Magus of Stonewylde Book One (33 page)

‘It’s ages till moonrise, Sylvie. We’ll get so cold.’

‘Can we go to your tree house?’

He laughed at this.

‘It’s not a house, it’s a covered bed really. And it’s soaking wet too.’

‘Oh, I didn’t realise.’

‘We could go to the woodsmen’s hut, if you like. It’s rough and ready but we’ll be dry and there’s a fire.’

‘Oh yes, let’s go there!’

Once inside, Yul lit some candles and stirred the wood-burning stove to life. He put a kettle of water on to boil for some tea.

‘One thing we’ve always got plenty of is wood,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said, feeling shy now she was alone with him in such close proximity. He was very efficient, stoking up the fire and getting the tea things ready. She realised that other than the Great Barn, she’d never been inside a building with him before.

‘That was a joke, Sylvie.’

‘Sorry.’

Her teeth chattered with cold and nervousness.

‘Here, this will help.’

He carefully wrapped an old blanket around her shoulders, leaning close to pull it together at the front. He smelt of herbs and his fingers brushed her hand as he pulled the blanket across her. The blanket, however, didn’t smell so sweet and Sylvie wrinkled her nose. Yul laughed, pulling it tight around her.

‘Don’t be so fussy! If you could see where I sleep every night …’

They sat companionably together, she on Greenbough’s old armchair and he on the floor at her feet. The tea was hot and welcome. Gradually she relaxed and stopped shaking.

‘Mum was driving me mad today,’ she said, sipping her tea. ‘She’s meeting Magus tonight. She’s been fretting about what to wear, whether or not their stupid picnic will still be on, and …’

‘Oh it’ll be on alright,’ said Yul dryly.

‘How do you know?’

‘Remember the iron rings? The tent I told you about? Magus won’t let a bit of rain spoil his fun. And … I think he may have something else planned for tonight too.’

‘Something else? What do you mean?’

‘I’ve been thinking about this, and I have a feeling he may try to make a baby tonight with your mother.’

‘YUL!!’ She gaped at him. ‘A baby? Surely not!’

‘Sylvie, I told you about the Moon Fullness and what happens here. Half the fertile women of Stonewylde will try to get pregnant tonight. It’s the Blue Moon which is far more magical than normal and the very best time of all for conception. Remember I was conceived at such a time.’

‘But my mum doesn’t want a baby!’

‘Well, I don’t know about that, but I think Magus may try. I’ve heard he’s very careful about how many children he fathers. Mother says there’s lots of girls who boast they’re carrying his child, but I can’t say that it’s common knowledge who his children are, other than that bastard Buzz of course. If everyone who said they’ve had his child really had, the place would be over-run with his babies. I don’t think there are very many at all as he’s been so careful. But Rowan’s pregnant from Beltane, everyone says, and I reckon your mother’s on his list too.’

‘But not to make her pregnant, surely? I can’t see that—’

‘Just think about it – why did he choose to come back tonight of all nights? He could have had a woman in the Outside World if he just wanted sex, couldn’t he? But he came back here specially, and I’m sure it’s because he wants your mother to conceive. She’s someone fresh, like getting in new stock for breeding the dairy herds and horses and suchlike.’

‘I think the whole thing’s disgusting! And why spoil the full moon with sex anyway?’

He laughed and stared down at his hands.

‘Some people would say that the sex is magical too,’ he said quietly, ‘and all part of the celebration and joy of the Moon Fullness. You don’t think very highly of it, do you?’

Now she looked embarrassed.

‘It’s just the thought of my mother and Magus … it’s horrible. Can we change the subject? In fact, can we go up to Hare Stone? I’m starting to feel strange.’

‘Okay, let me damp down the fire a bit and blow out the candles.’

They left the snug cosiness of the hut, the relentless rain immediately stealing their warmth and dryness. Together they hurried along the path, climbing up through the woodland until they got to the place where it joined the field. They raced through the long, drenched grass past the boulders and rocky outcrops to the top of the hill.

