CHAPTER FOUR

Sylvie took Magus’ advice and walked in the woods every morning after breakfast. She loved the jubilation of birdsong, the profusion of pale yellow primroses and tiny violets with their dark heart-shaped leaves. She felt so much better already; she was eating well and putting on some weight, and the eczema was healing miraculously fast. Every day as she reached the little clearing amongst the trees she stopped, remembering how Magus had laid hands on her and filled her with his healing energy. He had a true gift and she knew she’d always be beholden to him for the way he’d shared it with her. She hadn’t told Miranda about the strange experience for she knew her mother may not approve; she probably wouldn’t believe it either.
Miranda had other things on her mind anyway, Sylvie thought wryly. She was convinced her mother fancied Magus. She’d noticed all the signs – the giggling, fussing over her appearance, the breathless comments. She found it hilarious to see her serious mother behaving like a teenager. When she’d asked Miranda outright she’d been firmly ticked off and told to stop being ridiculous - which only confirmed her suspicions. Sylvie could well understand it for Magus was very attractive and he’d appeared like a knight in shining armour at Miranda’s darkest hour. She just hoped Miranda wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
Sylvie had visited the Hall now on a couple of occasions and had been overwhelmed by its grandeur and beauty. She particularly loved the mediaeval and Tudor parts with their stone-flagged floors and dark panelling. There was a strange, magical atmosphere in these oldest wings of the Hall and Sylvie felt the history of the place seeping into her bones. She also loved the Edwardian wing which was used as the school. It had polished floors and large, well-proportioned rooms with French windows over-looking a long stone terrace and rolling lawns. It was a world away from the shabby comprehensive in London where she’d learnt to hate the education system. She’d already been given her own computer with access to the network. She was excited at the prospect of starting at the Hall School, although a little nervous about mixing with the other students. The ones she’d seen so far seemed friendly enough, but Sylvie was still self-conscious about her eczema and skinny body. The girls of her own age whom Magus had introduced seemed so much bigger than her, bursting with vitality and exuberance. They were an attractive lot, many of them sharing the blond Hallfolk hair, although none as silvery as hers. She’d felt their curiosity but it wasn’t hostile; when she started coming up for lessons she hoped to make some friends. In the meantime she’d collected books from the library to keep herself busy during the long peaceful days spent in the cottage.
The Village boy had started work in their garden and was different to the Hallfolk boys she’d seen in the school wing. She knew he was being punished for some wrong-doing and that she mustn’t speak to him, but that made her more curious. On the first evening he’d arrived unannounced and hadn’t told them he was there. They’d heard a noise outside and had seen him by the chopping block near the back door with an axe in his hand. She’d been fascinated by the long, almost black hair hanging in his eyes and the surly look on his hollowed face. There was an air of darkness and secrets about him which Sylvie found intriguing. He hadn’t smiled or looked them in the eye when Miranda opened the door to acknowledge his presence, but muttered something in the outlandish Dorset accent she’d heard other Villagers use. He’d chopped a pile of logs efficiently and stacked them in a little shelter built onto the cottage. Then he’d started digging the garden and had carried on until it grew dark. Sylvie had watched him surreptitiously from her bedroom window and felt a little sorry for him. There was something almost tragic about him, as if he carried a deep wound inside. She wondered what he’d done to deserve the punishment.
He came again the next night and started digging straight away. His hands were filthy and Sylvie couldn’t understand how he got so dirty at school all day. His hair was wild; uncombed and curly and full of bits of twig and dead leaves. When he looked up she saw his eyes and was surprised at how attractive they were – a clear, deep grey and slightly slanted at the corners. He was handsome in a rough, dirty way she decided, and then felt annoyed with herself for even thinking such a thing. She was as bad as her mother. Yul worked very hard that night; it started to rain but he carried on. He had no coat, just a thin shirt, old trousers and the strange brown leather boots that Sylvie had seen other Villagers wear. When it started raining heavily Miranda opened the window and called out to him to go home if he liked. He didn’t even answer but shook his head, gradually becoming soaked to the bone as the shirt clung to his lean frame. Sylvie hated to see anyone looking so wet and exhausted. She asked Miranda if they could give him something to drink but her mother was anxious not to go against Magus’ wishes.
