by Kit Berry
‘Wakey wakey, Sylvie – no time for napping now! It’s your favourite lesson next, maths with William. He’s such a good teacher, isn’t he? Did you know he’s my mother’s cousin?’
‘That figures,’ muttered Sylvie. How could she ever overcome her unpopularity amongst the teachers when the whole lot of them were so inter-related and clannish?
‘I do hope you’ve done that stats homework or he’ll go mad,’ smirked Holly.
Sylvie looked away and shrugged.
‘Oh dear, are we a little down in the dumps today? I wonder why? Is it because Magus has abandoned you? Just when you thought you were well in there, too. That’s what he does, Sylvie – takes up with someone for a while and then drops them. You’re not so special after all, are you? And nothing from Yul either. Are you fretting under your house arrest? It’d drive me mad, not being able to go out.’
‘Go away, Holly.’
‘Still upset about Yul kissing me?’ she taunted. ‘It’s not long till our Rite of Adulthood and I’m so excited about that.’
‘You really haven’t got a clue, have you Holly? You’ve no idea what’s going to happen at the Winter Solstice.’
‘Why? What is going to happen, Miss Know-it-all?’
‘Never mind,’ said Sylvie wearily, gathering her books and files and standing up. She looked down at Holly, pretty and immaculately turned out as ever. The girl smiled nastily up at her, spitefulness animating her features.
‘The only thing that’s going to happen is I shall celebrate my coming of age with Yul. I’ll think of you, Miss Frumpy, as we drink the special mead and eat the ceremony cakes. I’ll toast you as we lie together on the rabbit-fur rugs next to the Solstice bonfire to keep ourselves warm while we make love.’
She rose too, barely reaching Sylvie’s chin. Her brown eyes raked Sylvie from head to toe.
‘How can you bear to be seen looking like that, Sylvie? I’d lock myself in my room if I looked such a tatty mess. It’s no wonder Magus has lost interest – he’s a man of style and expensive tastes and you look even worse than the Village girls. At least their clothes fit.’
‘Alright, let’s move on to revising standard index notation,’ said William, scribbling a jumble of numbers on the board. ‘Sylvie, come up and convert this number to standard index form please. This is an easy example to start us off, so I’m sure even you’ll have no trouble.’
Sylvie stood before the white board, the marker pen in her hand and her back to the group of students who sat around the couple of large tables. She felt their gleeful anticipation and knew that William was going to have fun with her today. He’d never be allowed to get away with this victimisation at any school in the Outside World but could behave how he liked here. She gazed blankly at the squiggles on the board’s shiny surface; they meant absolutely nothing to her at all. She’d missed this teaching too and the whole topic was a complete mystery to her.
‘Convert the number to standard index form,’ repeated William. ‘For crying out loud, girl, just have a try! We learn through our mistakes, so take a risk! If you’re wrong I’ll show you where to put it right.’
But it wasn’t as simple as that. If she was wrong he’d spend the rest of the lesson referring back to her mistake until she wanted to die with humiliation. Besides, even having a try was beyond her now; standing up here in front of everyone, her mind had gone completely blank with panic. She stood with her face close to the board, horribly conscious of her awful floral cotton skirt and woolly socks, and closed her eyes in despair. William must’ve made some kind of gesture behind her back, for the others students burst out laughing simultaneously.
‘I don’t know how to do it,’ said Sylvie woodenly. ‘I don’t have the faintest idea. I missed this work when you covered it.’
‘Of course! How silly of me to have forgotten that. Every single time we turn to a new topic for revision – and I stress the word revision – you trot out the same lame excuse.’
‘I’ve tried to study it by myself,’ she said, still with her back to the class.
‘Clearly without success.’
‘I asked for some help last week!’ she burst out, turning to him with flaming cheeks. ‘And you said you didn’t have time!’
‘I’ve already taught this topic and I’m not teaching it again!’ he retorted. ‘Why should you be entitled to special one-to-one teaching? You should’ve been capable of picking it up from the textbook anyway. But everything we do seems beyond you, doesn’t it, Sylvie? Is there anything in the mathematics syllabus you do know?’
