Shadows at Stonewylde (58 page)

Slowly the soft desperation and sadness within her began to harden into anger and bitterness. She’d had enough of being abused by her brothers and Jay. This was too much – the whole community had been affected by this terrible trick today. If her memory of Yul shaking her and shouting in her face was accurate, she was probably in more trouble now than she’d ever been before. The mushrooms he’d found in her room must’ve been planted there by her brothers but whatever she said, she wouldn’t be believed – not with her apparent track record of subterfuge and deceit.

As ever Maizie would have to choose between believing her or believing her brothers, and she knew which way that would go. Her mother couldn’t bear the possibility that she’d raised two sadistic bullies who’d tormented their little sister throughout her life. If she believed her sons capable of such a cruel deed today it would make a lie of the past fifteen years. Her lovely vision of a happy, loving family would be destroyed. It was much easier to dismiss her youngest child as a difficult trouble-maker going though an awkward adolescence.

Leveret came to understand all this with complete clarity and felt a sense of detached relief. It wasn’t that Maizie didn’t love her or favoured her brothers over her – it was more that she needed to love the whole family and believe in its unity to make sense of her own difficult life. Leveret would have to take the full brunt of blame for what had happened today and the inevitable punishment that must follow. She decided she wouldn’t fight it. She’d take the blame willingly for Maizie’s sake, so her mother’s view of her two youngest sons wouldn’t be sullied forever. But she’d never let this happen again.

Leveret took a deep, shuddering breath, her tears now dried. No more tears. She needed to be strong, strong enough to fight Sweyn, Gefrin and Jay, strong enough to stand up to Yul and strong enough to withstand any threat from the three old biddies at the end of the lane. For who else could’ve baked the poisoned cakes? She must learn the old ways quickly – learn the folklore of the plants, herbs and fungi so she could counteract any further poisoning attempts. Learn the magic so she could protect herself and cast spells when she chose. She must learn to bind and to banish, to cast and to summon.

She had to do it quickly. The darkness was gathering ever closer. The image of the viper flashed through her mind again, coiled and hissing and preparing to strike. She must call those who’d help her and ask for their aid now – she must take control of her life and cease to be the victim. In that moment, in the darkness, the Bright Maiden of Imbolc left her childhood behind and became a young woman.

Leveret carefully climbed off her bed. Her legs were wobbly as she groped her way to the door and opened it, finding the whole cottage in darkness. She called for her mother but there was no reply, which was an indication of her mother’s anger. She would never normally leave one of her children alone and unwell in the house in the pitch blackness. Leveret felt the tears prickle again but she squashed them down. She had no idea of the time but when she opened the front door, she heard the sounds of music coming from the centre of the Village. The party must still be going strong in the Barn and the ongoing merriment made her feel bitter. There was she, sobbing her heart out alone in the darkness, forgotten while the rest of the community were feasting, drinking and dancing.

Leveret located her dark woollen cloak on the back door peg, pulled on her brown leather boots and stepped outside. The night was cold and raw and stars shone through the broken cloud as she silently walked up the muddy lane towards the Village. She still wore the beautiful white dress and knew it must be getting ruined but she didn’t care anymore – Imbolc was ruined anyway. The sounds grew louder as she approached the heart of the Village, and she saw light spilling from the Barn and the pub, where some of the older men would be taking refuge. Reaching the cobbled area outside the Barn, Leveret paused, imagining the heat and excitement inside. She pictured the community in there, some sitting at the tables around the edges or standing by the bar, others galloping round to the lively music, everyone talking, laughing and having a good time. Whilst here she was outside in the cold night with fury in her heart. She turned away, thankful that the night was so wintry for there’d be no couples strolling around the Green or dallying under the trees.