Magus called in at Woodland Cottage one morning not long after while Sylvie was out on her morning walk. It was Sunday, the day of relaxation at Stonewylde. There was skittles in the pub, games for the children in the Great Barn and archery practice on the Village Green. Young boys went rabbiting up at the warrens armed with catapults and heavy sticks, for rabbits were plentiful and part of the Villagers’ staple diet. On the playing fields by the river youngsters played the Stonewylde version of hockey and rugby. In the Village School there was country dancing, with many practicing the intricate Maypole dance for the next festival. Yul, however, turned up at Woodland Cottage.
Earlier he’d noticed Sylvie leave by the front gate, heading for her morning walk in the woods. He’d seen her there on several occasions, usually around the same time, and found reasons to be there himself. He always remained hidden, perfectly camouflaged in his rough clothes, but he liked to watch her as she wandered along the path. She gazed around and stopped frequently to examine flowers and plants that caught her eye. She often closed her eyes and just stood still, smiling slightly. Yul thought her beautiful, especially now her skin had lost the disfiguring patches. Her silky hair was like a waterfall around her delicate face; her silvery eyes seemed far away and dreamy. When he saw her like this, alone in the woods, he felt a strange almost painful sensation inside. He wanted to protect her, although from what he didn’t know. But he didn’t dare even show himself, let alone talk to her.
Yul was digging when he heard the front gate creak open. He looked up, thinking it was Sylvie returning from the woods, but saw through the windows of the sitting room that it was in fact Magus. Luckily he was here where he should be and hard at work. He glanced again and saw the silhouette of Magus inside the sitting room. The great man came to stand by the window and watched for a moment. Yul nodded respectfully and put his back into the digging. Inside the cottage Magus sat down in one of the comfortable armchairs whilst Miranda made them coffee, and invited her and Sylvie to the Village that evening.
“We have these storytelling events every so often and they’re great fun. I know you’ll both enjoy it even though it’s not really a Hallfolk thing. The Villagers don’t have television or film and so this is something special for them. Everyone needs fantasy and make-believe in their lives.”
“Oh yes. But why don’t the Villagers have television? Isn’t there an uproar?”
“Not at all. You don’t miss what you’ve never had, and believe me, their lives are the better for it.”
“But isn’t that terribly elitist? You have television at the Hall. Is it fair to deny the Villagers something which is such a crucial part of our culture? Shouldn’t they at least have the choice?”
Magus smiled as he sipped the coffee, his eyes appraising her in a way that made her feel like a schoolgirl again. It wasn’t that he was threatening or intimidating, but he exuded a raw magnetism that made her very aware of their proximity alone in the cottage. She found the coffee cup trembling slightly in her hand.
“You’re very refreshing, Miranda,” he said. “I’m not used to being challenged by anyone at Stonewylde. However on this issue I’m adamant. The point is that television may be crucial to your culture, or indeed the whole culture of the Outside World, but it’s irrelevant to the culture at Stonewylde. I said to you the day you arrived that we’ve had to cut ourselves off from the Outside World in order to preserve our community. Television, film, newspapers – they’re all modern media that have no place here. It would be an invasion, a threat, to allow such things within the Village. Can you imagine what it would do to our way of life? The Villagers live the lives their mediaeval ancestors did, but without the negative aspects like disease, hunger and exploitation. They’re in touch with the natural world in a way virtually unheard of any more in western civilization. They’re productive and creative and not materialistic or avaricious in any sense. Television would destroy that. You say I should give them a choice but it wouldn’t work. Simply by giving them access to the modern world with all its rampant consumerism, I’d shatter the simplicity and harmony of their lives irrevocably.”
