Moondance of Stonewylde (43 page)

They smiled at each other and then Rosie looked away in embarrassment.

‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, miss, I mean, Sylvie. It’s just … do you know my brother Yul?’

Sylvie found herself blushing scarlet, and Rosie giggled into her hand.

‘We been wondering, Mother and I, who’s this girl he’s hankering after. He’s so secretive and won’t tell us a thing, so I guessed it must be someone a bit different and I thought it might be you. He used to like that nasty Holly but he’s over her, thank Goddess.’

Sylvie felt a sharp stab of jealousy.

‘So it’s true then – he liked Holly once?’ Sylvie’s throat went tight and her voice came out wrong. ‘Buzz told me there was some fight between him and Yul over Holly, but when I asked Yul he said he couldn’t stand her! I just can’t imagine anything going on between them as she doesn’t seem his type at all – she’s so spiteful.’

‘Oh don’t you worry – it were a while ago, before you came here, and it was nothing like he is about you. He just used to
dance with her at the ceremonies up in the Circle and back in the Barn afterwards. They made a good pair, both very quick on their feet, but that’s been over a long time since.’

Sylvie stared at her in consternation, fighting the tears that prickled behind her eyes. Why had he never admitted that when they’d discussed it? Was he hiding something? Rosie glanced at her and frowned.

‘Honestly, miss, he never really liked her, not like he feels about you. I never seen him like this before. Yul’s completely moonstruck for you, and that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. I hope you won’t mind me speaking plain, but I’m worried, you see.’

She took the piece of material now lying idle in Sylvie’s lap and began to sew, her stitches deft and tiny.

‘I’m worried about what will come of all this. Yul’s led a horrible life. I expect you know some of it but I’ll bet you don’t know the half of it. There are some things he’d never talk about and you probably wouldn’t believe it if he did. But he’s suffered so much ever since he were a little boy, no older than our Leveret is now. Our father was a hard, brutal man, and when it came to Yul he never had any self-control … Well, ‘tis over now, all that terrible cruelty to my poor brother.’

She sighed, finishing the hexagon and biting off the thread. Sylvie nodded, not sure exactly how much Rosie knew.

‘I heard some of it, and I can certainly see the difference in Yul since your father was taken ill.’

‘Aye,’ said Rosie quietly. Her face was shadowed as she stared down at her hands, and then she looked up at Sylvie, her lovely dark grey eyes brimming with tears. ‘This is the first time Yul’s been happy in his whole life and I don’t want to see him hurt. He truly loves you, ‘tis plain to see, but you’re Hallfolk and he’s just a Villager. Where’s the future in that? ‘Tis against our laws for you two to be walking together as sweethearts. I don’t know how you feel about him, whether ‘tis just a bit of fun for you or something deeper to match his feelings, but please, miss, I beg you – don’t hurt him, will you? Don’t break his heart.’

During October, as the land began to draw back into itself for winter, Sylvie learned of how Stonewylde dealt with its dead. At breakfast she heard people discussing how Old Humphrey had passed away during the night peacefully in his own bed, in the cottage where he’d lived all his life. He’d been a farmer and right up until the end had continued doing whatever odd jobs he could manage, making himself useful around the Village and playing his fiddle at the dances. Humphrey had an enormous family and was a well-liked member of the community. The funeral was set for the following day, there being no reason to delay, and Sylvie and Miranda were invited to attend along with the rest of the community. Sylvie was nervous; she’d been ill enough in the past to have felt the cold draught of mortality but had never been to a funeral before and had no experience of death.

Late afternoon the next day the resident Hallfolk walked together down the long drive, everyone dressed smartly but not in black. Clip, wearing a dark green cloak and carrying a staff, fell into step beside Sylvie and Miranda and smiled at them both.

‘This is your first Passing On, isn’t it? I’ll stay with you during the ceremony if you like. You’ll find it very unlike anything you’ve experienced before.’

‘I’m amazed at how many Hallfolk are going,’ said Sylvie. ‘I wouldn’t have thought they’d go to a Villager’s funeral.’