‘Probably not,’ she said bitterly, turning to go back to her seat.
‘Not so fast! Stay where you are, young lady, and let’s have a little try, shall we? Let’s see if there’s any aspect of mathematics where you feel you might have just the slightest inkling of understanding.’
Sylvie stood with her head bowed, feeling the sharp stabs of many pairs of bright eyes watching avidly, feeding on her distress. This was pack hunting at its most effective, and her heart thumped with anger. She was tempted to hurl the whiteboard marker pen at William’s sneering face.
‘Telling the time?’ called out Holly, flicking back her hair. ‘Adding up? Counting?’
There was another burst of laughter.
‘Now, now, Holly, let’s not be unkind,’ said William. ‘I do hope you’re not implying that poor Sylvie would be better off down in the Village School with the dullards! How about some simple, basic—’
The door opened and Hazel looked in.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Magus wants to see Sylvie straight away.’
Sylvie had never imagined the summons could bring such relief. Tight-lipped, she gathered her things and stumbled from the room, chased out by whispered barbs from Holly and her friends. William simply glared, robbed of his victim, and instructed the class to start the revision exercise.
‘Why does he want to see me now?’ asked Sylvie as they crossed the entrance hall and headed for the great staircase. Hazel shrugged.
‘I’ve no idea. He hasn’t seen anyone for over a week now, not even me. I’m seriously concerned for his health. He called me in just now and asked for some anti-depressants. Then he asked me to fetch you.’
They climbed the stairs and Hazel paused, looking hard at Sylvie.
‘I’m counting on you to do something to help him, and make sure you don’t upset him. I’ve never seen Magus like this before and I’m worried. Try to get him to eat if you can – he’s lost a lot of weight by the look of him.’
They stood before the stone arch leading into Magus’ apartments and Hazel knocked quietly on the oak door, then left Sylvie to face the man alone.
Magus’ aromatic fragrance filled the huge room, enveloping Sylvie as she stepped across the thick carpet. A fire crackled in the arched stone hearth and pale sunlight filtered through the diamond-paned windows. He lay on the leather sofa before the fire, a silk cushion beneath his head and cashmere rug draped over him. He looked vulnerable and exhausted. Gone were the arrogance and power. His face was hollowed, the cheekbones sharp, and he looked more like Yul than ever. There were dark shadows under his eyes and the lines around his mouth were etched deeper. Magus looked like a man who’d been suffering, a man in torment. He smiled slightly, his deep brown eyes soft as she approached. He raised his arms weakly to pull her down for a light kiss on the cheek. Then he indicated an armchair nearby where the late November sunlight fell onto her face.
He gazed at her until she became uncomfortable.
‘I’m sorry to hear you’ve been ill,’ she said finally to break the silence. He grimaced.
‘Now I know how you feel after the moondancing,’ he said. ‘I’m so weak I haven’t even been able to eat.’
‘But why? What’s wrong with you?’
He shrugged and his dark eyes locked into hers.
‘I need your moon magic, Sylvie. You promised to come with me but you let me down. And now I’m like this.’
�
��I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
She wondered if he saw through her. All she could think about was the lock of hair and the Dark Moon spell. She hadn’t fully believed in it before, but seeing this fragile-looking man lying so pathetically on the sofa in his pyjamas, she realised that Mother Heggy had done it again. This was the outcome of her previous visit to these chambers and nothing to do with her lack of moondancing for him. He was just using it as an excuse to make her feel guilty and had no idea of the truth behind his frailty.
‘You look beautiful this morning, Sylvie.’
She shook her head, wanting none of his compliments.
‘I was just told I look a tatty mess.’
He raised an eyebrow at this.
‘Your hair shines in the sunlight like spun silver and I’ve never seen anyone more exquisite. I can feel my spirits lifting. Why didn’t I send for you before?’
