Shadows at Stonewylde

3



The thin, white-haired man gazed out unseeing across the landscape from the Solar at the top of the mediaeval tower. His pale grey eyes were vacant as his thoughts rambled unchecked, like a dragonfly dancing on water. He’d been standing at the pointed window, lost in reverie, for over an hour. His hollow-cheeked face was deeply lined and Clip looked far older than his fifty-three years. His stomach growled with emptiness, which he ignored as he was fasting in preparation for a journey at Samhain. This year he’d decided not to join the community at all for the celebrations. Yul could manage it all, he was sure. Clip would be in the Dolmen alone, in body at least, whilst his spirit journeyed to other realms. He sensed a major change ahead, a shift of events that would affect everyone at Stonewylde. At present he had no idea what was to happen but he hoped to find out at Samhain. He was, after all, the shaman of Stonewylde.

The thirteen years since his brother’s death at Quarrycleave had been tortuous for Clip. He’d only ever wanted to be a shaman, never the leader of such a complex community, and despite being the legal owner of Stonewylde he’d always taken a back seat in the running of the estate. But the death of Magus had been a huge and shocking blow to the community, even to those who’d wanted him gone. In the aftermath, Clip had had to step into the void and assume the role he’d always been happy to leave to his brother. Tough as they were, Yul and Sylvie had been far too young to take charge. But perhaps now, thirteen years on …

There was a knock on the door two floors below which Clip, deep in his dreaming, failed to hear. Cherry bustled in from the corridor connecting this tower to the oldest part of the Hall, the Galleried Hall, and stood at the bottom of the stone spiral staircase looking up.

‘Master Clip!’ she called. ‘May I come up?’

Although the whole tower was private and used exclusively by Clip, he rarely used the circular room on the ground floor where it joined the Hall. The middle floor was his bedroom with a small bathroom enclosed within it, and the top floor – the Solar – was where he spent most of his time surrounded by his books, gongs and collection of sacred objects.

Cherry huffed her way up the staircase carrying a tray and Clip started with surprise as her grey head appeared.

‘You’ve had no food for days now,’ she gasped, her large bosom heaving. She set the tray down with a crash on an old chest, covering the papers and drawings that lay scattered across it. ‘Oh my stars, that don’t get any easier!’

‘Here, sit down and catch your breath, Cherry,’ said Clip quickly, clearing a space for her on the battered sofa. ‘You shouldn’t be carrying heavy trays upstairs, though it’s very kind of you I must say.’

‘Well, a body must eat,’ she wheezed, looking around the circular room with a frown. ‘Oh Master Clip, do let me send someone in to give this place a dusting.’

‘No, Cherry. We’ve discussed this before and you know I don’t like the thought of some youth poking about amongst all my precious things,’ he replied.

‘Then I’ll do it for you!’ she said, shaking her grey head in disapproval. ‘’Tis a mess and all that dust can’t do you no good. I’ve heard your cough many a time, and—’

‘That’s nothing to do with dust,’ he chuckled. ‘That’s too many nights spent out in the cold taking their toll, I’m afraid. No, really, Cherry, please don’t fuss about my tower – you know this is how I like it.’

‘Mmn,’ she muttered. ‘’Tis not fitting for the Master o’ Stonewylde to be living in such a muddle, but there’s naught I can do if you won’t let me clean it. But please do eat some o’ this food. Marigold prepared it specially for you – look, there’s a lovely piece o’ beef pie and some jam sponge pudding too. We don’t like seeing your bones poking out the way they do.’

‘Thank you, Cherry, and please convey my thanks to your sister too. It’s very kind of you both and I’ll eat a little later on. Now, if you’ve got your breath back …’

‘Aye,’ she grunted, heaving herself to her feet, ‘I best be getting along.’

She eyed the collection of African masks suspiciously and tutted at the layer of dust on the desiccated frogs that lined one of the many window-sills.