“Yes, I can see what you mean, but what about the Hallfolk? They visit the outside world you said, and there’s television at the Hall. They have a choice.”
“Yes, they do, and many of them choose to leave Stonewylde for good. Likewise, many leave and then become disillusioned and want to come back here. And most of them flit between the two worlds, spending time in both. The difference is they’re educated differently to the Villagers. They’re taught to analyse and make informed decisions.”
“But is that fair? Surely the Villagers should also be taught to analyse and make decisions.”
“It’s a matter of intelligence. We’re a closed community and our gene pool is relatively small. The Villagers are practical, hardworking and physical, and they’re the lifeblood of the community. But they’re not generally intelligent in the cerebral sense. They accept their position in Stonewylde society because they don’t question anything and don’t want the responsibilities they know the Hallfolk’s lifestyles bring.”
“But surely there must be some intelligent Villagers? You make them sound like a bunch of half-witted peasants.”

Magus threw back his head and roared with laughter at this. He rose from the armchair and stretched, smiling down at her, his dark eyes dancing with amusement.
“I’m so pleased you’ve come to Stonewylde, Miranda. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. I think your arrival will shake us all up a bit.”
She felt herself going pink at this, and watched him covertly as he moved over to the window to observe the boy in the back garden.
“How’s Yul been doing? Turned up every evening, I trust, and worked hard?”
“Yes, very hard indeed. He even carried on when it was pouring with rain.”
“And so he should. Rain never hurt anyone. And neither did hard labour.”
“May we offer him a drink or something to eat? He’s quite thin and Sylvie and I feel a little sorry for him.”
Magus turned to her, his eyes hard, and Miranda felt a prickle of shock.
“Absolutely not! He’s not thin, just fit and wiry. And he’s here as a punishment, not to be fed and watered. If I think you’re molly-coddling him I’ll find him something far more unpleasant to do. As it is I’m beginning to think I’ve let him off too lightly. He should’ve had a harsher punishment than just a bit of digging. He’s got a nasty streak in him and all the makings of a trouble-maker. I’m anxious to sort him out now before it gets any worse, for his sake as well as the community’s. I firmly believe the old maxim ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’. I don’t intend to spare the rod on that boy at all.”
Miranda stood up and joined Magus at the window, peering out at the boy in the garden. Sweat ran down his grimy face as he put all his energy into digging the heavy soil. He straightened, his back obviously aching, and pushed the damp hair from his eyes leaving a great streak of mud across his face. Then he glanced across at the window and saw the two adults watching him. With almost ludicrous alacrity he took up the spade and set to again. Magus smiled and sat down, accepting another cup of coffee.
“To answer your earlier question about Villagers - yes, of course some of them are intelligent. I know you’ll be aware of the concept of multiple intelligences. Many of the Villagers are extremely creative and have great physical and motor intelligence. Not so many are academically gifted, which is why we gear their school and curriculum to their needs. But every so often a pupil shows academic ability and that’s why we regularly screen every child from the Village to ensure they’re correctly placed. If a Villager shows real potential they’re moved up to the Hall School, and eventually will also live up there and become one of the Hallfolk.”
“Well that sounds a little fairer. I’m not criticising the system here but I hate to see anyone kept down because of a social thing. I saw too much of that, teaching in London – kids never standing a chance in life because they were born in the wrong place. Stonewylde does seem to me very feudal, with the lord of the manor and his family living in luxury and the villeins doing all the hard work. But I can see it’s not quite as simple as that.”
Magus sighed impatiently and stretched out his long legs.
“No, it’s not that simple and as you settle in you’ll see the logic and fairness of how life is in the community. Believe me, Miranda, the Villagers lead very full and happy lives. They’re certainly not exploited, which is what you’re implying. You mistakenly equate hard physical work with a poor, unfulfilled life. But it’s not like that here. I sometimes wish my life was as rich and uncomplicated as the Villagers’.”
