by Kit Berry
Alwyn drew level with Yul and stopped. The boy had flattened himself against the wall with his head down. Maizie was already in the kitchen clattering the frying pan onto the range, keeping out of the way. She knew not to intervene when Alwyn started on Yul as it only enraged him further. Over the years she’d learnt to act as if nothing untoward was happening, and the children followed her lead. So Yul’s beatings took place in front of a silent family who averted their eyes and ignored the terrible scene taking place right under their noses. Nobody ever dared say a word for fear of making it worse for Yul.
‘Wipe that look off your face, you little bastard!’
Yul kept his head down.
‘Did you hear what I said?’
Yul nodded.
‘Answer me when I’m speaking to you!’
Alwyn’s hand shot out and hit Yul hard around the side of the face with a loud crack. The boy swayed, his head reeling.
‘I said get that look off your face! I’m warning you …’
As Yul was looking at the floor, expressionless, there was nothing more he could do to obey. With a growl of rage, Alwyn’s huge hand shot out again and grabbed Yul by the throat, pushing him hard up against the wall. Yul choked and spluttered, gasping for breath. His father held him there, the boy’s feet on tiptoe almost off the floor. Alwyn’s face was scarlet, his mouth flecked with spittle. His other hand bunched up into a fist. The heavy blows to Yul’s torso were measured and deliberate; the sound of knuckles thudding into flesh and bone was sickening.
Yul clamped his mouth shut, determined that no humiliating cries of pain would escape. Alwyn grunted with the effort of every thump and the strain of pinning the boy to the wall. Finally he let go and Yul crumpled to the floor, curling himself up as small as he could. Alwyn towered above him breathing heavily, his fists clenching and unclenching. Undecided whether to continue with the strap, he looked down at the boy at his feet. Yul shook violently and despite his best efforts, he whimpered with pain. Alwyn nodded in satisfaction.
‘Your breakfast’s ready, my love!’ Maizie called from the kitchen. ‘And I cooked you some extra sausages as well.’
The smell of bacon distracted Alwyn, making his mouth water and his stomach rumble with anticipation. The boy could wait – he’d continue the punishment tonight before he went to the pub. With a final grunt he kicked Yul in the side and stomped into the kitchen. Groaning, Yul staggered upright and held onto the wall for support. He managed to open the front door and lurched down the track, until the intense pain in his side slowed him to a limping shuffle.
If Greenbough noticed anything was wrong, he didn’t say. He saw the swollen lump on Yul’s cheekbone and the boy looked increasingly pale as the morning wore on. But he refused the offer of sharing any of the other men’s lunch, and took himself off to sit hunched up in a quiet corner, with his back to everyone as they ate. Yul was silent all day and by the afternoon Greenbough could see he’d had enough. He winced with every movement and his neck seemed stiff and painful.
Greenbough wondered if he should tell Magus. The tanner was renowned in the Village for his violent temper and readiness to use his fists, and Yul was entirely at his mercy. The boy must live in terror. One day Alwyn may go too far and do some permanent damage; this already went well beyond tough parental discipline.
‘You can stop now, Yul,’ said Greenbough, seeing the boy struggle to wield his axe.
‘It’s alright, sir, I can do it.’
‘No, you’ve had enough. Go home.’
Yul looked at him, his grey eyes full of pain.
‘Come on, lad. You’re no use to anyone like this. Should you go up to the Hall and see the doctor maybe?’
‘No!’ said Yul quickly. ‘I’m fine really. But maybe I’ll go for a walk. Thank you, sir.’
Greenbough watched the boy trudge away and shook his head, resolving to speak to Magus. Something must be done to stop Alwyn’s cruelty. He decided to do it right now, and told the other men he was going up to the Hall for a while.
Yul decided to go to the Stone Circle. All he wanted was to be alone. He couldn’t go home and he had to be in the woods at dusk to harvest the mushrooms at the Dark Moon. He felt hollow as he’d eaten nothing since the evening before. His neck was agony, his throat hurt when he swallowed and he was bruised all over. He was worried he’d cracked yet another rib when his father had kicked him.
