‘Both of them? At the same Time? Are you mad? They'll kill each other with Grief.’
They had just sat down at the Clan Table, an old wood and wrought iron table in the Castle.
‘It’s against all Clan Agreements. The only way to keep those Two happy is to keep them Dead, Together. You remember what happened Last Time? Tore apart The Island in two, dinn't they? Our families are still realing from that, and that was centuries ago.’ She turned to her father, the only Elder sitting at the table. The only one with first hand experience of the stories - their history, which now sat on the shelves, roped and bound in twine and leather. When he died-
‘Yes,’ he said, as if he could hear his daughter’s thoughts. ‘When I die, no one alive will understand the stories. It must be done. You're to be handfasted and wed. Your babe will be born by MoonTime, next year. The second the babe is born - the child's husband will be called forth from the grave in his own manner. All must be put right. All must be made settled. The clans to the North and South will keep them separated. Everything will be written down, observed, recorded. When they are both dying, we will allow them to be reunited, at the Yew Grove where we last buried them.’ He put his hand up, signaling silence. But this time, this meeting - there were no protests. Everyone knew how dire the situation was. How close they were to Extinction. ‘Sign the papers here. I'll bring it to their graves.’