Everyone in the village knew that you did not enter where the scarecrows stood.

From a young age, Grace had heard tales of the punishments meted out against any who would trespass into the heart of the forest, of the dread predicaments such interlopers found themselves in once they fell into the clutches of the Green Men. The villagers who called the Refuge their home did so at their sufferance, the land they’d received in the Old Pact given on the condition they never abuse what they’d been given or break the oaths they swore.

And now Grace would. The fever was a far greater and more immediate predicament than any old story, ravaging the Refuge, claiming entire households and leaving one person in five bedridden and wracked with chills that would not cease no matter how hot the summer became or how high the hearth fires burned. The village doctor was amongst the first claimed, and none of his medicines seemed to bring any relief. Her home was dying was surely as if a wildfire swept in through the forest, or a blight ruined their crops, or a great hurricane laid waste to the entire landscape, and so Grace did the only thing she could do.

She ventured into the heart of the forest.

The domain of the Green Men was demarcated by a line of scarecrows that hung from the surrounding trees, each about the size of a grown man, crude effigies of badly stuffed straw and leftover garments, their hands withered like those of a corpse. Eyes drawn with charcoal upon burlap sacks stared down at Grace, poorly stitched mouths offering a crooked smile, and despite the blazing summer sun and the traditional thick red woolen robes she wore, she gave a shudder. Again, she remembered the village elders speaking of the predicaments that any intruders would face, and she faltered despite herself. At twenty, some of the elders proclaimed she was nearly overripe for marriage, though certainly not from lack of trying by the many village men trying to court her. And it was no wonder, for Grace was lovely. She had wide blue eyes full of life and merriment, pale, delicate features that inspired protectiveness in a man, long brown hair that hung in waves down to her waist, and soft red lips begging to be kissed. That, combined with her reliable, demure and hard-working nature, made her an ideal wife, the sort who could help raise crops and children in the often-harsh conditions of the Refuge without complaint. Everyone knew that a blade would not harm the Green Men, so she possessed no weapon save for her courage, but that had begun to falter at the threshold. What are you doing? she demanded inwardly. All the stories told of dread predicaments and harsh punishments, but very rarely of the Green Men acting with generosity and compassion. Would they be able to save the village like she hoped? Would they even want to?

What choice do you have? In truth, there was none, save to return to the Refuge and watch helplessly as all those she loved died, and that was no choice at all. Steeling herself, she called out into the surrounding woods. “My name is Grace,” she declared, keeping her voice strong and confident and free of the fears that plagued her. “An illness is sweeping through the Refuge by which we have no means to cure. I come to ask for your aid. You permitted my ancestors to settle these lands, and you alone may be able to save us in our time of need.”

No answer came. Indeed, the entire forest had gone quiet, the rustling of leaves and branches dying away, the birdsong fading, until Grace stood alone in the silence, sweat trickling down her back, mouth dry with fear. Go back, the voice of reason screamed inside, go back! But she would not, planting her boots hard into the turf as if to root herself into the ground. “Please. Whatever price you would demand of me, I will pay it. Just save my home. Please.”

For a moment, Grace thought it all futile. The Green Men did not exist. They were just some old tale told by the elders to keep the village’s youth in line, and even if they did, the lives and deaths of mere men were beneath their notice. Sighing in resignation, she turned away.

Just as a voice echoed out of the deepest reaches of the forest, beautiful and terrible in equal measure. “You would pay any price.”

Grace froze, caught between shock and relief. “Yes,” she said at last, turning back to the heart of the forest.

All around her, the scarecrows began moving, twitching spasmodically on their roosts before dropping to the ground and encircling her. “You would willingly sacrifice yourself for their well-being.”

The young woman swallowed nervously, realizing the predicament she was in, but there was no going back. “I would.”

The first scarecrow touched her shoulder, the other moving in, and Grace shivered at the clammy touch of their hands. “Then your sacrifice is accepted. We will aid you. For a price…”

And then a cold hand clamped over the mouth to stifle any scream in its crib, and the scarecrows, directed by whatever magic the Green Men possessed, set about preparing her. The heavy robes were stripped away, along with the long dress she wore beneath, until she was left utterly naked upon the forest floor. Then came the coils of rope, binding her wrists in front of her and her legs at the ankles and thighs to render her helpless. The hand was pulled away long enough for a wad of cloth to be thrust into her mouth, and Grace did not resist as more cloth was bound tight to keep that gag in place. “Mmmpppghhh…”

“We put great stock in sacrifice,” whispered the unearthly voice. A long pole was threaded beneath her bonds, one of the scarecrows carrying each other, so that Grace was lifted and carried away like one of the wild hogs the village men sometimes hunted. “As yours will be great, so too will be the rewards. We will end the fever and give the Refuge new hope. In return, you will stay with us forever. For we have a predicament of our own to solve, and in you lies the key.”

One of the scarecrows produced a vial of foul-smelling concoction and brought it towards Grace’s nose, and instantly, the beautiful brunette felt herself swooning, head reeling from the noxious scent. “Rest now,” the voice said. “You will not be hurt. For we have no desire to bring harm upon our new queen…”