Magus of Stonewylde Book One

by Kit Berry

  She spat into the corner and rocked a little, peering at Yul. He felt awkward and decided to deliver his message and get out as quickly as possible.

  ‘Mother Heggy, I’ve come to—’

  She interrupted him with a horrible cackle.

  ‘You don’t know why you’ve come, boy! You have no idea what’s truly going on. Only Mother Heggy knows that. Now sit still and let me get an eyeful of you. Waited nigh on sixteen years for this visit, I have.’

  She surveyed him carefully, her milky eyes roaming his face and body.

  ‘You’re a moon-blessed boy, for all you were solstice-born,’ she said at last, her voice as dry and crackly as autumn leaves on the ground. ‘You have the moon in your eyes. Red Moon too, I recall. Maizie was surprised. But they come when they’re ready, I told her, especially the ones destined for magic.’

  Yul swallowed and kept quiet.

  ‘You were the last one I brought into the world. The last babe of so many. I remember it clear. Who could forget that night? Too many now, babies all over the place, and where will it lead? Sol has grand ideas, too grand. ‘Twill all fall about him. He’s sown the seeds of his own destiny. Told him that years ago, but he didn’t thank me for it. Oh no, not him.’

  She spat into the corner again, her face grimacing even further into its wrinkles. Yul had no idea what she was on about.

  ‘And how is Maizie? She were a pretty maiden. Brung her into the world too. Dark hair, grey eyes, used to be a lot o’ that around but it’s died out now. You’re like her, young Yul. I can see you’re a spirited one too, and you suffer for it, don’t you?’

  Yul nodded. His strong spirit was always his downfall with practically every person with any authority over him. Mother Heggy cackled again and rose creakily from her rocking chair. She was tiny and almost bent double. She shuffled over to the range and started fiddling with a pot whose contents bubbled gently. She ladled some into a stone mug and added a pinch of something, giving it a good stir. Then she shuffled back and handed it to Yul. He took it reluctantly, for the mug looked filthy.

  ‘Drink, drink,’ she said impatiently, settling down again painfully in her rocking chair.

  The concoction tasted strange. There was a bitter aftertaste and it burned on the way down like the ceremony mead. Yul felt his body start to relax and knew with sinking certainty that he’d been drugged. His legs felt indescribably heavy; he could no more have stood up than flown to the moon. His head was thick and muzzy and his tongue far too big for his mouth. He grinned weakly at the crone, who rocked slowly and clicked her tongue at him.

  ‘That’s better, my boy. Now you’re mine for a while. I need to get inside you, Yul. I need to see if I were right. I’m old and worn out, but I been holding on for this time to come round. And after all these years o’ waiting, here we are at last.’

  She dragged her chair closer and, leaning over, took his lifeless hands in hers. He could smell her, a disgusting smell of old woman and mould. She stared into his dilated pupils and he felt something tugging at him, as if part of him was being dragged out. Her own eyes were rheumy with age, the irises blurred, and he wondered blearily if she could see at all. She reached out a filthy claw to trace his sharp cheekbone and the deep hollow underneath. He couldn’t move but had to endure her touching him, all the while locked in her gaze.

  Mother Heggy pinched his dark curls, wrapping them around her gnarled fingers. Her hand slid down, feeling the angular jaw bone, over his neck and into the hollow beneath his throat. Everything inside him screamed; he couldn’t bear it. Nobody ever touched him. His eyes pleaded for her to stop. Her shrivelled mouth broke into a toothless leer and she raised her hand from his neck to run a clawed forefinger across his lips. Then she let him go and sat back in her chair, rocking gently and surveying him.

  ‘You’ve no need to be scared o’ me, Yul. I ain’t against you. Old Mother Heggy’s on your side. Always have been, right from the very start. You’ve enough folk crying for your blood without setting against me. You’ll be needing my magic afore this thing is finished, for all that you have so much of your own.’

  She picked up the mug from which he’d drunk, swilled it around and threw the remains on the floor. Then she stared into the dregs left behind. All the while Yul sat transfixed, unable to move and barely to blink. She nodded slowly, turning the mug this way and that.

