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  “You are not going to marry Larsen!” Serena said. “He is old and ugly. You can’t possibly marry him.”

  This was an argument the girls had been having for almost a month now, since Gert’s father had decided she was to marry Larsen from the next village.

  “He’s not that old. And anyway, I’m ugly myself. Good looks aren’t the only thing in the world.”

  “But do you love him?” Serena didn’t wait for her friend to answer. “Of course you don’t!”

  “And you love the king do you Serena, even though you’ve never met him?” Tawney teased.

  “I’ve never seen anyone like him,” Serena said, sitting up straight and earnest on the rumpled cloth. “I couldn’t stop smiling just looking at him, and when he went away I thought I was going to die. Now I know for certain that my life will never work out unless I marry the king, so that’s what I’m going to do!”

  “Well I’m never going to marry anyone,” Tawney declared. “How about you Lily, who are you going to marry?”

  Lily was annoyed. She had been staring at Serena without really meaning to. Wondering how Serena could be such a pretty girl, yet still look so much like her brother. The other girls had caught Lily thinking about Misha the miller’s son, thinking about his soft blue eyes and his golden strength.

  Lily’s face flushed red and the other girls laughed. They weren’t trying to be unkind, yet all the same there was something about Lily, the way she was always there, watching and listening to everything, but never speaking.

  “I’m going away to be married. Overseas my dad said.” Billa broke the silence with her strange-sounding voice.

  “You can’t!” said Serena. “You can’t go away again after we only just got you.”

  Billa laughed. “It’s not yet. Not for a year or so. I’ll be around plenty till then.”

  “I don’t want you to go away ever!” Serena wailed.

  “Sounds to me,” Tawney said, “as if Serena’s going to be Queen up at the palace and Billa’s going off to foreign, and then there’s Gert away over the hills to the next valley, there’s only going to be me left.”

  “I can’t bear it!” Serena cried.

  Tawney and Gert fell into piles of laughing. “You started it,” Tawney said.

  “Tell us a story Serena,” Billa suggested softly. “Have you got a new one?”

  “I kind of have.” Serena frowned, “I don’t know the end yet though.”

  “The ending can take care of itself,” said Tawney. “They usually do.”

  “All right then. There was once a little baby boy,” Serena began.

  “A baby? Please no!” Tawney said, as well she might, since she had looked after her own brothers and sisters all her life and there was no end to them.

  Serena smiled. “This baby was an only one. He was the son of the king and queen.”

  “Of course!” said Tawney.

  “Not our king though,” Serena said hastily. “For he doesn't have a queen, not yet anyway. This was an entirely different king and queen of another place in another time. Well, before the baby was born an old woman came to the palace, a woman that no one had ever seen before. She had a solemn old face and a raggedy grey dress and a long staff carved with animals and hunters. The King let the old woman into the palace and gave her food and a place to sleep for the night. He did this, let me tell you, not because he was kind, but because he was afraid of the old woman. The townspeople seemed to think she had some kind of power and the king wanted to keep her happy and send her on her way without any fuss. And that is exactly what happened, up to a point.

  In the morning the old woman asked shyly if she could see the king and queen to thank them before she left. So she was led into the great banqueting hall where the king and queen were eating their breakfast with servants all around them. The old woman thanked the king for his hospitality, but then sat down at the table with them as if she were royalty herself. The palace staff buzzed with undercover outrage, but the king and queen remained calm.

  “I’m afraid I will have to sit here a while,” the old woman said, “I am old and tired and I have something important to tell you.”

  “Please have some food,” the queen said politely. She looked at her husband, thinking, let’s let this mad old woman say whatever she has to say and after that surely she will leave, and her husband agreed with her thought as if he could read her mind.

  “I don’t need food, thank you.” the old woman said. “I need to tell you about your baby,”

  “Our baby!” The queen had been a poor girl once and her magnificent dark-haired, black-eyed husband was like a dream come true to her. The baby growing inside her was a piece of impossible magic that she could only just manage to believe in. She stood up in excitement, but the king took her hand and pulled her down again.

