by Kit Berry
Sylvie’s dance lasted for ages and the wet hares ran for shelter long before she did. Although there was no sign whatsoever of the full moon, she seemed to know exactly when and where it rose, and tracked its progress in the sky. She danced and sang and then sank to her knees staring up at the dark clouds, the rain driving into her upturned face. Yul waited for a while but eventually could stand it no longer. She must be so cold. He certainly was, and he was used to being outdoors in all weathers. He stood up stiffly, his knees locked into a bent position, and went across to help her up. Her skin was unnaturally chilled.
‘Sylvie, come on, you’re freezing. We must get home.’
He pulled her upright and she swayed, stiff as a stone-carving.
‘Sylvie! Wake up! Come on, wake up!’
He shook her gently but she was unresponsive. He was worried; she was so very cold. He chafed her arms, which hung limply by her sides, and took her hands in his.
‘Sylvie! SYLVIE!!’
She blinked and shook her head but her movements were slow. He realised the urgency of her need for warmth and shelter. She was clearly chilled to the bone. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he guided her down the hill and into the woods. There he hesitated. What should he do now? Take her home and risk the house being empty and cold with no one to look after her? Or take her back to the hut and try to revive her by the fire? He chose the latter.
In the hut it was still warm. Yul quickly wrapped Sylvie in the smelly blanket and sat her in the chair. He built up the fire and made a hot drink, which he held to her lips and forced her to swallow. He chafed her hands to get the circulation going, and then her bare feet. She really was frozen. Slowly Sylvie responded, becoming aware of where she was. Then she began to shiver violently and nothing he did would stop it. She needed to get her wet clothes off but that was out of the question in the hut, and there was nothing dry for her to put on. He’d lost track of the time but thought that Magus must have finished up at Mooncliffe by now. Surely Miranda would be back in the cottage; the worry was if Magus was there or not. But Sylvie had to get home, so he put her shoes back on her feet, wrapped the old blanket around her shoulders, and spoke gently to her.
‘Sylvie, it’s still raining out there so we’ll have to make a dash for it. Shall I carry you or can you walk?’
‘I’ll walk,’ she mumbled, her teeth chattering so violently she could barely speak. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, Yul.’
‘No it’s my fault and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have let you stay up there for so long.’
The dash through the woods was a disaster. The rain was now torrential, making the path slippery and dangerous in the darkness. Sylvie’s co-ordination had gone and she stumbled and tripped, barely able to stand, let alone run. She sobbed with frustration and cold; in the end Yul scooped her up in his arms and carried her, which wasn’t easy in the dark and wet.
After an eternity they reached the cottage and Yul was relieved to see lights glowing. He pushed the gate open with a foot and staggered up the path, his arms aching. Miranda answered the kick on the door and was horrified to see her daughter lying unmoving against the boy’s chest.
‘Sorry, ma’am. I found her in the woods. I think she must’ve been on her way home from the Hall and got lost. She’s very cold. She needs dry clothes, a fire and a hot drink.’
‘I think I can see what she needs, thank you. It’s Yul, isn’t it? Thank you for bringing her back. Just sit her down here, would you.’
As he bent to put her in the armchair his lips brushed her ear.
‘You got lost on your way back, remember?’ he whispered. ‘I’ll see you soon, Sylvie.’
Miranda watched him go and then turned to her bedraggled daughter. She sat pale and motionless in the chair where she’d been put, her eyes closed. Miranda felt a sharp flicker of annoyance at Sylvie for ruining her perfect evening. She thought of the snug, dry pavilion lit by many silver candles, the incense burning, the golden mead in goblets, the delicious delicacies to eat, and the soft, thick cover spread out on the great stone with silk cushions to lie back against. There’d even been a little brazier for warmth, and Magus had bundled her up in waterproofs with a large umbrella to protect her as they’d dashed back from the cliff-top. She’d felt so pampered and cared for, so very special. What a man!