He stood up again, brimming with a restless energy that prevented him from relaxing for any length of time. Miranda could almost feel the crackle of it in the air around him.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” she said hastily. “I realise it’s not my place as an invited guest to start questioning the social structure here.”
“You haven’t offended me,” he said. “You just don’t understand the history of Stonewylde and our system. I realise that to an Outsider it must seem archaic and maybe even cruel. In time you’ll see just what a perfect society we have here.”
She nodded, hoping he wasn’t irritated by her. She didn’t wish to antagonise him with misplaced criticism, for there was an air about him that didn’t brook any censure. His warmth and approval were like sunshine. She wanted to bask in it without any dark clouds of displeasure threatening to overshadow her.
“So what time should we come to the Village tonight? It sounds exciting, this story-telling.”
“Yes, you’ll enjoy it very much. Come at dusk.”
“Do we need to bring any money?”
He chuckled at this.
“Miranda, haven’t you realised yet? We don’t use money at Stonewylde.”
“No! No I hadn’t realised. How extraordinary!”
“You have so much to learn about our lifestyle. You must remember that before you pass any judgements. But we’ve all the time in the world for you to get to know our ways and become one of us. And I really must go now. Come to the Village at sunset. There’ll be food and drink, so don’t eat beforehand. You’re in for a treat tonight, I promise.”
“Who’s the storyteller? Is he someone famous?”
“He is actually. He’s just arrived back from Australia. He’s a bit of a nomad, our Clip. You can meet him properly tomorrow up at the Hall if you wish.”
“So is he one of the Hallfolk?”
“Oh yes, I should say so. He’s my half-brother!”

The late March afternoon wore on slowly, showers and sunshine chasing each other in the cool breeze as Yul continued clearing the overgrown garden. He piled up the unwanted vegetation ready to start a compost heap. Heavy clods of earth and clay were also stacked, to be broken down later. The land was taking shape slowly as Yul dug. He’d stopped at mid-day to eat his bread and cheese, but now he felt quite faint with hunger. The light was fading and soon he’d be able to stop. He was desperate to leave and get back to the Village. He was excited about the Story Web in the Great Barn tonight, especially as the shaman Clip was leading it. Finally he decided he could legitimately leave without getting into trouble. He put the tools away in the log shelter and started to run down the lane towards the Village, slowing to a loping jog as his exhausted body protested at the pace. As he arrived in the Village he realised how late it was. The main cobbled street and Village Green were deserted which meant everyone must be in the Barn already. Yul decided that he was too dirty for a quick wash – he needed a bath. Picking up clean clothes from his cottage, he made his way to the bath house. The doors were shut and the place empty. Yul lit a lantern and looked around. All the bath cubicles were vacant, as was the communal shower room. Piles of rough, clean towels were stacked neatly by the entrance. Yul could hear the boilers heating the water, partly fuelled by the solar panels on the roof and partly by the wood-burning stoves. With nobody else around, the water would be piping hot for once. He shut himself in a cubicle for a short but hot bath.
Half an hour later a very different boy emerged, scrubbed and glowing, hair glossy and fingernails clean. He left his muddy work-clothes bundled up outside the doors to collect later and hurried along to the Great Barn. He could hear nothing for the doors were shut, but guessed that Clip would be in the middle of his preamble to the first story. He slipped in one of the small side doors and was hit by a wall of warm air and the smell of many people gathered together. The Great Barn was transformed into a theatre in the round, with tiers of wooden benches encircling a central stage. The entire Village community was seated on the benches, all focused on the man who stood in the centre. Clip was dressed in sky blue robes decorated with silver stars and strange symbols. His hair was pale blond like Magus’, but he wore it much longer, hanging to his shoulders in wispy strands. He too was tall but not so powerfully built. His eyes were deep and penetrating and his face lined, from hard living rather than old age. He shared Magus’ magnetism and the audience was spellbound. He was in the middle of a story, his soft voice filling the Barn, long arms moving gracefully to emphasise a point. A small fire flickered on the stage, the smoke rising to find an opening concealed in the roof. The firelight etched lines and hollows in his face, for the Barn was only dimly lit. The air was aromatic and tense with anticipation.
