. Sometimes he’d sleep out, finding shelter where he could. Clip fed his soul with Stonewylde, immersing himself in the essence of growth all around him, and felt his own spirit growing too. He spent much time in solitary meditation, visiting and exploring other realms in his role as shaman of the community.

  As the month progressed, the garden at Woodland Cottage was completely cleared and dug. Yul was then released from his daily punishment as Greenbough needed his apprentice in the woods from dawn to dusk at this busy time of year. The punishment had been beneficial in one way, for Yul was now stronger and more muscular. His boy’s frame was changing; he was taller and had far more stamina and resilience than before. This was what he desired above all else.

  He saw little of Sylvie after their visit to the Hare Stone on the night of the April full moon. He no longer watched her walking in the woods every morning, for she’d started at the Hall School. She found that despite the large gaps in her education, the system at the school enabled her to join in at her own level. Sylvie did her best to mix, although the Hallfolk youngsters seemed to have a bond which she didn’t share. They were so steeped in the ways and philosophy of Stonewylde that she felt on the periphery, but she hoped this would change in time.

  Miranda had started work and found the teaching style at Stonewylde very different to working in inner-city classrooms, where she’d been obliged to adopt military tactics in order to survive. She was happy, not least due to her increasing attraction to Magus. During April when he was out all day every day, she looked forward to the evenings and seeing him at dinner. He always appeared just before the gong, immaculately groomed and glowing after a hot bath, striding into the great Dining Hall to take his place at the top table. Several times he’d invited Miranda to sit by him and she found herself falling under his spell.

  Magus was well educated, amusing and extremely good company. When he was in a room everyone was aware of him. He gave out an aura of energy even when exhausted from so many hours spent out on the estate. After dinner he usually retired to his office as his April stock-taking created a great deal of paperwork. Occasionally he’d join some of the Hallfolk in the elegant drawing room where they sat chatting, reading or watching tel
evision or a film. When he arrived, the atmosphere changed subtly as people vied for his attention. Everyone was brighter and more energised, feeding off his compelling presence. Miranda was no exception.

  One evening towards the end of the month, Miranda had taken her after-dinner coffee into the library. It was in a different wing to the drawing room, and very quiet and shadowy. She sat alone in a window seat of the vast room reading a book. The door swung open silently but she sensed someone approaching. She glanced up to see Magus smiling down at her. He sat further along the window seat, watching her as he sipped his coffee. He then placed the empty cup deliberately on a nearby table. Her heart raced at his proximity and their isolation.

  ‘Well, Miranda, at last I’ve found you alone. I wanted to speak with you, if you’re not busy?’

  She put the book to one side and smiled back, her hands trembling slightly.

  ‘I was just re-reading a text to use tomorrow with the students.’

  His mouth twitched at this.

  ‘Very admirable. But don’t work too hard, make sure you leave time for pleasure and relaxation in the evenings.’

  His eyes gleamed and she wondered if he meant what she thought he did.

  ‘Teaching here isn’t hard work after what I’ve been used to,’ she replied a little stiffly.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it. Sylvie isn’t the only one who’s blooming at Stonewylde. I’ve noticed how different you are too – how much calmer and happier. And how very attractive you are.’