Shadows at Stonewylde

7



Asmall fire burnt in the mouth of the cave keeping the darkness and cold at bay. The guardian owl sprinkled something onto the flames which crackled blue and green and the temple filled with aromatic smoke, heavenly in its sweetness. She breathed deeply and laid her head down again in the darkness, comforted by the fire and the owl. He wore a strange cloak of dark feathers but had a silver head, and he crouched by the entrance protecting her. Already he’d saved her from the waters, carrying her in his wings high into the hills to this temple cave where she was warm and safe. Curled up on a coarse old blanket and a bed of crispy bracken she smiled and let her mind roam free.

Some time later she became aware that her owl was completely still and silent, sitting sentry at the mouth of the Dolmen. She heard his deep, rhythmic breathing in the darkness and knew his mind was travelling, roaming, journeying. She hoped his wings were carrying him to great heights, soaring above the everyday and into the realms of dream. She’d been there herself tonight, to the place between the worlds where all is shadow and smoke. Despite the rush of terror the place induced she loved it, glimpsing things beyond her knowledge and experience, feeling the thrill of the mystery. But now there was a strange feeling – a pulling and tugging at her soul. There was something she should be doing now, something very important, but she’d forgotten what it was. Her eyelids grew heavy as she felt herself drift away again.

*

The black-robed figures dragged the heavy burdens around the labyrinth, lurching in the soft earth. On their sledges the five white-clad bodies lay motionless, already close to death from exposure to the crisp night air. In the centre stood the masked figure representing the Bird, who led the Death Dance. The Bird looked up and noted the hundreds of black birds perched on the standing stones and jostling in the trees around the Stone Circle. That was how it should be; raven, crow, rook, jackdaw, starling and blackbird. All were here to pay their respects to the Dark Angel, having left the labyrinth in the Village Green once the great bonfire had been lit for the wheel-turn dance.

The Bird nodded and continued chanting, calling upon the Dark Angel to visit tonight, to walk this labyrinth of death and take with him those souls ready to depart. Soon this part of the ceremony would be over as the people pulling the sledges reached the centre of the labyrinth and left their white burdens there, arranged around the funeral pyre ready for the cup which the Bird would offer them. Then came the long vigil through the dark hours of night until dawn.

Over by the Altar Stone the two crones were silently watching the sledges’ inexorable progress. Tonight they’d performed a special ceremony; using the powerful magic of the Dark Moon, they’d cast a great circle within the Stone Circle itself and marked the five points of the pentangle. They’d summoned the elements, calling upon the powers of earth, air, fire, water and spirit. They’d raised the energy and even now it was spiralling deeper and stronger, strengthened by the sacred pattern within the labyrinth, by the chanting and the drumming, by the fear of those taking part in the Dance of Death. It was negative energy, a dark malignant energy, whose climax would be reached at midnight when the Wheel of the Year notched full circle and Samhain flowered fully into dreadful bloom. Then the gateway into the Otherworld would be wide open momentarily and the invitation could be made.

Already the veil was thin and gauzy, allowing tantalising glimpses into the place where the dead walked. Already contact had been made with those who’d passed on, those who crowded at the door looking back. There were many waiting, layer upon layer of faces jostling for a glimpse of all they’d left behind, hoping their loved ones were also waiting on their side to greet them. A glimpse was all they could hope for because the portal was one way only, living to dead. Unless … unless the magic could be raised by those who knew how, who knew the right words and the right rituals. And two such ones did know, the two who waited patiently by the Altar Stone watching the energy growing, waiting for midnight. Then the invitation would be made under the spell of the Dark Moon, and maybe it would be received and accepted by the one to whom it was made. Maybe he’d be able to cross back into the world of the living and walk once more upon the earth of the goddess. Maybe, if the ritual was perfect and the will was strong.

In the Village the celebrations were in full swing. The huge bonfire in the playing fields still blazed but the initial conflagration had died down to a white heat. Smaller cooking fires burned low all around, the forgotten fragments of food burning to a crisp. The air was rich with the smells of roasting meat, baked potatoes and toasted chestnuts. The damp grass had been trampled by many feet shuffling and dancing in great circles, faces scorched by the inferno and hearts leaping with excitement. Samhain was a wonderful festival enjoyed by most at Stonewylde.

