Shadows at Stonewylde

25



In the filthy cottage at the end of the lane the three women sat toasting themselves and smoking their pipes in peaceful contentment. The two old crones’ faces were creased and lined, the dirt accentuating every wrinkle. Their toothless gums sucked at the stems of their pipes and they rocked gently in the warmth, slurping occasionally at their mead. Starling had eased out her rolls of flesh comfortably and propped her enormous legs on a stool; her feet were aching after such an active day. She was happily contemplating a further snack when she’d finished her pipe as she’d managed to cram a large bag full of left-overs from the feast. She belched loudly and patted the mass of her stomach in contentment.

‘Eh, but that were a good day’s work!’ mused Old Violet.

‘Aye, sister, a good day’s work. That set the weasel amongst the rabbits and got things a-going nicely.’

‘Made ’em look fools, didn’t we? Heh heh! That black-locked one – he were so angry! Shouldn’t wonder there’ll be trouble up at the Hall tonight, the state he’s in now.’

‘Aye, he’ll be spoiling for a fight. That skinny wife of his – she’ll be in for it tonight, no doubt. Stupid Outsider – she ain’t got no right to be here. She’ll get her come-uppance that one.’

‘And that hare-girl, his sister!’ chuckled Starling. ‘Didn’t she ever look a fool? Sitting like a carving when she should’ve been dancing and chanting. She were just a mommet with no life in her. You did well, Auntie – your cakes and potion were just the thing.’

‘Aye, just the thing. Old Violet knows how to mix a good potion and bake a good cake. Just like in Magus’ time when he used to come calling for his tins o’ cakes. Heh heh! Soon be like old times again only better this time around! We know, don’t we?’

‘Aye, sister, we know, we’ve seen. We know what’s a-coming – what’s come already, waiting in the shadows.’

The flames died lower to a red hot glow and still the three sat, reluctant to leave the heat of the fire and climb upstairs to their cold and foetid beds.

‘But what o’ the hare-girl? She were talking from beyond, weren’t she?’ whined Vetchling.

‘Aye, sister, from beyond. She has the gift, that one, and we must watch her with a sharp eye.’

‘Do you think she knows?’ asked Starling. ‘Does she know what she’s saying?’

‘Nay, shouldn’t think so. That were prophesying and she weren’t in this world, was she? Not with what we’d put inside her! That were another’s voice speaking through her mouth.’

‘Is she a danger to us?’

‘I’ve not seen it. But we’ll scry tomorrow and see what’s what. Shouldn’t be surprised if that old sow Heggy were trying to get through, but we can put a stop to that. She’s only a young maid, the Hare, with no wisdom and no knowledge o’ the old ways. We are three and we are strong and powerful. She ain’t no match for us three.’

‘Aye, you speak the truth, sister. We are on the wax and that dark-haired brat is on the wane. No sister can help him now – ‘tis all set.’

‘But nought is fixed,’ mumbled Starling through a thick mouthful. ‘You always told me that, Mother. All can be set but nought can be fixed.’

‘Wise words, Starling, wise words. But we can try to fix, can’t we? We can cast and we can summon, we can hex and we can blight. We have the wisdom, and the Hare does not – nor ever will.’

In the soft candlelight, Rowan gazed adoringly at her daughter. Faun was still flushed and her eyes bright from the dancing and heady wine. She lay now with her head on the snowy pillow, tattered ringlets spread about her. Rowan tenderly stroked her smooth skin.

‘I’ve brought you some milk, my little one. Try to drink it – it’s good for your complexion, especially after the wine.’

Faun sat up and dutifully drank from the cup her mother held to her lips.

‘Was I beautiful tonight, Mother?’

‘Oh yes, yes you were! You shone like a star,’ said Rowan, helping the girl to lie down again and plumping the pillow for her.

‘They should’ve chosen me. I was right all along.’

‘Yes, they should’ve. Leveret was a disgrace.’

‘Kestrel said it should’ve been me. He was all over me, Mother.’

‘I know, I was watching you. You played it just right – you made him aware of you, showed him your promise, but you held yourself back too. You’ve got age on your side, my darling Faun. He knows you’re too young now but there’s nothing wrong with tempting him a bit with what’s to come.’

Faun giggled.

‘It was such fun! And I reminded him that I’m a Hallchild.’