Hare Stone stood grey and gloomy in the dark evening, the rain falling in silver needles. Sylvie’s hair was plastered to her head and stuck to her back like long straight string. She lifted her arms to the heavy skies and started to sing, oblivious to the cold and wet. Yul wished he felt the same. His hair too was stuck to his skin, as were his clothes, and he was freezing cold. He sank down with his back against Hare Stone and hugged his knees. It may be the Blue Moon, but he didn’t feel particularly magical. He wished he had a tent too.

Sylvie’s dance lasted for ages and the wet hares ran for shelter long before she did. Although there was no sign whatsoever of the full moon, she seemed to know exactly when and where it rose, and tracked its progress in the sky. She danced and sang and then sank to her knees staring up at the dark clouds, the rain driving into her upturned face. Yul waited for a while but eventually could stand it no longer. She must be so cold. He certainly was, and he was used to being outdoors in all weathers. He stood up stiffly, his knees locked into a bent position, and went across to help her up. Her skin was unnaturally chilled.

‘Sylvie, come on, you’re freezing. We must get home.’

He pulled her upright and she swayed, stiff as a stone-carving.

‘Sylvie! Wake up! Come on, wake up!’

He shook her gently but she was unresponsive. He was worried; she was so very cold. He chafed her arms, which hung limply by her sides, and took her hands in his.

‘Sylvie! SYLVIE!!’

She blinked and shook her head but her movements were slow. He realised the urgency of her need for warmth and shelter. She was clearly chilled to the bone. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he guided her down the hill and into the woods. There he hesitated. What should he do now? Take her home and risk the house being empty and cold with no one to look after her? Or take her back to the hut and try to revive her by the fire? He chose the latter.

In the hut it was still warm. Yul quickly wrapped Sylvie in the smelly blanket and sat her in the chair. He built up the fire and made a hot drink, which he held to her lips and forced her to swallow. He chafed her hands to get the circulation going, and then her bare feet. She really was frozen. Slowly Sylvie responded, becoming aware of where she was. Then she began to shiver violently and nothing he did would stop it. She needed to get her wet clothes off but that was out of the question in the hut, and there was nothing dry for her to put on. He’d lost track of the time but thought that Magus must have finished up at Mooncliffe by now. Surely Miranda would be back in the cottage; the worry was if Magus was there or not. But Sylvie had to get home, so he put her shoes back on her feet, wrapped the old blanket around her shoulders, and spoke gently to her.

‘Sylvie, it’s still raining out there so we’ll have to make a dash for it. Shall I carry you or can you walk?’

‘I’ll walk,’ she mumbled, her teeth chattering so violently she could barely speak. ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance, Yul.’

‘No it’s my fault and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have let you stay up there for so long.’

The dash through the woods was a disaster. The rain was now torrential, making the path slippery and dangerous in the darkness. Sylvie’s co-ordination had gone and she stumbled and tripped, barely able to stand, let alone run. She sobbed with frustration and cold; in the end Yul scooped her up in his arms and carried her, which wasn’t easy in the dark and wet.

After an eternity they reached the cottage and Yul was relieved to see lights glowing. He pushed the gate open with a foot and staggered up the path, his arms aching. Miranda answered the kick on the door and was horrified to see her daughter lying unmoving against the boy’s chest.

‘Sorry, ma’am. I found her in the woods. I think she must’ve been on her way home from the Hall and got lost. She’s very cold. She needs dry clothes, a fire and a hot drink.’

‘I think I can see what she needs, thank you. It’s Yul, isn’t it?
Thank you for bringing her back. Just sit her down here, would you.’

As he bent to put her in the armchair his lips brushed her ear.

‘You got lost on your way back, remember?’ he whispered. ‘I’ll see you soon, Sylvie.’

Miranda watched him go and then turned to her bedraggled daughter. She sat pale and motionless in the chair where she’d been put, her eyes closed. Miranda felt a sharp flicker of annoyance at Sylvie for ruining her perfect evening. She thought of the snug, dry pavilion lit by many silver candles, the incense burning, the golden mead in goblets, the delicious delicacies to eat, and the soft, thick cover spread out on the great stone with silk cushions to lie back against. There’d even been a little brazier for warmth, and Magus had bundled her up in waterproofs with a large umbrella to protect her as they’d dashed back from the cliff-top. She’d felt so pampered and cared for, so very special. What a man!