  “Let me tell you,” the old woman continued. “Your baby will grow up to be king after you, but he will be no ordinary king. He will be the greatest and most terrible king that ever lived in this land. He will rule not just this kingdom, but all the kingdoms between the seas.” The old woman no longer seemed solemn and sedate. She appeared to have grown and deepened and even to have become younger sitting in the carved chair at the king’s table.

  The king was glad all of a sudden. “Guards! Seize this witch!” he called, happy to give away polite foolery and replace it with proper action.

  But as the guards clashed into the banqueting hall with their long spears, the old woman rose up to a full height she hadn’t had before and she raised her staff above her head and vanished.

  The queen was pleased that the old woman had gone. She was tired all the time because of the baby and had given up thinking very hard. The king was not so pleased. He would rather have kept the old woman safe in his dungeon until everyone had forgotten her, and then had her quietly executed. He also felt uneasy about the old woman’s story. There was no reason in the world to believe it might be true of course, but then who was the strange old woman and why would she come to him and say such things? Whatever else, there were enough people in the banqueting hall that day that the story soon spread all over the kingdom and to the kingdoms beyond as well.

  The baby was born. He looked just like his father with dark hair and black eyes and a scowl on his face. Then one day the queen was lying on her bed watching the baby sleep beside her and wondering how anyone could be so perfect when a little man suddenly appeared. He wasn’t a dwarf or anything like that, he was just a man, but he was very small, smaller than the queen herself. This man picked up the baby carefully so as not to wake him. The queen was so frightened she could not move, or maybe the little man made some magic to stop her from moving.

  “You can’t keep this one I’m afraid,” he said in a soft voice like music, and he disappeared, taking the baby with him.

  The king ordered a search for the baby that began in the palace and expanded out to the whole kingdom, taking all the king's soldiers and recruiting new ones from every village and town until there was no work done anywhere apart from searching. The search went on for days and months and the kingdom began to break into pieces because no-one was shoeing the horses or grinding the corn. The crops grew on their own and were hastily harvested. Everyone ate standing up in a hurry and no-one rested at all. But the baby was never found. The queen could neither eat nor sleep. She lay in bed day after day, and her tears ran down the spiral staircase from her room in a never-ending stream.

  After a year had passed, the king told his people to stop searching and ordered them never to speak of the baby again. The queen stopped crying that day too, for that was the day she died.

  That king was never again the great ruler he had been before. He seemed to have aged twenty years in the one. His kingdom did not recover from a year of neglect and was invaded and conquered by a neighbouring king. Times changed and many wars were fought in that land. Eventually all the former kingdoms were gathered together into one that stretched all the way from one sea to t
he other. And the new king of the new kingdom was a young man with dark hair and black flashing eyes.”

  “What a stupid woman,” said Tawney. “Why didn’t she just have another baby?”

  “Because she was too sad of course,” said Gert. “But who was the little man? I don’t think it’s fair for him to just disappear forever like that.”

  Serena smiled. She felt warm and sleepy, like she usually did after telling a story. Juss the goose-boy snapped his eyes open and sat up bewildered. Then he jumped to his feet and hared off towards the village.

  “And that’s what we all should be doing,” Billa said firmly, standing up and brushing the grass from her skirt.

  The sun was still shining but it was low in the sky and a chill had begun to fall. Serena yawned. “Supper to get,” she said, gathering her basket and whistling for the Maid who lumbered up, good natured as always.

  Lily had wandered away already without a word, but the other girls walked arm in arm back home with the white mare following behind them.

  Chapter 3: The Dreadful Wind and Rain

  “Lily, take the corn to the mill for heaven’s sake, before this wretched weather gets even worse!”

  Lily’s heart skipped but she never showed it. She saw Raven’s eyes flash though.

