Moondance of Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  ‘Sylvie you didn’t dance on the stone. Don’t you remember? You were standing very still and then you collapsed.’

  ‘No, I think … I don’t know. I can’t remember. I love it there. I know that for sure. I think you’re wrong, Yul. I was fine. I want to go there again.’

  Yul shrugged, swallowing his hurt. He’d thought that moongazing up at Hare Stone with him was special to her. But if she preferred to be with Magus at Mooncliffe, he wouldn’t make a fuss.

  Her strangeness made their time together awkward and Yul couldn’t shake off his disappointment. They watched the young leverets playing below them on the hill for some time, and lay on their backs amongst a patch of pale-blue harebells that grew in the grass, following the swallows arcing in the sky overhead. They could smell the delicious, sweet fragrance of honeysuckle wafting up from the hedgerow bordering the woods. It should have been idyllic; a rare chance to enjoy each other’s company without being disturbed or overlooked. After their passion in the moonlight under the yew tree, they should have fallen into each other’s arms. But despite being acutely aware of their proximity, they were careful to avoid any contact. There was an uncomfortable constraint between them which neither knew how to banish.

  Sylvie could see how much Yul had changed since Alwyn’s departure. He’d lost the hunted look; he no longer jumped if taken by surprise, or constantly looked over his shoulder at every noise and movement. At one point his tunic had ridden up his back a little and she could see where the terrible lashes still marked him, the skin now mended. He’d carry the scars for the rest of his life, she was sure, but it was good to see he’d healed. He looked so well and she imagined his mother must be spoiling him at home. Sylvie could only guess at how the woman must’ve felt over the years, watching her husband crush her son so brutally at every opportunity. Yul’s eyes and skin were clear and glowing and he’d had his hair cut so it no longer flowed onto his shoulders. The dark curls sprang round his face, glossy and soft. Sylvie wanted very much to run her fingers through them.

  He could see a change in her too, but it wasn’t for the better. She’d lost weight and looked more delicate than ever. Her face was sharper and her eyes different. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what was wrong but knew she wasn’t herself. She seemed brittle and nervous, as if she might crack at any moment.

  He didn’t know that Sylvie suffered from nightmares every night and awoke drenched in sweat with her heart pounding. In her dreams she’d frozen into stone and couldn’t move, whilst she slowly died inside, her life force draining away. And Magus was in the dreams too. Sometimes he stood there laughing. Other times he lay at her feet groaning with pleasure. And the worst dream of all – once he stood very close, touching her, and she couldn’t move away to stop him doing it. She’d told nobody about the nightmares. In the daylight she tried to forget them but the evidence of their damage was plain to see.

  After a while they wandered further along the Dragon’s Back ridgeway, both remembering the last time they were here escaping from Quarrycleave, and the time before that when Yul had ridden Nightwing. Recalling how happy they’d been together made them both feel sad now, for something had changed. Sylvie reached across and took his hand in hers, too shy to look at his face. He smiled and linked his fingers with hers, careful not to crush her bones. He longed to scoop her up and kiss away her strangeness until there was no awkwardness, only passion and that glorious feeling of being part of the same whole. Yul sighed and contented himself with the warmth of holding hands.

  A little later on they were surprised to see a horse and cart approaching. As it drew nearer they recognised Tom at the reins. He pulled the cart to a halt.

  ‘Blessings!’ he called. ‘’Tis good to see you again, boy. And you, miss.’

  ‘Blessings to you too, sir,’ said Yul, automatically stroking the old cart-horse’s long nose.

  ‘Should you two be out together? I heard that’s what all the fuss was about afore.’

  ‘Yes, but Magus and Clip are both away. You won’t tell on us, will you?’ said Yul.

  The old man chuckled.

  ‘Not me. Anyway, I’d best be getting this lot back to the Village.’

  ‘What have you got in there?’ asked Sylvie, peering into the cart. She saw a pile of small rocks and shuddered. ‘Have you been to Quarrycleave?’