She smiled to herself as she removed the smelly blanket and stripped Sylvie of her wet clothes. She put her daughter to bed, not noticing just how very cold the silent girl was. It had been the most perfect evening of her whole life. She was in love for the very first time, and felt utterly fulfilled.

Yul plodded miserably up the muddy path back into the woods. Again he faced a dilemma: to sleep in his tree shelter or the woodsmen’s hut. His mattress and blanket would be lying in a puddle of water by now as it was only a rough shelter, so he headed for the hut. It was risky but surely Alwyn wouldn’t come looking for him on a night like this? His father would be snug at home eating a late night snack by the fire before lugging himself up to bed. Tomorrow Yul would have to dry out his bedding somehow, because he mustn’t tempt fate twice. But tonight he needed somewhere warm and dry to sleep. Sylvie wasn’t the only one chilled by the rain.

In the hut he stoked up the fire and stretched out in the old
armchair, his long legs sprawled out damply before him. The blanket was gone, of course, and he thought of Sylvie in her cottage. Her mother would have warmed her thoroughly by now and ensured she was comfortable. He wished the Blue Moon had been more special for her. Outside he could hear the rain still lashing down in torrents, but it was cosy in the hut by the fire. Slowly his wet hair dried, springing into curls, and his clothes steamed dry. He dozed in the warmth and at some point crawled off the chair and onto the floor, where he curled up in front of the dying fire.

He was awoken by the door crashing open, and a loud shout.

‘Here he is, sir, the little bastard! We got him now!’

It was the voice of the man Yul dreaded most in the world. He barged inside, followed by the next most dreaded man.

‘Good. Wake him up then.’

Alwyn aimed a vicious kick but Yul was already scrambling to his feet, blinking in the blinding torchlight and shivering in the cold draught. The two men crowded the small hut, both watching him intently and looking very pleased with themselves.

‘I told you he’d be here, sir.’

‘So you did. Well, Yul, you didn’t inform me you were leaving home.’

‘No, sir,’ Yul mumbled, his heart pounding. He considered making a run for it but the two large men were blocking the door.

‘Don’t even try,’ laughed Magus. ‘Alwyn, tie his hands and hobble him.’

Alwyn stepped forward and grabbed Yul’s arm hard, yanking him almost off his feet.

‘Pleasure, sir.’

Yul’s arms were pulled behind his back and his wrists tied tightly. His ankles were each circled with rope, with a little slack between them.

‘Right then. You’ve got your whip?’

‘Oh yes, sir,’ chuckled Alwyn, patting at his coat.

‘Then it’s off to the Hall.’

The flashlight did strange things to the wet woodland. The rain was a curtain of diagonal dashes; the tree trunks glistened and gleamed. Yul found it difficult to stay on his feet with his ankles hobbled, and Alwyn did his best to unbalance the boy, jabbing him in the back and cuffing him round the head as he stumbled along the path. Alwyn wore the great brown leather coat he saved for wet weather, the water running off the treated skin. He’d cured the hides himself. Magus wore more sophisticated extreme weather gear which shone wetly in the torch light. But Yul was soaked to the skin in his thin shirt and trousers, and shivering violently with fear.

At the Hall they turned off towards the stable block, then went round the back to some out-houses that lay beyond. Magus unlocked and unbolted a great wooden door and led the way into a stone building, a sort of byre. An electric light had been rigged up, its harsh white light illuminating the stark area inside. The stone floor was covered with dusty straw and there were several bales lying around. A polished chair of fine wood and old leather stood to one side.

Yul was sent sprawling onto the straw. Magus pulled off his dripping outer clothes and laid them over a bale. Alwyn followed suit. Magus then sat down in the chair and surveyed the boy cowering on the floor. Alwyn stood over him, gloating, his porky face creased in glee. At a nod from Magus he untied the ropes. Yul felt the hatred in both men’s eyes; the desire to see him suffer. Their pleasure at his predicament was almost palpable in the musty air and his heart quaked with terror.