Solstice at Stonewylde

by Kit Berry

  Magus shook his head and once more denied Yul’s paternity, hoping as always to thus negate the prophecy. He looked across at the pretty woman before him, his face implacable.

  ‘I’m sorry, Maizie, but you’re wrong and I’ll be very displeased if you continue to make these false allegations. Yul will remain at the Hall whilst I investigate his latest insubordination. I’ll deal with him as I see fit. I’m the magus and it isn’t for you to question the punishment I choose to administer, so keep your remarks to yourself. I’ll hear no more about this and you’d do well to remember your place.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she said, lowering her eyes, although her anger remained palpable. She was still so attractive; he’d always preferred women with spirit and Maizie was certainly one of those. She’d never gone soft and fawning, never given in to him and lost her independence. She’d endured the life to which he’d consigned her with stoicism, her pride never allowing her to become anything less than the woman he’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He glanced down at the tiny girl sitting silently in his lap listening to everything being said, and his heart twinged with remorse. She gazed up at him with enormous green eyes that seemed to search his soul. Eyes that looked inside him and knew exactly what dark truths he tried to conceal.

  ‘Bad man,’ she said clearly. ‘Bad, bad man.’

  ‘Leveret, come here!’ said Maizie sharply. Magus handed the child over to her mother, who clasped her tightly.

  ‘Anyway … I came here to speak to you about Alwyn. You know there’s been no improvement since the stroke? He’s still alive but can do nothing for himself and he’s not aware of anything. He’s shrunk to skin and bones and has to be fed through tubes. I wanted to ask if you’d agree to Alwyn entering the Stone Labyrinth this Samhain for the Dance of Death. I think he should, but as his nearest relative it’s your decision. You know the custom – permission can only be granted by the closest member of the family.’

  She took a deep breath to calm herself. If there was one thing Maizie had learnt from living with Alwyn all those years, it was self control. She nodded.

  ‘Yes, I agree he should go. Let the Dark Angel decide – ‘tis the best way.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, smiling briskly. ‘I’ll arrange for it to be done. Well, I must be off.’

  They both rose and he gazed down at her. She stood before him, Leveret on her hip, and his dark eyes softened at the pair of them. He took one of the woman’s hands.

  ‘Maizie, let’s not spoil things between us now, not after all this time and all that’s happened. You know that you’ve always been special to me. You were such a lovely girl and you’re a fine woman. I wish that—’

  She frowned at him and removed her hand from his.

  ‘Thank you for calling on me, sir. Samhain Blessings to you.’

  By mid-morning the next day the heavy mist had lifted, although the day remained overcast and grey. Children ran around the Village excitedly, desperate to get on with the festivities. Every fire in the Village had been extinguished and everyone must fast until the feast in the evening. The trees encircling the Green had already shed their leaves, victims of a wild and gusty storm that had raged the day after the full moon, and had now taken on their skeletal winter appearance. The remains of the messy rooks’ nests had blown away too in the south-westerly gales and now only the great yew remained clothed in glossy dark-green, its slips looking like the barbs of a bird’s feathers. It was the last day of the pagan year, the day for ending the old. It was the day of death.

  In the morning the Samhain drama prepared by the youngsters was performed in the Great Barn. It was a spectacular event, full of dance and music with everyone masked and costumed. Sylvie hadn’t taken part; she was feeling far too weak and she’d missed all the rehearsals anyway. Magus noticed her absence and at mid-day he left the festivities to fetch her from the Hall. She sat now in the jolting cart beside her mother, huddled miserably in her black cloak. This was her first time outside since the night of the Hunter’s Moon over a week ago.

  Sylvie hadn’t wanted to come today, but Magus had stormed into their rooms and insisted that she go to the Village immediately to take part in the afternoon and evening ceremonies. He’d been furious when she’d refused. Miranda hadn’t batted an eyelid when he’d slapped Sylvie hard, shouting at her and throwing clothes at her to put on. Her mother had merely looked on as he dragged her, crying and struggling, out of the rooms and downstairs. He’d bundled her roughly towards the waiting horse and cart, his one concession to her weakness.