  ‘Everywhere I look the story is foretold. Blue and red, red and blue, just as I told him all those years back. Black and silver too, and the silver is come now. You must beware, Yul. You think ‘tis that man Alwyn is the danger. You think ‘tis them boys from the Hall are the enemy. Aye, all o’ them will hurt you when they can. But the true danger is not from them. Oh no. The one you must heed, the one who has the real power to harm you, is Magus. Beware of him, Yul. Beware of Magus for he is out to destroy you.’

  Yul heard her words, although they meant nothing to him. His eyelids were growing heavy. They began to droop and his head fell forward, chin resting on his chest. He slept, oblivious of the crone in the room with him. He slept all afternoon and when he awoke it was even gloomier in the dirty cottage, for the sun had moved right round. He sat up with a start, his heart pounding. How long had he been asleep? What had she done to him whilst he slept? Muzzily he scanned the room. She was over in a corner turned away from him. A great black crow sat on the back of her empty rocking chair fixing him with its jewel-bright eye. It let out a loud caw and she turned and shuffled over, clutching another mug. He shook his head but she pressed it into his hand.

  ‘No, drink it. ‘Twill clear your head. Trust me, boy. Drink.’

  He did, and found the concoction refreshing and delicious.

  ‘Please, Mother Heggy, I must go now,’ he mumbled, his tongue still feeling strange.

  ‘Aye, I’ve learnt all I needed. Forgive me for tricking you, but I had to find the truth. You’ll come to see me many a time after the Summer Solstice, but you’ll come afore then too. Now you’ve found old Mother Heggy, you’ll seek her help.’

  He nodded obediently, still looking into her eyes.

  ‘And I want to meet the girl, the newcomer. Bring her to visit me.’

  He nodded again.

  ‘There was a message for me?’

  ‘Yes, there’s a fine crop of Beechwood Sickener in the woods. Old Greenbough said we can pick them now if you want, or wait till you say the time is right.’

  She scrunched her ancient wrinkled skin into something resembling a smile.

  ‘Aye, good. Beechwood Sickener. ‘Tis a long time since I worked with them. Slow and sure they do the job, right enough. This is as it should be, all falling into place as I always foretold. The only one to touch ’em must be you. You will pick them on the night of the next Dark Moon, at sunset. Put them in a flaxen bag and tie it with a string of ivy. Leave them on my doorstep.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Blessings, Mother Heggy’

  Walking down the track in the evening sunlight, with gulls from the nearby cliff screaming overhead, Yul thought ruefully of his wasted afternoon. He could’ve gone up into the hills or down to the beach. Instead he’d sat in a drugged stupor inside the crone’s filthy home while she pawed at him and filled his head with strange talk that meant nothing to him. He was annoyed, and didn’t relish the prospect of a return visit. He certainly didn’t intend to take Sylvie there. Maybe he’d manage to avoid Mother Heggy when he brought her the mushrooms, and could then forget all about her.

  He thought of some of the strange things she’d said to him, and couldn’t see how he’d ever need her help. She was far too old and immobile to be of any use to anyone. It was she who needed help. He wondered how she’d known straight away who he was. And why was she so interested in Maizie? Strange that his mother never talked about her, when clearly she’d known the crone well in her younger days. Yul entered the Village, greeting people on their way home from work, and visited the bath house for a shower. The griminess of the cottage still clung to him and he wan
ted to wash away the lingering, fusty smell.

  That evening after Alwyn had left for the pub, Maizie and Rosie washed the dishes, tidied up, and then settled down in the parlour with their sewing. Yul was still bringing in logs for the range, and then had water containers to fill from the cart outside. He was helped by one of the younger boys, Geoffrey, while the other, Gregory, fed the slops to the pig. The three youngest children were already asleep upstairs. Maizie called for the two middle boys to put the chickens down for the night and mind the hen-house door was tightly fastened, then go to bed. Eventually, his jobs done, Yul fetched his wood and knife and sat with his mother and sister. He had a fine piece of holly and was carving an owl.

  ‘I went to Mother Heggy’s cottage this afternoon,’ he began, hoping his mother would explain some of the things the old woman had told him. He hadn’t dared mention it earlier when his father was around. When Alwyn was in the house, Yul was silent unless asked a direct question. He didn’t speak to his mother or brothers or sisters either, but tried to shrink into himself and not be noticed. He’d learnt how to make himself almost invisible when Alwyn was around. Sometimes it worked.