She smiled to herself as she removed the smelly blanket and stripped Sylvie of her wet clothes. She put her daughter to bed, not noticing just how very cold the silent girl was. It had been the most perfect evening of her whole life. She was in love for the very first time, and felt utterly fulfilled.
Yul plodded miserably up the muddy path back into the woods. Again he faced a dilemma: to sleep in his tree shelter or the woodsmen’s hut. His mattress and blanket would be lying in a puddle of water by now as it was only a rough shelter, so he headed for the hut. It was risky but surely Alwyn wouldn’t come looking for him on a night like this? His father would be snug at home eating a late night snack by the fire before lugging himself up to bed. Tomorrow Yul would have to dry out his bedding somehow, because he mustn’t tempt fate twice. But tonight he needed somewhere warm and dry to sleep. Sylvie wasn’t the only one chilled by the rain.
In the hut he stoked up the fire and stretched out in the old armchair, his long legs sprawled out damply before him. The blanket was gone, of course, and he thought of Sylvie in her cottage. Her mother would have warmed her thoroughly by now and ensured she was comfortable. He wished the Blue Moon had been more special for her. Outside he could hear the rain still lashing down in torrents, but it was cosy in the hut by the fire. Slowly his wet hair dried, springing into curls, and his clothes steamed dry. He dozed in the warmth and at some point crawled off the chair and onto the floor, where he curled up in front of the dying fire.
He was awoken by the door crashing open, and a loud shout.
‘Here he is, sir, the little bastard! We got him now!’
It was the voice of the man Yul dreaded most in the world. He barged inside, followed by the next most dreaded man.
‘Good. Wake him up then.’
Alwyn aimed a vicious kick but Yul was already scrambling to his feet, blinking in the blinding torchlight and shivering in the cold draught. The two men crowded the small hut, both watching him intently and looking very pleased with themselves.
‘I told you he’d be here, sir.’
‘So you did. Well, Yul, you didn’t inform me you were leaving home.’
‘No, sir,’ Yul mumbled, his heart pounding. He considered making a run for it but the two large men were blocking the door.
‘Don’t even try,’ laughed Magus. ‘Alwyn, tie his hands and hobble him.’
Alwyn stepped forward and grabbed Yul’s arm hard, yanking him almost off his feet.
‘Pleasure, sir.’
Yul’s arms were pulled behind his back and his wrists tied tightly. His ankles were each circled with rope, with a little slack between them.
‘Right then. You’ve got your whip?’
‘Oh yes, sir,’ chuckled Alwyn, patting at his coat.
‘Then it’s off to the Hall.’
The flashlight did strange things to the wet woodland. The rain was a curtain of diagonal dashes; the tree trunks glistened and gleamed. Yul found it difficult to stay on his feet with his ankles hobbled, and Alwyn did his best to unbalance the boy, jabbing him in the back and cuffing him round the head as he stumbled along the path. Alwyn wore the great brown leather coat he saved for wet weather, the water running off the treated skin. He’d cured the hides himself. Magus wore more sophisticated extreme weather gear which shone wetly in the torch light. But Yul was soaked to the skin in his thin shirt and trousers, and shivering violently with fear.
At the Hall they turned off towards the stable block, then went round the back to some out-houses that lay beyond. Magus unlocked and unbolted a great wooden door and led the way into a stone building, a sort of byre. An electric light had been rigged up, its harsh white
light illuminating the stark area inside. The stone floor was covered with dusty straw and there were several bales lying around. A polished chair of fine wood and old leather stood to one side.
Yul was sent sprawling onto the straw. Magus pulled off his dripping outer clothes and laid them over a bale. Alwyn followed suit. Magus then sat down in the chair and surveyed the boy cowering on the floor. Alwyn stood over him, gloating, his porky face creased in glee. At a nod from Magus he untied the ropes. Yul felt the hatred in both men’s eyes; the desire to see him suffer. Their pleasure at his predicament was almost palpable in the musty air and his heart quaked with terror.
