Woburn Village, Bedfordshire

On Christmas Day of 1658 John Thornton knocked at the door of the house two up from Woburn church. Noah answered the door, and smiled gently.

John Thornton stood with his hat in his hand, looking uncomfortable.

“A merry Christmas to you, Noah, and to you, ladies,” he said, as he saw Marguerite and Kate appear behind her. “I hope the season brings you joy.”

“And to you also, John,” Noah said. “I thought you would have celebrated Christmas with the Bedfords, in their private chapel. They always do it well.”

“I, uh, I wanted…” I wanted to come here, to see you.

“You should forget me, John,” she said gently.

“I cannot.”

At the agony in his voice, Marguerite stepped forward. “John Thornton. We have a goose simmering in a sweet, fragrant sauce on the hearth. Will you join us for Christmas dinner?”

“Marguerite…” Noah said in a low voice.

“You would send the poor lovelorn man on his way with no warm food in his stomach?” Marguerite said, raising her eyebrows archly. “What harm can it do to feed him?”

“None, I suppose,” said Noah and she stepped back and waved Thornton inside.

They ate in the warmth of the kitchen. John Thornton realised that he had never enjoyed a meal such as this. The Christmas fare was traditional, but somehow tasted as if it had come to fruit in heaven’s fields rather than those of Woburn’s acres, while the company was extraordinary. It was as if the women shared a companionship so deep and so mystical that every glance, every movement, every word held far deeper meaning than John could ever understand. This strange underlying meaning did not perturb him, nor make him feel as if he were an outsider. It was, rather, an added warmth to the dinner, an added depth, an added colour. John Thornton felt as if he had been invited into a slightly different dimension, a deeper and vaster world than any he had ever known. It was almost as if the world he knew and understood was only a faded relic of a far older and far more brightly-hued world, one with which these women were strangely familiar.

Noah looked radiant—even more beautiful now in mid-term pregnancy than she had ever been when she’d been in his bed, and John found it difficult to look away from her.

He envied, desperately, the man she loved.

When the meal was done, and the children had run laughing into the front parlour to play at some game, Noah came to sit next to John. She smiled at him, then reached out, took his hands, and put them on her belly.

“Feel her?” she said. “She twists and turns, awaiting her birth.”

John had never before touched a heavily pregnant woman. At first he felt embarrassed and hesitant, then the wonder of the moving child within Noah’s body overcame him, and he pressed his hands tighter to her belly.

He raised his eyes to Noah’s, then froze, transfixed by her eyes.

Their dark blue had faded, and now they were a soft green, streaked through with rivers of gold.

“My God,” he whispered, “who are you?”

“She is Eaving,” said Marguerite. “She is the fertility of the land, its waters and rivers, its breath, its soul. You have lain with her. Surely you have felt this?”

“Aye,” he whispered, his eyes once again on his hands, still splayed over Noah’s belly. “In her arms I have felt the land rise to meet me.”

“If we have need of you, John Thornton, will you aid us?” said Kate.

“You are witches all,” he said, and sat back, removing his hands from Noah. “You are everything I have been taught to hate.”

“And yet you do not hate us,” said Noah. “How are we bad? How are we harmful?”

He did not answer, only looking between each of the women in turn.

“I cannot live without you,” he finally said to Noah.

“I cannot be yours,” she said. “I am so sorry.”

He looked away, keeping silent for a long time. Eventually he sighed, and spoke. “I will aid you, if you ask,” said John, and Noah smiled, and leaned forward to kiss him softly on the mouth.

“The land,” she said, “shall always rise up to meet you.”

The girl had led the imps out of the stone hall and back into the twisting maze of alleyways. Now she directed them to a particularly dank corner. Here she sat, and indicated that the imps should do likewise.

“I said that I had the power both to trap and to free you,” she said as the imps sat, crossing their spindly limbs neatly, their bright eyes watching her with the utmost suspicion. “I said that I had the power to earn your love. Do you doubt any of this?”

“Of course,” said the imp who sat to the girl’s left. “We don’t trust you at all. We know what you are.”

“Ah,” said the girl, her tiny face screwing up as if in thought.

“Your mother, on the other hand,” said the imp sitting to the girl’s right, “thinks you are a sweet little thing.”

His brother giggled, a hand over his mouth to hide his pointed teeth.

“My mother shall love me well enough once she truly knows my purpose,” said the girl. “Now, to that purpose which is, of course, to destroy you, and your current master…as he thinks he is. I shall have the greatest pleasure in wrenching Weyland apart, for he has caused me innumerable troubles, but you and I can come to some small accommodation.”

“Won’t that destroy you?” said the imp to the right.

“Nay,” said the girl. “I have grown way past such minor details. I am far different than ever I was, or was planned to be. Now, do you want to hear my proposition, or not?”

“We wish to hear,” said the imps as one.

“Firstly,” said the girl, “I want you to continue to obey Weyland. I don’t want him suspicious.”

The imps glanced at each other, relief clearly etched on their faces.

“I want him to have no reason to know of me,” said the girl, “so for the moment you may continue to dance to his orders.”

“What is this proposition, little girl?” said the imp to the left. The last two words he spoke with a decided edge.

“You do my will, all of it, and when that will is done, you may be free. Completely free. To be and do what you will.”

“But doesn’t that contravene all that you are?” said the imp.

“It contravenes all that I once was,” said the girl, “but not who I am now.”

At that she smiled, and it was the coldest expression either imp had ever seen.

The imps looked once more at each other, then both looked back at the girl.

“I think we might have an agreement,” said the imp to the right, while his brother nodded vigorously.

“A deal!” said the girl, and sounded that strange chilled laugh of hers. “A deal!”

“A deal!” cried the imps, and laughed with the girl until the sound echoed up and down the alley, frightening the rats rummaging about in the refuse.

“A deal!”