‘Good – he’d like that. He wants quality and you’re the best at Stonewylde – Magus’ beautiful, perfect daughter. ‘Tis a pity more people don’t remember you’re a Hallchild and so special, like your father.’

Rowan sighed and a dreamy look came into her eyes.

‘Was he really wonderful?’ asked Faun wistfully.

Rowan shook her head, glossy brown hair rippling over her shoulders and shadowing her face.

‘I can’t describe him to you, Faun – he was more than wonderful. I wish you could’ve known him.’

‘Why did he have to die? It’s not fair – he’d have loved me, I know it.’

‘He’d have adored you and you’d have been his special girl – his only daughter. You’re right, it’s not fair! And we know who’s to blame.’

‘Yul! I hate him so much, Mother. I’m his half-sister but he never takes any notice of me. I enjoyed it today when that ugly little sister of his made him look stupid. He looked such a fool when she started going on about the darkness coming and vipers and things. He couldn’t get her out of the Barn fast enough, could he?’

‘It were perfect! And Old Violet spoke the truth – things were run properly when Magus was here. We need to get back to how things were and after what’s happened today, things’ll start to change I’m sure. We’ll be ready, you and I, ready for whatever comes and whatever the future brings. Now you must go to sleep, my beautiful girl. I want you to sleep in tomorrow and Granny will bring you breakfast in bed.’

Faun smiled and closed her eyes contentedly as her mother stroked her forehead soothingly, just how she liked it. What a successful day it had been.

Leveret woke gradually and opened her eyes in the darkness. She couldn’t think where she was or what day it was. Imbolc? The ceremony up in the Stone Circle would be starting soon … but then the memories started to flood in and she closed her eyes in despair. No, no, she’d done that. She’d sat with Sylvie in the carriage going back to the Village. She remembered the breathing walls and Sylvie asking her about the strange man in the Circle. She vaguely remembered the archery display and the rainbow-trailing arrows. After that there was little more other than violently-coloured images and strange, illogical incidents. The whole day was a snaking nightmare of disjointed, jumbled up events.

There’d been a long table that stretched away into eternity and someone by her side, someone she felt good with but couldn’t talk to because there was a glass cage around her. Three black birds had pecked up crumbs and a great white cloud of snowdrops had swirled around her in a snow-storm as she sat in the glass coffin, dead but not dead. So many things had confused her. But then her raven had flown in through the purple skies and bright blue clouds and had sat at her feet. It had spoken wisely of the darkness and the vipers, the shadows and the danger.

Then – she cringed at the thought of it – Yul had smashed the glass coffin and hauled her away, the darkness that hovered around him trying to stain his soul. She remembered a ring of snowdrops with the silver crescent moon rolling across the floor like a wheel and coming to lie at the feet of a man who stood among the crowd of gaping onlookers. She’d seen him clearly as she hung over Yul’s shoulder. It was the same man she’d seen in the Stone Circle at dawn, and once again he’d made that little bow of greeting. He wore the same lazy smile and his eyes danced with mirth.

Leveret lay in her bed and tried to piece it all together. What on earth had happened? She vaguely remembered the jolting journey home down the lane, Yul’s shoulder driving into her sore stomach and him kicking the door open as the stream of invective poured from his mouth like a spilled jar of dark honey. He’d almost thrown her on her bed, shouting at her and berating her, and then he’d started waving mushrooms about and had shouted even louder right in her face. She’d been terrified of his venom and had closed her eyes. But he’d yanked her upright on the bed and shaken her violently, more angry than she’d ever seen him before. She didn’t remember anything after that; great black clouds had rolled in and obscured everything.

Alone in the darkness Leveret began to cry. She sobbed and sobbed until her throat hurt, her eyes stung and there were no more tears to shed. What had gone wrong? Gradually, for her mind was still not functioning normally and lucidity came only in short bursts, she worked out the sequence of events and realised what must’ve happened. It could only be the cakes … it had to have been Sweyn last night when he went out to the privy – there was no other explanation. She knew nothing of the potion they’d forced down her throat under the elm tree. She only knew that Imbolc had been a complete disaster. She’d failed as the Bright Maiden and let her mother down, along with her sister, Kestrel, Celandine, Clip, Magpie, Mother Heggy’s spirit, the folk of Stonewylde – everyone. They must all be so disappointed in her, so sad that she’d failed them once again, betrayed their love and their pride in her. And as for Yul – he’d really punish her now. Her life would be a misery if he could make it so.