  ‘Aye, that’s the one, and I seen Jackdaw there too. You won’t know him, miss, but I reckon you do, Yul.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘Thought he’d been banished from Stonewylde. There’s been talk in the Village but I didn’t believe it till today. Never thought Magus’d bring Jackdaw back, not after what he done. Turns out he’s up there working with a bunch of Outsiders who don’t even speak our tongue. You must’ve known that Yul, but I expect you weren’t to tell us. Whatever is Magus thinking of? I don’t know … I don’t like it.’

  ‘What are these rocks for?’ asked Sylvie. ‘They’re rather pretty, sparkling in the sun. Oh!’

  She’d reached in to touch one but drew her hand back sharply.

  ‘What’s wrong? Did you cut yourself?’ Yul took her hand but there was no mark on it.

  ‘No,’ she said, frowning. ‘No, nothing like that. It just gave me a funny feeling.’

  ‘Don’t know what this lot’s for,’ said Tom. ‘Magus just said to go to the quarry where they’d have it ready to collect. I’ve to take it to the stone-carvers in the Village. One of his new schemes I suppose. You still do stone-carving in the evening, Yul?’

  ‘No, not since I worked at Quarrycleave,’ Yul’s tone was terse. ‘It put me off stone.’

  ‘Reckon it would, after what you went through. Anyway, ‘tis good to see you looking so fit and healthy now, lad. Drop by the stables some time if you’re up that way. I know old Nightwing would be pleased to see you.’

  As soon as he’d moved on, Yul turned to Sylvie abruptly. He pulled back the sleeves of her blouse and stared at her wrists. The fading purple bruises still clearly encircled them. Yul looked her in the eye and she flinched from the blaze of his sudden fury.

  ‘I noticed these when I thought you’d cut your hand,’ he said tightly. ‘What happened? Why are you bruised like this?’

  She looked away, staring over the downs where the sky met the curve of the land. She shook her head.

  ‘I think it … it was when I was struggling, I think. When I was trying to get into the woods to meet you.’

  Yul swallowed hard and she felt him shaking. Reluctantly she met his eye again and recoiled from his expression. She’d never seen him so full of rage.

  ‘And you want to be with him at the Moon Fullness? You’re telling me he isn’t making you to go with him against your will? This is proof, Sylvie! Proof that he’s forced you into it.’

  He almost spat the words at her.

  ‘Please, Yul, stop being so angry. I don’t know. I feel so confused. I didn’t want to go with him. I fought him, I think, and he held on to me. This isn’t as bad as it looks. I bruise very easily. I don’t remember him actually hurting me, just holding on to me so I couldn’t come to you. Please don’t look at me like that. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘But why do you want to go to Mooncliffe again? I don’t understand! Tell me, Sylvie. Explain it to me so I can try to make sense of it.’

  But she shook her head and pulled away from him.

  ‘It’s just something I must do,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t understand it either. But I want to go there, Yul. You’re upsetting me by going on about it and getting cross. It’s between me and Magus and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.’

  Yul and Sylvie walked for some way that day, but the awkwardness between them remained as impenetrable as the boundary wall. Later when they came to say goodbye, Sylvie felt immensely sad. She still wanted nothing more than to be with Yul, but he was different with her now; angry and cold. She looked up at his sun-tanned face, his deep grey eyes as beautiful as ever, and had a horrible feeling she was losing h
is affection.

  ‘When can we see each other again?’ she asked diffidently. ‘We can make the most of Magus and Clip both being off the estate, can’t we?’

  He shrugged and looked away. He felt uncomfortable with this different Sylvie. How could she prefer to be with Magus than him?

  ‘Whenever you like, Sylvie. You know I’m always here. You know how I feel about you. And I’ll still wait for you in the woods at the next Moon Fullness in case you change your mind.’

  Her hesitant smile faltered at this.

  ‘But Yul, I’ve already told you. I go to Mooncliffe now for the Moon Fullness. I love to dance on the moon stone for Magus.’

  His eyes clouded with pain.

  ‘If that’s what you want, Sylvie, don’t let me stop you. See you around.’

  He walked off without looking back. Her eyes followed him, her heart like lump of stone. She was going to lose him and she didn’t even know why.