‘Oh – some books arrived for you,’ she said. ‘They were in the entrance hall but I couldn’t manage them. One o’ the lads’ll bring ’em up later.’

‘Please, Cherry, don’t send people up here,’ said Clip. ‘You know I really don’t like being disturbed.’

‘Aye, well – ‘tis done now. It were Swift in fact and I didn’t ask him – he offered. Now, make sure you eat that and don’t forget to bring the tray back down, will you? Else I’ll have to send someone up for it. I’m not having dirty plates mouldering away in here.’

Clip smiled good-naturedly at her, wishing her gone so he could return to his solitude. She clumped down the stairs and eventually he heard the door on the ground floor shut. He sighed, eyeing the tray of unwanted food with distaste. It was vital to fast before a major journey – the odd apple and handful of hazelnuts were all he’d permit himself – and now he’d have to somehow dispose of this without Cherry noticing. He appreciated her and Marigold’s concern, but it was wearing to be fussed over.

He turned back to the window and then gasped in agony as, without warning, excruciating pain sliced through his abdomen. His eyes darkened with shock and he tried to ride above it, but it gripped him with vicious coils. Clip’s thin body bent double and a long groan escaped. He fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, whimpering as the pain bit deeper and deeper into his guts.

Then it was gone as suddenly as it had come. Clip straightened and took a deep, ragged breath. Was it some sort of omen of things to come? Shakily he stood up, grasping hold of the window ledge to steady himself. He went to a cupboard recessed in the ancient stone walls and selected a bottle of murky liquid. He’d prepared this remedy to ward off the emptiness that gnawed at him before a journey – maybe a draught would ease the cramp. He could cope with hunger but not pain like that. He’d no idea where it had come from and fervently hoped never to encounter it again.

He groaned again as there was another knock at the door downstairs, which this time he heard clearly. The trouble was anyone standing in the corridor on the other side of the heavy oak door couldn’t hear his reply. He’d have to start bolting the door, he decided, as he really hated all these disturbances. The door opened below and a lad’s voice carried up the stairs.

‘Just leave the books down there please!’ called Clip, leaning over the head of the spiral stairs and trying to see where the boy was. Swift – Martin’s son, he thought, always a little hazy on the names and identities of that huge generation. Clip recalled the small pale-haired boy, much younger than Martin’s other children.

‘Oh for goddess’ sake!’ he muttered as he saw a blond head circling up the staircase. ‘Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?’

Swift surprised Clip by being a young man, and he realised with a jolt just how out of touch he was becoming. The youth was slightly built, not tall like Martin, and handsome with straight silvery blond hair that fell into his eyes. He smiled disarmingly at Clip, not in the slightest bit out of breath. He carried a large brown package that looked heavy.

‘Your books!’ he said cheerfully, looking around with interest.

‘Very kind of you,’ said Clip. ‘Just put them down on that chair. Thanks for bringing them up for me, Swift.’

‘My pleasure,’ said the lad charmingly. ‘And you remember who I am!’

‘Well, I—’

‘It’s a beautiful place, your tower. I love all your collections.’

To Clip’s dismay, the lad put the books down and sank onto the sofa with another grin.

‘I’d love to hear about your travels one day,’ he said. ‘Father says you’ve travelled all over the world and I know your Story Webs are full of tales from different cultures, but you never talk about where you’ve been.’

‘No, I suppose not. Though my travels in recent years have been negligible.’

‘You must miss it,’ said Swift sympathetically.

‘Yes, I do. It’s all I ever really wanted to do, but somehow …’ Clip spread his hands and shrugged in a gesture of acceptance at his fate.

‘Father says that life doesn’t always work out as we expect,’ nodded Swift. ‘But surely you can take time out now and go travelling again?’

‘Yes, I’m hoping that next year, when—’ Clip stopped abruptly, realising he shouldn’t confide his plans to this boy before telling anyone else.

‘Next year you’ll go travelling again? That’s great! Where were you thinking of going?’

Swift smiled encouragingly but Clip shook his head, frowning down at his thick felt slippers.

