Magus of Stonewylde Book One (12 page)

‘Oh dear! I’ve no wish to cause you discomfort, believe me. I wouldn’t dream of abusing my position here. I’d like to get to know you better but only when you’re ready. You must learn to relax with me and be yourself; the woman I met in London who impressed me so much with her strength and determination. The woman who gave me a grilling about the feudal system and half-witted peasants being deprived of television. I like your independence and your spikiness, Miranda. It’s rare here, where everyone else tries to please. Don’t lose it, will you?’

She shook her head and swallowed, feeling his dark gaze on her. She took a deep breath and turned to smile brightly at him. He looked amused at her effort to be herself.

‘I’d never lose my independence,’ she said. ‘It was the only thing that kept me going all those years. But you’re quite overpowering – I feel like a comet being drawn into the sun’s gravitational field.’

He laughed again and reached across to stroke her hair in an affectionate gesture. His fingers brushed her shoulder as he felt the texture of the silky auburn swathe that flowed halfway down her back. She closed her eyes at his touch, his scent filling her nostrils. He seemed so big sitting this close, his body powerful and radiating energy.

‘Your hair is exquisite,’ he murmured. ‘I’m so pleased you came to Stonewylde, Miranda. It’s clearly been an excellent move for both you and Sylvie. I hope you intend to stay. I’d like that very much.’

‘Oh yes! Me too!’ she whispered. ‘I can’t imagine ever leaving here.’

‘Wonderful! In that case, I’d like to mark your joining our community with a public ceremony, if you don’t object. I thought Beltane may be a good time.’

‘That would be lovely! A public ceremony.’

‘‘It’s a major festival for us and a very joyous occasion,’ he continued, taking one of her hands and tracing the bones with gentle fingers. ‘It would be the perfect time to initiate both of you into our ways and customs. I think Sylvie’s ready for it too. She doesn’t have any doubts about staying here, does she? I haven’t spoken to her alone for a while.’

‘She absolutely loves it here,’ Miranda assured him. ‘She’s thriving in a way I’d never have dreamed possible, and certainly not as quickly as this. I’m so grateful to you for saving her life.’

‘It wasn’t me – it’s the Earth Magic,’ he said, still stroking her hand. ‘The healing energy of Stonewylde. I’ll give her more at Beltane.’

Miranda looked at him a little sceptically and he laughed, patting her hand and releasing it.

‘You’ve seen nothing yet, Miranda,’ he said genially. ‘You wait. You’ll have no doubt in your mind about the veracity of that magic when the Beltane holiday’s over, I promise you. Now, I must get on with those never-ending reports.’

‘You work so hard,’ said Miranda. ‘I take back what I said when I first came here. You work harder than any labourer I’ve seen.’

‘Well, April is my busiest month, I must say. I couldn’t keep up this pace throughout the year. Can you speak to Cherry about Beltane? You’ll need the proper costumes and she’ll arrange for a dress-maker to fit you both for white dresses. Can I leave that with you?’

‘Of course,’ she nodded. ‘White dresses? It sounds bridal!’

‘And so it is, in a way. Brides for the Green Man. I should warn you, I’ll be very busy at Beltane itself as I have to stay with the May Queen. But after May Day, I’d like us to spend an evening together, just you and me. Would you like that?’

She nodded in delighted acceptance, an arrow of excitement shooting through her at the very thought.

While Miranda spent as much time as possible at the Hall in the hope of running into Magus, Sylvie passed her free time out on the estate, roaming first in the beautifully landscaped and manicured Hall gardens, and then farther afield into the wilder parts of Stonewylde. She still loved the woods next to the cottage, and spent many evenings after school meandering up the path that led deep into their heart.

During April, more and more greenery had appeared and now everything was opening into leaf and bursting into blossom. The early bluebells in the woods were exquisite, blueness on blueness appearing in a mist of fragrance on the woodland carpet. The liquid music of birdsong soothed the senses despite its jubilant volume. The sun was warm as the days increased in length, and soft pink dawns and golden dusks promised a balmy summer to come.