  Maizie looked up from her sewing and stared at him.

  ‘Did you now? And what was that in aid of?’

  ‘Message for her from Old Greenbough. But she said some strange things, Mother, and I didn’t understand most of it.’

  ‘Well, she’s a strange one herself, Yul. You mustn’t set any store by what she says. She’s very old and rambling in her mind.’

  ‘The weird thing was, she knew who I was even though I’ve never seen her before. She called me “son of Maizie” and she spoke like she knew you well, Mother. She asked after you – and Leveret too. Why only Leveret and not the others? I thought that was very odd.’

  Maizie glanced at him sharply.

  ‘Like I said, she’s rambling in her mind. ‘Tis a wonder she’s still alive. She were so important here in the old days but now she’s almost forgotten. ‘Tis what comes of having no family to look after you in your old age.’

  ‘Didn’t she have any children then?’ asked Rosie, looking up from her embroidery.

  ‘No, Rosie. She was the Wise Woman and they don’t have children. Nor husbands. Keep their strength and energy for their magic and nought else.’

  ‘She said she brought me into the world,’ Yul added. ‘I was the last one.’

  ‘Aye, that’s true. After your birth she … well, she fell from favour. Magus told us all to go to the doctor at the Hall if we were sickly, and the midwife up there must help us with birthing. He said Old Heggy was a menace and a danger. So people stopped visiting her for potions and the like, and over the years she’s been forgotten by most. There’s only a few who still call on her and keep her in food and firewood.’

  ‘Poor old thing,’ said Rosie. ‘How sad for her, after caring for folk all her life.’

  ‘No, Rosie, ‘tis for the best because she’s a little touched. Full of rantings and ravings that are best ignored. Don’t you go listening to her, Yul. Keep away from Mother Heggy, like I’ve always told you. She’ll fill your head with nonsense if you let her.’

  Maizie got up to make them all a cup of tea, but found Yul and Rosie still discussing the crone when she returned to the sitting room.

  ‘She doesn’t think highly of Magus,’ said Yul. ‘She said his ideas were too grand and it will all fall about him.’

  ‘Pah! What does she know?’ said Maizie. ‘If it weren’t for Magus we wouldn’t be here now sitting in this cosy little cottage, warm, dry and well-fed. Mother Heggy would do well to remember just what Magus has done for all of us before she starts on about him. She never did know when to keep that mouth o’ hers shut.’

  ‘Do tell us, Mother,’ said Rosie eagerly. ‘I love hearing about the old days at Stonewylde.’

  ‘What’s to tell? You know what it was like here when I grew up as a girl. I’ve told you that story many a time, Rosie. Folk always hungry, cottages falling down, the fields not farmed properly. Times were very hard. I grew up in hunger and cold, not like you lucky ones today.’

  ‘And Mother Heggy was the Wise Woman then?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘Aye, and believe you me, her healing powers were needed, right enough. Children were sickly and under-fed, always ailing. The men fought and hurt each other, for there was no justice, no proper laws. Women died in childbirth, couldn’t feed their families, couldn’t clothe their children and keep ’em warm. There were accidents on the farms because everything was so run down and broken. Terrible hard times they were. Mother Heggy was certainly needed then and we all went to her for help.’

  ‘Who was the magus then?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘When I was born ‘twas Basil. A weak man, they say, who lived in a world of dreams and couldn’t be bothered with running the estate. Let it all go to disrepair and wildness. His father before him had started the ruin, because they do say in the very old times back before him even, ‘twas perfect at Stonewylde. But the old father had been a dirty dog who only lived for his women and his mead. Used every woman on the estate, they say; fathered countless children all over the place. So Basil inherited a mess and he weren’t the man to sort it out. There were so many Hallfolk then, all living a life of ease up at the Hall, off the backs of the Villagers. Us poor folk lived in squalor, in damp and cold cottages with no food because the Hallfolk took it all. There was a Village School right enough, and children were taught a bit o’ reading back then, but fat lot of good it did them with no food in their bellies.’

  ‘And Basil was Clip’s father?’ said Yul.