He rose shakily from the sofa and bent to throw a couple of logs on the fire. In his dark silk pyjamas he looked lean and starved, the open neckline revealing collarbones and hollows not normally visible. He crouched by the hearth and looked up into her eyes. The arrogance may have gone but the charisma remained, deepened by pathos.
‘I need some company, Sylvie. Will you stay for a little while and talk with me? Cheer me up?’
‘Of course, especially given the alternative.’
He lay back down on the sofa again, shutting his eyes momentarily as if in pain.
‘Which is?’
‘Maths with William. I try hard but I’m not doing so well at the moment.’
He nodded sympathetically.
‘Forget maths then and stay here with me.’
He closed his eyes again weakly and Sylvie glanced around the enormous room in fascination, not having fully appreciated the luxury of it on her last furtive visit. The Tudor setting was superb, infinitely grander than her own smaller rooms, and Magus had surrounded himself with beautiful things. She was over-awed by the splendour and opulence, such a contrast to Clip’s mediaeval tower with its shabby furnishings and strange collection of ethnic objects.
‘How did you get that nasty bruise on your forehead?’
He was watching her as she gazed around.
‘Oh … it was … it was an accident.’
‘I see – it looks nasty. And how’s your poor mother?’
‘Very depressed.’
He put a hand to his temple and groaned.
‘I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me for losing my temper like that. I really did shout at her, but I was so angry with her for letting you go wandering off into the night when you were moongazy. You know how dangerous it is and I was furious at her negligence. She only thinks of the baby and nothing of you. But I’ve been too ill since to go back and try to make amends with her.’
‘She looks as awful as you do.’
‘Poor Miranda. She always did have unrealistic expectations about our relationship, even though I never pretended anything otherwise.’
Sylvie nodded at this, for it was perfectly true.
‘I was angry with her but I never wanted to hurt her. I’d like to make it up, but if her heart’s set against me I doubt she’d listen to me now. My temper’s always been my downfall.’
He shook his head ruefully and, despite herself, Sylvie felt some sympathy for him. He’d lost so much weight and he looked depressed and rather tragic.
‘Can I get you anything?’ she asked. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes, that’d be nice. There’s a fridge over there, behind the panelling. A glass of water please, and do have something yourself if you like.’
She busied herself at the fridge and brought him over a glass of iced water. He took it from her outstretched hand, but then grasped her fingers.
‘Sylvie! What on earth is this?’
He stared at her wrist. The baggy cardigan sleeve had fallen back and the shrunken jumper beneath failed to cover her wrist. He took hold of the other one and examined that too, peeling her sleeves back. He gently traced the deep black bruising around her slim wrists, all the way from the base of her palms up her arms to the elbows.
‘This is terrible! What happened?’
She squirmed, not knowing what to say and feeling suddenly tearful at this unexpected sympathy.
‘Who’s done this to you? Who was it?’
‘I … I don’t know.’
‘Come on, Sylvie, you don’t get injuries like this without knowing how. It must’ve been terribly painful. When did it happen?’
‘On the night of the Moon Fullness.’
‘Just as I said! You go wandering off and you get hurt. But this was no accident, was it? These are rope marks – someone tied you up, didn’t they?’
She nodded, not wanting to get Yul into trouble but knowing there was no other rational explanation for the pattern of bruising.
‘And it was Yul! Wasn’t it?’
She nodded again. Magus shook his head, his face turning even paler. She looked into his eyes fearfully. They glittered with fury.
‘How dare he treat you like this? What an awful thing to do to someone!’
‘Oh no,’ she said quickly, ‘it wasn’t like that. I think he was trying to protect me.’
‘Protect you? From what?’
‘From … from you. From going up to Mooncliffe with you.’
The words sounded hollow even though she longed to believe them. Magus’ face was a mask of anger and concern, and Sylvie realised then just how little sympathy or real care she’d been shown for so long. And especially not from her own mother, who couldn’t seem to care less any more, being so wrapped up in herself. Magus’ dark eyes softened as he saw her lips trembling, fighting to hold back the tears.