‘Nowhere. I didn’t mean that. Now, Swift, if you don’t mind …’

‘I wanted to ask you something,’ said the boy quickly, flicking the long straight hair out of his eyes. ‘It’s a bit of a strange request, but I wondered if I might call you “uncle”?’

‘Uncle?’ Clip stared at him.

‘Yes, because according to my grandmother that’s what you are – my uncle.’

Clip was completely dumbfounded at this and continued to stare at the lad. Swift looked up candidly at the tall, careworn man with his lined face and faraway pale-grey wolf’s eyes.

‘I was visiting Granny Violet yesterday,’ he said. ‘Father sends me round there with things for her, and she was talking about you – her and my Great-Aunt Vetchling and Aunt Starling. Granny said you used to like her cakes.’

Clip nodded ruefully at this.

‘Granny’s annoyed that Marigold makes the ceremony cakes nowadays – she said in Magus’ time it was her job?’

‘That’s right – it’s one of the things Yul changed when he became magus.’

‘She’s still upset about losing the job even though it was so long ago – she felt honoured to do it in the past. Anyway, she was talking about the old days which she does a lot, and she wanted to know how you were doing.’

‘Really?’

Clip shuddered involuntarily at the thought of the crone. He hadn’t had many dealings with her over the years, still remembering clearly how she’d spoken to him that terrible Winter Solstice Eve up at Hare Stone. Clip recalled how she’d frozen him to the spot and frightened him with her dabbling in Dark Magic. He recognised the malignant power Old Violet held and wanted nothing to do with her or the other women in her household.

‘She was talking,’ continued Swift blithely, ‘about how you and Father were half-brothers.’

‘Oh.’

Clip had no idea how to respond to this. There’d always been talk and speculation, and knowing that perhaps Martin was his half-brother had certainly coloured Clip’s judgement about keeping him on at Stonewylde to run the Hall; he felt he owed the man some familial loyalty. But Violet had never made it public knowledge before that he and Martin shared the same father. He wondered vaguely why she would do so now?

‘Yes, so I reckon that makes me your nephew and you my uncle, and I wanted to be allowed to call you Uncle Clip. Is that okay then? You don’t mind?’

Clip shook his head helplessly, unable to think of a good reason to object, but still sensing something not quite right about the situation. What was Old Violet up to?

‘I suppose if your grandmother chooses to make it known that your father and I are half-brothers …’

‘Thanks!’ said Swift, standing up. ‘I’ll leave you in peace then, Uncle Clip. Hope you enjoy your new books, and maybe I could come and see you again sometime? I’m really interested to hear about your travels and look at all the stuff you’ve got up here.’

Clip smiled briefly, and then his eyes fell upon the unwanted tray.

‘Can you get rid of that for me please, Swift? Discreetly though – don’t let Marigold or Cherry see.’

As soon as the boy had gone Clip decided to escape his tower before anyone else could come barging in. He slipped a cloak over his thin robe, having abandoned ordinary clothes completely several years before, and changed his green felt slippers for the traditional brown leather Stonewylde boots. Taking his ash staff and a small flaxen bag, for Mother Earth was ever bountiful and sometimes offered the most unexpected treasures, he opened the door leading to the flat roof of his tower. From this vantage point, gazing out across the vast expanse of roofs and chimneys of the Hall, he soaked up the golden October sunshine of late afternoon and let his vision roam across Stonewylde.

The trees that massed around the Hall were every shade and hue of gold, daily shedding their final fruits, seeds and leaves onto the waiting soil. All the crops were safely gathered and the autumn sowing completed. Clip turned about slowly on the crenellated roof of the tower, which offered views over the Hall and parkland, but also the woods and farmland too. With one hand shading his eyes he looked across at the hazy fields, in soft gold focus, and reflected on the success of Stonewylde as a self-sufficient community. The cows had been brought down into the close pastures for over-wintering, the lambs were well-grown to face the cold months ahead and the geese were fattening for Yule. The slaughter of the pigs had begun in earnest now for some mediaeval methods were still interwoven with modern farming techniques, although the pork was no longer laid into salt barrels for preservation. Instead it was cured as bacon and ham or frozen in the vast freezer houses – powered by the wind-turbines – that stored so much of Stonewylde’s produce.