  ‘That’s right. He had several children himself but Clip was the special one on account of his mother. Basil had a right old passion for her.’

  ‘I think I’ve heard about her. Wasn’t she a Villager?’ asked Rosie.

  ‘Aye, she was. A fey, strange girl called Raven. She grew up in Mother Heggy’s cottage, for her own family were all dead and there was no one else to care for her. Old Heggy doted on her – Raven was the child she’d never had. But she was an odd one, they say, feckless as a flea. This was before my time, o’ course. She died just before I were born. Basil was mad for her but she didn’t want to know him. She was moongazy, folk say. As moongazy as they come, completely wild and free.’

  Yul’s heart quickened at this. He’d heard something about a moongazy girl in the past, and this must be her. The older folk were always reluctant to speak of these times, so his information was very piecemeal.

  ‘I’ve heard tell of Raven too,’ he said carefully. ‘So she was like a daughter to old Mother Heggy?’

  ‘Aye, though maybe more of a granddaughter. She grew up in that old cottage on the cliffs with Heggy, never going to school but spending all her time out in the open, gathering and harvesting ingredients to make the potions. She gave birth to Clip, born at the eclipse of course, and for a while the baby stayed in the cottage. But Raven wanted none of him. She weren’t woven to be a mother. So Basil took him up to live at the Hall. They do say Heggy were wild with rage, for she wanted care of the little boy even if Raven didn’t.’

  Yul thought of the filthy hovel he’d visited that afternoon; it was hard to imagine someone of Clip’s standing being born and raised in such a humble place.

  ‘So Basil would’ve been pleased to have his little boy close with him,’ mused Rosie. ‘Even though Raven didn’t love him.’

  ‘Aye, but then Basil died. By rights little Clip was the new master, for Basil had written it on a piece of paper to make it lawful. All o’ Stonewylde to go to the boy. But Clip was much too young of course. So his uncle Elm, Basil’s younger brother, he took over. And things went from bad to worse.’

  Maizie picked her mending up again and began to sew.

  ‘Well go on, Mother! Don’t stop there! What happened next?’ said Rosie.

  ‘Elm was another bad ‘un, folk tell. Couldn’t be bothered with sorting out the estate neither. He roamed around taking what he
wanted from whoever he wanted. And he decided he wanted the wild girl Raven too. But whereas old Basil had been a bit daft and dreamy, Elm was a different matter. A hard man he was, hard and cruel. I remember him myself, for he was the magus when I was growing up. How my old mother hated him!’

  ‘I can’t imagine what it’s like having a bad magus,’ said Rosie. ‘Poor you, Mother. It must have been horrible.’

  ‘’Twas horrible. Life was difficult for every Villager at Stonewylde in them days, when Elm were in charge. And little magic around then, I can tell you. They barely celebrated the festivals, other than to drink and take the girls. The power was fading. The Earth Mother, the Moon Goddess, the Green Man and the elements – nobody honoured them or channelled the Earth Magic. ’Twas seeping away slowly but surely. A few of the older Villagers, they tried to keep the old ways going, and Mother Heggy was one o’ them. They celebrated the Eight Festivals of the Wheel, they danced for the moon, honoured the Mother, planted and harvested at the correct times as far as they could. But Elm – he couldn’t care less.’

  ‘And little Clip was still living up at the Hall was he? Mother Heggy didn’t get him back when Basil died?’

  ‘No, Elm kept him up there, for ’twas Basil’s wish. And Clip would one day become the new magus when he were grown.’

  ‘And what happened to Raven?’

  ‘She’d turned even stranger. Dressed in old rags and tatters, bare feet, silver hair in a great tangle. I remember my mother telling me all about her. She were a tiny little thing, all skin and bone, and lived like a wild creature. But Elm had a passion for her just like Basil before him. Goddess knows why, for she sounds completely mad. Maybe ‘twas the moongaziness – they do say those girls with the moon in their eyes drive the men crazy with passion. They have some sort o’ hold over men. I don’t know about that. There’s no moongazy girls around nowadays, thank the stars. Anyway, before she knew it, little Raven was carrying again, but this time round it were Elm’s child. Who was born at the Summer Solstice.’