Worst of all was his bitter rage and frustration. He wanted to kill Alwyn. He knew Maizie would be better off without him. She didn’t love him and the children were all terrified of him. Alwyn had drinking companions but no real friends. His death would be a blessing to everyone. Yul made his way up the track that led to the Long Walk, his head down and his step slow, oblivious to the beauty and fragrance of the white and pink hawthorn blossom lining his route.
*
At the Hall, Old Greenbough called in the back entrance and spoke to one of the servants in the kitchen. Before long he was taken to the Galleried Hall to wait for the master. His audience with Magus started very differently to that of Yul’s, the day he’d been summoned here. Greenbough was a respected member of the community and Magus treated the old man with deference. After they’d chatted about the woodlands at Stonewylde, Greenbough cleared his throat and prepared to broach the purpose of his visit.
‘I wanted to talk to you about young Yul, sir.’
‘Ah yes, Yul. His name seems to be cropping up a great deal lately. What’s he done now? I warned him recently if there was any more trouble he’d face a whipping.’
‘Oh no, he’s done nothing wrong, sir. No, no, he’s a good lad. He’s a hard worker and a very bright boy.’
‘Really? I had him down as sly, devious and lacking in respect for anyone.’
‘No, sir, that’s not the boy I know.’
‘Oh well, we obviously see him in different lights.’
Magus sat relaxed in his carved chair, long legs stretched out before him. With one elbow on the boar’s head armrest and his chin on his hand, he surveyed Greenbough with a cynical expression that told of his disbelief. The old man felt uncomfortable. Magus usually addressed him with pleasing courtesy.
‘I’m worried about the way his father treats him.’
‘In what respect?’
‘Well, Yul is beaten regular. The poor lad’s always damaged in some way or another. But now his injuries are getting worse, sir, and I don’t like the way ‘tis heading.’
Magus smiled coldly and shook his head.
‘You surprise me, Greenbough. I’d have put you down as someone who’d approve of a boy being brought up tough.’
‘Oh aye, sir, I do, right enough. ‘Tis just that Alwyn goes too far. Much too far.’
‘But surely, Greenbough, you agree that it’s up to a father how he disciplines his son?’
‘Aye, but—’
‘It certainly isn’t your place to interfere in issues between parent and child. Nor mine, for that matter. My involvement would undermine something central to our philosophy at Stonewylde.’
He smiled at Greenbough again, a smile without warmth. The old man looked down at his work boots and cleared his throat. He’d have one more try. Alwyn must be stopped. If he carried on, the boy could be maimed for life – or worse.
‘Fair enough, sir, I do take your point. You know me well enough. I wouldn’t bother you for no good reason, but I—’
‘Of course, Greenbough. You did right to raise your concerns. And now if you don’t mind, I have a great deal of business to attend to.’
Magus stood, signalling that the interview was over, and Greenbough hastily stood up too. He was annoyed that he hadn’t had the chance to speak plainly.
‘Sir, will you please look into it? I’m concerned for the boy’s well-being. He’s my apprentice and he can’t work when he’s injured so bad.’
Magus raised his eyebrows and sighed.
‘Very well, Greenbough. If it’s affecting his ability to do a proper day’s
labour, I will look into it. I’ll come by the woods later on.’
‘Thank you, sir. But … well, the boy ain’t there now.’
‘Why not?’
‘I gave him the afternoon off.’
Magus frowned at this.
‘A foolish decision. You know the laws of the community. Everyone puts in an honest day’s work. If Yul thinks he can skip his duties because of a few bruises, he’d take advantage of you in no time. I shall definitely look him out this afternoon, wherever he may be. Good day, Greenbough.’
He strode off, his boots clicking on the stone floor. Greenbough tramped sadly back to the woods. He had a terrible feeling he’d just made it worse for the lad.
When he entered the Stone Circle from the Long Walk, the change in Yul was almost tangible. The sharp pain in his side subsided and every injury hurt less. Yul knew it was wrong to enter a sacred place feeling dejected and angry, so he shook the dark hair out of his eyes and lifted his chin. With a straight back he stepped slowly across the Circle, feeling a sudden thrill of power. As he walked across the beaten earth his feet tingled and he felt stronger, more whole. He stopped in the centre.