Leveret stepped onto the grass of the ancient clearing and walked across to the first in the great ring of trees that clustered around the open arena. Her head was completely clear now. She strode straight-backed around the circumference of the Green under the branches of the many trees. Her dark cloak billowed around her, the white dress clothing her in its symbolic purity. She called the name of each tree as she passed beneath its boughs – lime, ash, hornbeam, oak, chestnut, beech – summoning the tree spirits that were sleeping now but would soon awaken. Leveret called the trees from their slumber and bid them add their strength and energy to hers. When she’d completed the circuit she proceeded into the centre of the Village Green and stood there, her breath clouding around her in the cold night.

Leveret tipped her head back to the skies and saw the setting moon behind the dark branches. It was still a waxing crescent, grown from the new moon of earlier in the week, and shone huge and golden as it dipped in the sky in a great bow. Leveret raised her arms to the heavens, the cloak falling back to reveal her Bright Maiden costume. Her silver crescent birth charm hung round her neck. With outstretched hands she gathered in the energy of the crescent, calling upon the elemental forces to come to her and fill her with their magic. Leveret summoned the spirit of the Huntress, the goddess in her aspect of the Maiden. She chanted her many known names: Isis, Artemis, Selene, Diana, Bride, Brighid, Freya – the names given over thousands of years by such different people and cultures, but all addressing the same energy source. She called on the powerful spirit of the emergent female huntress, reborn every year at Imbolc and every month with the new moon.

‘I summon you, Huntress! Fill me with your energy and magic! Come to my body and make me as strong and powerful as you. Give me the strength of your bow and the sharpness of your arrows so I may fight my enemies. Take my softness and weakness and tears and fill me with your force, purpose and steel. If I falter in my intent, stiffen my resolve. Make me hard and pitiless towards those who try to hurt me. I summon you, Maiden, and I ask for your powerful magic!’

The darkness thickened around her as she dropped her arms and turned away. No casting a circle or the protection of salt tonight – Leveret had made contact with the power source directly like lightning finding its earth. Walking back in her bedraggled white dress with the dark cloak flying around her, she tingled with a spiky new energy. Tomorrow, when they all trooped up to the Lammas Field to burn the dolly harbouring the Corn Spirit and return it to the earth amongst the ashes, Leveret would go to the springhead instead, sacred to the Maiden, and make her own personal offering. She made her way back across the Green towards the cottage, her sharp teeth glinting in a small smile, the light of battle in her green eyes.

She was watched by a figure standing in the shadows, a figure which melted into the darkness as she passed by, not wishing to be seen by her again this night.

Alone in his office, Harold stared at the screen intently, his quick brain analysing the projected figures. He’d visited the Barn briefly earlier on as a token gesture of community participation, but had quickly sensed the hostility amongst many of the people present. His quotas were becoming an increasing bone of contention and after a drink at the bar Harold had left to come back to the Hall. It didn’t matter as he wasn’t one for socialising, far preferring the solitude of his office. This was where it all happened; this was the little kernel that kept Stonewylde going.

He was expecting an important e-mail tonight, something so big that the mere thought of it sent a shiver shimmying down his backbone. He’d have to let Yul in on this soon, he knew, but had yet to find a way of broaching the news about his contact and the potentially profitable connections. Harold knew it could make all the difference to Stonewylde’s economic future and was desperate to get the go-ahead from Yul. But Harold also knew Yul’s history, and in his heart he doubted that his dark-haired boss would ever accept this exciting proposal from Outside. And he might even be livid with Harold for all the undercover ground work he’d been engaged in for so long, trying to set this up.

Harold glanced at the connecting door to Yul’s office. He knew Yul and Sylvie had already returned, having heard them as they crossed the entrance hall. By the sound of their angry voices he guessed Yul would be back downstairs soon, sleeping alone on his sofa bed yet again. What had started last year as an occasional habit, necessitated by long and late hours, had increasingly become the norm. Harold had seen the empty bottles being removed from the office in the mornings and knew the marital situation wasn’t good.