Yul wriggled down a narrow aisle between two tiers of benches and crept onto a seat at the front. The firelight lit him too, making his loose white shirt and the clear whites of his eyes gleam in the shadowy light. His glowing skin and hair were burnished by the flickering of the flames, and Sylvie stared hard at this new person who’d just appeared. She and Miranda were sitting opposite, near the front with a small group of Hallfolk. Sylvie couldn’t decide if this attractive boy was actually Yul, whom she’d left filthy and exhausted in her back garden amongst the weeds and mud only an hour ago. It looked like him and yet the transformation was astounding.
Clip wove the story in and out, around and around, encircling the audience and catching them in his threads until he had them trapped and waiting for the finale. The fire suddenly flared into brilliant blue flames and he ended with a flourish. People roared their appreciation, the applause thunderous. They were invited to have a break for food and drink. Yul slipped away as soon as the story finished and ravenously helped himself to food. He saw his mother and waved; she smiled her approval at the clean and presentable state of him. He also noticed Alwyn over by the bar swallowing down a tankard of cider as fast as he could, dribbles of the liquid running off his chin into his collar. He finished the drink and immediately held out the tankard to be refilled from one of the barrels. He looked up and caught Yul watching him; his face darkened instantly. Yul quickly broke eye contact and melted away into the shadows. He thought it best to go outside for a while to avoid his father. It was cool and fresh and the stars glittered above. A fat, gibbous moon hung over the trees. Yul felt content; clean and full of food at last, with the prospect of another story. He leant against the stone wall of the Barn and breathed deeply, his tired muscles relaxing.
“Don’t you agree, Clip, the likeness is uncanny? It could almost be her.”
Yul jumped at the sound of Magus’ voice coming from the other side of a stone buttress.
“You’re right. Just like the photo in the archive room, the one in the silver frame. She’s almost identical.”
“I tell you, the day they walked into my office in London I went cold. Hazel had said she looked like Hallfolk but I’d no idea just how much. The face, the hair, the eyes - everything is the same. I’m only going from the photo, of course, but you remember her better.”
“Not that well. I was very young myself when she died and we didn’t see her often even when she was here, did we? Where did you find this girl?”
“Living in some wretched tower block in London. She’s been very ill but the Earth Magic has started to heal her and she’s a great deal better already. Hazel came across her by accident at the hospital where she’s working.”
“But we know nothing ever happens by accident, don’t we? There’s obviously a purpose, a reason for her coming here. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise, that extraordinary likeness. Doubtless all will be revealed when the time is right. How old is she?”
“Fourteen coming up to fifteen. At the Summer Solstice, would you believe? Definitely one of us. And there’s something else about her – I can’t quite put my finger on it. She’s got a certain quality … Anyway, we need to get back inside. Are you ready?”
“Give me a moment to finish this divine cake. Every time I go away I forget just how good Violet’s special cakes are. Nothing else compares. Make sure you keep me supplied with regular batches next time I’m gone.”
“Clip, if I knew where you were, I would. But you disappear off the face of the earth.”
“Alright, ready now. You’ll like the next one – an Aborigine myth. Watch the staff.”
“Oh no,” chuckled Magus. “I know when to look away. You won’t catch me out with your tricks. I know you far too well for that.”
Yul wove his way through the crowds to get back to his seat for the second half, still puzzling over the strange conversation he’d overheard. Suddenly he found himself face to face with Sylvie and Miranda, also trying to get to their seats.
“It is you!” gasped Sylvie, touching his sleeve.
