The Corn King and the Spring Queen. Naomi Mitchison

Tarrik said: ‘Erif is dead and my magic has gone out of me.’ And he turned away from them and ran up a little winding, stony path that started between the pomegranate trees and went on towards the hills. Berris looked after him, getting smaller and smaller among the shaking bushes.

      Philylla had been standing by, horrified and inadequate. She went over to Berris and touched his hand. At the touch he collapsed on to his knees at her feet and began sobbing and whispering frantically his sister’s name. She began to stroke his shoulder with little dry touches. ‘Poor Berris,’ she said. ‘Oh poor, poor Berris!’ But he did not notice her at all.

      Then the Queen and Panteus came up towards them. They watched her for a moment, then Agiatis beckoned. She left Berris and went over to them. She came up to the Queen’s shoulder now, and she was still growing fast. Berris did not move. ‘Poor boy!’ said the Queen, and squeezed Philylla’s hand. Then she asked where the other had gone. Philylla pointed up the twisting path, and saw Panteus look quickly at the Queen. ‘Yes,’ she said, and then to Philylla, ‘that was the path King Agis took when he went up into the mountains and came down to me in the morning with the idea of the New Times in his head. That was the path.’