  ‘Behave yourself, girl!’ he’d hissed menacingly into her face, dumping her on the seat in the back of the cart. ‘I told you yesterday you’d take part in the festival and so you shall. There’s nothing wrong with you so snap out of it and stop being pathetic!’

  Shivering in her cloak, she tried to stifle the sobs that escaped every so often. She felt ill and weak, but a dull anger burned inside her. It was only when Sylvie realised it was Tom at the reins that she managed to pull herself together. As soon as Magus had ridden on ahead, she leant forward and whispered to the ostler.

  ‘Tom, do you have any news of Yul? Is he alright?’

  The old man turned and gazed down at her in consternation. He was unsure how honest to be for this poor girl looked little better than the boy, but she deserved the truth.

  ‘I’m not to speak of it, but I reckon you won’t spread the word and get me into trouble. So no, miss, Yul’s not alright at all. He’s alive, and that’s a miracle in itself, but he’s in a bad way. He can’t stand nor barely sit up and he can’t take no food. I done what I can, and Mother Heggy’s sent potions. But … well, ‘tis not looking good for the lad.’

  ‘What did they do to him?’ she whispered, closing her eyes in anguish at the thought of Yul suffering. ‘Was he whipped again?’

  ‘No, miss! He were brung up to the Hall like this the day after the Moon Fullness. That Jackdaw carried him into the byre like a brace o’ rabbits slung over his shoulders. They done nothing to him since, but I reckon Yul’s been poisoned. His eyes aren’t right and he don’t know who he is or nothing.’

  Miranda pulled her back onto the seat.

  ‘What are you whispering about, Sylvie? Don’t talk with the servants like that. You know Magus wouldn’t like it.’

  Sylvie glared at her. Even under Clip’s hypnosis, she couldn’t understand how her mother could behave like this.

  ‘All you ever think about is Magus! He always comes first, before anyone or anything. How could you have let him hit me, Mum? You’ve never hit me and you’ve always said it was wrong. Do you really love him so much that I don’t matter now? Don’t you care about me any more?’

  Miranda looked away uncomfortably.

  ‘Of course I do. But Magus is right – you can’t just take to your bed for half the month. If you insist on dancing on that cliff, you’ll have to put up with feeling tired afterwards and get on with it. And anyway, Sylvie, Magus didn’t hit you. It was just a little slap.’

  ‘That’s not true! He did hit me, he was rough with me and it really hurt, especially when I feel so ill. Why do you always take his side?’

  ‘Because he knows best. He says I’ve been too soft with you all these years and that’s why you’re so weak and quick to take to your bed. He says you’ve got no backbone and you enjoy being an invalid and I think maybe he’s right. We have to obey him, you know that. Please don’t be difficult, darling – it makes life so unpleasant and I don’t want him to get angry. I must think of the baby, after all.’

  Sylvie turned her back on her mother, seething with outrage. When they reached the Village, Tom helped them out of the cart and Sylvie managed to whisper to him again.

  ‘If you get the chance, tell Yul I love him. Please, Tom?’

  ‘Aye, miss, I’ll do that.’

  Sylvie stood shivering at the entrance to the Green Labyrinth marked out on the Village Green, waiting her turn to go in. Her face was so white and
thin that she hardly needed a skull mask and she pulled the thick black cloak tightly around her, trying to keep warm. The atmosphere on the Green today frightened her, all the more because of her dreadful weakness. Everything in the Village today spoke of death and darkness, and this emphasis on mortality and morbidity terrified her. It was so different from the joyous maypole dancing at Beltane or the holiday fun of the Summer Solstice.

  Everyone wore a hooded black robe or cloak and many wore skull masks. A thin line of smoke trickled from the wicker dome in the centre of the labyrinth, but the cottages seemed strangely lifeless without their habitual plumes of smoke. It was quiet too, despite the many people thronging around the cobbles. Sylvie wanted very much to cling to Miranda, who stood nearby, but that was out of the question given Miranda’s earlier remarks. Her mother had made it very clear where her priorities now lay. Sylvie felt abandoned – and very vulnerable.