He looked down at her upturned face and for the first time stared into her eyes, so beautiful and strange. She smiled and he felt irradiated by her warmth. He smiled back, unable to break his gaze from hers, his heart hammering unexpectedly.
“Sylvie!” hissed Miranda. “Come on!”
She yanked her daughter away and Yul stood perfectly still amongst the jostling crowd, shocked at the intensity of his emotions.
People were finding their seats and fidgeting; some, including Alwyn, still lingered by the bar and food tables. Clip stepped onto the central stage and there was instant hush. Those standing quickly found their seats and everyone was still. His robes were changed for a strange garment made from strips of every colour, iridescent and vivid and swirling around his spare frame. In his hand he held a long wooden staff. He began to move around the stage slowly, circling the fire, making a spiral shape that turned in and out of itself. He spun as he moved so the rainbow strips shimmered and fluttered about him. He started to hum, then softly chant. The people picked up the chant and joined him until the building was filled with the sound. He began to move faster and the rainbow blurred. He was difficult to look at. Something strange was happening on the stage.
The chanting rose to a crescendo and there was a mighty green flash. A black bird appeared in the circle of the stage, wings flapping. It settled onto Clip’s shoulder and pecked at his hair.
“Long, long ago there was a raven,” he intoned in his musical voice and several of the older people gasped. Yul noticed Magus frown, shaking his head slightly. Clip smiled and winked at him. The story continued, weaving and weaving its strands; a tale of magical animals and birds, of the world being born and the power of the rainbow over the people. The story was told for a long time and everyone remained spellbound as Clip danced around the stage, staff in hand, with the black bird – a jackdaw, not a raven – on his shoulder. Yul sensed that the story was heading towards its climax and felt a drowsy dreaminess creep over him. The air was sweet with the smell of herbs and spices burnt on the fire. The storyteller’s voice had dropped to a soft chant, almost an incantation. Yul dragged his eyes away from the swirling rainbow colours of Clip’s robes and looked at the firelit faces of the audience around the circle. All shared the same faraway, mesmerised look.
The hum started again and grew louder and louder. The storyteller’s voice then told of the magical rainbow snake which wriggled and writhed into the world. As he whispered, every person in the Great Barn was completely silent, all leaning forward enraptured. Clip held his great staff horizontally on the two open palms of his hands. He circled the stage again, leaning out towards the audience as if offering the staff to them. Yul watched with fixed eyes and saw the staff begin to change colour. The bleached wood took on the hues of the rainbow, subtly at first, then deeper and brighter. When the staff came close to him, Yul’s eyes widened in amazement. He could’ve sworn it wriggled slightly.
“See the snake! See the rainbow snake!” chanted Clip, pacing the circumference of the stage, a sea of faces gaping at him open-mouthed. Yul felt his hand twitch involuntarily, reaching towards the rainbow-coloured stick which was now definitely moving. Clip noticed the boy’s movement. But instead of withdrawing the staff from reach so his sleight of hand would go unchallenged, he smiled. His deep eyes burned into the boy’s.
“This boy sees. This boy sees the snake. Come, boy. Come and touch her.”
He beckoned to Yul, his eyes gleaming and mesmeric, his smile saturnine. Without thinking, Yul rose from the bench and stepped onto the stage, his hand still outstretched. Clip offered the snake towards him and Yul touched it. His sharp gasp was audible throughout the Barn.
“It’s real!” he whispered.
“Behold, the rainbow snake! Do you feel her scales?”
“Yes!”
“Do you feel her move?”
“Yes!”
“Now take the snake, boy. Take her in your hands.”
Yul held out his hands, palms outstretched, and Clip placed the writhing snake there. Yul felt the cool roughness of the scales, the pulsating life in the lithe body.
“Hold her up to the skies! Raise her above your head!”
