Shaman of Stonewylde (66 page)

She sighed deeply, rubbing her swollen belly. She was now well over thirty weeks pregnant, but amazingly had so far succeeded in hiding it from the community. She found that this time round she’d filled out all over and her bump itself wasn’t enormous, so with loose layers of clothes and helped by her height, she’d somehow managed to avoid detection. Only Miranda, Maizie, Leveret and Hazel knew – she didn’t count Old Violet – although she realised that soon she’d have to tell others, especially her daughters, who thought their mother was getting rather fat.

Sylvie wasn’t sure why she was so reluctant to tell everyone. Obviously she’d broken the strict two-children rule which might upset some, but now that the population at Stonewylde was stable again she thought it time they relaxed that restriction anyway. She guessed the main reason was because Yul didn’t yet know, and somehow it seemed wrong for everyone to know before him. But he’d been gone now since the Winter Solstice and, although Sylvie knew he’d been living alone up in Mother Heggy’s cottage since then, she couldn’t bring herself to visit him. Gradually, over the months, her anger and hurt had cooled and she found that she missed him more than she liked to admit. But so far this hadn’t been enough to prompt her to seek him out, and she understood that he’d taken her at her word and wouldn’t approach her.

Her hand slipped into her pocket and found the tiny hare that he’d carved from a piece of yew all those years ago, by way of an apology. That was after Holly had forced him into kissing her
on
the Village Green. Sylvie smiled, thinking how much it had upset her then, but how very trivial it seemed now. And what about Rainbow? The little boy that she carried inside her, the beautiful result of that reunion on Lammas Eve under the yew, was infinitely more important than his one moment of stupidity with Rainbow. She knew from Buzz that it hadn’t been a long deceitful affair spanning the spring and summer, but a lone and instantly-regretted moment of folly. Was she going to punish not only Yul and herself, but Celandine, Bluebell and this little boy forever? Or could she now forgive and maybe . . . forget? Could Yul’s single misjudged act of infidelity with Rainbow one day seem almost as unimportant as that silly kiss with Holly?

The night before she’d come across the long-forgotten golden hare tucked away in a little box, and it had seemed like a sign. In the same box she’d also found the corn knot Yul had made for her at Lammas when they were both fifteen. She’d sat there with the little favour in her palm, the tiny silver bow still intact but the slip of yew now brown and desiccated. She’d felt her tears well and then spill as she recalled how he’d given it to her so shyly, so hopefully, and asked her to accept his favour and be his sweetheart. She remembered telling him she was the happiest girl at Stonewylde to be favoured by him, and how disappointed she’d been to have to hide the token away instead of pinning it above her heart for all to see.

What had happened to that innocent, blazing love? Had it vanished, or had it simply changed into a more adult, slow-burning love that must accommodate children, work, daily life, pressure and even temptation? Her love was still there, beneath the layers of heartache and recrimination, and last night as Sylvie had returned the love-token to its box, she’d decided to carry the precious golden hare around as a reminder of Yul’s past contrition and her past forgiveness.

It was almost time for the meeting. Sylvie remembered how at lunch, Miranda had been complaining that she didn’t have her glasses. She hadn’t been able to find them that morning and had struggled to teach without them; she was worried she’d
be
unable to see the architect’s costings properly. She was sure she’d left them at Christopher’s cottage the evening before, and the three of them had shared a joke about old age and failing eye-sight before they’d suddenly realised that poor Leveret was nearby. Mortified, they’d hung their heads, and Sylvie had then promised to try and find the glasses before the meeting, as she had some free time that afternoon.

It was a lovely warm spring day, and although the trees were still mostly brown and leafless, the blackthorn was blossoming starburst-white and the fat sticky-buds on the horse-chestnuts were fit to burst. The weeping willows were the palest of lime-green, wafting their tresses like girls with new haircuts. Sylvie, wearing a loose pale blue dress and cardigan, and wrapped in her crocheted shawl, made her way from the Hall towards the path leading to Woodland Cottage. The birds were singing jubilantly, excited that spring had arrived and the days were getting longer. All around her they were pairing off, building nests, announcing their joy. Suddenly Sylvie felt an uplifting of her soul. The baby leapt too, giving a mighty kick; she rubbed her belly and told him to quieten down in there.

