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Plague was everywhere. They had heard the rumours from the cities; tales of horror, of people lying in the streets, buboes and sores on their necks, the dead piled high and thrown into mass graves. No one could have believed it would come to Draytonwood. But it did.
It was no longer a rumour on the lips of travellers and merchants. It was in the village and on the streets, and, for poor Mirabella, it was in her home.
She held her mother’s hand tightly, not daring to let go. Hours had passed but still she stood by, listening to the increasingly strained breaths. Neither had said a word since yesterday. Perhaps she would never speak again. Mirabella dared not leave, not even for a moment.
Her grandmother placed an arm on her shoulder. Mirabella barely looked up.
‘I’ll take it from here, Mira.’
‘But, Gran…’
‘Hush. I’ll call if there’s a change.’
Mirabella looked over at the bed. The figure that lay there no longer looked anything like her mother; her body was twisted and pale, her neck and armpits bulged and red. But what really hit Mirabella was the weakness. How at any moment, one of these sallow breaths could be her mother’s last. She never could have imagined it a month ago. Now she did not have to.
She relented at last and stood. Her grandmother took her place on the floor, her face calm and composed. Mirabella wished she could be half as strong.
Outside was even worse than in. Not a single friend or neighbour had totally escaped. She could see Mr and Mrs Moreland laying just outside of their cottage, impossible to tell whether they were living or dead. Just beyond was the steeple of the church. She had gone every day to pray. Wishing God would take this burden away from her. Wishing it could all finally end. She wanted to believe. The church told them He had a plan. That all of this was for a reason. That He worked in mysterious ways and would reward them for their trial. Whatever purpose this annihilation could serve was lost on Mirabella.
‘What have we done?’ She muttered to the heavens. ‘Dear Lord Jesus, why are you punishing us? What have we done to wrong you?’
No answer came.
She had confessed – they had all confessed. Every day, more and more people filled the church, repenting their sins, but it made no difference. If God were still watching, he no longer cared.
She thought about Job and everything he had been through. When the first whispers of plague came to them, Brother Maynard had reminded them of his story, the trials he had faced, and what awaited him when he remained faithful. It was of little comfort to think about now.
A cry of pain came from the Jameson house. The doctor was treating them. Mirabella looked away, not wanting to see the cruel beak of the plague mask. It made her think of an old heathen god; a demon sent to punish them for their sins. She had to get away from the village, even if it were just for a moment.
She walked to the edge of the woods, breathing freely as the smell of death gave way to pine and oak. The wild flowers were in bloom – honey bees buzzed around, carrying on with their usual business, all untouched by plague.
It was beautiful. So beautiful. Just as it always had been. She used to play here as a child; every day she would sneak out to climb the trees or run down its many paths. Even now, she came to walk whenever she could. The trees comforted her, reminding her that no matter how bad things got in the village, the forests carried on untouched. A sign that something good would always remain.
Mirabella sighed. How could both this and the plague possibly exist in the same world?
She walked deeper in, not wanting to go too far from her family cottage, but needing to get away. Needing a break from responsibility, from threat. Light flooded through the clouds, touching the tops of the trees. Only some of it penetrated to the forest floor. Dancing lights and pretty patterns surrounded her on all sides.
It made her feel guilty. Out here she could almost forget everything. Leave the village behind and be free. If only it were true. She knew in her heart that she was infected as well. She had been caring for her mother for too long. Those around the dying always got sick.
A tall yew tree made her stop in her tracks. It was ancient, worn with age. Moss raced up its trunk and branches, the latter blooming with green leaves, spreading out into the sky in majesty. Another was planted in the village churchyard, but it paled in comparison to this one. This one was older. Far older.
Mirabella swallowed. She usually avoided this spot; it always gave her the peculiar sense of being watched. Like the yew was looking through her, ancient and omniscient.
She was no stranger to the concept of woodland spirits – the demons the pagans had worshipped as gods. And she knew what kind of rituals that had likely been practised here.
When Mirabella was tiny, a woman had been tried for heresy. She had lived alone in a cottage on the edge of the woods. The elders had called her a witch, but Mirabelle had been too young to understand what that meant. One of the charges read off was ‘consorting with the demons of nature’.
If consorting with nature gave a witch her power, surely it could also help against the plague. It may mean she would be bound for Hell, but if it saved everyone else… the thought made her skin prickle.
For some time she stood, watching, not daring to speak or ask for help. If she could sin to do good, was it truly a sin? Surely God would forgive her. She thought about her mother, crumpled, weak. She knew there would be no going back, but she had to take the plunge. Perhaps they were all already destined for Hell.