Older children still raced around outside in their black cloaks. Some wore masks and others had paint daubed on their faces, scaring each other and chasing around like kittens in the wind. Everyone had feasted well and the majority were now inside the Great Barn dancing and drinking. The younger ones had been taken home or to the Nursery and put to bed, away from all the wild behaviour.

The doors of the Great Barn were flung open to the night for it was very hot inside. The Jack o’ Lanterns flickered and grinned wickedly and the papier-mâché birds and skulls fluttered in the hot air. The musicians were playing frenziedly; the whole place shook with the vibrations of noise and thundering feet. Maizie sat in a quieter corner with Rosie and Robin, sipping miserably at her glass of elderberry wine.

‘Mother, do stop fretting about her,’ said Rosie, patting Maizie’s hand. ‘Remember what Sweyn said? She was all dozy and he splashed her to wake her up and then she went off with Clip. So we know she’ll be safe.’

‘But why did she leave the Barn? Where is she now?’

‘She’s probably up at the Hall. You said she looked strange – he’s doubtless taken her somewhere quiet. We all know how stubborn and difficult Leveret can be, but I can’t think of a safer pair of hands than Clip’s – you know how gentle he is.’

‘Dratted girl! She’s completely ruined Samhain with her antics,’ muttered Maizie. ‘Tis a difficult time anyway, with all the memories …’

‘Just forget it, Mother Maizie,’ said Robin. ‘She doesn’t have to spoil it for you – for all of us – so forget Leveret and drink up.’

‘Aye, come and have a dance, Mother, and cheer up,’ said Rosie, knowing that Robin had just about had enough of Maizie’s fretting. ‘I’ll talk to Leveret in the morning and we’ll get Yul involved too. She’s behaving terribly at the moment but we’ll sort her out.’

Sweyn, Gefrin and Jay stood by the bar where the enormous oak barrels and smaller kegs were lined up, drinking cider by the tankard. They’d already had a great deal but this was Samhain and it was usual for the young men to drink themselves to the floor. They were flushed and over-excited; Sweyn in particular was sweating like a pig. Earlier on he’d told the others about his run-in with Clip and they’d sympathised with him. None of them liked Clip much, for he represented the old and traditional element of Stonewylde, the voice of reason and moderation. News of his intended departure during the coming year had spread like wildfire and the trio were drinking to celebrate this fortunate turn of events.

‘Here’s to the old fart leaving once and for all!’ cried Gefrin, spilling as much cider as he swallowed and not caring one bit.

‘I wish I could bob his head in the apple water right now!’ roared Sweyn. He gulped at his tankard and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Bloody old fool, interfering like that. How dare he? She’s my sister and I’ll do what I like to keep her in line, as Mother asked. Who does he think he is interfering with family business? She was only getting a little wet, after all.’

‘We’ll get her another day,’ said Gefrin, grinning with anticipation. ‘She’ll wish Clip had left well alone by the time we’ve finished with her.’

‘Count me in too,’ said Jay, swaying on his feet. ‘I can’t stand her. She looks at me all funny with those nasty green cat’s eyes and it gives me the bloody creeps. There’s something weird about her and she’s always hanging about with that half-wit cousin of mine, which ain’t natural. Magpie’s crazy and so’s she. If she needs sorting out I’ll help.’

They raised their tankards to this and downed what was left. As they waited by the barrels for their turn to refill, they noticed Swift across the floor.

‘Hey, Swift! Over here!’

The slim blond youth somehow heard them over the hubbub and made his way towards them. He was in his last year at school and was clever and quick, having grown up with the run of the Hall where his father worked, seeing and hearing a great deal. He was the mastermind behind many pranks and escapades and lads like Sweyn, Gefrin and Jay treated him with respect.

‘Come and have another tankard with us!’ Jay yelled over the noise. Swift looked at the flushed and bleary-eyed trio and smiled his acceptance, but whilst they downed their cider, he merely sipped.

‘We were just drinking to Clip buggering off next year,’ continued Jay, his bright blue eyes bulging just as his father’s had done. Jay was remarkably like Jackdaw; tall and strongly built with well-developed muscles and a bullet-shaped head. He also shared Jackdaw’s brutish disposition and threw a heavy arm around the younger boy’s shoulders.

‘Come on, mate – drink up! We was thinking on how things’d change when Clip’s gone and Yul’s fully in charge.’

‘If he is,’ muttered Swift.

‘What?’ Jay could barely hear him over the noise.

‘I said “if”. Maybe Yul won’t be in charge.’

