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As the Green Man’s voice drifted away on the breeze, Ailyth took in the view before her. They were standing in a field of corn, overlooking the old stone manor house of Topsham. Beneath her were more fields, the stream where she’d cooled her feet as a child, the small buildings where the serfs lived.

With a whoop, the children ran into the corn, screaming with joy at finally being given freedom. Ailyth put a hand out to call them back, but RiffRaff stopped her.

She nodded, and put a hand to her forehead. Topsham. She’d finally made it. She was back where she belonged, staring at the only place that had ever been home. She should have felt relieved; after all, she’d never wanted to leave it in the first place and, from the day RiffRaff had stolen the Baroness’ key and they had escaped from their cell, all she had wanted to do was get back. So why was there this feeling of emptiness inside her?

Ailyth sat down, hidden by the brittle corn-stalks that blocked the manor from her sight. “Granfer should be here,” she said. “He promised to be with me ‘til the end, but this isn’t the end. There’s still so much to do.”

Turning away so that if the children came running back to her they wouldn’t see her cry, she fixed her eyes on a harvest-mouse’s nest.

“He died so quickly,” she sobbed, brushing the tears from her face. “He didn’t fight at all, he didn’t try...”

“Well he didn’t try hard enough!” she shouted. “He crumpled, and that was it. Stupid! A stupid, old man who just gave up when I needed him the most.”

RiffRaff nudged her gently. “I know you don’t mean that,” he said. “Morgan was just too much for him.”

She cuffed her eyes again. “Well, he still left me, didn’t he? They all do. Everyone I’ve ever cared about left me. Tristran, Elfrida, Granfer...” She rested her chin on her knees. “I bring death. Everywhere I’ve gone, people die. I brought the plague, I’m the cause of all of this. Mayhap I am the Black Death, did you ever think of that?”

“No, I’m not,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a curse. I’m the dark angel. You should probably go away too, or you’ll die.”

“I’m going nowhere without you,” he said loyally. “Ailyth, your only purpose has been to help people. You’ve done everything you’ve done to try and put an end to the plague and, from what you’ve told me, Tristran is more to blame for what happened than you, and I bet if he were here now he’d say the same thing. But none of us can help what’s already happened. When you go down into Topsham, you’ll find Grethel and you’ll bring life back to England. Now, are you ready to do that?”

Ailyth shook her head. “The harvest hasn’t been gathered,” she said. “That’s not a good sign, Riff’. What they did at Crediton...it was too late. The plague was already here.”

“And the children? What if their parents are dead. Who will look after them? Who will explain it to them...?”

“Then you’ll be Lady of the Manor, Ailyth, and you’ll manage. Stop panicking. We’re near the end now. You’ve made it this far.”

“But it’s not done yet.” She fell quiet for a moment, before asking in a small voice, “how will I manage without Granfer?”

RiffRaff licked the end of her nose affectionately. “You’ll have Grethel,” he said. “And you still have me. And yourself.”

She nodded, nothing more to be said. There was no avoiding now what needed to be done, yet there were so many nagging doubts. She still didn’t know what to do. And Granfer - he hadn’t brought her the plant, the one possibility that they had thought of in all their time together.

“We don’t know that yet,” RiffRaff replied. “Stop doubting yourself, girl. You’ve got more strength than you know.”

She looked down at her hands and, smiling a faraway smile, she shook her head. Mayhaps he was right. She had been through so much, survived so many brushes with death, she should be pleased that it would soon be over. But one image haunted her that had nothing to do with her final task.

“Tristran. When we were in Albion. I...oh, I don’t know. I knew that it didn’t make much sense, him being there, but I really thought it was him. Right up until he turned...into that creature, I wanted you to be wrong. I was sure you were wrong. I just wanted it to really be him. I’ve missed him so much.”

She laughed, and smudged the tears away. “How did you know, anyway?” she asked. “How were you so sure that it wasn’t Tristran.”

“The Green Man made it all very clear to me,” the rat said. Sitting on her shoulder, he squinted his small black eyes. “It’s not far to walk,” he said. “We should go now, take the children to the manor house...”

“And do what has to be done,” Ailyth finished. “You’re right. It can’t be put off any longer.”