Hares and leverets were everywhere, leaping and racing in the fields, nibbling voraciously at young green shoots now their mad March boxing was over. Sylvie watched them at length one evening up on the hills and marvelled at them. She’d never seen hares before coming to Stonewylde and loved them for their wildness and freedom. She had a hazy recollection of silver hares leaping with her on the night of her moon dance but wasn’t sure if she’d just imagined it.

It wasn’t until she found herself wandering one evening along the track leading to the Village that Sylvie realised she was looking for Yul. She stopped and considered – was this what she really wanted? She’d missed him since he’d stopped coming to dig the garden, and she’d never had the chance to thank him for looking after her that night. She felt embarrassed that he’d seen her acting so strangely, yet delighted that she’d finally found the answer to her mysterious behaviour. Never again would she suffer on the night of the full moon. Thanks to Yul, she now understood how she must honour the rising moon.

Now she stood on the track, the hawthorn blossom snowy on the hedgerows, and debated the wisdom of searching out Yul.
She could picture him perfectly: sullen and angry in the garden, rapt and glowing on the stage at the Story Web, gentle and knowing in the night woods. Dark curls falling into his deep grey eyes – his face haunted her. With a sigh she continued along the track until she came to the Village.

It was like walking onto a film set, she decided, or going back in time. Smoke curled from the thatched cottages, people dressed in roughly woven clothes and boots went about their business, ducks waddled around the muddy edges of the pond. It was a beautiful evening, the sun still golden in the sky, and everything looked slightly smudged as if in soft focus. Men sat on benches outside the pub, drinking from tankards, and from within there came the sound of many male voices. A group of older children played tag on the Village Green, chasing and calling out in their strange accent, unique to Stonewylde. Laughter and splashing could be heard from the bath house, with mothers scolding and chivvying their children. Sylvie wondered where Yul would be at this time of evening. Hearing music and voices coming from the Barn, she approached the open double doors and looked inside.

The place was full of youngsters of about her age. Several groups sat around tables, playing cards and board games. Others played instruments and some danced. There was a skittle alley set up at one end where a throng had gathered, making a great deal of noise. At one table an old man had a group around him all whittling away at pieces of wood, whilst at another table several girls were sewing with a couple of women. Many just sat or stood around talking and laughing. Sylvie gazed in wistfully. They all belonged, they all knew each other and were part of a society she knew little about.

She scanned the faces, looking for Yul’s dark hair and secretive hollow face but couldn’t see him anywhere. The group nearest the doors noticed her standing there and they stared. Sylvie smiled diffidently, feeling very awkward. It suddenly struck her that there wasn’t one blond Hallfolk teenager in the building. They were all Villagers.

‘Blessings, miss!’ one of them called. ‘Are you lost?’

Reluctantly she edged towards them, feeling out of place. Several more groups now saw her and the noise seemed to suddenly die down. She felt herself blushing.

‘No, I’m not lost. I just … I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this was for Villagers. I didn’t mean to intrude.’

‘You’re welcome, miss,’ said another girl. ‘Magus said you didn’t know our ways. Hallfolk usually stay up at the Hall in the evenings.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Sylvie repeated. ‘I’ll go now.’

‘Farewell then, miss. Be seeing you at Beltane no doubt.’

Sylvie nodded and gave an embarrassed wave, hastily retreating from the Barn and into the welcome fresh air outside. She stood for a while looking over the Village Green where a half moon glowed dimly in the pale blue sky. A squabbling flock of sparrows flew across her vision and she watched them disappear into a tree. She noticed how the great trees encircling the Village Green were now in bud, some of them already green and others tinged with the promise of leaves.

It was a beautiful setting and she almost wished that Magus had placed her and her mother in the Village, to live as Villagers instead of Hallfolk. Magnificent though the Hall was, there was a feeling of peace and antiquity here that struck a chord in her soul. She’d love to dress in the simple homespun clothes and leather boots the Village girls wore, with a bright shawl around her shoulders and a wicker basket on her arm. But then she remembered her hair. She could never be a Villager with silver-blond hair like hers. It set her apart immediately. She was Hallfolk whether she liked it or not.