  “I’ll go,” Raven said, “Lily’ll get washed away.”

  I won’t, Lily thought. But she didn’t say anything, there was no need. Mother had told her to go and Mother was as stubborn as Raven.

  “You need to help me with these dratted chickens. I’m not having you spending forever galping at that miller’s boy instead of getting things done!”

  Lily laughed inside and chewed her cheek to stop the laugh escaping.

  “You should be pleased for me to spend time with Misha.” Raven was stung, her almond shaped eyes narrowed and she glared at her mother. “I’ll be married to him this summer, just you see!”

  Raven, Lily’s older sister, was tall and dark-haired, strong-faced, and sometimes beautiful, depending on how she was feeling, and she could make you do something just by looking at you in a certain way.

  The girls’ mother knew this as well as anyone so she tried a different approach. “I’m sure you will, I’m sure you will,” she blustered. “And a good thing that will be, seeing as how that miller bleeds all of us dry. You won’t be wanting! But I don’t see how he’ll have any time to spend with you when the wind's like this. He’ll be flat out and you know it. Let Lily go and you and me can get these chickens done with. Then we could start on your dress.”

  Lily went to haul the sack of grain into the barrow before Raven could say any more. Raven had decided to be in love with Misha the miller’s son last summer when she came to the realisation that as well as being the best looking young man in the village, he was also the richest, or at least he would be when his father died. Lily had loved Misha far longer than that though. She had loved him since the day she saw him pick up a fledgling that had fallen out of its nest, and climb the tree to replace it. He’d been a boy then, and Lily a tiny wraith of a child, a ghost no-one thought would live.

  The wind drove the rain into angry spears at Lily’s back as she trudged her barrow up the hill, wrapped in an old sailcloth. It was a trek to the mill, set apart from the village on the higher land where there was most always a wind. Today there was a wind and a half. Lily didn’t mind though. She warmed herself with thoughts of the miller’s son and even sang an old song in a reedy voice that no-one had ever heard. She had never in her life even spoken to Misha, but her love for him was so fierce she believed in it somehow. And knowing Misha, as she did from watching him so long, she knew he would never marry Raven who only wanted him for money and status, and understood nothing of what was truly important in life.

  Misha was fighting the mill. He had no idea where his father was and he cursed the old man softly. He needed two bodies and at least four hands. The sails whacked round at a furious rate, making the wooden walls shudder. The wind picked up even more and the wind shaft began to scream. Misha dragged on the brake with all his strength, and everything came to an uneasy halt. He breathed out slowly, but it wasn’t any good. The wind tugged at the sails and the whole structure creaked and moaned, unhappy to be at rest.

  With the brake made fast, Misha went out to fetch the mare and harness her to the mill to turn it. On his own, it was dangerous, but what else could he do? The mare didn’t like the weather any more than Misha did. She huddled herself together against the wind and grunted at the weight of the mill as she took it a quarter turn widdershins. Misha pulled down the steps and pegged them so the mill couldn’t turn again, and he unhitched the mare, letting her amble off to find shelter. Then, shivering, he untied the lower edge of the sail to reef it and began climbing the frame, barely able to move against the striking wind and the icy rain.

  That was when the brake slipped, when he was half-way up the first sail. The wind gusted round, never sure of its direction, and filled the sails again, making them turn, and Misha clung on as long as he could to the soaking wooden frame. He was ashamed to be so terrified; he knew his father would have laughed at him. The sky was dark grey, almost green. It was like night, even though it was only just past noon. Misha saw the boiling clouds galloping around in the storm as he lost awareness and his fingers slipped, and he flew.

  Lily couldn’t believe it when she saw the miller’s son fly like that, like a bird from the sail of the mill. He flew in an arc, but he did not land like a bird. He landed like a man falling from the sky, hard and heavy, and he lay there still as a stone. Lily dropped the handles of her barrow and ran.

  “Misha!”

