Frostings of ragged spiders' webs hung like hammocks across the shattered remains of teasels. They did not break as Talia rode through them on her white pony.

Glancing at Wakelin and Dawkin's astonished faces, Eppie realised that they, too, had seen Spellbound fill the sky, his wings blackened, thudding, creating the wild tempest.

Eppie and the others had not, however, felt the slightest breeze. Around their feet not even a leaf had stirred. It was as though the villagers had been blown away, Talia desiring only those whom she cherished to be present at her death. For her ghostly death it was. She had existed in a watery underworld, but no more. In her sister's face, as their eyes met, Eppie saw a yearning for peace. She knew from Gabriel's expression that he, also, understood that their sister was leaving.

*Talia!' Thurstan shouted elatedly, setting eyes upon her. *Cast the locket to me!'

Eppie wanted to weep with hopelessness knowing that, once Thurstan had the cicada in his clutches, evil would triumph. At the same time she was fraught with anxiety, desiring Talia's liberty more than anything.

Talia concentrated her supernatural powers upon the locket. Emitting a high-pitched whine, it sped from her hand, faster than an arrow shot from a crossbow. At the moment it struck the tree, a terrific boom rent the air like breaking waves thundering into a sea-cave. Louder even than this, though cut short, arose Thurstan's euphoric cry of victory.

From the tree emanated a breath of earthy air. Dangling, broken twigs sprang back briskly and merged resolutely with their mother branches.

Creaks and groans arose from within the oak like a galleon battling its way through stormy seas. These were swiftly followed by the soothing resonance of gentle waves as though the vessel had succeeded in its quest for still waters.

By enchantment, the woodland vanished.

Eppie squinted, her lips slightly parted, trying to recognise the spectral maiden who drifted towards them through the snow-white mist.

Wakelin broke the silence of the watchers, almost gasping out the words. *It's Molly. My Molly!' Sobbing joyfully, he fell to his knees and gripped his fingers before his stubbly chin, as though in prayer.

Molly kissed him upon the forehead. It was a touch that encompassed them all, a kiss so delicate that it could hardly be felt; a touch as soft as the wings on an angel.

In stunned silence, they watched Talia turn and ride away, trailed by Ophelia and Prince Ferdinand.

The girls took one last lingering look back, on their faces expressions of bliss, before welcoming, heavenly arms swept around them, enfolding them in love.

*Thank you,' Eppie whispered to her sister, realising her help in granting her desire for Wakelin.

Leaning on her make-shift crutch, she limped towards the Crusader Oak and ran her fingers over the bark. It no longer felt flaky, but firm and solid.

It was only then that she noticed a branch she did not recall seeing before. It looked the exact shape of Thurstan's arm, where she had last seen him reach out to Talia. From the fist-like end dripped a fine golden chain.

When Thurstan had caught the cicada, his cry had abruptly changed to that of a coward; a man who had destroyed everything in his path and knew that his own life must now be forfeit. The victim of his own ploy, he would exist for eternity, though not in a way he could ever have envisaged. Losing its flesh and blood, his body had transformed to canker, crushed as the tree's heartwood regrew.

Black ooze, like tears, bled from his eyes, staining the bark and tainting the lichens. Eyes which sank into the tree and dried, until they looked like knotted swirls in the wood.

Rays of sunlight scattered to earth between the buckled branches of the tree.

A girl was singing a joyful melody.

Carried on warm, heavenly winds, it was a song of farewell to a beloved brother and sister. At last, Talia had found her voice.

end.