Shadows at Stonewylde (17 page)

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.

I
n the Great Barn, folk shivered and glanced nervously at the dark shadowy corners. Everyone wanted nothing more than to be back home now, safe in their beds. Many of the teenagers who lived in the Hall decided to stay the night in the Village in their parents’ cottages, and others were offered beds for the night to save them walking back in the violent wind and rain. There was also the fear of lightning strike, and nobody wanted to be caught exposed on the track leading up to the Hall.

As he stood inside the Barn amidst the turmoil, Yul realised with a jolt that Sylvie was all alone. He hoped desperately that she’d reached the shelter of the Hall before the storm really broke. Whilst people going back to the Hall milled around finding cloaks and lanterns and gathering to walk home together, Yul knew he must get back immediately. There was a phone-line in the Barn and he tried to ring the extension in their apartments but the tone sounded strange and there was no answer.

Pulling his cloak tightly around his Samhain robes, Yul hurried out into the wild night. His hood was blown back immediately and, lowering his head, he ran as fast as he could against the wind. He was hampered by his robes and cloak flapping around and tangling between his legs, becoming wetter and heavier by the minute. The trees danced frenziedly in the howling gale as Yul raced up the track, focusing on the thought of Sylvie alone and scared, trying not to think of the other fears that jostled him in the darkness. He felt hag-ridden – as if malignant forces were all around trying to stop him reaching the Hall. Several times he stumbled to his knees in the darkness and once fell headlong over a fallen branch, grazing his hands and jarring his wrists.

At last the huge blackness of the Hall loomed into sight. Almost crying with relief, his face awash with rain and hair plastered to his skull, Yul made a final surge towards the great wooden doors. He was exhausted by the struggle to get home and the events of Samhain, and frantic to find Sylvie – as much for his own comfort as hers. He skidded across the hall’s polished parquet floor, his sodden cloak heavy around his legs, and raced up the dimly-lit stairs. All was gloomy as he crossed the landing and wrenched open the door to the grand apartments.

He was hit by a wall of darkness when he’d expected light. It was almost palpable and beneath his wet cloak and damp robes, Yul’s flesh raised in goose-bumps.

‘Sylvie?’ he called, but his voice came out hoarsely. ‘Sylvie, where are you? I’ve come back!’

His skin prickled with fear – where was she? Maybe she’d gone to bed? He tried to turn the lights on but nothing happened, so he stumbled through the grand sitting room, bumping into furniture in his haste, and made his way down to the bedroom.

‘Sylvie?’

Still no response and his heart thudded with dread. He shivered violently, his head ringing with the heavy silence. He groped around on the dresser where he knew there were candles and matches. His cold hands fumbled with the box and he dropped it, the matchsticks spilling on the dark floor. He knelt and grabbed one, managing at last to light it. It flared, blinding him, then extinguished itself.

‘Sylvie!’ he called, louder this time. ‘Sylvie, it’s me – I’ve come back. Where are you?’

He lit another match and this time succeeded in lighting the wick of the candle. The flame bloomed and steadied, and Yul held the candlestick away from him to look around. The bed was empty and unslept in. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe Sylvie hadn’t come back to the Hall after all. Perhaps she’d remained in the Village – gone to see if the children were alright in the Nursery and then stayed there. Which meant that he was now alone in these apartments. The thought made him shudder again.

Shielding the candle’s fragile flame, he retraced his steps back through the empty bathroom and children’s playroom and into the enormous sitting room. The flame did little to illuminate the vast area, dazzling his eyes and making the shadows even blacker.

‘Sylvie?’ he called softly, wanting more than anything the reassurance of her voice. The flame flickered and Yul’s heart lurched as he saw her cloak lying across the back of the chair. So she was here – but where had she gone? Cursing the power cut and wishing the candle was more effective, he crossed the room to the fireplace. On the mantelpiece under the gigantic mirror was a candelabra. Carefully Yul started to light the candles but then a movement in the mirror caught his eye and his skin erupted into bristling terror as in the reflection before him, something sprang up behind him in the darkness and screamed and screamed.

Yul spun round, the candle-flame in his hand almost extinguishing, to see Sylvie standing by the window, her hands to her cheeks and her eyes and mouth gaping wide in absolute horror. The screams poured from her and as quickly as the flame allowed, Yul hurried across the room to comfort her. She was beside herself, her body convulsing and hair rippling as she shook, her hands clamped to her face and the nails digging into her cheeks. Juggling the candle and trying to put his arm round her was impossible, but then suddenly the power came back on and the room was flooded with light.