The three others stared at Swift in confusion. He grinned enigmatically and beckoned them to move away from the bar and into a quieter spot where they sat down on log stools.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sweyn. ‘Who else’d be in charge?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Swift. ‘It’s just something I overheard. Not everyone here likes Yul as much as he thinks they do. Sorry, I know he’s your brother.’

‘Half-brother. Yeah, well, I’m not too keen on him myself, to be honest. He’s never done me no favours.’

‘Nor me,’ agreed Gefrin. ‘Too high and mighty and he treats us like fools. I don’t like him at all but don’t tell Mother that. He’s always been her favourite.’

‘What about you, Jay?’

Jay glared belligerently, his eyes dull with alcohol and a sense of injustice.

‘Old Violet and my Aunt Starling and Granny Vetchling, they told me my father died thanks to Yul. Yul were protected by the old crone Mother Heggy and she helped him become magus. It was her crow as pecked my father’s eyes out up on that bloody stone at Mooncliffe and killed him. My dad was only doing what the old Magus told him – he were Magus’ right-hand man, Granny Vetchling said, and it ain’t true what everyone says about him. So no, I don’t like Yul.’

Swift nodded.

‘Yes, I’ve heard that too. So none of you are for Yul then? If there was someone else ready to step in, you’d support him?’

‘Too right! Why, who is it?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Swift. ‘It’s just something I heard. But we’re ready, aren’t we, if the time comes? I don’t like Yul myself – arrogant bastard. Look at Martin, my father – he’s worked hard all his life and he has to kow-tow to Yul and treat him like the master. My father remembers when Yul was just a Village woodsman. He remembers your father, Alwyn, beating the shit out of him, and the old magus too, both of them having a good go. They locked Yul up in a stable and practically killed him, Father said. Yul was nothing then, in fact he had to answer to my father and it’s not right that my father has to take orders from him now.’

‘Is that what Uncle Martin says? I didn’t know he felt like that,’ said Jay.

‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Swift hurriedly. ‘I mean, I’ve never heard him say that directly because he wouldn’t speak out against the magus. He’s very loyal – too bloody loyal. He should think of himself instead of serving others. He’s just as much right to run Stonewylde as they have, after all. But don’t say anything about this, will you? It’s secret, confidential.’

The three nodded solemnly.

‘We won’t say a word,’ said Gefrin.

‘I’d like Yul out of the way,’ said Sweyn slowly, the implications dawning on him. ‘He’s never liked me and I’d be free to do what I like. Sort out that ugly little bitch of a sister once and for all. Yeah, I’d like that.’

‘What about Kestrel?’ asked Jay, thinking of the ring-leader of their group. ‘Does he know about this?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Swift. ‘He knows and he feels the same.’

‘Where is he anyway?’

Swift laughed and got up from the stool.

‘Can’t you guess? He was with Primrose at the feast so chances are they went to the hayloft. I’m sure he’ll be done soon and then he’ll come in for a drink.’

‘Where are you off to?’ asked Jay.

‘Oh, just wandering about.’

But Swift knew exactly where he was going. Midnight wasn’t far off and something was happening at the Stone Circle tonight. He didn’t know what but he intended to find out.

*

Yul stood quietly in the shadows of a great stone buttress, breathing deeply of the night. It was so hot and noisy inside the Barn and he’d been dancing for hours, trying to spend time with everyone. The ceremony in the Village Green labyrinth had gone very well but as always he was drained afterwards. The feeling he experienced as the Earth Magic poured into him from its serpent source was exhilarating, flooding him until he felt he would burst. Then he must share the magic with everyone and this was the exhausting part. There were so many words of the ritual to remember, all to be chanted perfectly in harmony with the drums. By the end of the ceremony Yul always felt completely worn out, and then he must start socializing.

All he wanted to do now was go home to bed and sleep with Sylvie by his side. He closed his eyes with longing at the thought of it, imagining the silkiness of her skin and the smell of her silvery hair. She’d already left for the Hall, also worn out by the heat and noise. He’d seen her signalling that she was leaving whilst he was dancing with one of the teachers. He hadn’t liked to cut the dance short but wished she’d stayed so they could be together. He hated Samhain night and Sylvie was the one person he could confide in. Over the years she’d helped him deal with his terrors until gradually they’d receded and become manageable. Nobody knew exactly what he’d gone through that fateful Samhain all those years ago, but she understood better than most. She knew he still had nightmares about it, and understood the fear that memories could arouse.

