The full moon had not yet risen as the girl trudged along the rough path that traversed the top of the long ridge up the Tor. Even so, there was sufficient light for her to see the ruined tower of St Michael’s Church on the summit, silhouetted against the darkening sky. She looked down at the baby clasped in her arms, barely three months old, and wrapped the shawl tighter around it. This Midsummer Eve the weather was warm and clear, but there was moisture in the air and she did not want it to catch a chill.

Many feet had trodden the path before her, but it was still uneven and irregular, and it was with relief that the girl reached the summit. An uneven expanse of short turf led to the base of the tower, rough layers of stonework still outlining where the rest of the church had once stood. The girl walked around the side of the tall structure, then sat down on the grass at the edge of the slope to rest. The baby screwed up its tiny eyes and began to keen gently. The girl unlaced the front of her shift to expose her bare breast, and her child began to suckle contentedly. A feeling of deep sorrow engulfed her. Her attachment to her child was deep and intense, and a tear came to her eye as she remembered that this was the last time she would feel its mouth at her nipple.

But the glowing sphere of the moon was now fully above the horizon, casting a pale luminescence over the fields and hedgerows, picking out the golden stone of Wells Cathedral nestling in the distance, under the Mendip Hills. The time had come, and the girl gently laid the baby on the ground, wrapped in the plain shawl that she herself had sewn for it. Fed and satisfied, it cooed happily, waving its plump little arms in the warm air.

The girl felt a cool wind gust across the top of the Tor, and she shivered. She picked up the baby, hugged it one more time, then replaced it on the ground. Around the edge of the summit, the grass seemed to wave and tremble. The girl stepped back, turned, and began to walk briskly away, back down the rough path. She turned once to see the tiny bundle lying on the ground, then hastened as quickly as she could down the hill, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t look back a second time.

Twelve Months Earlier

No more than once in a generation did the full moon rise on Midsummer Eve itself, already the most magical night of the year. But the legend was explicit, and the people of the town knew better than to forget or ignore it. The well-being of their community required them to remain on good terms with the spirits that inhabited the woods and hedgerows around Glastonbury, and many were the small rituals and habits that were second nature to those who lived under the shadow of the Tor. But this special night demanded a special ritual.

Everyone knew what it was. A virgin female, between the ages of 16 and 20, was to be taken to the top of the Tor on Midsummer Eve. Naked, she was to await the rising of the midsummer full moon, when the king of the guardian spirits would come and impregnate her with his seed. Twelve months later, on the next Midsummer Eve, the child of this union was to be taken to the spot where it was conceived and left for the spirits to take for their own. This offering would ensure continuing protection for the town and its people.

It sounded harsh, but most versions of legend implied that the child would be well-treated by the spirits, and the girl who gave up both her virginity and her infant was similarly blessed. The charts of the wise ones made it easy to predict in advance when this special event would take place, and girls who were born within the appropriate time period took care to preserve their virginity during the preceding years. To be the chosen maiden was a rare and treasured honour.

By tradition, the names of all girls whose birth records showed themselves to be eligible were placed in a basket of Somerset willow and a name publicly drawn at random under the market cross the week before Midsummer Eve. This year, the name drawn was that of Susannah Underhill, whose family had farmed in the area for as long as anyone could remember. This was agreed to be an excellent omen, as was the fact that Susannah was an attractive girl, with long golden hair and fine skin, but strong and healthy as well.

The sun was already low in the sky on Midsummer Eve when the townsfolk gathered in the marketplace for the rite to begin. Susannah was brought from her family’s home wearing just a simple woollen shift, and she sat at the foot of the market cross while her hair was braided with wildflowers by the younger children. A procession then led her through the town, past the empty Abbey and across the fields to the ancient well at the foot of the Tor. Here, final words were spoken before Susannah and three of the other maidens began the steady ascent up the old pathway to the summit. Once at the top, her attendants removed her shift, leaving her completely naked. They then embraced their friend, before retracing their steps back to the town. The rest of the rite was to be experienced by the chosen girl alone.