She heaved herself to her feet and idly brushed the dirt from her dress. “Children!” she called. “Come on. We’re going home now.”

They flocked to her with grins plastered on their faces, looking up at Ailyth expectantly. As far as they were concerned, their parents would be waiting for them, and Ailyth didn’t know how she could ever break it to them that they might very well be dead. Instead she smiled at them and pointed towards the manor house.

“I’m going to take you there,” she said, “ and my mummy and daddy will look after you until I can find your parents. Now, do you promise to be good boys and girls while you’re there?”

“I promise nothing,” one of the older children said, but there was laughter in her voice and Ailyth knew that she was only playing.

They set off together and, although the children ran on ahead of her and she knew the importance of what she had to do, Ailyth couldn’t help but drag her feet a little. There was much in her head, and she had to prepare herself for whatever might greet her in Topsham.

The manor was silent, and she hadn’t expected that. Never having seen her home so utterly devoid of life, she stepped past the wall that marked its boundaries cautiously, waiting to see if someone would jump out at her, but there was nothing, no noise or movement.

“Surely the black death can’t wipe out a whole manor in such a short amount of time,” RiffRaff whispered. “There must have been two hundred and fifty people living in the village here alone.”

Ailyth said nothing, the same thought having occurred to her as well. Where was everyone? Had they all deserted too?

Giggling shook her out of her thoughts, and she glanced up to see one of the little girls pointing at the ground.

Frowning, Ailyth went to see. Pushing through the dusty, compacted mud roads, winding its way through the stones that littered the path, dirty grass was growing in small clumps. Now that it had been pointed out, Ailyth could see that it reached out to the gate they had just passed through, and the haphazard carpeting of green continued far into the manor.

“I don’t know,” she replied, but she had the sneaking suspicion that she did know. The paths were overgrown because no wagons had been used to wear it down. If no wagons had been used, nobody had been going to market. Life in Topsham had stopped.

They continued down the grassy paths, unnerved by the silence around them, until they came to the church. Ailyth stepped inside, hoping to see the paternal face of Father Simon, but there was no one there. Indeed, it looked as though no-one had been in the church itself for some time; there was a dusty smell in the air, pews had been overturned as though a gale had blown through the building and, in the rafters, Ailyth could see birds resting.

As she turned to leave, a movement caught her eye and a cat shot out from behind the upturned altar. She shuddered, and beat a hasty retreat out of the church.

Even the children were silent now, aware that there was something wrong. Why were the little vegetable plots growing around the garden dying and full of weeds? Why were so many windows boarded up? Why were there mounds of earth everywhere? As they passed a pile of dry mud, Ailyth quickly ushered the children away. An arm was poking out of the earth, almost skeletal and wrapped in rotting rags. The dead were being buried wherever there was space.

“Halloo, you there,” a voice called out so unexpectedly that the children scattered and Ailyth felt her nerves jangle. “You’re mighty brave to be out in daylight.”

Ailyth looked, but couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. It was only when a hand was waved in the air that she saw a young man sitting on the ground in front of his house.

“Yeah? Well, if you’ve come to rob us bare then you’re too late. There’s nothing to take, and anyway, you’ll be dead soon enough. Stepping into this manor...ha! You may as well sign your own death warrant.”

“Hrmph,” the man said. “Well, good then. We need all the food we’ve got. Harvest hasn’t been brought in.”

He shrugged once more. “A hundred, these past few weeks.” He thought a little. “Well, maybe not quite as many as that, but not far off. People’re too afraid to come and collect the harvest. Scared they’ll die the second they step out of their own homes. They don’t seem to worry about the fact they’ll all die of hunger when winter comes. Still, they probably don’t think they be alive then anyway.”

Ailyth moved closer to him, relieved that the manor was still living, albeit in hiding. She hadn’t hoped that so many would still be alive. “But you’re not afraid,” she said.

Ailyth made to leave but the man, still sprawled out in the sun, called out “Hey! Hold on a minute, I know you don’t I? You’re Lady Ailyth. I was at your wedding to that fool from Castle Cary.” Ailyth nodded. “So, why’re you back here then?”

“Oh,” the man said. “Sorry. Still, no surprise really. Most people are dead. Sorry, that wasn’t very kind of me.”

