Lizzy stirred from her slumber, rising slowly into a drowsy half-awake awareness, warm and comfortable and snugly wrapped from head to toe in a thick blanket, safe and secure in her bunk and lulled back towards sleep by the sound of water rushing past the hull of the Guillemot as it took her steadfastly onwards towards the far horizon and the promise of adventure and discovery that lay beyond. The creak of ropes and pulleys in the rigging, muted talk from the crew on deck, and the thump of her father's feet as he tried in vain to move quietly around the great cabin were a comfort to her, familiar and reassuring.

And all of it wrong.

The sound of running water was the sound of wind in trees and rain falling on a roof of thin thatch. The creak of ropes was the creak of hinges as the poorly fitting door of the hut blew open and closed, and the muted talk and stamp of boots came from outside and within the hut, as whoever had come in through the door and left it open walked over to where Lizzie lay wedged against the wall and half under a rough wooden table. Even the blanket wasn't the comfort of her dream - it was stiff and itchy, and there were things crawling around in it that made her scratch and itch even more, but at least it was warm, and for that she was thankful.

Two days and three nights had passed since Lizzy had been brought to Ghostwood by the woodsman, Venyamin. In that time, Lizzy had been told many things about the people who had captured her friends and father that she found hard to believe were true, things which frightened and appalled her in equal measure. She found what she was being told too difficult to believe; too outlandish and bizarre, and she had refused to accept it until she was shown the evidence of what they had done and were doing still to defenceless and vulnerable children. An image of the girl came back to her, dead eyed and listless, living yet not alive - a plague-wraith, beautiful and delicate, but broken beyond all hope of repair.

"Elizabeth, it is time."

Lizzy wiped tears from her eyes before emerging from the blanket and peering up at Venyamin, who stood over her dressed in his coat adorned with talismans. In his hands he held her clothes, washed and dried in preparation for the trip they were about to embark upon.

"I leave these here for you. When you are ready, come to the meeting house, Napravljat."

Venyamin using the name the clan elders had chosen to call her brought to the forefront of her mind the responsibility placed upon her by the clan Seaward. The thought of her being given such responsibility, and so unexpectedly, was strange and confusing. Stranger still, after only two days among these proud and kindly people, she found herself being referred to as leader; one of a select group that decided on matters of import to the clan. The other elders - a group that included Venyamin and two brothers who had been with Venyamin in the woods above the bay when Lizzy first met him - were all men, some in quite frail health. The clan had always been led this way she was told; the more experienced and wiser men naturally becoming clan elders, the honour passed on between father and son from one generation to another. Rarely had there been any women in the group - the clan retained a mentality from early on in its founding, when times demanded a war-like mindset; for predominantly male leadership. Yet the whole clan had accepted the elders proclamation that she, a thirteen year old girl just arrived from a far away country, would be the clan's leader and guide - Napravljat - whose purpose would be the finding and return of clan Seaward's lost children.

Lizzy discarded her blanket, then washed her face in a bowl of water to remove the salt of her tears, and wake herself fully for the day ahead. She had arrived at the Ghostwood holdfast wondering only how she would rescue her father and friends, and return home to Boston. Now she was the guide and leader of a whole community who had never met her three days ago. But then, as she'd learnt soon after arriving, some in the clan had known a lot about her for months.

*

That first night, Venyamin had taken her to the meeting house to see the elders of the clan, who met in a smoky, lightless hall of wood and thatch, gathered close together around a central fire pit and surrounded by a dense press of men and women, keen to hear what was said. Lizzy had been ushered to the front, and found herself sitting crossed legged on the floor between Venyamin on her left, and a wizzened old man who walked with the aid of sticks on her right. She had sat mute and uncomfortable on the cold stone floor, listening as the elders took reports from scouts who roamed the clan's borders, noting in particular that there appeared to be increasing attempts by small groups of armed men sent from the Carrion King to infiltrate the clan for purposes that seemed unclear. She had been tired, hungry and worried, and she quickly stopped paying any attention. The quiet voices, the flickering light from the fire and the warmth in the crowded room all conspired to lull Lizzy into doze, and she let her head drop down and her eyes close.

It was only when she heard her name being repeated by Venyamin that she sat up, taking in the stares of the men around the fire, all of whom were looking at her intently. One of the elders who had been sitting across from Lizzy had stood, and was gesturing towards her and repeating her name with increasing incredulity, his gaze directed at Venyamin.

"Yes," Venyamin had said, "I believe she is the one whose coming was foretold by the revenant Conny."

