Read Moondance of Stonewylde Online
Authors: Kit Berry
Moondance of Stonewylde
of
STONEWYLDE
KIT BERRY
The Stonewylde Series is dedicated to the memories of Jean Guy, my best owl aunt and Debbie Gilbrook, my dearest friend.
Contents
Also by Kit Berry from Gollancz
Moondance of Stonewylde
Solstice at Stonewylde
Shadows at Stonewylde
A
crone hunched stiffly on the dirty flagstone floor of a tumbledown cottage, crooning her incantation. The circle of salt around her was marked at five points with stubs of candle and symbols of the elements. A large leather-bound book lay open by her side, the spidery writing faded on the parchment. The glossy crow sat in her lap with eyes shut
.
With a shrivelled hand Mother Heggy took a pinch of dried essence from a dish and sprinkled it onto the twigs smouldering in the little fire-cauldron. Foul-smelling smoke billowed up into the air and hung in wreathes about her. Her other clawed hand clamped around something soft and malleable, something vaguely human in shape, fashioned from wax, pig fat and a few ginger hairs. In the centre of this mommet lay a strange heart: a crescent of toenail
.
Smoke choked the tiny cottage and the crow fidgeted in the crone’s lap. Her mumbling invocation gathered in power. She scraped the few remaining desiccated flakes from the dish into the fire. This was all that was left, after her cake-baking, of the concoction she’d prepared one Dark Moon as the boy had sat here, his body battered and his heart seething with dark hatred. The mommet became softer in the warmth from her leathery skin as the energy was transferred
.
She uttered the final words, no longer legible in her Book of Shadows but known in her heart. She traced the five-pointed shape of magic in the smoke about her and, with a cry, pitched the tiny figure into the pot-belly of the cauldron. It hit the burning twigs and instantly the pig fat turned to grease and the wax melted to nothing. The gingery hairs shrivelled and the crescent of nail lay in a viscous pool of thick tallow
.
Mother Heggy raised the crow gently from her lap, kissed its head and flung it into the air. With a frantic flapping it landed on the floor outside the cast circle
.
‘Fly, my lovely one! Fly to him now!’ she croaked
.
The crow hopped out, launching itself into the glimmering sky
.
M
agus sprawled across his vast four-poster bed gazing at the bright diamond-paned windows. His sheets lay in a tangled heap, kicked off in the heat of the night as he’d slept fitfully. The sun was well up but he lay spread-eagled, magnificent body dark against the pure white sheets, his eyes glittering with fury. That damned boy!
His thoughts spun around like a vulture circling a carcass. Yesterday, the Summer Solstice, should have been a day of glory. Instead – ruined. For the first time in years the green magic had eluded him. Normally he’d have been teeming with power and energy after receiving the Goddess’ gift, but today he felt only a flicker of his accustomed vitality. And it was all Yul’s fault for fumbling with the torch and allowing the sacred flame to extinguish. The arteries in his temple pounded as he remembered the look of triumph in the dark-haired brat’s eyes.
He recalled how all day yesterday, after that disastrous sunrise ceremony, Yul had excelled at the games held on the Village Green. Despite those two gruelling weeks at the quarry, which should have broken both his body and spirit, the boy had outstripped others in countless competitions. Magus had been furious to see Sylvie watching with shining eyes, cheering the boy on – not that he’d needed it. Magus had a horrible suspicion that not only had the Earth Magic failed to empower him, the rightful guardian of Stonewylde, but it had somehow gone to
Yul instead. What else would explain the boy’s brightness and energy?
Magus smiled grimly as he recalled how he’d put an end to his apparently unstoppable success. Yul had stood alone under the shade of a tree on the Village Green, still flushed from the exertion of winning yet another race. Magus recalled with pleasure how the boy’s deep grey eyes had clouded with fear at his approach.
‘Solstice Blessings, Yul!’
‘Solstice Blessings, sir.’
‘You’re doing remarkably well for someone who’s been through such an ordeal so recently.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And for someone who shouldn’t even be here today! I don’t recall giving you permission to leave the quarry.’
‘No, sir.’
Magus noticed how he trembled.
‘So why did you leave Quarrycleave and return to the heart of Stonewylde?’
‘I … I was told you had given permission, sir.’