He liked this phase of the Wheel of the Year, with the old year drawing to a close at Samhain. Even the frugal Clip appreciated the security of knowing all the produce and foods were now safely harvested and stored for the winter months ahead. He knew this was a very busy time for everyone. The tanners were working flat out to cope with the influx of animal skins waiting to be processed into leather. The flax, harvested in the summer and put to one side after retting, was now being dyed and woven on the hand looms that graced almost every cottage. Wool sheared in the late spring had been cleaned and dyed, and then either put aside for felting or to be spun into yarn. Every evening the click of wooden knitting needles could be heard throughout the Village and the Hall as new garments were made.

Diligence was still a virtue at Stonewylde and self-sufficiency from the Outside World still held sway. The people took pride in feeding and clothing themselves well and, despite the many changes since Magus’ demise, consumerism had not taken a hold and traditional values had been maintained. The biggest difference was that the Hallfolk no longer lived off the backs of the Villagers; all had an equal share in the work and in the bounty of the community, and Clip’s sense of moral justice was delighted at this. In the old days he’d often felt rather uncomfortable about the polarity of Stonewylde’s society.

Clip descended carefully down the other stone stairway that helter-skeltered around the outside of the tower, the ancient steps worn and shiny. He slipped away from the Hall, nestling like a great golden creature amongst the trees and lawns, and made his way up into the hills behind it. The sun felt good on his face and he forgot the earlier slash of pain that had so taken him by surprise. Long legs stretching, he quickly covered the distance and began to climb. After a while, with no thought to where he was heading, Clip found himself walking along the path that led to the Hare Stone.

He came here every so often, for since the Winter Solstice Eve thirteen years ago it had become a magical place for him. He’d seen his daughter moon-dance here for the first time, in her scarlet cloak within a ring of Woodsmen guarding her from danger. Here she’d honoured the rising of the Frost Moon whilst Magus had fought the final battle with his son up at Quarrycleave. Clip had never forgotten the thrill of seeing Sylvie stretch her moon-wings, stand on tiptoe and launch herself into the spiral dance, singing her ethereal song that had no words, with the silver moon reflected in her strange eyes. The sight of the hares leaping around her, the barn owl swooping low, and her hair swirling in a silver halo was something he’d carry to his grave.

Now Clip wandered up the hill past the outcrops of rocks and boulders that lay strewn below the summit and remembered the other event of that night, when Sylvie had sensed danger on the hill. He recalled the terror he’d felt as the three women had risen up from nowhere in a flurry of darkness and wickedness, and petrified him where he stood. The sight of Starling and Vetchling crushing his daughter whilst Violet capered about with a knife ready to cut her had been dreadful, and even today Clip felt uneasy about what had taken place there. The three hags had kept their heads down over the years, but Swift’s remarks today had shaken Clip. Why was Violet acknowledging Martin’s paternity after all this time?

Clip reached the great standing stone at the top of the hill and leant back against the rock, feeling the peculiar comfort that such sacred stones bring. He was alive to the energy of the place, receiving it and yet not diminishing it. As he stood gazing across at the sea in the distance, mist began to swirl in from the fields below. It came slowly at first, soft tendrils extending cool fingers across the warm land but gathering in mass as more cold air poured in from the sea shore. Being right on the coast and backed by hills, Stonewylde had its own microclimate which could change with remarkable speed.