His use of the word 'revenant' sent a shiver down Lizzy's spine, who knew it meant a plague-wraith, even though the word wasn't used in the Americas for victims of the red plague. Lizzy couldn't help herself glancing round to see if any monks were in the audience - their reputation aboard the Guillemot had been fierce, yet always there was disapprovement of their religion, one based on the fears of of ignorant people for those powerless victims of the plague. Only in the medieval backwardness of New Britain had the order taken hold, although there were small churches of the revenant monks in some eastern seaboard harbour communities of the Independent States.

"What do mean, 'foretold'? How could you know I was coming here?" she asked. "And who's Conny?"

Venyamin looked around, settling his gaze on a woman stood in the crowd, whose face glistened from the firelight reflected in her tears. "With your permission, Letitia, I would bring Conny here, to meet our guest."

The woman nodded acceptance, then turned away, sobbing silently. A sense of apprehension crept over Lizzy as she watched the woman leave the meeting hall, followed by several others. The mood in the hall had changed, and now there was murmuring and shuffling among the clan members. The elders sat still, some contemplating the fire, others, the old man and Venyamin included, watching the doorway through which the group had departed.

Eventually, the woman returned, and a path formed in the crowd to allow her and the small child that accompanied her to come into the hall. The girl was wrapped in a black shawl that covered her head and which fell forward over her face, hiding her features from sight. Her dress was torn and ragged, and from beneath the shawl there came a strange, sighing moan that sent an icy shiver of fear down Lizzy's spine. She had heard that sound only once before, from a hold full of plague-wraiths locked in a ship that had been moored in Boston harbour by its few remaining healthy crew after a passage from Africa. One of the crew had been bitten by an infected man before leaving and not told his mates, and by the time the ship reached Boston only five of its crew remained uninfected out of the thirty who left Guinea. The ship, still containing its valuable cargo and plague-infected crew, had been towed out to sea and set afire, burning brightly until late into the night until it eventually sank, leaving only the cries and wails of the doomed crew's families on the quayside. The experience had left Lizzy confused about the treatment of those infected by the plague - nobody had questioned whether killing them was the right thing to do, and to her knowledge no-one had ever taken a plague-wraith as a trophy in Boston.

The woman, who Lizzy assumed must be the girls mother, led her by the hand down the lane of silent clansmen. It was obvious that no-one dared touch her, and several made a movement with their hands that may have been a blessing, or perhaps a sign to ward off evil - the impassive faces of the crowd made it difficult to tell.

The pair stopped opposite the fire and Lizzy stood up, unsure of what was expected of her now. Venyamin took her hand and led her around to where Conny and her mother stood. As she approached the girl reached up and drew back her shawl. Conny's face was drawn and sunken, her skin pulled tight over skull, jaw and cheekbones, eyes bulging and seemingly oversized in proportion to the rest. Her skin, even in the flickering orange glow of the fire, was a deep red colour, and her arm and hand that played with the hem of the shawl was darker still, so that it looked in the firelight like they had been burnt in some terrible accident. Conny's hair was long and straight, and Lizzy guessed that her mother looked after it with great attention, as it was clean and carefully combed, hanging gracefully down almost to her waist. The effect was disconcerting, as Conny's hair was golden in colour, the contrast with her red skin striking.

Conny's eyes seemed vacant at first, but when Lizzy came close they latched on to her own with surprising intensity, and Lizzy saw recognition dawn on Conny's face. A smile formed, and - seemingly to everyone's surprise - she said a word; "Lizbeth".

Gasps and exclamations came from all around, and Lizzy heard a number of muttered oaths from a few of the elders. Venyamin placed his hand on her shoulder, and said to the others, "Surely you must see now. This is the girl who will return to us what was taken, the one who will guide us to our children. Everything the revenant Conny has foretold will come true, if we take the opportunity that has presented itself to us now. Stefan, bring the drawings."

"I don't understand. How could she know me? What's going on Venyamin?" asked Lizzy.

"All will be explained, Lizzy. Please, everyone, leave us for tonight. We will meet again tomorrow, to discuss what actions we will take. Letitia, please make Conny comfortable by the fire. Lizzy, you must be tired, but bear with me a little longer. We will have food brought to us here, and when we are done, you can sleep. Ah, here we are."

Stefan, one of the men Lizzy had met in the woods earlier in the day, reappeared holding a roll of rough parchment. Venyamin took it and laid out the roll on a table that had been brought near the fire. Stefan lit an oil lamp and hung it on the beam above the table, throwing a weak orange glow over the scrawled drawings. Their shadows flickered around the hall as Stefan went back to the fire and placed more wood onto it, sending sparks floating upwards and out through the smoke hole above. Lizzy stared for a moment at Conny, putting into place all that she had seen and heard so far in the Ghostwood.

