"Ooh, how'd you do that, daughter?"

"How'd I do what?" Lina asked, as she dragged a big wooden tub across the kitchen floor.

"That wee cut on your wrist there, was that while you were weeding?"

Lina looked at her wrist, then at her other wrist—her mother was right, on her left wrist was a thin but noticeable white mark. How her mother had spotted it from across the room she didn't question; when it came to her own children's injuries, the woman had eyes like a hawk.

"Huh," said Lina, looking at it. "I don't know. I didn't even do weeding today, I was helping Dad in the fields."

"Let's have a look." Lina held her hand out to her mother, who examined it with pursed lips. "Could be worms, white mark like that."

"Mum! I don't have worms!"

"Just saying," said Lina's mother mildly. She peered closer at the mark. "Seems a bit straight for that, though you never can tell. Go see Mrs Roberts when you go back into town."

"How'd you—"

Lina stopped talking as her mother tapped the side of her nose knowingly. Her cheeks were warm as she picked up the tub again and resumed dragging it outside.

Ten minutes later, as she sat in the tub scrubbing at herself with a soapy cloth, Lina noticed a second mark, this one longer and somehow deeper, on her right breast. Like the one on her wrist it was pale and smooth to the touch. They're like little scars, Lina thought, as she frowned at the one on her breast. Then she shook her head and got on with washing.

"I'm going to the village!" she called out, after drying off, and dressing, and carefully re-braiding her hair. She quickly made her way along the road leading to the village, feeling more excited with every step.

"Someone's in a good mood this eve," said Mrs Peterson from the valley, as Lina passed her by. "Nice little tune you're humming."

"Good evening, Mrs Peterson," Lina said, turning back to wave. I didn't even realise I was humming, she thought, I must be happy. She walked on for another few minutes before hearing someone else call out to her—

"Oh, good evening Miss Grey. Thank you for what you did for our brother."

Lina turned to see Tom Strop standing in the field to the right of the road, hoe in his hands. She walked over to the wall at the side of the road, her cheeks a little red.

"I didn't really do much," she said. "Mostly it was Nancy. Is he doing all right?"

Tom nodded. "Keeps wanting to come out and help in the fields, me and Jim almost have to tie him to his bed."

"I'm glad he's feeling better."

"Thanks to you, Miss Grey. Reckon people are talking nonsense, all that stuff they're saying. Anyway. Have a good evening, eh?"

"Oh ... you as well, Tom," said Lina, feeling more than a little confused as she started walking towards the village again. Then she remembered where she was headed and all the warmth and happiness came flooding back into her at once.

By the time Lina reached the village the sun was only a few hands above the horizon. This had long been her favourite time of day. All the day chores had been done and the evening chores could be put off, at least for a while, and so there was space for unnecessary things. It was a happy time, a relaxed time, a time of gossip and lightness. Lina exchanged greetings with several people as she made her way through the village, and waved at her friend Betty as she saw her on the other side of the common. Betty didn't notice her, so Lina headed straight for Adam's house.

"Ah, now." Mr Graft stood as Lina came near, standing in front of the door.

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"Good evening, Mr Graft," Lina said. "Can I go in?"

"Maybe better if you don't," he said. "Not this evening."

"Why not?"

"Might just be better if you come back tomorrow."

"What's wrong?" Lina said, voice tight. "What's going on? Is Mrs Roberts in there with him? Has she ... has she been in there all day?"

"She—"

Both Mr Graft and Lina looked up as the front door of Adam's house opened and Mrs Roberts appeared, her old face grey and wan. She looked at Lina, then at Mr Graft, and then she gave the slightest shake of her head, almost imperceptible. But Mr Graft saw it ... and so did Lina.

"No!" she shrieked. "No, he's not! What did you do? What did—"

Mrs Roberts lowered her hand from where she'd slapped Lina—it wasn't a hard blow, and it hadn't hurt at all, but it shocked Lina out of the hysterics she was working herself into. She stared at Mrs Roberts as Mrs Roberts glared at her.

