gang’s done, Yul will be history!’ cried Swift and they all drank to that.
*
Clip sat alone in his tower in his white and silver robes and stared despondently into the fire burning in the hearth. He thought sadly of Leveret, his little protégée, who must now be asleep at home. This should’ve been her big day, the day she’d remember for the rest of her life. She’d certainly do that, he thought wryly, but for entirely the wrong reasons. If only he’d gone down to the Village earlier maybe he could’ve helped. It was obvious she’d been drugged and he was sure it was no coincidence that the three hags had chosen this event to mark their return to Village life, wanting to see the effects of their handiwork.
Clip had arrived just as the afternoon’s performances were about to start, slipping in to the Great Barn and standing quietly at the back of the crowds. He’d wanted to see Leveret starring in her role, overcoming her fears as he knew she would and fulfilling her promise as Maiden. She had no idea of the true significance of the role but Sylvie must’ve known it instinctively when she chose Leveret for the part. The spiritual aspects of the role – the celestial spark of intuition, feminine creativity, divine inspiration – were Leveret’s by destiny and right.
But it was all in ruins, sabotaged by the dark forces at work in Stonewylde, and poor Leveret was now in deep trouble. He’d wanted to intervene but hadn’t really appreciated what was happening until it was too late to do anything. If only he’d come earlier and realised. Clip shuddered at the memory of Yul’s face, so very like Magus’ in his dangerous anger. Yul was not sadistic like his father had been – there’d be no torture in the stone byre – but his anger was almost more frightening for that. Leveret would pay a steep price for the fiasco today for Yul had been humiliated in front of the whole community and was far too proud to let that pass unpunished. Clip had heard the mutterings and complaints as folk wondered why Yul’s sister had been allowed to ruin the whole afternoon ceremony with her crazy behaviour. He also heard some whispering about the lack of Earth Magic at the sunrise ritual and guessed that this would be the real source of Yul’s humiliation, though doubtless he’d take it all out on Leveret. Clip would have to step in and intervene if he didn’t want to see the girl crushed.
Clip sighed deeply. Leveret had been right when she’d stood and made her prophecy – he didn’t know whose voice she was echoing but it was one of truth. There were shadows at Stonewylde and the darkness was gathering. He’d sensed a collective chime of affirmation amongst the community as she spoke. They’d all felt it – their instincts told them something was wrong in the heart of Stonewylde and troubles were building like dark storm clouds towering higher and higher in inky blackness until eventually – soon – they must erupt into a torrent of destruction.
Poor Leveret – she was so young and fragile to be bearing this enormous responsibility. More than ever Clip was convinced that she’d been given a gift. She was the one who must channel the forces of creativity and light to counteract the shadows and destruction that were looming. He’d help her in every way he could but he shuddered to think what lay ahead. He couldn’t be part of it; staying at Stonewylde was no longer an option for him. It was as if by announcing his intended departure Clip had made it an irrefutable fact. He had to leave Stonewylde. Now, more than ever, Yul would make sure he did – and as he thought that the serpent in his belly twisted, making him writhe again in agony.
Martin stood silently on the wide staircase, the entrance hall in near darkness below him and the upstairs landing only dimly lit. The shadowy staircase was a space between worlds and Martin was a part of the shadows, only his silvery Hallfolk hair glinting slightly as it caught the faint light. Most people who lived in the Hall were still drinking and dancing down in the Great Barn, trying to make the most of a bad day. What a shambles it had been, Martin thought bitterly. His mother, Old Violet, had been absolutely right although her outburst had been