Slowly the soft desperation and sadness within her began to harden into anger and bitterness. She’d had enough of being abused by her brothers and Jay. This was too much – the whole community had been affected by this terrible trick today. If her memory of Yul shaking her and shouting in her face was accurate, she was probably in more trouble now than she’d ever been before. The mushrooms he’d found in her room must’ve been planted there by her brothers but whatever she said, she wouldn’t be believed – not with her apparent track record of subterfuge and deceit.

As ever Maizie would have to choose between believing her or believing her brothers, and she knew which way that would go. Her mother couldn’t bear the possibility that she’d raised two sadistic bullies who’d tormented their little sister throughout her life. If she believed her sons capable of such a cruel deed today it would make a lie of the past fifteen years. Her lovely vision of a happy, loving family would be destroyed. It was much easier to dismiss her youngest child as a difficult trouble-maker going though an awkward adolescence.

Leveret came to understand all this with complete clarity and felt a sense of detached relief. It wasn’t that Maizie didn’t love her or favoured her brothers over her – it was more that she needed to love the whole family and believe in its unity to make sense of her own difficult life. Leveret would have to take the full brunt of blame for what had happened today and the inevitable punishment that must follow. She decided she wouldn’t fight it. She’d take the blame willingly for Maizie’s sake, so her mother’s view of her two youngest sons wouldn’t be sullied forever. But she’d never let this happen again.

Leveret took a deep, shuddering breath, her tears now dried. No more tears. She needed to be strong, strong enough to fight Sweyn, Gefrin and Jay, strong enough to stand up to Yul and strong enough to withstand any threat from the three old biddies at the end of the lane. For who else could’ve baked the poisoned cakes? She must learn the old ways quickly – learn the folklore of the plants, herbs and fungi so she could counteract any further poisoning attempts. Learn the magic so she could protect herself and cast spells when she chose. She must learn to bind and to banish, to cast and to summon.

She had to do it quickly. The darkness was gathering ever closer. The image of the viper flashed through her mind again, coiled and hissing and preparing to strike. She must call those who’d help her and ask for their aid now – she must take control of her life and cease to be the victim. In that moment, in the darkness, the Bright Maiden of Imbolc left her childhood behind and became a young woman.

Leveret carefully climbed off her bed. Her legs were wobbly as she groped her way to the door and opened it, finding the whole cottage in darkness. She called for her mother but there was no reply, which was an indication of her mother’s anger. She would never normally leave one of her children alone and unwell in the house in the pitch blackness. Leveret felt the tears prickle again but she squashed them down. She had no idea of the time but when she opened the front door, she heard the sounds of music coming from the centre of the Village. The party must still be going strong in the Barn and the ongoing merriment made her feel bitter. There was she, sobbing her heart out alone in the darkness, forgotten while the rest of the community were feasting, drinking and dancing.

Leveret located her dark woollen cloak on the back door peg, pulled on her brown leather boots and stepped outside. The night was cold and raw and stars shone through the broken cloud as she silently walked up the muddy lane towards the Village. She still wore the beautiful white dress and knew it must be getting ruined but she didn’t care anymore – Imbolc was ruined anyway. The sounds grew louder as she approached the heart of the Village, and she saw light spilling from the Barn and the pub, where some of the older men would be taking refuge. Reaching the cobbled area outside the Barn, Leveret paused, imagining the heat and excitement inside. She pictured the community in there, some sitting at the tables around the edges or standing by the bar, others galloping round to the lively music, everyone talking, laughing and having a good time. Whilst here she was outside in the cold night with fury in her heart. She turned away, thankful that the night was so wintry for there’d be no couples strolling around the Green or dallying under the trees.

Leveret stepped onto the grass of the ancient clearing and walked across to the first in the great ring of trees that clustered around the open arena. Her head was completely clear now. She strode straight-backed around the circumference of the Green under the branches of the many trees. Her dark cloak billowed around her, the white dress clothing her in its symbolic purity. She called the name of each tree as she passed beneath its boughs – lime, ash, hornbeam, oak, chestnut, beech – summoning the tree spirits that were sleeping now but would soon awaken. Leveret called the trees from their slumber and bid them add their strength and energy to hers. When she’d completed the circuit she proceeded into the centre of the Village Green and stood there, her breath clouding around her in the cold night.