"Calm yourself, girl," she said. "Getting yourself into a state won't help anyone."

"But he's ... he's..."

Mrs Roberts looked into Lina's eyes, and she reached out to pat her on the shoulder.

"He's gone," she said.

Lina stared at Mrs Roberts, then she rushed forward, burying her face in the old lady's shoulder, clutching at her practical black dress, sobbing uncontrollably.

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"The way I look at things, it'd mean risking the village. Forget everything else and think about Banding. Like I've always said, the village has got to come before any single person."

"And what if it was your daughter, eh? Or that little baby son of yours? Or your wife?"

"Then I'd like to think I'd be sitting here saying the same thing. We're not talking about some petty business here, this is witchcraft—or maybe even worse than that. You hear tales of those that've been demon-touched, or cursed by spirits—"

"Doesn't sound like you, to be talking of that manner of thing—"

"Maybe it doesn't. But then you weren't there when she did it. I tell you, that boy was hammering on death's door with both fists, making the unholiest noise I've ever heard in my life, and then that girl ... that girl ... of course we know it was some kind of cursed trick she pulled now, but..."

"Let's get back to the point here. I like things to be simple, as you all know, and the way I see this is that we can't know if she's a danger to the village or not. Before anyone else dies—"

"I wanna say somethin' here. Now, it weren't like I was there or nothin', but the way I've heard it told that boy was as good as dead anyway. This girl did something to him, gave him a day or two more than he should've got, or maybe just made those days he had left more bearable, I dunno. Important thing bein', from where I'm sittin' it don't look like this girl killed the boy at all. Now I dunno what she did and I dunno whether she's a danger or not, but as far as killin' anybody goes—"

"Mrs Roberts has spoken for her, it's true. She says it was bad blood that killed the boy, like when old Oaks got squashed up against that fence by his cows—you remember that? Walked away with barely a mark on 'im, dropped dead a week later—"

"Getting back to the point, we've got a decision to make here—"

"I don't reckon that's true. I reckon it'd be unfair to make a decision before knowing what—"

"If a man came into the village, and if you knew he was a murderer, would you wait for him to kill again before you locked him up? Or better yet, sent him on his way?"

"Like I just said, this girl ain't killed no one, not by my figurin'. Actin' like she has—"

"She comes from a big family. Pulls her weight by all accounts, but it's not like she'd be missed."

"Excuse me, sir, but what in the hell kind of thing is that to say? She's their daughter, their sister, how in the hell are you gonna sit there sayin' she ain't gonna be missed?"

"I'm saying that the farm would do fine without her, I'm trying to look at this rationally—"

"There ain't a drop of rationality in tearing a girl away from her family—"

"And what if this girl is demon-touched or some kind of witch, or cursed—you hear stories about the Devastation, about the monsters that were around back then—"

"Yeah, 'stories'—"

"—so what if we have one of those monsters here, in our village? What if she isn't their daughter no more? What if she never was? This girl was a quiet one, by accounts, never made trouble, never spoke out, an ordinary girl—maybe that was some kind of disguise—"

"And so she breaks that disguise by pretending to heal a boy who was gonna die anyway? Sorry if I'm being stupid, but that don't make a lot of sense to me."

"Who knows how demons think? Maybe this is how it starts, maybe we head out to the Grey farmstead tomorrow morning and find the rest of that girl's family dead—"

"Maybe she's an angel come down to give us a spot of hope in these dark times—look, I don't necessarily believe that myself but once you start throwing maybes around—"

"I've got another issue. We're thinking about our village here. What happens when word of this spreads—and you know it's gonna. What happens once this starts attracting attention?"

"That's a good point. I don't wanna be associated with this kind of goings on, Banding's a grand little village and a good place to live, we don't need any kind of attention from outside."

"Well ... well damn it, we've got to do something."

"What, then? What do we do with her?"