She walked through the Village looking at the buildings, smiling at the solar panels on some of the larger roofs. They seemed out of place, yet she was pleased that Magus had decided on modern technology rather than keeping the place totally in the Middle Ages. There was no sign of Yul at all, and she wondered what he did with himself in the evenings. Why didn’t he mix with others of his age in the Great Barn? Surely he wasn’t old enough to be with the men drinking in the pub?

Slowly she followed a path that led down to the river, and stood gazing at the rushing water still swollen with winter rain. Willows edged its muddy banks, the long yellow-green shoots feathered with new pale leaves hanging down like a girl’s hair. The water was pure and sparkling and caught the golden glint of the evening sunlight. Sylvie took a deep breath and felt an almost overwhelming love of the place well up inside her. She never wanted to leave Stonewylde. The Outside World held no attraction for her whatsoever and she’d stay here for the rest of her life. As she explored this sudden certainty she noticed Yul.

He sat on a small stone bridge that spanned the river slightly downstream, his head bowed. He had his back to her, his legs hanging over the edge, and was absolutely still. Her heart had skipped at the sight of him, but now she wondered if she should speak to him or not. What would she say? He was cloaked in solitude, in a closed world of his own with a web of stillness protecting him.

Sylvie stood undecided, wanting to quietly retrace her steps and leave him undisturbed, but also wanting to speak to him. Was he really the beautiful boy she kept thinking about, or was that dark thundercloud the true Yul? The decision was taken from her as he suddenly swivelled around. She smiled uncertainly. He glared at her and the smile faltered on her lips. She began to turn, realising she’d made a mistake, but then his face lit up with pleasure and he raised a hand in greeting.

Her feet moved towards him and he gazed up at her as she stood before him on the bridge.

‘I thought I was imagining you,’ he said quietly. ‘I was thinking of you and there you were. I thought you were a dream.’

‘I’m real,’ she replied. ‘Can I join you?’

He nodded and she sat down next to him on the stone parapet of the bridge, careful not to sit too close. Her legs dangled over the edge beside his and she looked downstream where he’d been staring. Although the sun had almost set, the river was gilded with hazy brightness. She saw the great wheel of a mill around a bend, and the reed beds becoming broader as the river widened,
approaching the sea. The air was patterned with the choral music of birdsong, different voices weaving in and out of each other in glorious harmony. She felt good to be alive and so pleased she’d found him.

The boy next to her sat in silence. There was a stillness about him tonight that she found comforting. Then he touched her sleeve gently and nodded at the far riverbank.

‘See the kingfisher?’ he whispered. ‘Over there by that clump of reeds.’

She saw it and smiled in wonder at the brilliance of its plumage, its pertness as it perched on the reed. Then it darted off in a streak of pure blue, and Yul turned to her.

‘Do they have kingfishers in the Outside World?’ he asked.

‘Yes but I’ve never seen one. I didn’t live in the country. I came from a big, dirty city.’

‘But now you’re home,’ he said simply.

They sat in silence again for a while.

‘I was looking for you,’ said Sylvie, turning to him. He glanced at her in surprise. She noticed that the black eye was fading, the cut on his eyebrow just a scab now. ‘I wanted to thank you for looking after me that night.’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘I was worried you’d get lost in the woods.’

‘I would’ve done. You were very kind to me. Thank you.’

‘’Twas nothing, miss. Forget it.’

‘Sylvie,’ she said. ‘Not “miss”.’

‘Sylvie,’ he repeated.

‘Were you really thinking of me just now?’ she asked.

He looked away quickly and shrugged. She stared at his profile. He was so dark and quiet, wrapped in his solitude, alone behind the walls of his seclusion. She gazed at his shadowed face and then suddenly, without warning, it hit her. A great wave of pain and hatred that made her gasp out loud. A black and bleak despair that writhed so hard within him it hurt. This was Yul; this was what he carried inside; this was what he lived with. She felt tears choking her throat and blinked hard, staring down at the water
below to quell the rush of emotion. She’d never had such a sensation before. It was as if a window to his soul had opened momentarily, allowing her to glimpse inside. His spirit was shrouded in utter darkness. The poor boy, she cried to herself. The poor boy, living in such fear and misery.