  5

  Sylvie stood at the long sideboard which ran almost the full length of the cavernous Dining Hall. She surveyed the selection of breakfast dishes glumly and finally helped herself to a little scrambled egg and some apple juice. The servants bustled up and down the long tables with fresh toast and pots of tea, and Sylvie stood with her plate and glass looking around for somewhere quiet to sit. She still found it difficult to eat with so many people and so much noise, and normally preferred to have breakfast quietly alone in the cottage. This morning, however, Miranda had been particularly irritating and Sylvie had been desperate to escape.

  She spotted a place by one of the long windows, where a group of people had just left, and started to make her way there. But her attention was diverted by Holly’s braying voice and she glanced over to the area where a whole gang of Holly’s friends sat. In their midst was a funny little man whom Sylvie had first noticed at the Summer Solstice. Unlike the other visitors, he hadn’t left a week later and could be seen most days pottering about the Hall or sunning himself on the stone terrace outside. She’d heard his name was Professor Siskin.

  ‘So are they all like you at Oxford?’ demanded Holly loudly, biting at a whole sausage speared on her fork. Many of the adults, including the teachers, were away at the moment, and behaviour amongst the teenagers had deteriorated. The elderly man, a little odd-looking in his velvet jacket and bowtie, with long straggly white hair and half-moon glasses hanging on an ornate chain, peered owlishly at her, his faded blue eyes blinking.

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t—’

  ‘I’d thought of going to Oxford myself, but if all the teachers are like you I don’t think I’ll bother!’

  The noisy group sniggered at this, and Sylvie frowned, still hesitating.

  ‘No, my dear, I’m no longer a don,’ twittered the professor, seemingly oblivious to her rudeness. ‘I’ve long since retired, although I keep rooms there as a research fellow.’

  ‘Don? Fellow? What are you on about?’

  She rolled her eyes and tapped the side of her head, much to everyone’s amusement.

  ‘Titles, my dear, mere titles. What were you thinking of reading?’

  ‘What? I’m not talking about reading! Are we even on the same planet?’

  The professor gazed amicably at her as he chewed on his toast.

  ‘Oxford, like many other universities, is a place of jargon. I apologise, my dear girl. One always assumes that everyone is au fait with the terminology. I wondered which subject you were thinking of studying.’

  She frowned at him, annoyed that her needling was having no effect.

  ‘I’m only fifteen. I have no idea. But nothing that you teach, I’m sure of that!’

  Sylvie could stand it no longer. She took her plate over to the old man and sat next to him at the long table, opposite Holly and her crowd. Her cheeks burned with indignation, giving her the courage to face Holly.

  ‘Excuse me, may I sit here?’

  ‘Ooh look, it’s little Miss Sparkle herself, the girl with the fairy dress and the big ambitions.’

  ‘I wonder what Magus would think of your rudeness towards the visitors, Holly?’

  ‘You’re not still after Magus are you? You’ve got another year to wait before he’ll even look at you. Running to him telling tales won’t change a thing – he won’t touch you till you’re sixteen.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’re just trying to change the subject. You know I really might tell him how you spoke to the professor just now. I’m sure he’d want to know.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Go on then, I dare you! I’ve done nothing wrong. I was only trying to make polite conversation with this silly old fool. It’s not my fault he’s completely gaga!’

  ‘You really remind me of the horrible kids I knew at school in London,’ said Sylvie stiffly. ‘I thought Hallfolk were above this sort of rude behaviour and treated their elders respectfully.’

  ‘What would you know, you silly cow? You’re a newcomer here, an Outsider. What do you know about Hallfolk? You go ahead and tell Magus and we’ll all deny it, won’t we? Come on, let’s leave her to it. She seems to want the old boy’s company. I guess she really is interested in older men.’

  Holly stood up noisily, leaving her breakfast things littered all over the table. The others followed her like sheep, subdued by the thought of Sylvie telling Magus. She gazed down at her cold scrambled egg and grimaced; this incident wouldn’t help her popularity but she felt so ashamed of Holly’s bad manners towards the elderly man.

  ‘That was kind of you, my dear,’ he murmured, popping a cube of toast laden with marmalade into his mouth. ‘She was a little strident.’

  ‘She’s a disgrace! I’m sorry she was so cheeky to you. I’m Sylvie, by the way,’ she said, ‘and I’m quite new here so I’m afraid I don’t know anything about you. Do you come every year for the Solstice?’