But at least Yul’s increased alcohol consumption had meant less interference. As late night working had turned into late night drinking, Yul was allowing Harold more responsibility, giving him a free hand to set up new ideas and schemes. At least Yul understood that Stonewylde needed to move out of the dark ages and join the modern world, become a profit-making organisation and not just a turnip-producing country estate – which is how old die-hards like Clip and Martin would keep it, given the chance.

Harold smiled faintly as he tapped a key and a whole temple of columns appeared on the screen. He loved figures, loved profit analysis, loved the thrill of watching money grow. There was so much untapped potential at Stonewylde. Food and clothing were selling faster than they could be produced. The whole agricultural set-up of Stonewylde needed to be restructured this year; certain goods were so hot they sold out before even reaching the warehouse. And there was so much else to be developed. The stone at Quarrycleave was of beautiful quality. The water from the springhead was equal to any English spring water on the supermarket shelves, and Harold was looking into setting up a bottling plant above the Village to exploit this natural resource. And the Wildwood! The thought of it made Harold’s heart thump a little faster in his chest. This was virgin forest, utterly untouched, and covering vast acres. The wood in there must be worth a fortune, either in its lumber state or, better still, transformed by craftsmen into the highest quality furniture and goods.

Harold was still amazed at how much money was to be made in the luxury market, both at home and especially abroad. The Wildwood was a project he was intending to start soon, convinced he was on to a huge money-spinner. Free resources, free labour – almost pure profit. Yul could be persuaded he was sure, and now there was this other opportunity for partnership as well …

Harold pushed his chair back and stretched. Time for bed. It was late and the youngsters would soon be arriving home, noisy and drunk. He glanced around his office, smiling to himself a little. Several monitors lit the darkened room and the network hummed busily. Harold felt like the queen bee in a hive, sitting at the heart of the community and creating the wealth that fed everyone. All the students had computers linked to the network and at this very moment, thought Harold with uncharacteristic whimsy, they’d all be displaying the
Stonewylde.com
logo he’d designed – that curly, snake-like S. He felt a thrill of power.

Stonewylde was so huge, had such immense potential for development and so many resources that could be exploited. With Yul on board he could create vast wealth from the natural materials just lying around, like the stone, water and wood. And with the Villagers knuckling down and producing goods to order, he could make vast profits from the fruits of the earth – food, drink, leather, linen, wool. He let his imagination run free for a moment and saw himself at the head of a vast business enterprise utilising hundreds of people, all creating wealth from the natural resources of Stonewylde. And it wasn’t just a dream – it was fast becoming reality. All down to him, a simple Villager who’d risen from his humble origins and grasped every opportunity offered him, including this latest one.

Anxious to see if the e-mail had come through, Harold decided to save his work and close the files he’d been working on. He clicked on save and blinked when nothing happened, no obedient little bars racing to complete the task. The network was bang up to date, all the very latest technology, and always responded instantly. He clicked save again, and the screen turned red. Harold went cold, alarm coursing through his veins and making his fingertips tingle.

‘What the hell?’

Harold pushed his glasses up his nose and once more tried to save his files. His mouth tightened in horror as the figures slowly began to disintegrate before his eyes, melting into the red. The screen scrolled down slowly of its own accord, showing him pages and pages of reports and figures melting away. Files began to open of their own accord and their contents dissolved. Harold sat in the shadowy room staring in disbelief at the dark red screen. A virus! It had to be – despite all the protection in place. He glanced frantically at the other monitors in the room and saw that they too were red. The whole network must be affected – all those computers upstairs, in the schoolrooms, in Yul’s office and Martin’s too – everything must be blighted.

Harold shook his head slowly, devastated at losing all his data, all his work. Totally destroyed – hours, days, weeks of work, all those figures and contacts, projections and accounts, so much invaluable data that could never be replaced. Much was backed up but not all. There was a chance it might be retrievable, of course, but he’d heard about the latest viruses – they infected and destroyed everything, even backed-up files.