"Venyamin, where are your clan's children?"

"They have all been taken, Elizabeth, by the man who has your father and crew. The Carrion King has all our children, except for one."

"Conny."

"Yes, Conny. And we only have her because the Carrion King gave her back, as a warning and a message. But he made a mistake in doing so."

"You need to explain."

"First, you need to understand that this clan has lived for many years alongside the men of the Haven, not always amicably, but at least with an understanding that we both had something the other needed. We supplied food from our fields and animals, and cloth and leather from the fleece of sheep and hides of cows. In return, we obtained metal tools - the axes you see here, and ploughs for turning the field. The Black King and the Kings before him always had the means to transform metal through heat - they have the black oil to fire furnaces and the memory of how to fold metal from the time before the red plague.

"Two years ago, a message came from the new king - he said that ships had come from America, and onboard had been men who could work miracles - they could cure many illnesses and fix broken bones as easily as it was done in the age before, and the offer was there for us to all join them in this gift from heaven. A meeting was held and a vote taken. We accepted the offer unconditionally. Another message came, inviting us to bring our children - everyone under the age of twelve - to receive medicine that would not only ensure resistance to almost any illness, but also lifelong protection against the Red Plague. This time, the message came with an emissary, a man from the Americas, who showed us how he himself had been cured of the disease. In our naivety and hope for it all to be true, we believed him.

"The next day, we went to the Haven, taking all of our children, and bringing gifts of food and goods as a token of our gratitude. We were led into the fortress at Pembroke. Once gathered inside, the children were taken in twos or threes by kindly men with strange accents. Mothers and fathers were not allowed to go with them, unless the child was too young to walk, in which case the mothers went too. We didn't think to question why. Then, when when time had passed and no-one had returned, we started to ask questions, and the smiles slipped away, along with all pretence. Soldiers appeared, heavily armed and spoiling for a fight.

"I don't know if the gate was meant to have been left open, or whether someone in the castle took pity on us that day. Perhaps the soldiers thought we would be easy to kill and hadn't bothered to ease suspicion. However, they found that a man skilled in woodsmanship and handy with an axe is not an easy man to put down, especially when defending their children and wives. Lots of blood was spilt, and many died, but some got away - mostly the menfolk, myself included."

Venyamin looked around the meeting hall. "We retreated here, to the old holdfast that was built at the time of the fall, when the plague was raging across the world and the chimeras of war were prowling for prey. We assumed that the King's men would come for us, and they do sometimes send raiding parties. But really I think they are not interested in us now. We set traps and hide in wait sometimes to try and capture one for questioning - I hid you in one of those places today - but they come less and less."

Lizzy wiped tears from her eyes and looked again at Conny, whose mother was combing her hair and whispering a story for her. Conny was silent, but she had resumed her vacant staring, and her hands made repeated patterns over and over - as if turning and stroking an invisible object. The motion stirred something in her memory, but she couldn't place what it was immediately. "So why did Conny get sent back? Is it because she's a plague wraith?"

"No. When Conny was taken, she was perfectly healthy. I believe she was deliberately infected, then sent back to tell us that this is what fate awaits the others if we interfere with the plans the Carrion King is making, and as sure as autumn turns to winter, he is planning something. There have been many ships coming to the Haven, and some men from the north and east too - grey cloaks and dangerous. We try to avoid them, as meeting them leads to fighting and death. We do not know what is happening, but we do plan to resist, as only evil can come from a man such as he who steals children."

"But Conny knew I was coming? How?"

"I don't know how, but she did foretell your arrival. Here, let me show you." Venyamin smoothed out the first roll of parchment. On it were a number of scrawled drawings, made from charcoal. Conny must use a burnt stick, Lizzy supposed. In some places, the parchment had been torn through, making the drawings hard to decipher.

"Look here, and here," said Venyamin, pointing to two similar scrawls that looked vaguely like a stick person. In one, the arms of the figure were held up straight out to the sides, and from the end of each arm rose a line, one short, one long. The second figure had no arms, but from the middle there extended two lines, again, one short and one long. Both figures had been given long black hair. Lizzy looked down at the samurai swords at her waist. They stuck out on her left side, just like they did in the drawings.

"These are the early drawings, the ones she made soon after she was was returned." Venyamin rolled the top parchment up to reveal the one beneath. "As you can see, her drawings improved with time."