  A man in a crow mask stood at the arch of elder branches, identical to the one up at the Stone Circle. He allowed young people to enter the sacred space nine at a time, one by one. As Sylvie’s group waited he reminded them of the labyrinth’s significance. This was a pilgrimage and a moment of deep meditation. The walk through the labyrinth was symbolic, representing the journey towards death. When they entered the dome in the centre they entered the Otherworld, the Realm of the Dead, where they shed their past life and lay reflecting on all they’d left behind. Then, reborn from the dark womb, they began a new life, a new journey starting afresh as they retraced their steps and followed the path back out of the maze. This, said the crow man solemnly, was also symbolic of the death of this year and the birth of the new one. A time of endings and beginnings.

  Sylvie watched the youngsters already in there. They walked very slowly, guided by the white pebbles as they followed the symmetrical, tortuously curved path. They walked with heads bowed, making sure they kept distance between each other until they reached the entrance to the dome. Sylvie really didn’t want to enter the labyrinth; the whole thing was macabre and absolutely terrified her. She swayed on her feet at the entrance thinking she might at any moment faint. She’d barely eaten all week and couldn’t shake off the overwhelming exhaustion that smothered her. She’d been on a drip for the first few days and her arm was still bruised, but she was still unable to eat normally. Her legs were shaky and her stomach felt hollow.

  She surveyed the great coiled labyrinth ahead and felt panic well up inside. There was nothing on the path to hold on to – what if she collapsed in there? What if she never came out again? Nobody at Stonewylde cared for her apart from Yul and, if Tom was right, he was in mortal danger himself. She could die inside that wicker dome in the darkness and nobody would realise until it was too late.

  As her fears and terrors spiralled out of control, she grabbed hold of the archway and gulped in air, trying to fight the waves of dizziness. She wanted to cry at Magus’ harshness towards her. This was all his fault; he’d put her through the terrible ordeal again up at Mooncliffe and she couldn’t help being slow to recover after being forced to feed him her moon magic. She’d never be able to take this every month. She looked across to the wicker dome in the centre and hoped desperately she’d make it that far without passing out.

  ‘This is a very solemn journey,’ continued the crow man, ‘and not one to be undertaken lightly. As you walk towards your death, take stock of the past year and all your achievements and failures. While you’re inside the Otherworld, in the dome, confront your weaknesses and your innermost desires. Clear your minds and savour the darkness and the special drink. When you emerge, newly born, remove your death mask and look to the New Year ahead with a bright face. As you walk back along the path, think hard on what you hope to achieve this coming year, what you can do for Stonewylde, for our community. You’ll be given a slip of yew as you finish the journey to remind you of your rebirth and your resolutions. May the Dance of the Green Labyrinth at Samhain be sacred to you all.’

  As the gate opened and the group began to move forward, Sylvie glanced across the Green and saw the tall black-robed figure of Magus staring intently at her. His face was impassive but his dark eyes burned into her. She shuddered and stepped under the arch of elder, the black feathers brushing her white face.

  ‘Pull your mask down!’ hissed the crow man, bundling her in and blocking the exit behind her.

  2

  Yul’s eyes stared straight up at the cobwebbed ceiling of the stone byre. They were enormous and glassy, his pupils so dilated that the grey irises had all but disappeared. His face and lips were ashen and his heartbeat slow. His hands were as pale as his face as he lay unmoving and cold amongst the scattering of mouldy straw that littered the stone floor.

  Earlier in the day Magus and Jackdaw had looked in on him. Magus had been pleased to see the boy was now at least conscious, if not in good health. Unbeknown to him, Mother Heggy’s remedies and Tom’s care had dragged Yul from the brink of death, where he’d hovered since the night of the Hunter’s Moon. The hallucinogenic substances in the cakes he’d been fed were grown and harvested on the estate, and fairly harmless if only taken occasionally and in small doses. But Yul had been forced to swallow a huge quantity and they’d proved almost fatal. A week later he still lay in the straw, covered only by an old horse blanket. He was alarmingly thin and wasted, his cheekbones and chin sharp and pointed, the hollows of his cheeks and eye-sockets deep and shadowed. His black hair was lank and matted, his eyes strange. The bruises where Magus had hit him so hard around the face up on the clifftop were stark against his grey-tinged skin. All traces of the tanned and healthy Village lad were gone, and this skeletal wraith had taken his place.