She was pleased Clip was with them. Even though Mother Heggy had insisted it was he who’d put the spell on her and she knew he’d been at Mooncliffe with Magus for the Moon Fullness, somehow he didn’t fill her with the same fear and dread as his half-brother. There was something gentle about Clip, an inner core of kindness where Magus had only cold steel.

‘Humphrey was a popular chap and, being so old, he’s been around for most people’s entire lives. Hallfolk and Villagers usually attend each other’s Passing On. We may live different lives and I expect you’ve noted how segregated our worlds are, yet actually we do integrate at certain points in the year and
certain times in our lives. Festivals, hand-fastings, funerals – we all join together for these and share in the ceremonies as they’re such an important part of our culture. We’re a community and you’re never alone in a true community.’

‘So what should we expect at this funeral?’ asked Miranda coolly, irritated that Clip had attached himself to them.

‘It’s a cremation, not a burial,’ said Clip, ‘and it takes place outside.’

‘Why do you call it a Passing On?’ asked Sylvie.

‘Because that’s what we believe death is. Your soul passes on to a different place.’

‘Like heaven and hell?’

‘No!’ laughed Clip. ‘Absolutely not – that’s a Christian concept! We call it the Otherworld and it’s the next stage in your soul’s journey. Your soul spends some time in this world and then it passes on to another world when your time here’s finished. Our ceremony honours the person’s life and offers a send-off to the next world. We need to dispose of the body, of course, and comfort those who remain behind, but we don’t see death as the end, nor as an opportunity for divine punishment or reward.’

They walked some way further and instead of forking into the Village, headed towards the higher woods surrounding the Stone Circle. They didn’t go up the Long Walk but turned off at a path marked by two carved stones. Sylvie saw that the images carved in relief were crows, and she shivered. The crowd of Hallfolk had fallen silent now as they walked along the stony path. They were surrounded on either side by dead bracken of a deep gold and bright silver birch trees, their leaves yellow and trunks papery white. All around in the undergrowth Sylvie saw different types of fungus and mushrooms and thought what a good place this would be for her research, although she wouldn’t like to come here alone.

‘Clip, where are we going?’ she whispered. Miranda walked in front of them, for the path wasn’t wide enough for three abreast. He bent his head to answer her.

‘To the Yew of Death. Are you alright, Sylvie? You’re pale.’

She nodded although her hands were shaking.

‘I’m okay thanks. It’s just a bit daunting.’

He patted her shoulder.

‘Don’t be scared. Death isn’t frightening. I’ve seen the other side, the Otherworld, and it’s a good place to go when your time here’s done. The only thing that’s frightening is the unknown, and the idea that death is the end. It isn’t, believe me. I promise you, nothing you’ll see today will give you cause for fear.’

The path continued for some time and gradually the silver birches gave way to oak trees. Acorns clustered thickly amongst the leaves, just beginning to turn ochre. Squirrels scurried up and down the trunks, leaping between branches and bounding across the ground. The oaks were dense around them, overhanging the path which now led downhill into a secluded valley. Sylvie had never visited this part of Stonewylde before and looked around with interest. The route was marked with waist-high stones, many of them carved with crows and some with skulls. There were lanterns on each stone to mark the way, although there was still some murky daylight. Sylvie heard the soft beat of drums coming from the valley below and the hair on her arms began to rise. Still the procession walked on in silence, travelling down deeper into the woods, and at last they came to a great clearing.

Sylvie gasped at the sight before her. At the far end of the huge open area stood a yew tree, bigger than any tree she’d seen in her life. It had many twisted trunks all rising from a single massive bole, covered with pink-brown scaly bark. The bole was hollow, creating a huge open cave of contorted wood, and she could see dark figures inside. She remembered what Professor Siskin had told her about the yew tree regenerating itself, and how yews could live for thousands of years. She wondered how old this one was. Its dark green spiky slips made a huge canopy, and in places the gnarled branches hung low. The ground underneath the yew was strange; soft grey and powdery, and covered with pebbles.