Susannah shivered slightly as she felt the night air on her naked body. Her legs and arms were burnished brown from the sun, in contrast to the paler skin of her little breasts, her tummy, and her private parts below. The ruined tower behind her seemed as naked and vulnerable as she was, offering little comfort or protection. She turned her back on it and sat on the grass looking out over the peaceful landscape below. The evening mist rose from the fields, and slowly filled the valley, like water filling a tub. Before long, only the tops of the trees could be seen emerging from the swirling clouds. It was as if the seas had inundated the whole world, leaving the Tor as the sole refuge. Susanna knew that there were higher hills in the distance, but their outlines were quickly lost to sight as the dusk fell.

Soon, she watched as the full moon started to emerge from behind the hills, its light bathing her naked body with a luminous glow. As its light finally washed over the whole of the tower, a cool wind swept briefly across the top of the Tor, causing goosebumps to form on Susannah’s bare skin. As she stared at the point where the ground sloped sharply down, she saw the grasses stirring in a strange unnatural way. They seemed to whirl and expand, forming strange spirals that rose upwards. As they swirled higher, shimmering in the moonlight, the air itself seemed to solidify, forming shapes that span and flickered in front of her eyes. Susanna felt her head start to swirl in time with the grass. It was beginning.

As she watched, the insubstantial forms seemed to solidify in front of her eyes, like hoar frost forming on leaves. She found herself looking at four separate ethereal forms, each one developing a head; four limbs; a torso. And suddenly they were there, a silent quartet of sprites, their curvaceous figures, firm-moulded breasts and plump pubic areas identifying them as manifestly female; almost human in form, and pale green in colour, like fresh spikes of grass, but somehow not quite solid. Susannah felt that if she reached out to touch one, her hand might go straight through. Silently they stared at her, hanging effortlessly in the air, just above the ground. Susanna had always assumed the faerie folk to have wings, but these seemed not to need such artificial aids.

And without warning Susanna found her head filled with the intermingling echo of their voices, although no sound came from their mouths.

“She’s here.”

“So pretty.”

“So soft, so innocent.”

“Look at her little breasts.”

Suddenly she felt embarrassed and pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around them, hiding her nakedness.

The air seemed to fill with a tinkling, as of tiny bells. The sprites were laughing.

“Oh no, don’t hide yourself, my sweet.”

“We want to see.”

“Your budding breasts ... your moist private places.”

“Don’t be shy.”

Then they were all around her, their slender fingers gently grasping her limbs. Everywhere they touched her, she felt her skin and flesh tingle and come alive, like a tickling but going deeper, filling her with a pleasurable sensation like nothing she’d ever felt before. She didn’t resist as they took hold of her arms, pulling them away from her chest to expose her small bare breasts. Then two of them held a leg each and spread them wide apart. Susannah began to blush as the private parts between her thighs were so openly displayed, but she was also curiously excited and began to enjoy the attention of the sprites. She sat back with her hands on the ground, her legs laid flat, and let them look at her breasts and the dark patch of hair between her legs.

These seemed to please them, and they flitted round her exposed body.

“Look at her.”

“So perfect.”

“So innocent, so sweet.”

“Oh my, her breasts are so small...”

“Smaller than ours.”

“Yes, ours are bigger.”

That tinkling in the air again, and the sprites’ own bare breasts bounced and shook.

Then one of the sprites reached out and touched the little mound of Susanna’s right breast. The fingers gently stroked over her nipple, which instantly hardened like the ripening bud of a hedgerow rose. The tingle of pleasure was so intense that Susanna let out a little cry. She could see the skin around her nipple dimpled and aroused. The bud itself had never been so hard, not even when she played with it herself at night.

“She likes it, likes it.”

“Of course she does, who would not?”

“But will she do for him?”

“Oh yes, she will do.”

“She will.”

“She will. Her strong young body will please him greatly.”

Susanna felt herself blushing as the sprites whirled around her, discussing such personal matters. But then they became yet more personal.