The Crow Folk by Mark Stay EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Mark Stay
- Language: English
- Genre: Coming of Age Fantasy
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
WYNTER’S BOOK OF RITUALS AND MAGIC
Faye Bright’s dad once told her the old hollow oak marked the centre of the
wood. She was six at the time and they had been walking Mr Barnett’s dogs
when they came across the tree. Dad said it was the oldest in the wood. Young
Faye half expected to nd a fairy-tale wolf peering out from behind it.
Faye was seventeen now. There weren’t any wolves in Kent. And the hollow
oak was as far as she could get from prying eyes. That was where she would open
the book for the rst time.
Faye had found the book in a trunk of old knick-knacks when she and her
dad had been clearing out a corner of the pub’s cellar. They were looking for bits
of old scrap metal for the ‘Saucepans for Spitres’ collection run by Mrs Baxter
when Faye unlocked the trunk tucked in the shadows behind the ale barrels.
Inside was a box of letters, a hairbrush with an ivory handle, a few cheap
necklaces and earrings, a cracked gramophone record of ‘Graveyard Dream
Blues’ by Bessie Smith and this leather-bound book.
Faye’s dad Terrence was busy sorting through a box of dull cutlery when she
took the book from the trunk. It was ordinary enough to look at. Red leather,
much like a ledger or a diary from a stationer’s, and the cover and spine were
plain with no title or author. All the same, a voice at the back of Faye’s head told
her she should keep its discovery to herself. She opened it to the rst page. The
words scrawled there in Indian ink nearly stopped her heart.
Wynter’s Book of Rituals and Magic by Kathryn Wynter.
Wynter. Mum’s maiden name.
And then, beneath that, and written in darker ink:
To my darling Faye, for when the time is right.
Faye closed the trunk, hid the book under her dungarees, told Dad she had
ringing practice and legged it.
Faye didn’t want to open the book in the pub, she didn’t want to open it in
the village, she didn’t even dare open it in the privacy of her room. She had to get
as far away as possible from other people, which was why she made a beeline for
the hollow oak in the middle of the wood.
All the road signs had been removed to befuddle invading Nazi spies, but
Faye could have cycled this route blindfolded. She pedalled from the village
along the bridleway by the Butterworth farm, over the Roman bridge and into
the wood until the path surrendered to tangles of ferns and bracken. She left her
bike leaning against a silver birch and continued on foot, all the while thinking
ahead to how she would explain the book in her satchel if anyone were to see her
reading it.
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