He leaned back against the house, his hands behind his head. “I never married, me,” he said. “Never had no girl special.”

“Right-o. But, Lady Ailyth!” he said suddenly, a worry having just occurred. “Have a care for your mother!”

Ailyth didn’t dare waste time asking him what he meant. Whether Lady Eleanor was her mother or not, and she still didn’t know which of Morgan’s words were lies, and which were truths, Ailyth felt a debt towards the woman who’d raised her, despite the sadness of her childhood. She had a duty towards her and, calling the children to her once more, she ran up the uneven path to the manor house.

It, too, was quiet, but not as empty as the village had been. There were people there, but still no life. Faces of people she knew all of her life drifted ghost-like throughout the echoing halls, empty and locked in their own worlds, prisoners of their minds. Every person Ailyth greeted stared at her blankly, not recognising the girl who had left.

“Daddy!” one of the children holding Ailyth’s hand cried, as a figure passed by them, muttering to himself. The word hung in the air as he ignored them, and tears flowed down the child’s face. Tugging away from Ailyth’s hand, she ran to her father and wrapped her arms around his legs, but he carried on walking as though he hadn’t seen her.

Ailyth hugged her. “You’re daddy isn’t very well,” she explained, picking the hair stuck to the child’s face away. “He’s feeling very sad at the moment.”

“I hope so, my darling,” she said. “We have to hope that all of your mummies and daddies get better soon.” She brushed the child’s face tenderly. “But you’ll have to be brave, all right? You all have to be brave.”

The children looked at her uncertainly, their faces a mixture of shy hope. The littlest child sucked her thumb and nodded and, although Ailyth was smiling, she really didn’t know what to do next.

Her thoughts, however, were interrupted by a pitiful sight. A woman this time, wandering through the corridors singing in an off-key murmur, her hair in disarray and dragging a dirty rag behind her. She was naked.

“Mother!” Ailyth gasped, and rushed to the woman who stared at her vacantly as she draped the cloth around her shoulders. “Mother, what are you doing? Why don’t you have any robes?”

Lady Eleanor stared at her in confusion as the girl dressed her. What did it matter, clothes, appearance, status? They would all be worm’s meat soon anyway.

“Mother, what will people think if they saw you wearing just your skin?” Ailyth asked, wrapping her arms around the woman’s neck.

Tears filled Ailyth’s eyes as Lady Eleanor’s trembling fingers closed over the back of her head. Her mother, in name if not in blood, had always prided herself on setting an example to the people of the manor. She was a noblewoman, yet was parading herself around for all to see.

Lady Eleanor didn’t reply, and Ailyth wasn’t sure that she’d heard. Together they stood, embracing each other, until Ailyth knew she had to pull away.

“Where’s father?” she asked, but her mother couldn’t meet her eye. Her gaze wandered around the corridor, resting briefly on the children, until Ailyth asked again, “where’s father?”

How could she not know where Lord Unwin was? Ailyth knew that she must have witnessed terrible things over the past few weeks - something must have caused her to act in this strange, child-like way - but Lady Eleanor was strong. Cruel, too if she had to be. She could not let herself fall apart now, when the manor depended on her strength.

Ailyth grabbed her mother by her shoulders and shook her. “You must know where he is!” she yelled in her mother’s face. “Where is he?”

Lady Eleanor sank to her knees and sobbed along with the children who were frightened by Ailyth’s fierce outburst.

“He left just before this all started,” Lady Eleanor said. “He said there was business he needed to attend, and he never came back. There were too many people dying, I didn’t know what to do. Edward died, so he couldn’t help me any more, and then the carpenter and Father Simon, and your brothers and sisters.”

She looked up at her daughter, her hair loose around her face. “They come out at night,” she said. “They come out and act in such terrible ways. Don’t go out at night. Don’t go out!”

Ailyth gasped her mother’s hands and looked her in the eyes. “I won’t,” she said. “I promise.”

Ailyth shook her head. “Grief-stricken,” she said. “She can’t take anymore, and who can blame her?” She glanced at the children. “No,” she said, “she can’t look after them.”

“Ailyth?” a voice questioned and, before Ailyth had time to look up she was nearly bowled over by a joyful shape that sped across the corridor. “Ailyth, you’ve come back! Oh, I knew you would!”