Tonight was of course the Dark Moon and maybe that made a difference. At the Dark Moon, the Crone ruled and the power was of dark magic, of destruction. Women would start to bleed, their wombs emptying ready for the following month’s fertility. Yul knew it was women who were in tune with the moon’s cycle, but he also recalled Mother Heggy’s words that he was moon-blessed. Maybe that’s why he felt so strange here today.
He moved across to the great horizontal Altar Stone. He swung his legs up as he’d done at Beltane, remembering how Buzz had pinned him to the stone. He sat hugging his knees and closed his eyes. It was late afternoon and the May sunshine was warm, although it was a little windy and the occasional cloud drifted overhead. Gradually Yul loosened the tight grip on all he’d endured and kept locked inside since the beating that morning. He uncurled his body and sat straighter, emptying his mind. He let go of the image of Alwyn that he’d been carrying all day.
‘Dark Goddess, help me. I can’t take any more,’ he whispered. At that moment the sun went dark as a cloud passed in front of it and the skin on Yul’s arms raised in gooseflesh. He felt dizzy and strangely disconnected.
‘Goddess, you decide what’s to be done. Please, stop my father before he kills me. I leave him to you.’ Then he heard hoof beats; the sound of a cantering horse. He opened his eyes quickly as Magus, astride Nightwing, approached from the Long Walk.
Magus reined in the great black stallion. Man and horse looked into the Stone Circle and saw a strange sight. Yul sat crossed-legged on the Altar Stone, straight backed with his head raised proudly. The great arena of stone was bathed in bright sunlight except for the Altar Stone: this was in shadow. The effect was uncanny. Magus drew breath sharply at the sight of the boy, still and silent in his pool of darkness. The horse reared slightly and side-stepped in agitation. Then the cloud passed and Yul too was washed with light.
Nightwing trotted across the Circle and came to a halt by the stone. Yul was aware that he should get off and stand respectfully at Magus’s feet. This was similar to the incident in March when he’d failed to show proper deference; he now had a scar across his cheek to remind him. But today he’d had enough and really didn’t care what Magus did to him. So he sat there cross-legged, staring up through his hair at Magus astride his great horse.
Magus surveyed him with narrowed, dark eyes. As he looked at the boy, tight anger knotted in the pit of his stomach. He felt a desire to strike him; to show him who was the master and crush him completely. He controlled this urge, clenching his thighs around Nightwing who champed at his bit in protest. Yul dipped his head and Nightwing dipped his in response. Then to Magus’ amazement, the black stallion took a step forward and nuzzled into Yul’s chest. Yul stroked the velvet nose and whispered softly. With an oath Magus jerked the reins viciously, pulling Nightwing away so hard that he reared.
‘Touch my horse again and you’re dead!’ he hissed.
Yul regarded him steadily, his deep grey eyes locked into Magus’ dark brown ones. Magus raised his whip, controlling the dancing horse with one hand and his powerful legs.
‘I’ll cut you to match the other side, boy,’ he said, menacingly. ‘Stand up when I’m talking to you!’
In a fluid movement Yul obeyed, standing on the stone so he was actually higher than Magus. He looked once more into the man’s eyes and felt his own surge of unexpected power. Then he jumped from the stone and landed lightly on the ground. He shook back the tousled hair and gazed up. Magus’ face was palely dangerous and contorted with anger. His eyes were black chips of jet, his lips thin and white. In a movement as fluid as Yul’s he swung off the horse and landed on his feet, strong and agile as a panther. He let Nightwing go, knowing he wouldn’t wander far, and faced the boy. He stifled the urge to slash him with his whip or knock him to the ground. The boy’s defiance had fuelled his temper dangerously but he didn’t need to indulge in shows of brute strength. He had other methods of subjugation at his disposal.
‘Why aren’t you at work, young man?’ he asked, his temper now reined in.
‘Old Greenbough said I should go, sir,’ Yul replied.
‘And why would he do that? It’s not a half day holiday today, is it? No festivals to celebrate. Why did he say you could leave so early?’
Involuntarily Yul touched the livid swelling on his cheekbone.
‘I was finding it difficult to work properly, sir. I … my rib hurt when I chopped wood.’