‘Right then,’ began Magus in his deep voice as Alwyn carefully rolled up his sleeves to expose bulging forearms. ‘Let’s get down to business. You really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you, Yul? I seem to recall talking to you at the Stone Circle and warning you of the consequences if you crossed me again. I distinctly remember telling you before then that if there was any more trouble you’d face a whipping. Yet here we are again. You’ve brought this on yourself and you fully deserve the punishment that’s coming.’
Yul remained silent. What was there to say? He wasn’t even sure of his crime but was gripped by a deep, sick dread. His father had his whip, the thing Yul feared the most. The snake-whip was ferocious, and when wielded by his father, potentially lethal. Perhaps, tonight, he would die at his father’s hand as Mother Heggy had predicted.
‘Before we discuss how you’ve disobeyed me,’ said Magus smoothly, ‘we must first deal with family matters. You’ve angered your father, Yul, with your wild behaviour and constant lack of respect. You know that’s not tolerated at Stonewylde under any circumstances. You’re the eldest of seven children and almost a man now, yet you continually defy your father instead of making his life easier. We can’t have that, can we, Alwyn?’
‘No, sir! He’s an insolent, disobedient little bastard and I—’
‘So would you like to teach your son some respect? Would you like to show your son just how much he’s displeased you?’
‘Oh yes, sir. I’d like that very much!’
‘Off you go, then.’
Alwyn kicked Yul to his feet and ripped the wet shirt off his back. He shoved the shivering boy up against one of the walls facing the cold stone. Yul’s insides were liquid with fear, his bare arms and torso bumpy with goose-flesh. He put his hands out and braced himself against the wall.
‘I returned home tonight after a pleasant evening, Yul, to discover you’d been up to mischief again. Mischief involving my thoroughbred horse. So I called at your home to deal with you.’
Alwyn stepped back and uncurled the whip, flexing his arms, lovingly stroking out the length of heavy leather braid. Magus spoke softly as the snake-tail cracked through the air and bit into Yul’s back.
‘But you weren’t there! Your father told me you’d disappeared several days ago. Children don’t run away from home at Stonewylde, Yul. Children honour and obey their parents. Isn’t that right, Alwyn?’
‘Certainly is, sir,’ panted Alwyn, sweat already beading his face. ‘All the other brats jump to obey me.’
He paused to peel off his shirt, revealing his monstrous, glistening body. Then he resumed the heavy, precise strokes, his great arm jerking back and slashing forward hard through the air, the whip uncoiling into a lethal line of pain as it lashed out and cut into the boy’s soft skin. Once the tip had found its tender mark, the snake curled back at a flick of Alwyn’s fist, ready to strike again.
‘So you see,’ said Magus, ‘I was extremely annoyed to find you absent from your bed. And then to go on a wild-goose chase through the woods in the rain to hunt you down …’
He paused to watch for a while, the vicious snap of leather shockingly loud in the stone building. ‘That’s enough, Alwyn. For now.’
The man lowered the whip to the floor and sat down heavily on a straw bale. His chest heaved. Yul still leant on his hands against the wall, his head now hanging down. His back was a mess of criss-cross stripes. Magus sighed, crossing his legs comfortably.
‘Turn around, boy, and look at me.’
Slowly Yul straightened up. He turned, shook the wet hair from his face, and looked Magus in the eye. His face was tight with iron control; he would not show his pain.
‘I wished to speak to you tonight about the incident involving my horse. I was informed of it on my return to Stonewylde this evening. You know, of course, what I’m talking about?’
‘Yes, sir.’ His voice was small and shaky.
‘Not only did you frighten Nightwing so badly that he threw his rider, you then had the effrontery to ride him yourself.’
‘Yes, sir, but only because—’
‘Silence!’ barked Magus. ‘I’m not interested in your excuses! Nobody rides that horse without my express permission. You were given no such permission and never would be. A Village lout like you would ruin a thoroughbred’s mouth in just one ride. HOW DARE YOU!!’