She glanced down at the small figure who’d wrapped itself around her. “Ranulf!” she cried, recognising her brother. “Oh Ranulf, you’re alive! Mother said you were all...” She couldn’t finish.

Ranulf pulled away sadly. “Just you and me,” he said, then glanced at the floor. “Oh good,” he said. “You’ve found mother. She got away from me again. I’ve been trying to keep her in one place. She keeps running around the manor house in the nude.”

Ranulf shrugged. “It’s like a form of madness,” he said. “Lots of them do it. They’ll just be walking along happily, then start shedding their clothes.” He hugged his sister again. “Oh, it’s so good that you’re back,” he said, before crouching down in front of Lady Eleanor.

This seemed to anger Lady Eleanor, and she lashed forward with her nails, making Ailyth jump back. “You’re not my daughter!” she shrieked. “My daughter’s dead.” Then, before she could be stopped, she leapt to her feet and ran down the corridor, wailing.

Ailyth nodded. Turning to Ranulf, she said, “There’s a lot to be done, and I seem to be the only person to do it. Could you look after the children for me? Just for a little while.”

“We find Heloise...Grethel, and take it from there.” She put her hand in her pocket and pulled out the oaken bowl. “This will tell us where she is,” she said.

Ailyth couldn’t help but smile as she made her way to the kitchen. The rat had broken the tension in the air and, now that she was getting on with her task, she felt some relief that she wasn’t putting it off any more. Soon she would know if Heloise could truly help her or not.

“I don’t know,” Ailyth replied, studying the water. When she had asked to see Tristran, all the had seen were themselves reflected, yet this time there was nothing. Likewise with Elfrida. As she had only just died when Ailyth had looked into the bowl, her corpse was reflected. “I don’t know,” she said again. Never had the bowl only shown darkness before.

That was a good point, and one she hadn’t considered. Somewhere dark; so dark that not the tiniest shard of light could be seen. She couldn’t be outside, or in any of the serf’s houses, as they were flimsy and always let in a small amount of light.

“She’s in the manor house,” Ailyth said finally, pacing across the kitchen and spilling most of the water onto the floor. “Somewhere where there are no windows, like the dungeon.” She stopped in her tracks. “Like the dungeon. RiffRaff, she’s in the...”

Together they crossed to the small side room at the rear of the house to the narrow, winding steps that led into the depths of the vault. Why was Heloise in the dungeon? Had her mother locked her there in a moment of madness.

“You have the keys, I suppose?” RiffRaff asked as Ailyth leant against the wooden door breathlessly.

“No matter,” a voice said out of the shadows, and Ailyth’s skin crept. “I happen to have a set.” A hooded figure stepped out of the darkness and smiled disquietingly. “Welcome home, Ailyth.”

“What’s the matter?” Canute asked, flicking the blade of his knife absently. “You don’t look very happy to see me.”

They stared at each other for a few, long seconds before Ailyth spun around and made a dash for the stairs. Canute had anticipated this and, from the moment he saw the girl tense he was ready to spring at her. He grabbed her by the hair before she had even climbed the first step.

“If you think I’m going to go voluntarily into a church while you’re anywhere near me, you’ve got another thing coming!” she cried, kicking and wincing as he wound her hair around his fist and unlocked the dungeon door.

“No, you’re right,” Canute said. “I know you won’t go into a church. But not to worry - I have another little ritual in mind.”

As he threw Ailyth against the cell wall, RiffRaff leapt from her and sank his orange teeth into Canute’s fingers. The monk looked down at it curiously, not reacting to the pain, which unnerved them both.

“Ah, you,” he said, grabbing RiffRaff by the scruff of his neck. “I remember you, animal of Satan. I think I’ll be keeping you with me, for just a little longer.”

“No!” Ailyth cried, throwing herself at the door. It couldn’t come to this, not when she had finally got home, after all she’d gone through.

“So, he got you then?” a tired voice said from the corner of the cell, and Ailyth felt tears spring unexpectedly to her eyes as she recognised the one she held so dear.

“I’m sorry, Ailyth,” Heloise said, her words devoid of any hope or spirit. “I’m sorry this has happened.”