Leveret tipped her head back to the skies and saw the setting moon behind the dark branches. It was still a waxing crescent, grown from the new moon of earlier in the week, and shone huge and golden as it dipped in the sky in a great bow. Leveret raised her arms to the heavens, the cloak falling back to reveal her Bright Maiden costume. Her silver crescent birth charm hung round her neck. With outstretched hands she gathered in the energy of the crescent, calling upon the elemental forces to come to her and fill her with their magic. Leveret summoned the spirit of the Huntress, the goddess in her aspect of the Maiden. She chanted her many known names: Isis, Artemis, Selene, Diana, Bride, Brighid, Freya – the names given over thousands of years by such different people and cultures, but all addressing the same energy source. She called on the powerful spirit of the emergent female huntress, reborn every year at Imbolc and every month with the new moon.

‘I summon you, Huntress! Fill me with your energy and magic! Come to my body and make me as strong and powerful as you. Give me the strength of your bow and the sharpness of your arrows so I may fight my enemies. Take my softness and weakness and tears and fill me with your force, purpose and steel. If I falter in my intent, stiffen my resolve. Make me hard and pitiless towards those who try to hurt me. I summon you, Maiden, and I ask for your powerful magic!’

The darkness thickened around her as she dropped her arms and turned away. No casting a circle or the protection of salt tonight – Leveret had made contact with the power source directly like lightning finding its earth. Walking back in her bedraggled white dress with the dark cloak flying around her, she tingled with a spiky new energy. Tomorrow, when they all trooped up to the Lammas Field to burn the dolly harbouring the Corn Spirit and return it to the earth amongst the ashes, Leveret would go to the springhead instead, sacred to the Maiden, and make her own personal offering. She made her way back across the Green towards the cottage, her sharp teeth glinting in a small smile, the light of battle in her green eyes.

She was watched by a figure standing in the shadows, a figure which melted into the darkness as she passed by, not wishing to be seen by her again this night.

Alone in his office, Harold stared at the screen intently, his quick brain analysing the projected figures. He’d visited the Barn briefly earlier on as a token gesture of community participation, but had quickly sensed the hostility amongst many of the people present. His quotas were becoming an increasing bone of contention and after a drink at the bar Harold had left to come back to the Hall. It didn’t matter as he wasn’t one for socialising, far preferring the solitude of his office. This was where it all happened; this was the little kernel that kept Stonewylde going.

He was expecting an important e-mail tonight, something so big that the mere thought of it sent a shiver shimmying down his backbone. He’d have to let Yul in on this soon, he knew, but had yet to find a way of broaching the news about his contact and the potentially profitable connections. Harold knew it could make all the difference to Stonewylde’s economic future and was desperate to get the go-ahead from Yul. But Harold also knew Yul’s history, and in his heart he doubted that his dark-haired boss would ever accept this exciting proposal from Outside. And he might even be livid with Harold for all the undercover ground work he’d been engaged in for so long, trying to set this up.

Harold glanced at the connecting door to Yul’s office. He knew Yul and Sylvie had already returned, having heard them as they crossed the entrance hall. By the sound of their angry voices he guessed Yul would be back downstairs soon, sleeping alone on his sofa bed yet again. What had started last year as an occasional habit, necessitated by long and late hours, had increasingly become the norm. Harold had seen the empty bottles being removed from the office in the mornings and knew the marital situation wasn’t good.

But at least Yul’s increased alcohol consumption had meant less interference. As late night working had turned into late night drinking, Yul was allowing Harold more responsibility, giving him a free hand to set up new ideas and schemes. At least Yul understood that Stonewylde needed to move out of the dark ages and join the modern world, become a profit-making organisation and not just a turnip-producing country estate – which is how old die-hards like Clip and Martin would keep it, given the chance.

Harold smiled faintly as he tapped a key and a whole temple of columns appeared on the screen. He loved figures, loved profit analysis, loved the thrill of watching money grow. There was so much untapped potential at Stonewylde. Food and clothing were selling faster than they could be produced. The whole agricultural set-up of Stonewylde needed to be restructured this year; certain goods were so hot they sold out before even reaching the warehouse. And there was so much else to be developed. The stone at Quarrycleave was of beautiful quality. The water from the springhead was equal to any English spring water on the supermarket shelves, and Harold was looking into setting up a bottling plant above the Village to exploit this natural resource. And the Wildwood! The thought of it made Harold’s heart thump a little faster in his chest. This was virgin forest, utterly untouched, and covering vast acres. The wood in there must be worth a fortune, either in its lumber state or, better still, transformed by craftsmen into the highest quality furniture and goods.