Yul fidgeted, sweat beading his upper lip and beginning to trickle down his flushed face from beneath the heavy mass of dark curls. Magus nodded slowly, looking beyond the boy to where a crowd gathered around the drinks set out on trestle tables. He noticed Sylvie standing slightly apart, covertly watching as he addressed the boy. Anger welled unexpectedly.
‘You completely fouled up the Solstice sunrise ceremony this morning,’ he spat. ‘Never before have I witnessed such fumbling incompetence!’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ mumbled Yul, his heart thudding. This was the moment of truth – would Magus send him back to the horror of that white, dusty quarry?
‘How dare you not only ruin the whole ritual with your clumsiness, but to then have the effrontery to speak
my
words in the ceremony? Who the hell do you think you are?’
Yul shook his head helplessly. Who was he? Someone special
and magical, as Mother Heggy would have him believe, or just a worthless Villager at the mercy of his enraged master?
‘I’ll tell you then,’ hissed Magus, ‘as words seem beyond you. You are nothing … less than nothing. You should never have left the quarry without my express permission and I’m very tempted to send you straight back there, especially in view of your appalling behaviour this morning.’
He enjoyed Yul’s start of horror, the way the boy tensed and shuddered.
‘However, I think you’ll be of more immediate use up at the Hall, where we’re so short-staffed. You’ll report to Martin in the morning, at first light, and do so for the duration of the Midsummer holidays. I’m sure there are plenty of dirty pots and pans to keep you busy. That will be all, boy.’
Magus watched as Yul loped off back towards his cottage, his earlier vitality and spark now doused. Magus sighed; he wasn’t finished with Yul yet, not by a long way, but he must be careful. Justice must always be seen to be done, and he’d sensed the boy’s popularity amongst the Villagers today during the races. Whatever happened, his own hands couldn’t be dirtied. But there was another option. Magus’ dark eyes scanned the hordes of people on the Green, drinking cider and elderflower champagne, laughing and chattering on this, the most special day of the year.
The vertical lines that grooved the skin on either side of his mouth creased further into a grim smile as he spotted the man he sought. Alwyn was quaffing cider outside the Jack in the Green, his bloated face tipped back as he poured the liquid down his throat. Magus noted the tanner’s heightened colour and increased girth, his great belly ballooning above his trousers. Alwyn hated the boy with a vengeance and just a few words of encouragement would add fuel to his raging desire to punish. Magus resolved to speak to him later. Alwyn was his instrument and only needed a little fine-tuning.
Magus had then turned his attention to locating Sylvie again. It was her birthday too and he thought of the large white box with its silver ribbon waiting up at the Hall. She was fifteen today
and although birthday gifts weren’t usually given at Stonewylde, Magus had decided to make an exception. Sylvie was special and needed delicate grooming. She’d never had much, if Miranda’s pathetic life story were to be believed. The exquisite dress, nestling in layers of white tissue paper, would be well worth its cost.
He saw Sylvie talking to Dawn and decided against speaking to her yet – the dress could wait till later. He recalled her promise to him the previous night on Solstice Eve to stay away from Yul. He’d be keeping a very close watch over her in future. It seemed that the Village brat had stolen his Earth Magic this Solstice; Magus didn’t intend to let him steal Sylvie as well.
As he lay on his vast bed, with the morning sunlight streaming in on him and dancing on the deep crimson walls of his bedroom, Magus’ thoughts jumped again, this time to an event a little later in the day. People were wandering off the Green in the warm afternoon, some going home for a nap before the evening’s fun began. The Midsummer Dance would start later, with a feast laid out on the Green and music and merry-making in the Great Barn. Magus had noticed Alwyn about to head up the lane to his cottage, and had called him over. The tanner’s porcine face had lit up with pleasure at being singled out by the master.
‘Midsummer Blessings, sir!’
Magus had looked away from the man’s features in distaste. Close up, his ruddiness was a myriad of engorged veins just under the surface of his fleshy skin. Even his piggy eyes were bloodshot. He wheezed from the tiny exertion of walking a few steps along the lane and his massive bulk gave out a hot, sour odour.
‘A word with you, Alwyn. I’m sure you can guess the subject.’
The tanner nodded grimly, sweat running down into the folds of his neck.