She had never cast a spell before. In fact she did not have the faintest idea of how to begin. She would have to improvise and think of something that felt right. Thoughts of what to do came to her suddenly, as if whispered on the wind. It made her deeply uncomfortable, but she knew there was no other way.
She took a carving knife from her pocket and held it to her palm. It would be just a moment of pain. As long as it worked, it was worth it. And if it didn’t… Well, there was no way it could make the situation worse. She shut her eyes tightly, then sliced.
Mirabella bit her tongue, feeling the sharp pain pulse through her wrist and fingers; the warm wetness on her hand. Her blood dribbled onto the forest floor, staining the wool of her dress. She pressed it to the yew trunk and spoke.
‘God of nature, I call thee! Please deliver us from the plague! Please! You… you must help!’
She did not know how long she held her hand in place. There was a stillness that crept in around her. Only the wind disrupted the leaves. The smell of earth grew thick. A floral scent drifted across her, purging death from her nose.
‘What does a Christian want with the likes of me, Child of Christ.’
Mirabella spun around. A Woman in red blocked the path back to the village. She was unnaturally tall with hair the colour of twilight. It flowed past her waste, weaving like roots to the earth below. Night faded to emerald green, standing out against her cliff white skin. Her eyes were void of all life but still glowed unnaturally with a light from beyond.
Mirabella lost her balance and toppled back against the tree behind her. The Woman laughed. It seemed as if the woods were spinning; Mirabella gripped the bark, desperately trying to steady herself.
‘You come, I trust, with purpose?’
‘I do…’ Mirabella found her feet. ‘A-Are you the spirit of the woods?’
‘It was bold, pressing your hand to my tree. Fragments of Yew bark have entered your bloodstream. It will be fatal before long. There’s no cure. Though you were already expecting to die, were you not?’
Mirabella looked down, shifting her feet in circles beneath her.
‘The plague. It’s killing everyone…’
‘And you want me to take it away.’
‘Yes…’
The Woman regarded her for some time. Each second made Mirabella feel exposed; like the spirit could see through her into the deepest depths of her heart. There was nothing she could hide. Not here. Not from Her.
‘Your kind made their choice.’ The Woman said at last. ‘Long ago, you chose to worship the god of Abraham. Not me. Not my sisters.’
‘But that wasn’t me!’ Mirabella felt the ground tumble again, losing her footing.
‘And only now, when you realise the consequence of your ways, do you return, hoping for your deliverance. Is it not so?’
Mirabella hung her head. Her body gave way to the trembling ground and she fell. The woman watched as Mirabella tried to pick herself up again, then, slowly, extended Her hand.
‘I will take away the plague, but the price will be high.’
Mirabella looked up at Her hand, held unnaturally still. Warning was written in her heart. Whatever the Woman was going to demand, this was the only way.
‘You.’ The Woman smiled. ‘You will never grow up. You will never have children of your own. You shall remain, a product of your time, until the last sunset hits these woods.’
Mirabella nodded slowly. ‘Then… I must die, so the others can live?’
‘Die? Oh no. You shall never die, my dear. One can live for centuries and never truly be alive.’
The words tumbled down Mirabella’s spine like shards of ice. She was not sure how she could be neither alive nor dead. Thinking about it alone terrified her.
‘Will it… really save the village?’
‘From the plague? Forever. But not from time.’
Mirabella nodded. She was ready. Without further hesitation, she reached out and took the Woman’s hand. It was firm, as if it were made of wood. The Woman clasped it tightly and pulled her to her feet. Then she took Mirabella’s other hand – the one she had cut – and held it open.
The pain made Mirabella cry out, but she willed herself to endure it. The Woman pressed her finger into the cut and traced its length.
‘Yew, Yew, blood and Yew. Poison to life, so life take. But stay your hand and change her form. From mortal flesh to divine corm.’
A sharp, deep agony took hold of Mirabella, spreading out from the cut down her arm. She cried out as it shot up into her shoulders and through her body, as if a thousand needles were tearing her skin open. Soon there was nothing left but pain. Her vision clouded. The woods swam together as her senses failed. Mirabella could feel herself fade. Everything she was was dying. Being reborn as something else. Something new.
When her vision returned, Mirabella was lying on the forest floor, her back against the yew tree. The Woman was nowhere to be seen. All of the pain had gone, but she could tell something was wrong. She held out her hands. They seemed normal. She checked her legs, but again could see no change.
It was hard to say how she felt different, she just knew that she did. It took no effort to pull herself to her feet and glide through the woods, until finally, she found a puddle. Her heart leapt. She was afraid to check her face, but she had to know. Carefully she forced herself to lean against the edge and look at her reflection.