His thoughts were still of Sylvie, not as she’d been all those years ago but as she was today. He loved her dearly although found this difficult to express. He and his younger brother had led a cold and unloved childhood and Clip was well aware of his stunted emotional nature, though he hoped Sylvie knew how deeply he cared for her. He’d been worried about her lately. Wrapped up though he was in his world of dreams and shadows, and bogged down in reality by the responsibility of leading Stonewylde, even he’d noticed the aura of sadness about her. She was such a gentle soul, very like him in many ways, although not cursed with the weaknesses he so despised in himself. He’d tried to shield her from the relentless duty that ownership of such a vast place entailed.

He knew that Yul, now almost twenty-nine years old and experienced and well educated, was ready and desperately keen to officially don the mantle of full leadership. Yul was a strong and intelligent man and Clip knew he could pass on the responsibility with complete confidence. Yul had the same talent for leadership as his father, but without the vices. And yet … something wasn’t quite right. Sylvie was unhappy and until he’d unravelled the problem, maybe he should hold on just a little longer. He didn’t doubt Yul’s love and passion for his beautiful wife, but if she was sad there must be a good reason.

His decision made, Clip closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the stone at his back and the coolness of the autumn mist below. Reality began to spiral away. He embraced the familiar trance sensations so easily conjured after a lifetime of journeying into other realms. With so much hallucinogen residue in his system, it was often difficult to distinguish between what was real and what was not – and even more difficult to care. For after all – what was reality other than just another layer of meaning?

*

He saw a beautiful golden hare, her eyes amber and her fur flecked with all shades of autumn, sitting in a pool of sunlight. Her great ears stood upright with the dark tips slightly bent outward and she looked him straight in the eye.

He glanced up above the clearing in the woods at a circling bird of prey. The buzzard mewed and called as it floated on the thermals, white wing markings clearly visible. Many corvids perched up in the branches watching the hare intently, then the great hawk let out a piercing cry and all the birds flew up out of the trees.

Now it was night time but still the hare waited, ears and whiskers twitching. She watched as the Green Man appeared from the dusky shadows, his wild hair wreathed with leaves. Together the hare and the man gazed up at the darkening sky as the full moon rose and the Goddess as Mother walked silently in the fields of the starry heavens.

But the air became cold with a terrible, black iciness, and then it was coming – an unmentionable evil that lurched and dragged itself from the Wildwood and out into the open, making all hope and beauty wilt. Slowly it slithered across the silver moon, eclipsing the brightness till all was dark and crimson. The woodland shrivelled and everything began to wither; the Green Man bowed his head in sorrow at the decay all around him. Only the hare remained undaunted, and then suddenly she leapt, her golden eyes gleaming with star fire and magic, as she flew up into the dark night sky straight into the deep blood-red eye of the moon …

With a jolt Clip came back to the misty autumn afternoon and found himself surrounded by a sea of fog. It lapped around the island of Hare Stone where he stood with his back against the stone. The sun blazed brightly above him, failing to penetrate the cold mist that crept up from the lower ground. Clip felt his heart race from the vision he’d seen, cloaked as it was in symbolism and mystery. He’d never unravel its meaning directly – it must be approached obliquely and deciphered piece by piece – but he still felt the prickle of terror roused by the evil thing lumbering from its lair.

He blinked in the glare reflected off the white blanket below, and then a strange sight caught his eye. Was he was still dreaming? Further down the hill he saw a head, seemingly disembodied in the thick mist; a head that bobbed about as it climbed slowly towards him. It was Yul, but Yul as a boy, when his hair was wild and full of curls and bits of leaves. Then the head looked up and he saw the face, small and elfin, with pointed features and slanted green eyes that widened as they recognised him. The mouth parted to reveal sharp white teeth stretched into a gasp of shock. Not Yul at all but Yul’s youngest sister – who looked as if she were about to turn and flee.

‘Stop! Come up here!’ called Clip, raising his staff.

She hesitated, obviously wanting to disobey, but then slowly approached him and emerged from the mist. She kept her head down and stood before him, tiny next to his lanky height.

‘Blessings,’ he said, trying desperately to remember her name. He was terrible with names and Yul had such a large family with all those brothers whom he always muddled up. But this girl he really ought to remember, Maizie’s last one … there was the older sister Rosie and this girl … Leveret!

