across at the dear little girl, touched by her instinctive understanding.
‘I will, darling. I’ll just see if Granny Maizie’s still up here or if she’s gone home to the Village already. If she has, maybe one of the big girls from school will sit with you until I get back.’
The light was fading as she walked swiftly towards the woods and the hill. It felt so good to be out in the open, alone in the evening. There were a few clouds clustered around the setting sun but the night was clear and fresh. Sylvie wore her beautiful green cloak, decorated with tiny glass beads. It had been a birthday present sewn for her by Maizie. She breathed deeply and smiled – why had she left it so long, when she was born to moondance? She almost broke into a run as she reached the woods leading up to the hillside. They seemed dark but she entered without fear, knowing the path well – it wasn’t like those early days when Yul had worried for her safety. Nor was she in a trance like she used to be, unaware of anything except the overriding compulsion to honour the rising moon – although there was no doubt that she did feel an echo of it. Her heart raced and her fingers tingled strongly. Surely it wasn’t just from the exertion of hurrying?
The wood was full of noises in the twilight; flapping wood-pigeons that made her jump with their sudden panic, the cry of a jay, noisy rustling from squirrels in the dead leaves that carpeted the ground. She smelled wood-smoke and knew the charcoal burners had been nearby that day. Twigs brushed her and several times she had to duck suddenly or lose an eye. Once she heard the unmistakable grunting bark of deer and was reminded of so many things she’d forgotten about Stonewylde. Cocooned in the Hall, she’d lost touch with the wildness and the greenness of life.
Then Sylvie was out of the wood and climbing up through the long, damp grass towards the stone at the top. She passed several rocky outcrops and felt a stirring of memory from that night so long ago, when the three hags had huddled here in wait for her, determined to mark and taint her. She’d never been able to pass this spot without remembering them and their horrible, evil intentions. She’d been up here many a time in daylight to look for the little pouch that Mother Heggy had given her for protection. It had snapped that night on Winter Solstice Eve, when the crones had grabbed her and thrown her to the ground. Try as she might, Sylvie had never found the little leather bag and had given up her search eventually, assuming the crones had found it and kept it for themselves.
The sun had already set, the sky glowing golden blue to mark the point of its departure, and Sylvie thrust all nasty thoughts of the crones aside. She reached the stone, a little out of breath, and placed a hand on its ancient skin. She felt a stream of comfort emanating from it. Then she turned to where the moon would rise, the point opposite the setting sun, and realised that she was just in time for here was the pink rim just peering over the horizon. She felt a wild elation in her heart, an echo of her moongaziness, and began a few tentative steps moon-wise around the stone. She sensed the hares in the gathering darkness and greeted them. Her spirit rose in her body giving her wings and, for the first time in years, Sylvie began to dance.
Just as the full moon cleared the tree tops around the Village Green, Kestrel and his mates were thrown out of the Jack in the Green. George told them they’d all had quite enough and as he ran the pub and was a beefy man, they left without too much protest. They settled themselves on a couple of benches and watched the moon rise higher.
‘Aren’t you meant to be meeting Sorrel tonight?’ asked Jay. ‘You said you’d arranged it all for tonight.’
‘Yeah, that’s right – hayloft after moonrise.’ Kestrel produced a bottle of mead from his jacket and took a swig. ‘No harm in keeping her waiting a little though.’
Swift watched Kestrel carefully, as always learning and storing away the knowledge for possible future use. Kestrel was very good-looking and in his second year at college, destined to