Yul knew it must be approaching midnight and then he could say his farewells and walk up the track to the Hall. He wandered away from the Barn and onto the Village Green, gazing up at the brilliant stars overhead. They were so much brighter in the black, moonless skies and he felt a shudder of excitement which overcame his Samhain fears. He’d always felt this when the Dark Magic was strongest but kept it hidden, for most people at Stonewylde only celebrated the Moon Fullness and were a little nervous of the Dark Moon. As he stepped into the labyrinth of white pebbles he felt a tug at his soul. Midnight was close and the magic was strong. He felt its power thrilling through his veins, re-energising him all over again.

Yul walked along the winding labyrinth path towards the wicker dome in the centre, deciding he should be in there at midnight. He wanted to talk to the dead and hopefully get a glimpse of old Mother Heggy. It’d happened a couple of times since her death almost thirteen years ago and he hoped that as it was the Dark Moon as well this year maybe he’d be lucky again. He still missed her wisdom and loyalty. He wished she’d lived long enough to see him as the new magus and to be proud of all he’d achieved since his sixteenth birthday.

He reached the dome and bent almost double to enter. Inside it was still rich with aromatic smoke. The black feathers hanging from the roof brushed his face as he sat down on the mats. He crossed his legs, straightened his back and closed his eyes, calling upon the power of Samhain and the Dark Moon to give him a glimpse of Mother Heggy, maybe even let him speak to her through the veil of death that separated his living world from the Otherworld. He shivered suddenly and felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. Despite its emptiness, he knew suddenly that he wasn’t alone in the wicker dome.

Sylvie had almost reached the beech-lined gravel drive leading up to the Hall. She knew she should’ve stayed by Yul’s side until the end, but watching him dancing endlessly with every woman at Stonewylde or stand around drinking cider with all the men was difficult. She must wait patiently, smiling at everyone, dancing with the men, ignoring the looks many women gave her husband and pretending she didn’t mind. She knew it was ridiculous, that he was only doing his duty as magus, but she still remembered Holly and how the girl had thrown herself at Yul. That was all so long ago now but Sylvie hated being reminded of her jealousy and negativity. So rather than hang around uselessly in the Barn watching people drinking, she’d decided to go to bed. It’d be peaceful and quiet as everyone was still down in the Village and hopefully Yul would come back soon too and leave the others to their revelry.

As she walked under the great beech trees, finally relinquishing their hold on their leaves, Sylvie breathed deeply of the cool night air. She remembered walking along this drive with Professor Siskin, and that funny way he had of skipping with excitement, babbling on about his theories and research. She wished so much that he were still alive. She often worried that her invitation to return to Stonewylde had hastened his death and wished she could see him and say sorry.

Sylvie felt his presence close as she walked along the crunchy gravel, almost sensed him by her side, a good head shorter than her and struggling to keep up with her long-legged strides. Her skin begin to prickle and she had the overwhelming feeling that he actually was walking beside her, his head cocked to one side like the little bird he was named for.

‘Professor Siskin, I’m sorry,’ she whispered. Tears choked her throat and her skin crawled with a strange emotion – almost dread. She stared straight ahead, terrified that if she did turn to look she’d see him there.

‘No matter, my dear, no matter,’ he would’ve said. Did he say it? Was she imagining the voice or was it really there? ‘Be careful, Sylvie, and look to yourself. You must fight all over again, my dear girl. You must be so strong in the dark times ahead.’

In the dark cave Leveret stirred again on her bed of dried bracken. The fire had died low and Clip still sat near the entrance, motionless in the light of the glowing embers, his mind far away from his body. He was protecting her and yet she felt alone in the darkness. She struggled to remember something vital that she’d forgotten and then, in a moment of lucidity, she realised where she was – up in the Dolmen with Clip, with the red and white magic of Fly Agaric coursing through her. But it was so late. This should’ve happened in the afternoon, so that in the evening she could …

It hit her like a punch to the stomach. It was Samhain! She’d prepared everything so she could cast a circle in the old hovel, try her very first spell, and contact Mother Heggy. Yet here she was miles away in a stone cave up in the hills with the owner of Stonewylde, her mind still spiralling out of control from the effects of the mushroom. Leveret cried out loud, a sound of utter despair. It was the Dark Moon and Samhain – goddess knew when the two would coincide again. She was in the wrong place with none of the things she needed for the spell, and she sensed with the inner Stonewylde knowledge that it was only minutes away from the magic hour of midnight. The veil would be drawn aside very soon and there was nothing she could do. She’d missed her chance to call upon Mother Heggy for help to become the new Wise Woman.

