Magus of Stonewylde Book One (26 page)

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.

The place held happy memories for Yul. As children he and Rosie had often played here, rolling down into the deep swallets on a carpet of old beech leaves onto the soft bed of moss at the bottom, before scrambling up the sides for another go. His feet now crunched on the beech mast that littered the ground, the cases discarded by squirrels who feasted on the kernels in autumn and winter. Yul remembered how he and his sister had nibbled at the beech seeds, savouring the nutty taste. He must bring little Leveret here, he thought to himself. She’d love it too.

Yul walked reverently through the green, living cathedral listening to the anthem of birdsong. He savoured the incense of the fragrant evening and the majesty of the great trees, their stately pillars and bright canopy more awe-inspiring than any man-made edifice. High above, squirrels performed their acrobatics in the leafy branches. A jay flew by, pink-brown with a black and white flash to its rump and vivid blue-striped feathers on its wings. The woodland grove was alive with creatures and Yul felt at one with Nature, a tiny part of the whole beautiful creation.

He stopped, closing his eyes, and felt again a flicker of the power he’d experienced earlier at the Stone Circle. As the sun set he felt something rise within him, something dark and secret. He smiled to himself. Alwyn and Magus could go and rot in the Otherworld. They might damage his body but they’d never touch his spirit. His body would heal and he’d survive, stronger and tougher because of their cruelty. They’d never, ever break him. Yul laughed out loud as the power prickled through him, his hunger and bruises forgotten.

Then he saw the log lying on the ground and remembered where the woodsmen had discovered the crop of Beechwood Sickener. Fungi had to be searched for carefully; it had a habit of disappearing into the background and becoming virtually
invisible. In the failing light Yul hunted for the distinctive red caps, suddenly worried he wouldn’t find them before it became dark. Mother Heggy had insisted they be harvested in the dusk of the Dark Moon.

He found them; a patch of mushrooms truly bright red in colour. How many to pick? He decided on five, being the sacred number of the pentangle, and pulled the bag from his waistband. He remembered tucking it there, and the ensuing encounter with Alwyn. As he harvested the five mushrooms carefully, so as not to bruise them, images from that morning’s beating flashed before him – especially his father’s sweating, excited face and the strange, merciless light in his eyes. White-hot, corrosive fury welled up inside Yul. His fingers shook as he picked the five mushrooms, shook with hatred for Alwyn and a searing desire for revenge.

As he made his way out of the woods with the light almost gone, he heard a strange high-pitched squeaking and smiled to himself. The bats! They’d sensed the deepening dusk and now poured out of several trees in a stream. Tiny black shapes flickered in the gathering darkness, the squeaking becoming louder and louder inside the hollow trunks. Yul stood absolutely still as they zigzagged around his head, never touching him, filling the beech grove with their dark movement. It was as if the bats’ arrival heralded true night, and Yul welcomed them silently.

By the time he reached Mother Heggy’s cottage the stars were glittering. There was no moon at all tonight, of course, and the deep blue velvet sky enveloped Yul like a cloak. He was light-headed with hunger. He held the flaxen bag carefully, tied up with a long string of ivy, and soundlessly approached the ancient cottage. A feeble light glimmered in the window and he smelled sweet wood smoke in the night air.

Just as he stooped to leave the bag on the step, the door creaked open. Mother Heggy stood at the threshold, a shrivelled little hump of a creature, her neck bent up so she could see ahead. She grimaced toothlessly at him and gestured him inside with a
clawed hand. The strange smell of her cottage hit him and he felt queasy.

‘Good boy, good boy,’ she wheezed, as she shut the door. ‘Come and sit awhile with Old Heggy and let me look at you. Eh, you’ve been on my mind since you last came. Give me your hand, boy. Let me feel what’s about.’

Yul tried not to flinch as she grasped his hand between her claws. They sat as before, he on a hard chair and she in her rocking chair drawn up close to him. She stroked his hand and crooned harshly to herself, rocking all the time. After a while her eyes shot open, their milkiness quite shocking.

‘So you want to kill the tanner, do you?’

He gasped. How could she have known that?

‘I … well yes, I did think that earlier on. The beatings are getting worse, harder and more painful. And I really can’t take it much harder.’