“Oh Heloise!” Ailyth cried, limping quickly towards her friend and nursemaid and cuddling up against her. “Oh Heloise, I did it! I’ve come home. I did what you said I had to, now we can finish this!”

For a moment, Ailyth thought she’d misheard. “My quest!” she said, confusion written all over her face. “We’re going to stop the plague. We’re going to finish this now.”

Although Ailyth couldn’t see it, Heloise was shaking her head. “No, child,” she said. “We can’t. We’re the ones who are finished.”

This caught Ailyth off guard a little, and she pulled away from Heloise. What was the old faey saying, that they couldn’t put and end to what had been started? That had been the whole point of her journey, to get back home and, with her help, put a stop to this.

“Of course we can,” Ailyth said uncertainly. “You said when I left, when the bad things happen I was to come home. Granfer told me that you’d know what to do. You must know what to do.”

“Because...because Granfer said.” As she spoke the words, she realised just how weak her argument sounded. She had come all this way, and risked so many dangers, on the basis that her companion had assured her that Heloise would know what to do. How could he have been wrong? He knew the faey world, and the way it worked, better than she did.

“I can’t help you, Ailyth,” Heloise said. “It’s your quest to finish. I cannot, and could never, have any part of it.”

A sense of injustice coursed through Ailyth, and she pounded against Heloise’s arms with frustration. “Then why make me come all this way, if you can’t help me?” she asked. “Why couldn’t I have just completed my quest at Castle Cary?”

A soft, fat hand reached out to Ailyth, and Heloise pulled her into her arms. “Because I knew you’d be afraid on your own,” she soothed. “I wanted to protect you, and I was so sure that by the time you got back I’d have worked out what you had to do. And the prophecy, which only you can fulfil to bring these accursed troubles to an end.”

“In the home of her fathers, you must make man become beast, and beast become man,” Heloise said softly. “Three things need to be satisfied, and you are now in the home of your fathers.” She screwed her eyes up. “But I don’t know how you can make that happen.”

“No,” Ailyth said. “I’m no creature of magic, except...” She pressed her hand against Heloise’s face. “Whilst I was in Albion, I met with Morgan.”

“No, listen,” she said. “Morgan...she told me that I was a changeling. She said she was my mother, and that you’d stolen me. Is that true at all?”

She waited in eager anticipation of a reply, but all Heloise could do was stiffen slightly, and shake her head.

“No,” she said after a long pause. “No, that isn’t true. You were right the first time, child, you’re no creature of magic. You can’t magic the curse away, and I can’t magic us out of this dungeon.”

A small shift of movement told Ailyth that Heloise’s head had dropped. “My powers were always small. I was a communicant between the world of man and Albion, more than anything else. But that monster, that mad monk who put us in here...he knew me for what I was. He threw mould from the grave at me, mixed with salt, and took away all that I am.”

She sighed. “So it doesn’t matter about the prophecy anyway. All we could do was wait and see what happened but Canute, I fear, is not prepared to give us time.”

They sat in silence, waiting. So, it had all been for nothing. There was no chance that they could bring an end to the plague now. Canute, and Morgan in her way, had won. They’d got what they wanted. England, both sinners and innocents, masters and slaves, would be destroyed.

Canute didn’t come to get them both in the end; it was the cook and his burlies who fetch them struggling from the dungeon. They were dragged from darkness into darkness, as night had fallen, into the centre of the manor. Ailyth bristled when she saw the church and tried to slip from her captors arms, but it was not there that he intended to take her. Instead, they were taken to the pond, where Canute stood by fire-light, surrounded by the serfs, and even a few nobles who had found themselves stranded in Topsham.

“My mother warned me not to come out at night,” she hissed to Heloise as they were held tight by the water’s edge.

“And quite rightly so,” Heloise grunted back as her arm was forced up behind her back. “Ailyth, I don’t know quite what’s happened to them, but it seems that the devil’s got in them all since the plague came here.”

The crowds were certainly waiting expectantly, their faces warped by the flickering lights that licked the night air. Canute had certainly found himself quite a following since he’d arrived and, as they jeered and cawed at the two women captors they constantly glanced at him for his approval.

“Lady Ailyth de Monbardier -” Ailyth shuddered, “- and Heloise, she who is also known as Grethel the witch, and slayer of innocent children...”