Nothing had changed. No curl out of place, no lack of colour in her cheeks. Even her eyes were shining normally.
Mirabella breathed out in relief. Whatever the Woman had done, it had no obvious symptoms. She gathered herself up and returned to the village.
Already, people were more active. The Morelands were examining each other’s arms in bewilderment while the doctor was left scratching his head outside of the Jameson house. The bodies had been cleared away and, seemingly, the plague with them. The Woman had kept her word.
But how long had she been in the woods? How many days had passed? It was impossible to say without asking. Mirabella ran towards her cottage, only to collide with something.
It was like flopping from a height into water; the pain of impact smarted along her arms and face. Then she was propelled back; spat out like a gristly piece of meat. She staggered, barely catching herself before toppling over, then stared at the space in front of her in shock. Nothing was there, but when she placed her hand against the air, she felt it resist.
She struggled to force herself through, pushing against it as hard as her legs would let her, but it was no use. It was like forcing opposing magnets together; the harder she pushed, the more resistance she felt. An unseen wall, barring her from entering the village.
At first she wondered where it came from, only to hear the church bells chime. She stared aghast. For the first time in weeks, a proper mass was being held. While she could not say how, she knew deep inside that this was the source of the barrier. The light of the Christian god had left her. What she was now could not stand so close to hallowed ground.
Tears welled in her eyes. She frantically stared at her house and saw the door open. Her mother walked out, supported by her grandmother. She was alive. She was okay.
Mirabella called to them, but they did not seem to hear her. She tried again and again to no avail. She screamed and cried as loud as she could, but neither of them so much as flinched.
Neither of them could hear her. No one could. Not one of the villagers turned to face her, leaving her frantically waving from the edge of the woods. Mirabella broke down. So this was what the Woman had meant. The town was whole, but she could never return. She was to wander the Earth, alone, never to live, yet never to die.
She collapsed on the path, looking up at the people she loved. The people she had given her death to save. And she knew then and there how the cure had been made. In her life, the energy she could have given was taken. A cure for everyone, at the cost of her.
Wiping her tears away, Mirabella got to her feet. Her mother was examining the shrinking buboes in the mirror, but there was still a sadness in her eyes – like she knew. Mirabella swallowed, feeling the weight increase around her heart.
‘Goodbye, Mother!’ She whispered. ‘I will always love you! Goodbye!’
Her mother paused and spun round, and, for a moment, Mirabella thought she could see her. But then she sadly turned back to the mirror.
Tears filled both of their eyes. There was nothing that could ever make up the loss to either of them, but the bargain had already been made. Mirabella turned away and, with one last look at her village, made for the woods. Her new kingdom, where she would live forever more, until the last sunset.
The Draytonwood Arms was seldom busy. Certainly not at mid-day. Mirabella did not need to wonder how unusual this was – she knew. There was hardly a place in town she did not know by heart.
In London. It still felt wrong to call it that. London was miles away, this was Draytonwood. Her home.
A car horn honked outside, startling her. She really wished people would give them up soon. Horses were never so annoying.
She drained her glass and looked out of the window. It was hard to believe that this suburb was once surrounded by woodlands – industrialisation had truly taken its toll. Old customs were no longer held, nor were the people friendly. Modern living meant keeping to yourself.
There was no sense in staying. It was hardly like she was anchored here. It just felt right. The only part of the urban sprawl that still felt familiar. She walked outside and down the street towards the park. As she past, she looked up at the old church – the only building still standing from her childhood – and forced a smile.
The park was a final vestige of the old woods. Most of the trees were also gone – the council had a way of keeping things tame, but there ahead of her was the Yew and, beside it, its sapling. Her sapling.
It had sprouted the moment she had been changed. A body, connecting her new form to the Earth. It was her and she was it.
She had never learned the Woman’s name. It did not matter. She knew what She was now – what both of them were. And it was okay.
She flopped onto the grass, leaning back against Her own maturing tree, only to feel something strange. When she stood, Mirabella saw a set of coins and some flowers arranged neatly in Her roots. She stared for some time, hardly believing her eyes. It had been over a century since She had received Her last offering. Part of Her wondered who possibly could have given it – who possibly could have known – but it did not matter.
With a sniff of the air, She knew why. It was the same reason the barrier was no longer here – why the Christian god was losing his power. A new age was beginning. A new reverence for nature, brought on by the consequence of climate change. She wondered what Her price would be when the time came. Would She forgive the sins of mortals, or make them pay? It did not matter. One way or another, they would choose their path. They all did in the end.
The End