The woodland path was bordered with starry white wood anemones and brilliant yellow celandine, reminding her of when their first child had been born. She and Yul had been so very happy together then, so very excited as the new parents of such a darling little girl. At Imbolc this year, Celandine had been really disappointed that her father hadn’t been there to see her special dance, and Sylvie had felt guilty because she knew why he’d stayed away. How happy the girls would be if they were all together again. Little Bluebell had been very quiet and serious lately and there was a sad chapter in her hare book which had made Sylvie cry, emotional as she was at the moment. Her fingers closed around the hare in her pocket as she made her way to the cottage.

Yul had arrived earlier and been disappointed that Christopher wasn’t around. He realised he shouldn’t have expected to find
him
in, as, from what Rufus had said, he was constantly busy coordinating all the new plans, improvements and building work. It seemed Christopher was a great asset to Stonewylde and nobody else could have organised the regeneration of the Hall quite so efficiently. Yul had had a quick look around the downstairs rooms of the cottage, which he hadn’t visited for so long. After Sylvie and Miranda had moved out, it had been occupied for many years by an elderly couple. But the old man had recently passed on and his widow had moved up to the Hall, leaving it vacant. It was a lovely little place and Christopher was obviously very comfortable there. He’d made it cosy, bringing many books and personal possessions and Yul was glad he felt at home – it certainly seemed that he planned on staying a while.

Yul wondered about going up to Hare Stone now, but it was still early. Gazing out at the overgrown garden, Yul smiled to himself. That’s what he’d do! He’d missed hard physical exercise for some time, as Skydancer had remained at the Hall. If Christopher were going to stay, he’d need to plant vegetables soon and tend the patch, and Yul could repay some of the lawyer’s kindness by making a start now on the digging. Yul went outside, located the spade and hoe in the woodshed and set to work. Luckily he was wearing his old boots, but he could feel his clean shirt starting to stick to his skin. He didn’t want to be dirty for Sylvie up at Hare Stone tonight, so he tugged off the shirt and hung it on a branch. He could have a quick wash in the cottage afterwards. Feeling much happier than he’d been for a very long time, he set to, driving the spade hard into the fertile earth and feeling the sun warm on his back.

Sylvie walked up the garden path under the pretty cherry blossom and recalled how it had fallen like confetti on her and Miranda when Magus had first brought them here fifteen years before. She recalled her emotions that day – excited but nervous, and brimming with a bubbling sense of disbelief at their good fortune. As she now let herself in at the front door, she stood savouring the peace of the place, the calm and the quaintness.
She
remembered their first sight of this interior, coming straight from the cramped and ugly London flat. The dark, polished floorboards, handmade rugs, crooked white-washed walls – all had been so very alien and beautiful to them. Sylvie remembered too Miranda’s shock at learning there was no electricity, bathroom or fitted kitchen.

She smiled to herself, and for a moment could almost hear Magus’ deep voice saying how welcome they were to share everything at Stonewylde. Sylvie realised that this was the first time in ages that she’d thought of Magus fondly, not as an evil presence haunting her but as a strong man who’d changed their world with one act of kindness, and had probably saved her life too.

The breath caught in her throat at the thought of this. She crossed the sitting room to the dresser where she’d already spotted Miranda’s glasses in their case, but her mind was still in the past. She recalled Magus’ deep brown eyes, his lazy smile, his charm and warmth. For all his faults and all that had gone wrong, he’d been an amazing man blessed with boundless strength and energy; she knew that Yul had inherited all this from his father. She’d been so very happy that day when she’d first come here, and so very lucky too. She was still lucky and had far more than most people could ever dream of. She loved and was loved in return, she was healthy and strong, and she lived in the most beautiful place in the world, surrounded by people who made her life a joy. She had two adorable children with another one on the way, and . . . she was married to a man like no other.

At that moment she looked out of the window into the back garden and there he was, her dark and secretive boy of fifteen years ago, digging the earth. His wild curls fell into his eyes and the sweat ran down his face as he plunged the spade deep into the waiting ground. The sinews in his arms strained, the muscles bulged, and his powerful torso rippled with the effort, glistening with sweat in the golden afternoon sunshine. He paused, one foot on the spade so his trousers pulled tight across his buttocks and thighs, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand leaving a smear of dirt. He looked up then and his deep smoky-grey
eyes
, slanted and long-lashed, met hers in one eternal, earth-stopping moment.