  ‘Oh yes, without fail!’ he beamed. ‘Just for the six weeks until Lammas, that’s all our present magus will permit. But I’m grateful for that much and I’ve been doing it for many years now, ever since he took charge. Before that I used to spend the whole summer at Stonewylde, right up until the Autumn Equinox. But I understand that he needs to regulate the amount of Hallfolk living here at any one time. Stonewylde would become another St Petersburg in the last days of the Tsar if all the aged retainers were permitted to cling on.’

  ‘I see,’ said Sylvie, picking at the congealed egg. ‘And have you had a nice holiday this year? We’ve had wonderful weather.’

  ‘Oh I don’t come here for a holiday, my dear. No, no. I’m researching, you see, researching the history of Stonewylde. Writing a book in fact. Fascinating subject. Never been done before. Sol has kindly given me access to all the manuscripts and diaries, all the artefacts and letters. Whether or not he’ll ever allow me to publish is another matter. In fact I doubt it very much, given the … er … the nature of Stonewylde, the insularity of the culture here. But we could probably publish an account for the Hallfolk to read and that would suffice. For me, at least, it’s the academic journey that’s so pleasurable. Whether or not there’s a published book at the end is almost irrelevant.’

  He stopped for breath and popped another cube of toast into his mouth, his pale-blue eyes twinkling at her. She smiled, wondering how she could now extricate herself, for there was clearly no stopping him now he was in full flow. But she was also interested. She guessed this was the person Buzz had once mentioned; the one who’d taught some of the students about how Stonewylde had remained intact over the centuries. It would be fascinating to learn about the history of the estate, and she told him so. He patted her hand and beamed at her again.

  ‘You are a lovely girl. New to Stonewylde you say? Indeed, I would’ve remembered if you’d been before. Even amongst these hordes of youngsters, all so attractive and blond, you are somewhat striking. Such unusual beauty, and yet so strangely familiar. You must tell me your genealogy some time. Would you care to accompany me down to the Village Green this afternoon, my d
ear? It’s Sunday and there should be cricket practice for the Villagers. I always enjoy watching that. So delightfully bucolic and traditional.’

  She was just about to decline when it occurred to her that Yul might be there, so she agreed to meet him later in the porch.

  The old professor hobbled slowly up the great staircase. He headed for a locked room in a distant wing, where Stonewylde’s oldest and most valuable documents were stored. He was in the middle of some interesting reading in the library but had to check this hunch first. He was sure there was a silver-framed photograph there, in that locked archive room, of Clip and Sol’s mother Raven. He wanted to see if his memory was playing tricks on him. Or whether the wild, moongazy girl who’d wrought such havoc between his brothers all those years ago really had returned, in a new incarnation, to Stonewylde.

  After lunch, Sylvie sat in the vast entrance porch waiting for the professor. The porch was bigger than the average family sitting room, and had an ancient vaulted roof. Tiny stained-glass windows were set all along the thick walls, and it was lined with stone benches big enough to seat two football teams. A jumble of riding boots, umbrellas and wellingtons lay under the benches. Being summer, the heavy oak front door to the entrance hall stood open, its thick wood bound and riveted with black wrought-iron. Opposite this, through the pointed stone arch, the gravel drive with its flanking lines of beeches glowed brightly in the hot afternoon sunshine, but it was cool and shady in the porch.

  Sylvie gazed down at the floor’s massive flagstones, worn down and shiny in the areas of heaviest tread. She imagined the feet that must have walked across those stones over the centuries. Hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet, slowly wearing away the stone. She thought of Professor Siskin’s research and how she’d love to read what he’d written. Stonewylde’s history must be unique. What other community had cut itself off from global and national influences in such a way and managed to keep itself completely intact?

  She was awoken from her reveries by the arrival of the little professor, complete with panama hat and silver-knobbed walking stick. They set off down the long gravel drive leading onto the track to the Village, but their progress was slow and Sylvie wondered how they’d make it back up again. Siskin seemed to sense her concern and reassured her that Tom from the stables was sending down a pony and trap later on to collect him.