Lizzy gasped. The second sheet had only one drawing, that of a girl, stood on the deck of a ship looking out to sea. There was much greater detail in this drawing, and it was almost impossible not to recognise her likeness, Even the way the rigging was drawn looked right for the Guillemot, and in the background, fuzzy and indistinct, was a figure that might have been her father.

"In the last week, she drew this..." Venyamin pulled a sheet out from beneath the pile, and presented it to Lizzy. This time, only the head and shoulders were drawn, taking up almost the whole parchment. Every detail of Elizabeth's face was there, right down to the small scar on her right cheek where she had nicked herself with the katana sword some weeks before.

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Lizzy, unable to to take in the strangeness of this turn of events. Her eyes wandered over the rest of the parchment and she saw several smaller drawings, done in haste it seemed. Most of them looked familiar - it was the bay the Guillemot had grounded in while she was making her escape. One even had an axe drawn above it, buried in a log. Lizzy looked at Venyamin and saw confirmation in his eyes of what she was thinking.

"You knew where to find me, didn't you? You knew I would be there, and that I would follow the sound of the axe. You came to help me!"

"No, Elizabeth," replied Venyamin. "I came to get you, so that you could help us. Here, there is more."

Venyamin pulled the last sheet out from the pile and placed it on top. "After we went to fetch you, Conny drew just once more. Take a look, please."

Lizzy looked at the parchment. On it was another drawing of a head and shoulders, but this time she did not recognise the image. It was a boy, dark skinned, slightly older than she was perhaps, but young all the same. Unsmiling, almost sad, his face seemed to Lizzy that of someone who had experienced a lot of pain and disappointment. The boy's eyes were fierce in their stare, as if accusing Lizzy of daring to look at him. The image was very dark, and Lizzy picked the parchment up and held it nearer the light to see it more clearly. When she did, she saw that Conny had drawn the boys skin browny-red, realising with a twist of her stomach that she must have used her own blood to colour the image.

"Who is he?" Lizzy asked.

"We do not know. I take it you do not recognise him?"

"No, I don't. His skin is red in the drawing. Do you think he's...?"

"A revenant? Plague marked like Conny? Yes, I do. But there is something strange about him."

"He's not affected. I mean, the plague hasn't affected his mind. Look, he's healthy, not thin at all. And his eyes, he has intelligent eyes. How strange."

"Strange indeed. I'm glad you see it too. The others, they are not so sure. Now, I believe it is our challenge, and your challenge particularly, to find this boy and bring him to us. I do not know why - not yet, but I believe this to be of the utmost importance."

"But where do we start? He could be anywhere! Maybe not even in this country! How do you expect me to find him?"

"Look at the parchments, see if there is anything there that you recognise, anything that helps to set us on the right path."

Lizzy sorted through the pile of parchment, looking at each one in turn. Most of the drawings were of her or the wood where Venyamin found here. Some were undecipherable and too haphazard to be anything recognisable.

Eventually, she found herself looking again at the drawing of the boy. Around the edge were several smaller drawings, like those around her own. Most she couldn't make out. Some might have been a large building, perhaps a castle, others might have been crows or hawks. Something odd about the way the boy was drawn made Lizzy turn the parchment upside down. Now, where the drawing ended just below the boys shoulders, the scrawls and lines made a new image, one that Lizzy recognised with a shock of amazement and wonder.

"I know this place! I've been there! You see these lines, and the towers? This is a bridge, and it crosses the Severn estuary up near the Freetown of Chepstow! We were there just the other day to... to drop off a man who never talked, and who wore grey... Oh no!"

*

The sound of horses and people milling around outside eventually drew Lizzy out from the hut. She had dressed in her clean clothes, donned her swords, then draped a thick cloak around herself that Venyamin had provided. Outside, the rain had turned to drizzle, and she pulled the hood of the cloak over her head. There were thirteen of them altogether - ten of the strongest and most determined menfolk of the clan Seaward, Conny and her mother, and Lizzy. They would be setting out for the bridge in Conny's drawing, and for the town beyond, where the plague-wraith boy lived, or, perhaps now, had once lived.

Lizzy's insides churned with emotion. She feared for her father's safety. She wasn't convinced that looking for the boy was the right thing to do, and she couldn't agree with the elders that she was the clan's guide, their Napravljat, who would deliver them their lost children. None of it made sense and she desperately felt the need for a friend to talk to.

The party left the Ghostwood to the sound of sobbing and silent farewells. Lizzy had the feeling she wouldn't be returning, and the tears came again.