‘Blessings,’ she mumbled, fidgeting nervously.

‘A very thick and sudden mist, Leveret,’ he said conversationally, wishing now that he hadn’t called her up here. Too late he remembered she was a strange girl, not like her mother or sister who were sociable and chatty. He doubted he’d ever spoken to her much and he felt uncomfortable being alone with her now, especially as she wouldn’t meet his eye. He noticed she wore a very coarse flaxen tunic and leggings, with sandals on her feet and a bag like his own in her hand. Dressed so simply, she looked like the Stonewylde children of old. The young people had become more fashion conscious as they began to visit the Outside World regularly after the age of fifteen, but Leveret was pure Stonewylde right down to her dirty hands and the smears of lichen on her cheeks.

‘What’ve you got in your bag?’ he asked gently. ‘Have you been collecting cob nuts?’

‘Nothing!’ she said quickly, gripping the bag tighter.

‘Don’t be shy – let me see,’ he insisted and reached to take the flax bag. As his fingers brushed her hand she cried out and he felt a jolt like an electric shock. She moaned and then, to his dismay, she crumpled. He caught her and stood awkwardly holding her limp body upright, before deciding to set her down on the grass. He had no idea what was wrong with her; her breathing was deep and rasping and her eyes had rolled up in their sockets with only the whites showing. Clip was extremely ill at ease and smoothed the tousled dark curls away from her face, which was now sheened with perspiration. She was trembling quite severely.

‘Leveret! Leveret, it’s alright,’ he said softly, at a loss for what to do. He racked his brain, trying to remember if Maizie or Yul had ever mentioned fainting fits. He looked down at her carefully and was struck again by her strong likeness to Yul as a boy.

Then, as suddenly as she’d collapsed, the fit was over and her eyes rolled back to normal. She gazed up at him blankly.

‘The serpent in your belly will poison you,’ she whispered. ‘You have one year, Son of Raven.’

‘What?’ he gasped. ‘What do you mean?’

She shook her head in confusion.

‘Did you see the evil?’ she asked, her voice barely audible. ‘Did you feel it? It’s coming – it’ll eclipse everything good at Stonewylde and it’s coming for us now.’

She shuddered, and he saw tears well in the corners of her clear green eyes.

‘Sit up now, Leveret,’ he said firmly, trying to pull her upright. ‘Sit up and snap out of this.’

A few minutes later she was back to normal and looking embarrassed.

‘Do you do this often, go into a trance?’ Clip asked as they made their way together down the hill. She shrugged.

‘I used to pass out quite a lot, I think, although I could never remember it. Mother called it my blanknesses and Hazel calls it absences, but I thought it was getting better. Please don’t tell Mother or she’ll make a fuss and keep me cooped up even more.’

He nodded – she hadn’t come to any harm, after all.

‘You never did show me what you’d collected,’ he said.

She grimaced, still reluctant, but passed her bag to him.

‘Fly Agaric!’ he exclaimed, looking inside the bag at the large, brilliant red toadstool with its white spots. ‘What a beauty! But you know that’s not allowed, Leveret. What are you going to do with it?’

She looked up at him solemnly and he was struck by the strange beauty of her green eyes framed with dark, glossy curls.

‘You know what I’m going to do with it – why does anyone gather such a thing? It’s for Samhain. But please, please don’t tell on me. I’d get into such trouble and I do know what I’m doing, I promise. Please?”

He smiled down at her, liking her all of a sudden. She was very different and it must be hard for her living in her brother’s shadow. Yet she had a quiet confidence that implied she did indeed know what she was doing, so he nodded.

‘Alright, I won’t say a word. But be very careful, Leveret – we both know how powerful Fly can be. You know how to prepare it? Only take a very tiny amount. And one more thing – in return for my silence.’

‘Yes?’ she asked, looking up into his kindly face.

‘Show me where you found it. It’s the best specimen I’ve seen this year.’