Yul lifted his arms high, the snake slightly drooping between his hands. Clip continued the story but Yul found he couldn’t concentrate; all his energy was focussed on holding the great snake up to the roof. He heard Clip shout. With a cry the bird flew from his shoulder in a mad flapping. There was an enormous bang and a flash, this time a spectrum of colours, and the sharp smell of gunpowder. He felt the snake’s body go rigid. He looked up and realised he was holding a bleached wooden staff once again.
The crowd went wild, clapping, shouting and stamping feet. Yul slowly lowered his arms and passed the staff to Clip, who took it with a bow and smiled conspiratorially.
“And a cheer for the boy who believed, and whose belief made the magic more powerful!”
Everyone clapped with renewed vigour and Yul returned to his seat, burning with embarrassment but also pride. He knew he’d been part of the enchantment that night.

The following night Sylvie lay in her bed listening to the eerie cries of an owl in the woods. She couldn’t stop thinking about the Story Web of the night before. She was convinced she’d witnessed real magic. Yul’s amazement as he gazed up at the transformation was absolutely genuine, so he hadn’t been part of any trickery. How else but by magic could the change have happened? As she thought of Yul she felt a little thrill of excitement. He’d looked so handsome standing up on the stage, his skin and hair shining and his clothes clean. She sighed, remembering his dark curls falling into his eyes, his high cheekbones and chiselled jaw accentuated by the firelight. The moment when she’d bumped into him had been a revelation. Those slanting grey eyes had held hers for a long heartbeat. When he’d smiled at her it was like the sun blazing suddenly from behind a dark cloud. She’d only ever seen him sullen and miserable; this was a different boy. Her heart had leapt at the sheer energy and vitality behind that smile. Sylvie had admired his slim, straight body as he held the heavy snake above his head, and decided that he was far more interesting than any of the Hallfolk boys she’d seen.
But then she recalled sadly how Yul had been this evening in the garden. She’d looked forward all day to his arrival. But he’d reverted to his old self, deliberately ignoring her as she stood in the window. He’d kept his head down as he thrust the spade into the earth with almost vicious dedication. It wasn’t until Sylvie had tapped on the window to wave and he’d looked up like a startled rabbit, that she’d noticed the black eye. He looked away instantly but in the second before he hid under his hair, she’d clearly seen it. His eyebrow was swollen and cut, the skin dark around his puffy eye. She’d felt disappointed. He’d probably been brawling in the street after the storytelling, which just confirmed what Magus had told them about him being a trouble-maker. It was difficult to equate the beautiful smiling boy of last night with the sullen wretch of this evening.
Putting her silly feelings of disenchantment aside, Sylvie closed her eyes. She breathed in the night smells of the woods flowing in through her open window. The owl was still calling outside, joined now by another. She smiled in the darkness, remembering the smells and sounds of night time in London. Traffic, sirens, yells and screams, and the sour, filthy smell of the area where they’d lived. But this was paradise. She’d never before felt so calm and at peace with her environment. Everything about Stonewylde was perfect. She was becoming more confident and today, at Magus’ invitation, she and Miranda had visited the Hall to meet Clip. He was as exotic and bizarre in the daylight as he’d been the night before. Today he’d worn a purple robe and had smelt of incense, his pale hair falling to his shoulders, light grey eyes startling in such a tanned and lean face. He’d been very charming, fussing over them both and ushering them up to the strange round tower attached to the Hall where he lived when he was home. They’d sat on old leather sofas whilst he made them tea, staring around in bemusement at the curious objects that crowded every surface of the circular room. Clip’s tower was like a magpie’s nest of treasures. He explained that he travelled extensively and collected things wherever he went – stones, pieces of wood, native artefacts. He told them how he loved to roam the world, living simply off the land with indigenous people and collecting stories and magic. He said if he stayed too long at Stonewylde, much as he loved it, he began to feel claustrophobic. He preferred the Spartan life of the nomad to the luxuries of living at the Hall.