  His eyes tried to focus on the person speaking with a voice he was sure he had never heard. The person was tugging at him relentlessly. He levered himself up and wished he hadn’t because his head felt as if it might split in two, and he sat for a moment, shivering in the dreadful wind and rain. But sitting was no good. He leaned on the person and pulled himself up, stars sparking all over the sky with the mill behind them trying to tear itself to bits.

  “Oh God, the mill!”

  “The brake’s come loose,” the person said.

  Misha looked at her harder and realised she was Raven’s sister Lily, the mute girl. Only she was talking. He shook his head to get rid of the stars and stumbled against her, her hands clutching to stop him from falling.

  He managed to get to the mill, leaning on Lily, and to grab the rope from the brake and refasten it, even though he could feel it slipping again. The old mill creaked and wailed like a person complaining.

  “Is that brake wood?” Lily asked.

  “It’s oak, but it’s worn out. Need a new one.” Misha could hardly talk, with the wind snatching his words from him and his chest still closed up from the fall. He found he was gasping for breath.

  “Need an iron one,” Lily said. “Smith could make it, if you show him a design.” Her voice seemed to be part of the wind, as if the wind had brought it from her.

  “What would you know about it?” Misha snapped. The sails still needed reefing.

  Lily turned her face away and he immediately felt ashamed, but what could he do? She was only a girl and in the way. He stumbled back to the sails, holding on to the roundhouse to keep himself up.

  Misha looked up at the sail and felt dizzy. He pulled himself together somehow to begin climbing, and the sails started to turn again, to whirl round with the earth and the sky as well in an entirely unholy confusion. And he found himself lying on the soft ground under the sail which had never moved at all really, despite the wind’s best efforts, and there was that girl, halfway up the frame.

  “God in heaven!” he cried, leaping up and ignoring the power in his head trying to spin him back to nowhere. “Come down you fool!”

  She either didn’t hear or chose not to listen. All Misha could do was brace himself against the frame to hold it in case the brake slipped again, and curse. The girl was much nimbler than he was. She wa
s wet through, like a rag, but the wind seemed to ignore her, such a scrap as she was. She tied the sail into its reef neatly and jumped from halfway down to land just as neatly at Misha’s feet, grinning up at him with her cheeks rosy.

  “Three more of them,” she said. “Can you get the brake?”

  Misha just stared at her, the light in her eyes, the gladness of her. He wondered how he could never have seen any of it before. But perhaps she wasn’t real. Perhaps she was a spirit sent by the devil. The brake slipped again and the sails swung round in an angry gust of gale. Misha dived for the brake line and hung on to it as best he could, feeling the shiny-smooth oak blocks wanting to slip and slide up there in the crown of the mill on the other end of it, his head pounding and wringing. He could barely see for stars, but that girl, that spirit, was up the next sail like a squirrel. For a moment Misha though of his own sister, imagined Serena climbing the sails to reef them in a storm and he laughed like a peal of thunder.

  The reefing of the sails was hardly a quarter of it. Misha let go the brake and found he couldn’t stand up without the rope to hold on to. But the girl was there. “Lily,” he said.

  She was freezing, soaking and shaking, but she was somehow strong as a tree. And she fetched the horse.

  The sails went round slower reefed, but not much slower. The old mill groused and rattled and wailed and moaned, louder even than the wind. Misha hauled himself up inside and the girl followed, dragging with her a bag of corn that was as big as she was. Misha took it from her and lifted it above his head, using the last of his strength to pour the corn into the hopper. He crumpled onto the floor then, sitting in the dust and not caring. “You can take a bag from the roundhouse and go,” he said, covering his eyes with his hands.

  Lily took no notice. She sat down carefully on the floor in front of him. “You’ve got a bump on your head,” she said. “Where’s your da?”

  “I don’t know.” Misha looked at her through his fingers. Her hair had gone dark in the rain, but her face was as fair as anything he had ever seen, pointed and tiny, nothing like her strong boned sister.