Leveret struggled to sit up in the darkness, just able to make out the motionless shape of Clip in his black-feathered cloak at the mouth of the cave. She hung her head in misery – how could she have been so stupid? How could she have misjudged it so badly? She buried her face in her hands, curls hanging down. Something brushed her shoulders in sympathy, a brief, light touch on her bent back. Leveret stiffened, too frightened to look up for fear of what she might see. She tasted words, words that danced towards her on dark wings.

‘Little hare, I’m waiting for you. You’re the dark one with the gift and you won’t walk alone. I’m here, waiting and watching.’

She felt something brush her cheek and shrank in terror. Was she imagining all this? She must still be hallucinating. Slowly she lowered her hands from her face, and in her lap she found a black feather.

A wind had sprung up, starting as a slight breeze but increasing in intensity. The leaves on the Village Green stirred and then began to dance across the grass. Youngsters still fooling about outside felt the coolness on their overheated skin and began to think they’d had enough. They made their way back to the Barn where the Jack o’ Lanterns flickered precariously in the steady draught. Out of the blue came a really sharp gust of wind and many of the guttering flames were extinguished in an instant. People gasped as it suddenly became much darker inside and the Samhain decorations took on a more sinister cast.

Inside the wicker dome Yul felt the wind pushing through the gaps. The hanging black feathers fluttered and spun around him. His dark curls lifted from his forehead in the gusts and he breathed deeply, feeling wild and free. He loved the elements and the touch of this wild wind made him want to leap on Skydancer and gallop hard along the Dragon’s Back ridgeway. He felt the muscles in his legs tensing and laughed as the breeze suddenly tore through the wicker and snatched his breath away.

Sylvie sensed the leaves falling all around her as she walked under the beech trees, the breeze sighing mournfully in the branches, louder and louder and whipping her black cloak out behind her in a sudden gust. She was glad to reach the massive oak door in the porch and tug it open, holding it tightly so it didn’t swing back in the strengthening wind. She crossed the vast entrance hall, unusually deserted, and started up the wide stairs, her fingers brushing the oak banister rail. Only a couple of dim night-lights burned and it was deathly quiet in the Hall. Everyone must still be down in the Village or already in their beds.

She felt the size of the building around her, so huge and silent. Turning at the top of the stairs into the dark corridor that ran the length of the huge front block, Sylvie opened the heavy door leading into the sitting room of their apartments. It was pitch black inside and she padded silently across the carpet towards a table lamp by the cold fireplace, craving the warmth and reassurance of light. Outside, the wind battered against the diamond window panes, moaning and rattling at the glass. Sylvie shivered in her grey and black robes and felt an inkling of why Yul disliked Samhain so much.

Up in the Stone Circle the flames in the red lanterns danced in the gusting wind. The five white figures, supine on the sledges, were motionless; only the material of their thin tunics moved in the breeze. The Bird and the crones, with the robed figures who’d dragged the sledges into the centre and a few chosen others, all stood within the circle of salt cast inside the Stone Circle. They’d been dancing for a while, weeks of preparation paying off as they cried their chant perfectly to the dark night, singing the words wildly and raising the energy to screaming pitch. The thirteen now stood breathing heavily after their frenzied cavorting, arms raised in supplication to the black skies. The wind howled around them and then there was a rumble of thunder, long and low, from beyond the hills.

‘He comes, sister!’ cried Violet, the words snatched from her mouth by the rising wind. Long grey straggles of hair whipped from under her hood across her face.

‘’Tis thunder,’ said Vetchling. ‘Only the thunder.’

‘Nay, you fool! He is of the elements and he rides the storm, he is the storm. He’s coming to our midst, sister, and we must be prepared to greet him. The Dark Magic has worked, as I knew it would.’

Vetchling shook her head, still unsure. She looked across at the Bird who stood with upturned face and raised hands, his mask in place. Slowly he started to turn on the spot, chanting as he did, creating a black vortex of movement. The thunder rumbled again, much louder this time, and Violet chuckled. There was a flicker of blue light behind the hills as the charged air sought to send its energy to the earth. This time Vetchling cackled with glee too.

‘You speak true, sister – he is summoned and he comes. I feel it! I feel the elements coming together in a cauldron o’ fury. When will we see him?’