“You have been summoned here this night to answer the most grievous charges made against womankind, in front of your fellows and your peers. You are accused now of both being witches...” a scream issued forth from an over-excited woman in the crowd, “and devil worshippers of the most terrible kind. How do you plead?”

“Innocent!” Ailyth screamed, desperately trying to meet the eyes of someone who would testify for her, and be prepared to state that she was just a girl, the young Lady of the manor that they had all known from birth.

“See how the witch lies!” Canute roared, turning upon the crowd who were hopping up and down with excitement, each peering around a friend so that they could get a better look of the condemned. “See how the poisonous mouth of Satan has chosen her as his tool, and we will find that she is a most willing accomplice. Witch!”

Ailyth shook in the face of these accusations, indignant yet more terrified as the mob waited almost gleefully to see her sentence pronounced. How could they be doing this. She knew these people, they were here friends. She had come back to help her, and now they thought her a witch.

“See the very proof that she consorts with Beelzebub!” the monk called, and held up in his hands the limp body of a rat.

“RiffRaff!” she cried, and the little animal watched the murderous crowd with empty eyes, too weak to even think of escape. Canute had him now.

“See how she calls him by name!” Canute pointed out frenziedly, pointing at her with his other hand. “Together they have plotted to bring the plague into the lives of every good person in England, I have heard this with my own ears. Do you need further proof that she is a foul creature of the dark one?”

“I knew’d she was a witch from the day she was birthed!” a solitary voice added. “I seen her kill her own midwife!”

Canute rolled his eyes and ignored her. “Shall we show you proof that she is a witch, before we burn her?” he went on.

Before Ailyth had a chance to respond, the burlies who had held her still gave her a shove, and she plunged into the muddy depths of the manor’s pond. The shackles around her hands prevented her from swimming whilst weighing her down at the same time, and in a matter of moments she was thrashing under the surface of the water.

“If she sinks, she is innocent of crime and we are proud in the knowledge that an innocent soul has gone to heaven. But if she floats...”

“A witch!” the crowd bayed, and flocked to the edge of the pond as Heloise too was forced to take trial by water.

The foul water burned a route up Ailyth’s nose and, submerged, she couldn’t help but splutter, breathing in water that made her chest heave and her lungs tighten in her chest. She fought desperately, struggling against the invisible weights that were pulling her into the clutching weeds at the bed of the pond. I can’t die, they’re wrong. They’re wrong.

But it was too hard to fight for long. As the shape of Heloise passed her in the water, Ailyth felt a delightful sensation wash over her. She wasn’t going to die; she was just going to sleep, and in the most comfortable bed imaginable. Her head nodded slowly forward. Tristran would be waiting for her.

Then strong arms under her waist, and Ailyth was pushed to the surface of the pond, greeted by a roar that came either from the crowds or the sound her body gasping from air.

“She floats!” they called, jigging on the spot. This strange visiting monk had found a witch, and the lady of the manor too. “She’s a witch!”

“I didn’t float,” Ailyth protested weakly as rough hands snatched her out of the water. With muddy fluid trickling out of her mouth she gasped “I was pushed.” But by whom? Heloise? No, Heloise was floating too, and the same men who’d pulled her out of the pond were now reaching for her faey nursemaid.

Canute grabbed her by her shoulders and bayed to the crowd “Burn the witches! Burn them for their crimes against God, and their crimes against humanity.” Then, leaning close to Ailyth face so that she could smell the rotten meat on his breath, he whispered “and for your crimes against me. You thought you could outrun me? You thought you could escape my wrath?” He chuckled darkly. “Oh no, girl, he smiled. “I will take great pleasure in watching you burn. It will be most satisfying.”

He thrust the broken form of RiffRaff into her hands. “And burn your little friend as well,” he said. Nodding in the direction of his guards, villagers whom Ailyth knew so well, he ordered that she be taken to the stake.

Ailyth struggled, but they dragged her screaming to the place where she would be burned to death. All around her the crowd was screaming for her blood, as Heloise was numbly dragged behind her for her own, similar fate, but all Ailyth could see was the smirking face of Canute.

“You monsters!” she called, above the clamour of the crowds. “You’re not a man! You’re animals! All animals!”