Sylvie’s heart leapt and then she was outside, hurrying carefully down the brick path and he abandoned the spade and rushed towards her, his eyes ablaze and his arms open. They fell into each other’s embrace as if they’d never known separation, as if the long months apart and all the difficulties between them had never been. They were both sobbing, trembling with emotion and passion, unable to say the words they wanted but knowing that it didn’t matter anyway. Their hearts knew and never again would anything come between them.

Except . . . Yul pulled back and looked at her in shock. Slowly he lifted the baggy cardigan that hung over her loose dress and his hand smoothed down the folds of material flat against the hard mound of her belly. He stared at it, open-mouthed, and then looked up into her eyes. She was radiant with joy as she saw disbelief, quickly followed by hope, flare in his eyes.

‘Yes, Yul – he was conceived on Lammas Eve and—’

‘At the Blue Moon?’

‘That’s right, and he’s due at Beltane.’

He shook his head, unable to take in the news, his face suffused with happiness and tears coursing down his hot cheeks.

‘If you agree, Yul, I’d like to call him Ioho – it’s Celtic for Yew, the tree of regeneration.’

‘And the place where he was conceived! Oh Sylvie, a magical son . . .’

Yul took her again in a much gentler embrace this time, cradling her to his naked chest, his strong arms a ring of love and protection around this most magical and unique woman, the mother of his children, and his one, true love. His heart sang with wild and pure elation as the past torments crumbled into oblivion. Gazing up to the bright blue skies, he thanked the Goddess for giving him this chance to start again and make things right. He bent his dark head, his deep grey eyes burning with adoration, and kissed Sylvie deeply but tenderly. She
felt
his love and never-ending devotion and knew then that she need never, ever doubt him again.

‘Well, my moongazy girl,’ he laughed, his voice low and shaky with emotion, ‘shall we go up to Hare Stone for some very gentle moondancing? But no leaving your shoes on the path this time!’

Sylvie smiled at him, brimming with love and tears, and recalling so very clearly that first moondance all those years ago. In her pocket, her fingers closed around the tiny carved hare and in that moment, she truly understood the interdependence of darkness and light.

31

L
everet lay on her back, the sun warming her eyelids, thinking of Clip. All around her the larks exalted spring, squealing their joy as they rose in a fluster of beating wings. Magpie too basked in the Spring Equinox sunshine as he sat with his back to Hare Stone gazing out over the landscape below. His eyes roamed, drinking in the beauty that he would transform into pure magic on a canvas, for he was alone in his gift of seeing the Goddess clearly as she lived and breathed in the landscape. The sun glinted on his bright butterscotch-gold hair and fair skin. Magpie had grown into a tall young man who walked with his head high and a ready smile on his handsome face. It was only when looking more deeply into his eyes, so brilliantly turquoise and flecked with gold, that something else was seen – a strange shifting of focus that was the key to Magpie’s different reality, and also to his breathtaking talent. Some might call him simple; others called him genius. To Leveret, he was her very soul. They shared something more profound and timeless than conventional love. Since she had lost her sight, this bond had strengthened until they were as much in harmony as was possible for two people to be.

As she lay on the warm, slightly damp grass, Leveret’s thoughts drifted from Clip back to the magnificent sunrise ceremony that morning. Yul had taken his rightful place on the Altar Stone to chant in the dawn, whilst the mad carousel of painted hares danced all around the stones in the great circle. Leveret had
assisted
him, wearing her new robes and the hare headdress, particularly appropriate for this of all festivals. With her Asklepian wand in hand and Hare at her heels, she too was now in her rightful place, beside her brother the magus. Rufus had nervously helped Sylvie serve the mead and cakes to the community. Although she couldn’t see, Leveret felt the almost palpable happiness amongst folk in the sacred arena. Yul and Sylvie, the darkness and the brightness, were once again in harmony at this festival which celebrated the balance between the two. All was now right with the world.