Shadows at Stonewylde (7 page)

‘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.’