‘But why? You wanted to come up there with me, didn’t you? I remember you saying you’d give me your magic willingly. Didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but then you made Clip hypnotise me!’ she said. ‘And you promised you wouldn’t.’
‘Not really hypnotise, Sylvie, just suggestions to help ease the discomfort for you. And anyway, that’s not the point. How dare that boy tie you up to prevent you coming to me! I can’t bear to think of it – you poor little soul.’
He shook his head in disbelief and again, Sylvie felt the urge to sob her heart out at this unexpected sympathy.
‘And I suppose the bruise on your head was caused by him too? Sacred Mother, but he’s brutal! Any other injuries I should know about?’
He saw her glance down involuntarily at her leg.
‘Go on, show me.’
Feeling embarrassed, she pulled up the cotton skirt slightly and rolled down her long woolly sock to show him the scabbed scraping all the way down from thigh to ankle. Magus gave a low whistle and looked at her in distress.
‘I won’t have Village boys – or anyone, for that matter – doing this and getting away with it. I shall punish him as soon as I’m up and about again, rest assured.’
‘No, Magus, please don’t! He didn’t mean to, I know he didn’t!’
‘So how did he inflict that horrible injury all down your leg?’
‘He put me in … a sort of cage, I think.’
‘WHAT? He imprisoned you as well as tying you up? Is there anything else the boy did to you that I ought to be aware of?’
‘No, and it’s not how you’re making it out to be. He wouldn’t hurt me deliberately.’
As she said it, Sylvie had a flash of memory: Yul shoving her hard along the path and bundling her roughly into the tree cage. Her words rang false in her ears. He may’ve been acting to protect her, but Yul had hurt her in anger and it had been intentional. Magus shook his head and frowned, picking up on her confusion.
‘I know you feel weak after moondancing for me, Sylvie, but I’d never hurt you like this, you know that. Now can you see why I warned you away from him? I always said he was too rough for you.’
‘But I—’
‘There’s some
thing I should show you, Sylvie, something that’ll help you understand why I’ve forbidden you to have anything to do with him. Maybe then you’ll believe me when I tell you that boy is brutal and dangerous. But I’m too ill to deal with it now and we’ll talk about it later.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry if I’ve tired you.’
He looked very pale and she stood, ready to leave. Feebly he reached up and touched the hem of her skirt.
‘It’s just so distressing for me to see someone as special and delicate as you knocked about by a Village lout like him. I’m exhausted, Sylvie … could you leave me to rest?’
‘I do hope you feel better soon,’ she said, turning to go. He still had hold of her hem and his dark eyes were pleading.
‘Would you come back this evening to have supper with me? I can’t face eating downstairs in the Dining Hall and I’ve been off my food for days now. But if you were here, Sylvie, I may discover my appetite again. Would you mind?’
Sylvie nodded. How could she possibly refuse such a request?
11
When she returned that evening to have supper with Magus, Sylvie found him dressed casually in one of the loose white linen Village shirts and dark trousers, looking as strained and pale as he’d done earlier. Supper arrived via the dumb waiter, concealed in the wooden panelling of the interior wall.
‘I’m sorry, Sylvie, I feel too weak to serve you and I really can’t do with the bother of summoning someone. Would you do the honours?’
She found an ornate wooden trolley by the small service-lift in the wall, and loaded the hot dishes and plates onto it. Then she wheeled the antique trolley over to the dining table in its intimate alcove, already laid with linen, silver and candles, and served them both. The light meal was delicious but Magus only toyed with his food. Sylvie found it ironic that their roles had been reversed in this way; she was now the one urging him to eat more. She sympathised with him, talking of how she’d suffered from his force-feeding, and he apologised.
‘I’ll never do that again,’ he promised. ‘I had no idea how awful it is to eat when you’re feeling so delicate. I only wanted to build you up so the moondancing wasn’t so debilitating for you. I’m sorry, Sylvie, truly sorry for anything I’ve done to make you suffer. You should be treated like a princess.’