What really drew the eye, however, was the funeral pyre in the centre of the arena. It was built of a series of criss-cross rafts
of wood, and stood chest high to a man. On top was a bier covered with slips of yew, forming a dark green bed upon which Humphrey’s body lay, dressed in his ceremony robes. His shock of white hair was bright in the gloom. His arms were crossed on his chest and he looked peaceful, as if he were sleeping. The clearing was full of Villagers in their best clothes or ceremony robes, and the long procession of Hallfolk pouring into the circle mingled with them. The drums still beat softly, the rhythms weaving in and out of each other and making a strangely comforting background layer of sound. Clip stayed close to Sylvie and she was glad of his presence beside her.

‘The yew’s wonderful, isn’t it?’ he whispered to her.

‘Yes! It’s massive, even bigger than the one on the Green,’ she whispered back.

‘It’s special because it’s the tree of …’

‘… life and death and rebirth,’ she finished for him, smiling.

‘Well done! Who told you that?’

‘Yul,’ she said, without thinking.

‘Did he now? Are you still hanging around with him?’

‘Oh no!’ she said, shaking her head vehemently.

He looked down at her with raised eyebrows, then pointed to the oak trees all around them.

‘Look, Sylvie. See the birds?’

She was shocked to see the trees’ branches clustered with hundreds of black birds, mostly rooks and crows. They perched in silence, fidgeting slightly, and she felt a little spooked.

‘Why are they here? I’ve never seen so many birds all together in one place.’

‘The crow is one of the emblems of the Otherworld,’ explained Clip. ‘Humphrey was a lovely chap and well-loved, and that’s why there’s a good turn-out of birds here today.’

Sylvie frowned at him – surely he was joking.

‘Humphrey was brought down here at dawn and his body placed on the bier; his family and friends have been with him all day. They’ll have had a picnic and spent the day thinking of him, talking about him and his life; all that he’s done, all that he was,
and taking their leave of him. In a minute Magus will start the ceremony and as the sun sets, the family will light the pyre. We believe that then, as his body burns away in the twilight, his soul leaves this world and enters the Otherworld.’

Sylvie shivered suddenly and Clip looked closely at her.

‘You’re sure you’re alright?’

She nodded and looked around, trying to locate Yul amongst the great crowd. She could feel him there and knew he was watching her right now. She scanned the faces and then her eyes locked into his, feeling the jolt of fire behind the deep grey. She drew breath sharply as she gazed at him and Clip, watching her carefully, bent down close to her.

‘You’ll have to give him up, Sylvie,’ he whispered. ‘For his sake, if not your own. Magus won’t tolerate a relationship between you.’

She was saved from replying by the appearance of Magus in a long grey cloak emerging from the depths of the yew, stepping from beneath the boughs and out into the open. As he turned and the cloak swished, she saw the great crow with outstretched wings embroidered on the back, defined with golden stitching. Beside Magus walked another dark-cloaked figure carrying a burning torch, who wore a mask of black feathers with a long protruding beak. This transformed his head into that of a crow’s, reminding Sylvie of the sinister beaked doctors of the Great Plague.

Magus strode towards the funeral pyre, the crow man following, and the drumming changed beat. More instruments joined the music and suddenly the whole community burst into song. Sylvie and Miranda both jumped and clutched each other’s arms at the unexpectedness of it. The sound was strange – a sort of eerie serenade, almost an ululation, which filled the clearing. The birds shifted in the branches, preening and watching.

‘Who’s the man in the bird mask?’ asked Sylvie, noticing the blond Hallfolk hair beneath it.

‘Martin, from the Hall. He always assists Magus at funerals.’

It was too cloudy to see the sunset but Magus seemed to
anticipate the moment. The light had been steadily fading from the grey skies, and at his signal, five men brought forward a large piece of heavy hemp cloth embroidered with a pentangle of green and gold.

‘Do you know about the pentangle?’ whispered Clip. ‘It represents the five elements and it’s a sacred symbol to us.’