Sylvie had enjoyed talking to him and listening to some of his tales. He was other worldly and eccentric but she liked that. His grey eyes twinkled and he moved about the huge circular room restlessly, almost dancing with a nervous energy as he picked up precious things and fed them snippets of information. Sylvie had felt at ease with him. He seemed kind; less overpowering than Magus whose presence could sometimes be almost too intense. Miranda however had been less enthralled, suspicious of his strangeness and uncomfortable in his company. So Sylvie had had to do the talking, asking him questions and telling him of their life in London before Magus had transported them to this place of her dreams. He’d smiled at her enthusiasm.
“You do belong here, Sylvie,” he’d said. “I can tell from the way you speak of Stonewylde. You’ve found your spiritual home and that’s why you’re making such a remarkable recovery. Sol’s told me just how ill you were when you first came here barely two weeks ago. The magic of Stonewylde is healing you.”
“Sol? Do you mean Magus?”
“Yes of course. Magus is only his title. His name’s Sol, short for Solstice.”
“And Clip? Short for …”
“Eclipse. I was born on the night of a full lunar eclipse. And Sol at the Summer Solstice.”
“And you’re half-brothers?”
“That’s right. We share the same mother but different fathers. When my father died, Sol’s father became my guardian and took over the running of Stonewylde. I was only a child and far too young. And leading the community is something I’ve never wanted to do. Sol and I have grown up as brothers but we’re very different. He can’t understand why I need to travel and roam. I can’t understand how he can be so rooted. Even though he regularly visits the Outside World to run his company, he can’t bear to be away from Stonewylde for long. Strange how things work out.”
Sylvie had then noticed the great staff from the Story Web propped against the wall, and had risen to take a closer look. Her fingers traced the smooth wood in wonder.
“How did you do it?” she asked in awe. “I’ve never seen such magic happen right in front of me.”
Clip smiled, his eyes bright, and shook his head.
“Magic cannot be explained,” he said softly.
“No conjuror divulges how he performs his tricks,” said Miranda a little stiffly.
“It wasn’t a trick, Mum,” said Sylvie, embarrassed at her mother’s coolness towards this fascinating man who was, after all, the owner of Stonewylde and as such deserving of her civility. “You saw Yul’s face and the way he gasped when he touched the snake. That was genuine, I’m sure of it.”
“Ah yes, the boy. He was very good.”
“Yul’s been working in our garden every evening,” said Sylvie. “As a punishment.”
“Really? Sol’s always been a great one for doling out punishments. But the boy was a help to me last night.”
“So just how did it happen?” said Sylvie, still stroking the staff. “I’ve been racking my brains to think how you did it.”
But Clip had merely smiled enigmatically, staring deep into her eyes until she felt almost uncomfortable.
“Seeing is believing,” he’d replied, as if that explained everything.

Sylvie opened her eyes in the darkness, restless and still unable to fall asleep. She knew why, for the cause was peering through the branches at her. The moon was now almost full. She thought of her mother sitting downstairs, reading some of the texts she’d soon be teaching. She hadn’t told Miranda of her fears, growing nightly as the moon waxed fuller. She knew how worried her mother had been in London at her apparent madness every month. Sylvie had never been able to talk about it openly and explain her feelings. Her mother acted as if Sylvie had some control over her actions, as if she was aware of what she did when the lunacy came on her.
How could Miranda understand what the full moon did to Sylvie when she didn’t understand it herself? She’d hoped that coming to Stonewylde would cure her of it, just as it had cured her food allergies and was healing her eczema. But inside she knew that nothing had changed. The moon was almost full now - just another night or so. She could feel it calling to her. It was stronger than ever here at Stonewylde, not better at all. And it didn’t help that the moon shone in through her window. She was bathed in silver all night long. Miranda hadn’t mentioned it and Sylvie guessed her mother was hoping the moon madness had gone. Maybe she should ask Magus for his advice as he’d been so effective in healing her other illnesses. But she decided to wait until she knew him a little better. He probably wouldn’t understand. Nobody understood.