Violet shook her head and the wind grabbed her hood clear. Her stringy hair flew out around her face like a halo of rats’ tails.

‘We cannot see what has no form. He’s not of this world, sister, not of the living. He’s of the elements – I told you so. But he’ll be here, his spirit moving amongst us, his soul entering our dreams and our thoughts. He’s ethereal and he’s almost here!’

Again the dark clouds flashed with electricity and thunder rolled in a great peal, only a couple of seconds behind the lightning. Crouched behind one of the standing stones Swift watched the scene. He hugged his cloak close around him, cold in the violent wind that kept trying to tear it from him and more than a little scared. The dark figures, the Bird and the crones were silhouetted against the remaining red lanterns, scarcely visible. Then another brilliant slash of blue illuminated the hill top and their faces became shockingly clear down to every harsh detail.

Violet screamed an incantation and the air seemed to expand and crackle, pouring upwards in a spiral. Suddenly there came a great tongue of blinding blue-white light. It snaked down from the heavens overhead and plunged directly into the Circle, narrowly missing the people. At the same instant, thunder cracked above them so violently that even the crones jumped in terror, their ears ringing. Swift’s heart leapt in his chest and he hid his face inside his cloak at the last moment, not wanting to see what appeared in the Circle.

In the Village, the Barn doors were pulled shut, the musicians had ceased playing and the dancing had stopped. There was a sense that the party was over. Cloaks were pulled on over party clothes just as heavy rain began to fall like iron nails to the ground.

Outside in the wicker dome, Yul felt the earth leap the moment the lightning blasted into the ground up at the Stone Circle. In his deepest core, the Earth Magic turned from green to blue for a few jagged instants. A stab of pain shot through him as the serpent writhed in shock, its back zigzagged with the discharge of elemental force. Yul cried out from the terrible intensity of it, clutching at the ground as he was shot through by the unearthly power. His skin tingled as if crawling with ants but the sensation inside him was worse. It was as if, at the moment the huge bolt of lightning had struck, the very polarity of his body had suddenly flipped from positive to negative. He felt like he’d been spun through a complete somersault and everything was now back to front and upside down inside him. As the rain fell, splashing down through the woven wicker, Yul found he was trembling from head to foot and tears coursed down his cheeks. He felt desperately in need of Sylvie’s comfort.

Leveret heard the wind howling around the hill and felt the fine down on her arms rise in the charged air. The embers in the entrance were fanned to brightness but Clip sat like a stone, oblivious to everything. Leveret’s mind was far from clear; she was still hallucinating freely. In the distance she saw the violent flashes and flickers of blue white light over the Circle and felt the thunder rolling around the hills. She hugged her arms around her, still curled in the dry bracken at the back of the cave, and wondered if she’d be safe in an electrical storm so high up. The wild elements usually touched a nerve of delight in her but tonight she was apprehensive. The chaotic energy crackled all around her and it was too much – too powerful in its fury. She saw the great forked tongue flicker and then stab violently into the earth. As Stonewylde writhed and screamed at the abuse, Leveret felt overwhelmed by the magnitude of the storm’s power.

Sylvie laid her cloak over a chair and sank down onto the window seat in the darkness, looking out as sheets of heavy rain gusted against the glass. The dim table lamp had given a brief flash of light and then died, so the room was black all around her. She knew she should get up and light some candles but felt rooted to the spot. She could see little outside other than the nearest large tree bending madly in the gale. She thought of all the young people who lived in the Hall but were now stranded down in the Barn, and of her own children tucked up in the Nursery. She hoped they were sleeping through this terrible storm and not crying for her. She thought of Yul, also down in the Village. Sylvie wished he were here now with her, lying wrapped around her in their bed, whispering into her ear so she felt safe and loved. Instead she was totally alone, perhaps the only person in the Hall. Why hadn’t she waited for him?

The climax of thunder cracked in the sky and the livid white-blue lit up the dark world outside. It reflected shockingly in the huge mirror over the empty fireplace, making the room suddenly stark and unreal. Everything was illuminated in that instant. Sylvie cried out in terror and hugged her arms around her, shrinking inside to a closed kernel of fear. Because, along with the noise and the ghastly flash, something else had come into the chamber. She hadn’t smelt that aroma in many years and yet here it was silently wafting towards her, threading through and insinuating around the dark shadows of the room. She knew it well; it was heady, aromatic, and exotic. It was the scent of Magus.