Harold was still amazed at how much money was to be made in the luxury market, both at home and especially abroad. The Wildwood was a project he was intending to start soon, convinced he was on to a huge money-spinner. Free resources, free labour – almost pure profit. Yul could be persuaded he was sure, and now there was this other opportunity for partnership as well …

Harold pushed his chair back and stretched. Time for bed. It was late and the youngsters would soon be arriving home, noisy and drunk. He glanced around his office, smiling to himself a little. Several monitors lit the darkened room and the network hummed busily. Harold felt like the queen bee in a hive, sitting at the heart of the community and creating the wealth that fed everyone. All the students had computers linked to the network and at this very moment, thought Harold with uncharacteristic whimsy, they’d all be displaying the Stonewylde.com logo he’d designed – that curly, snake-like S. He felt a thrill of power.

Stonewylde was so huge, had such immense potential for development and so many resources that could be exploited. With Yul on board he could create vast wealth from the natural materials just lying around, like the stone, water and wood. And with the Villagers knuckling down and producing goods to order, he could make vast profits from the fruits of the earth – food, drink, leather, linen, wool. He let his imagination run free for a moment and saw himself at the head of a vast business enterprise utilising hundreds of people, all creating wealth from the natural resources of Stonewylde. And it wasn’t just a dream – it was fast becoming reality. All down to him, a simple Villager who’d risen from his humble origins and grasped every opportunity offered him, including this latest one.

Anxious to see if the e-mail had come through, Harold decided to save his work and close the files he’d been working on. He clicked on save and blinked when nothing happened, no obedient little bars racing to complete the task. The network was bang up to date, all the very latest technology, and always responded instantly. He clicked save again, and the screen turned red. Harold went cold, alarm coursing through his veins and making his fingertips tingle.

‘What the hell?’

Harold pushed his glasses up his nose and once more tried to save his files. His mouth tightened in horror as the figures slowly began to disintegrate before his eyes, melting into the red. The screen scrolled down slowly of its own accord, showing him pages and pages of reports and figures melting away. Files began to open of their own accord and their contents dissolved. Harold sat in the shadowy room staring in disbelief at the dark red screen. A virus! It had to be – despite all the protection in place. He glanced frantically at the other monitors in the room and saw that they too were red. The whole network must be affected – all those computers upstairs, in the schoolrooms, in Yul’s office and Martin’s too – everything must be blighted.

Harold shook his head slowly, devastated at losing all his data, all his work. Totally destroyed – hours, days, weeks of work, all those figures and contacts, projections and accounts, so much invaluable data that could never be replaced. Much was backed up but not all. There was a chance it might be retrievable, of course, but he’d heard about the latest viruses – they infected and destroyed everything, even backed-up files.

And then the message began as Harold gaped in absolute horror at the screen, his vision for Stonewylde’s future in ruins. Slowly growing out of the dark red, one huge black word appeared. It flashed on and off, on and off, almost mesmeric in its intensity, followed by another word and a message:

MAGUS

MALUS

MAGUS

MALUS

I am here

amongst

you




Acknowledgements

My thanks go to:

My son George (for persuading me that Stonewylde couldn’t end at the third book), my other sons Oliver and William and my foster daughter Kirsty – I’m the luckiest mother to have you four behind me.

My fabulous literary agent Piers Russell-Cobb of MediaFund.

Gillian Redfearn, my talented editor at Gollancz.

Jen, Nina, Charlie and all the team at Gollancz and Orion.

My sister Kim for your fantastic help with publicity.

My sister Claire of Helixtree and Rob Walster of Big Blu Design for the beautiful Stonewylde logo.

All my lovely family, close and extended, for your support and enthusiasm.

My friends and ex-colleagues in Dorset – for your encouragement right from the very beginning.

The Stonewylde readers, and especially those in my online community – I can’t thank you all enough. You’ve bought my books, spread the word, travelled to meet me, rooted for me, praised and encouraged me. You’ve made Stonewylde successful and I really hope you all enjoy this fourth book – you’ve waited long enough!

Mr B, my wonderful husband. I saw the crescent but you saw the whole of the moon; I’d have faltered long ago without your faith in me. Thank you xxx