  When they’d come in and shut the door, Yul had clumsily tried to cover his face. The harsh light was blinding. Jackdaw stood cracking his knuckles as he looked down at the still figure, and Magus sat on a straw bale, also surveying the boy.

  ‘Can I work him over a bit, sir, now he’s finally woken up?’

  Magus hesitated.

  ‘It’s tempting, but I think not. He still looks very fragile and I want him with us for the ceremony tonight at Samhain. Sorry to disappoint you, Jackdaw. Just see if he can stand, would you?’

  Jackdaw bent and hauled the boy to his feet as if he were a marionette. Yul crumpled immediately, falling first against Jackdaw and then onto the floor in a boneless heap.

  ‘Nah, he can’t.’

  ‘Oh well. Go and get him some food from the kitchen, something light. We’ll see if that does the trick.’

  With Jackdaw gone, Magus dragged Yul over to another bale and propped him upright. The boy was cleaner than Magus had thought he’d be, and he wondered if Tom had been showing him any misguided kindness. But he was in a terrible state nevertheless; limp and passive, enormous eyes staring blankly from his skeletal face, his head lolling weakly.

  ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  Yul looked at the silver Magus cat and nodded slowly. The cat had played with him for so long, chasing him all over the floor of the byre, in and out of the straw, tormenting and teasing him. He knew it was easier to play dead than try to escape.

  ‘Do you realise it’s Samhain today?’

  There was no reaction and Magus sighed in disgust; this was no fun.

  ‘Well, just in case anything’s reaching your addled brain, you’ll be joining me up in the Stone Circle tonight, for the Dance of Death. You know what that means.’

  Yul gazed at him vacantly and Magus sighed again.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear. Looks like we have a new Village idiot.’

  Jackdaw returned with a tray of food.

  ‘Bloody hell! That sour-faced old cow in the kitchen hasn’t changed much since I left Stonewylde. Marigold gave me a right tongue-lashing, and she’s got no right to do that, even if she were my mother-in-law. You’ll have to speak to her, sir. I ain’t putting up with that, not from a woman. Tempted to ram her tea-towel down her bloody throat.’

  ‘Just be patient, J
ackdaw,’ said Magus. ‘Things will be alright eventually but it’ll take time. You’re still not a popular person around here, so just go easy.’

  The huge, bald man put the tray down on a bale with a grunt of annoyance.

  ‘Here’s the grub then, Guv.’

  ‘Good.’

  They looked at each other.

  ‘Well feed him then!’

  ‘What – me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, you!’

  With another grunt, Jackdaw sat heavily on the bale and started to shovel food into Yul’s mouth. Yul gagged and vomited repeatedly, unable to stomach the food crammed so relentlessly into his mouth. Magus stood up in revulsion and waved his henchman away.

  ‘Goddess, that’s disgusting! Enough, Jackdaw. We’ll try again later.’

  The men had stomped out of the byre, snapping off the electric light and locking the door behind them. But now as Yul lay on the stone floor in the cold gloom, the weak afternoon light filtering through gaps under the door, he could make out the tray of food. His vomit was spread in a small, splattered pool on the flagstones. A ray of light stirred suddenly in his brain and he blinked, then carefully sat up, the room spinning around him. He realised where he was, but this time there was no Alwyn, no excruciating pain in his back. He had vague recollections from the past days of Jackdaw leaning over him, slapping his face and shouting at him, but he wasn’t sure if that was a memory or a dream.

  Yul saw the jug by the door. On his hands and knees he crawled over very slowly, hoping it contained water. He drank deeply and splashed his face, then crawled back to the meagre remains of congealed food on the tray. Avoiding the mess on the floor, he ate what little food was left. He felt queasy but, eating slowly and carefully, managed to keep it down. Trembling with weakness and the aftermath of the poisons still in his body, he lay back against a bale and tried to think. His mind was a kaleidoscope of images and he didn’t know which were real and which imagined. In the murky light, Yul closed his eyes and tried to make sense of the chaos in his head.