He nodded at Alwyn to continue. Whilst the tanner resumed his terrible handiwork with the snake-whip, Magus pulled a silver hip flask from his pocket and drank deeply. He watched the boy’s horrific ordeal in a detached way. Unlike the public whippings, nobody was counting out a fixed number of strokes. The punishment went on and on until finally Yul crumpled to the ground, his back bloody and raw. Throughout the entire ordeal he’d remained silent. Alwyn, his breathing loud and laboured, gave one last slash at the boy on the floor and looked to Magus for instructions. He was scarlet with exertion, sweat dripping off his nose and jowls, his huge chest and belly gleaming wet.
‘You’ve done an impressive job,’ said Magus quietly. ‘Go round to the kitchens and say I sent you. Someone will still be up. You deserve some sustenance after all that hard work and I want a word with Yul alone.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ Alwyn gasped, coiling up his whip and attaching it to the clip on his belt. He pulled on his shirt and leather coat and stomped out of the byre, shutting the door behind him.
‘So,’ purred Magus, standing up and walking over to where Yul lay, sprawled and trembling. ‘Now it’s just you and me.’
He prodded the boy with the tip of his boot and Yul groaned. He was beyond tears, his back on fire, the vivid lacerations raised and oozing blood.
‘Your father certainly knows how to use a whip. I’ll have to remember him if we ever have another public whipping. But strangely, there seems to be no call for such things nowadays. Can you remember the last time we had one? I barely can. Everyone at Stonewylde behaves themselves and keeps to the laws. Everyone, that is, except you!’
He knelt swiftly and grabbed a handful of Yul’s hair, yanking him to his feet. The boy stood bent over, his hair held by Magus’ grasping fist. Magus jerked Yul’s head upright, let go of his hair and then slashed him full in the face with a vicious backhanded swipe. It sent Yul reeling against the wall like a spinning top. Magus walked over and sat down in the chair again, taking another draught from the hip flask.
‘Come here and stand in front of me,’ he commanded. Yul staggered across, trying to stand upright, his head ringing from the force of the blow. He saw strange coloured dots. The stone floor and walls shifted and tilted around him. Magus noted with satisfaction that his cheekbone and eye were swelling rapidly.
He felt again that surge of pleasure deep in his abdomen and recalled the time when he’d dealt with the boy up at the Hall. Here was a real challenge; here was a force to be subdued and then harnessed, ridden as he rode his spirited horse. He noticed how much Yul had grown in the past months, leaving childhood well behind. He reminded Magus of himself at the same age – lean, long-legged and strong. Magus would never have hit a child. But he was happy to hit a young man.
‘And now we come to the final matter, brought to my attention tonight by a member of the Hallfolk. I was told about your repeated involvement with a young girl, a new member of the Hallfolk. You, a Villager.’
Yul swayed on his fee
t, barely able to stand. He stared at the straw on the ground, noticing how yellow and glossy it was. His heart was thumping hard.
‘In the morning I’ll speak to Sylvie and hear her version of events. Then I’ll come back here and you’ll tell me yours. The two had better be identical. I want the entire truth about what’s been going on between the two of you in the past few weeks. If you appear in the least bit stubborn about talking, I’ll bring your father in to persuade you. Maybe I’ll bring him in anyway. See you in the morning, Yul. Sweet dreams.’
He snapped off the light and went out into the wet night, locking and bolting the door behind him. Yul took a ragged breath. His back was alive and crawling with raw, searing pain. His face hurt terribly, his head still ringing from the vicious blow. There was nowhere for him to lie and he couldn’t stretch out on the straw bales because of their terrible scratchiness.
He fumbled on the floor in the darkness for his torn wet shirt, which he spread onto the stone and lay down upon. It was hard and very cold. He curled as small as he could, wrapping his arms around himself in a vain effort to control the dreadful shivering that overwhelmed him as shock and cold set in. There were rustlings and scuttlings in the straw over in the corner that spoke of large rats. Sleep did not come quickly for Yul on the night of the Blue Moon.
16
By the time Magus arrived at Woodland Cottage the following morning, Miranda was almost beside herself with anxiety. She longed to fling her arms around him but his grim expression as he crossed the threshold made her hold back and content herself with a brief kiss.
