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By Root 188 0

But there was no illumination within the place now, and precious few other lanterns or discernible objects to help Jens work out where he was. Moments later, he paused, scratching his head – had he gone too far? It was hard to be sure, the fog seeming to dull his senses as much as his vision. Should he double back and make sure he turned left at the marble fountain that overlooked the green?

Before Jens could decide, a tiny, delicate noise began to wrap itself around the cotton-wool silence. The noise grew louder, but never became shrill or overbearing. It seemed indistinguishable from the mist and the darkness, coming from every direction at once – and nowhere.

It was a girl, singing.

Where the water flows round and round

The crooked tree that we found –

Where I found you and you found me,

And brothers, sisters, find not one of three –

We shall meet there and tread soft,

And let hat and coat and shoe be doffed,

Lest bird and animal hear our call

And one by one, unpitied, fall.

It was a childish rhyme, of course, an almost tuneless play on words that Jens remembered his mother singing to him when he couldn’t sleep. She used to embellish and add words and fall over herself in a desperate attempt to follow the rhythm of the thing. Jens in turn had sung it to…

‘Shiga?’

He turned on the spot, desperate to hear the voice again, desperate to discover another reason to hope, to imagine, to believe…

‘Is that you, girl?’ he called out into the unreal silence – it was as if he stood alone in a void, with nothing around him but a bank of fog, and a memory – or an echo – of the girl’s voice.

‘Shiga?’ he called out, more loudly this time, but no reply came back to him.

Jens shook his head and, cursing the ale he’d had, he started to stumble back towards his house – though unsure of the direction now, he was sure he’d soon see something he recognised.

Without warning the ethereal singing began again.

Where the water flows round and round

The crooked tree that we found –

Where I found you and you found me,

And brothers, sisters, find not one of three…

A tiny, drained, grey figure stepped from the shadows and into the sputtering light of the torch. Hair that was once burned like ripe cornfields fell about the child’s shoulders like silver chains; eyes and cheeks that had been bright with life were as pale as the enveloping mist.

But the features, the voice that chimed like tiny bells – they were unmistakeable.

‘Shiga!’ Without thinking, Jens took a step forward – and the girl sank back into the fog, as if keeping her distance. She resolutely finished her song, her voice cracking with emotion.

We shall meet there and tread soft,

And let hat and coat and shoe be doffed,

Lest bird and animal hear our call

And one by one, unpitied, fall…

A single tear tracked a serpentine line down her cheek.

‘Father,’ she said formally, half-bowing in the breath between words, ‘why did you let me fall?’

‘My love, I would never…’

She interrupted him, a sound like gathered wind. ‘You let me fall! You let me down, day by day, and you were too fond of drink to see it!’

‘No, my love… I only started drinking when you… When you left.’

‘You were drinking long before that!’ The girl’s eyes were pearls no longer, but dark, compressed stone. ‘I lost you years ago – and only recently have you lost me…’

Jens paused, deep in thought. Had it really been like that? Was she right – had the long nights in the inn, staring into a muddled succession of tankards and glasses, started before she had been snatched away in the fog?

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, the words tumbling without thought or pretence. ‘I’m so sorry…’ And his own tears fell now, burning against his skin.

The girl seemed unsure of herself, as if, of all possible reactions, this was the one she had least expected. ‘Father,’ she said, in a voice as quiet as an infant’s sigh. ‘Dad…’

‘Yes, my love?’ Jens looked up, though he could hardly bear to look at her – she seemed so pale, so fragile,