‘And what’s wrong with your rib?’ asked Magus sternly, whip tapping his riding boot.
‘I … it’s just sore, sir. I must’ve cracked it.’
‘Let me see. Take your shirt off.’
Yul gulped at this, but Magus stared at him implacably. He pulled the rough-spun shirt over his head, trying not to wince. Magus’ eyes widened at the sight of the boy’s torso. Yul was covered in ugly dark bruises, with a nasty swelling on his side. He stood straight, shoulders back and chin up, determined not to show his shame. He looked very thin as he didn’t carry any spare flesh and lack of food today had hollowed him further.
‘Turn around,’ commanded Magus, ‘Let me see your back.’
Yul obeyed and Magus saw many long stripes slashed across his skin, the bruising still visible from Buzz’s whipping at Beltane. Magus saw too all the older scarring, evidence of the years of abuse.
‘Alright, cover yourself up, boy. You’re a dreadful sight.’
Yul pulled the shirt on again and stared at his boots in humiliation.
‘I assume this is your father’s handiwork?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And what did you do to deserve such punishment?’
Yul had asked himself that question many times.
‘I don’t know, sir. This morning he didn’t like the expression on my face.’
Magus barked with laughter at this.
‘I know exactly how he felt – I don’t like it either! You have an insolence I’ve never encountered before at Stonewylde. I know you’re not very bright. I seem to remember you failed the school tests quite appallingly. But surely even someone as simple as you must realise the consequences if you stare with defiance and surliness at those in authority over you? It’s not difficult to understand, is it?’
‘No, sir,’ muttered Yul.
His throat ached with unshed tears. How ridiculous, to have imagined the Dark Goddess had answered his prayer. How stupid to have allowed himself, for a fleeting moment, to think that Magus would bring Alwyn to justice.
‘In the last couple of months,’ continued Magus, ‘I’ve had to bring you to heel on several occasions. Nobody else on the estate causes me to reprimand them more than once. This really is your final warning, Yul. If anything else happens, anything whatsoever, then the next punishment will be severe. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘If you continue to defy me, I’ll break you. You will learn to serve me well. You will learn to obey me absolutely. I am the magus. And you – you’re nothing. Remember that, boy.’
Magus gave Yul a final dark glare, then whistled. Nightwing trotted into the Circle and Magus took the reins. Grasping the front of the saddle, he put his boot in the stirrup and gracefully swung up onto the great stallion. With the gentlest of pressure he commanded Nightwing to canter out of the Circle and away down the Long Walk. Yul’s grey eyes followed him, wishing he were on that horse, wishing he had all that power. He let out a broken sigh. But a glance at the sun brought him back to reality. He must hurry now to get to the woods for dusk. There were mushrooms to be picked.
As he left the protection of the Circle his body started to hurt badly again. He was now so hungry that a dull pain gnawed constantly at his insides. He trudged up the woodland track and gradually the enchantment of the place worked its magic, soothing his soul. The evening sunlight filtered through the leaves and branches, dappling the woodland floor with gold and enhancing the vividness of the bluebells. Yul smelt the exquisite sweetness of lily of the valley and wild honeysuckle. Birds sang joyfully, and in the distance he saw a small herd of deer camouflaged against the trees. Yul felt a flood of his familiar affinity with the ancient and hidden woodland spirits and the foliate Green Man of the forest.
He passed the place where he’d first seen Sylvie walking with Magus, and recalled his joy at discovering someone so beautiful and ethereal. Yul hadn’t then foreseen how their paths could ever cross, and yet they had, again and again. She’d somehow become part of his life, a single bright star in the dark void of despair. As he walked through the woods, Yul let his imagination roam into unchartered territory. A flood of excitement washed over him at the thought of being together with Sylvie.
At last he reached Beech Grove and the strange, deep craters in the ground known as swallets. Old Greenbough had told him that they’d sunk down centuries ago, created when the layers of chalk underground were slowly eroded by water until the ground above collapsed. He knew the swallets were old because large beech trees grew inside them as well as all around them. All the trees here were tall and graceful, with smooth, green-grey trunks and a fine feathering of twigs smothered in lime green foliage. This grove was particularly special as it was home to a great colony of bats that nested inside several old hollow trunks.
