With her arms supported by the golems, Five tripped and scuffed her way up the cobbled path to Coldharbour Farm on electric-blue rollerblades. She stopped on the courtyard, the farmhouse to her right, the barn to her left, the towering bonfire and bathtub looming in front.

Erin wondered what Five's addled, turbulent mind was making of this. How long had The Patchwork Woman kept her locked away in the hull of The Black Peril? What effect had that done to the poor scarecrow? Nothing good, Erin knew that much.

She seemed well enough, however. In one piece. No visible signs of damage or distress.

The Patchwork Woman circled Five, nudging her towards the barn.

Erin darted across to intercept them, but Five side-stepped the girl and skated inside.

"What are you doing?" Erin said, trailing The Patchwork Woman.

"Finishing what you couldn't," she answered simply. "Bringing my army to life."

"No," Erin whimpered, trying to get to Five. "Not with her. She's suffered enough."

The Patchwork Woman gave a quick hand gesture and the golems seized Erin again.

"You're quite the pest," she told the girl. "I really ought to squash you like a fly, but I'd hate to see you miss all the excitement."

Erin struggled hopelessly in the golem's tight, clammy hands.

"You've given them a uniform," The Patchwork Woman said, walking up and down the line, inspecting the football jersey on each scarecrow. "How quaint."

"I haven't armed them yet," Erin tried desperately. "I have weapons in mind, but I thought it best if—"

"What you thought is at an end. We have no use for you sticks and kitchen knives here. I have weapons for my warriors. Steel blades collected by Loren and her wickermen. The Mother of Scarecrows' army will be a lethal fighting machine, feared in every corner of The Endless Blue. All will perish or obey!"

The Patchwork Women spun on her grotesque heels to face Number Five. "Kneel," she ordered, rolling her shoulders.

Five sunk to the ground.

"You remember what we discussed," the Patchwork Women hissed. Five nodded slowly. "Then what are you waiting for?" she exploded. "I want scarecrow warriors and I want them now!"

Five began to shake, her hands grasping the edges of her eye sockets.

Erin screamed for her to stop. "Don't, Five. Don't do it!"

The Patchwork Women grabbed Erin, slapping an infected hand across her mouth.

"Begin!" she hissed.

The light inside Five's damaged basketball head started to glow. It expanded quickly, reaching into the corners of the barn, scaring the spiders and bugs into deeper crevices.

Despite the vanishing sun, the barn was brighter than midday in the height of summer.

Five's head had vanished, engulfed in a voluminous, pulsating orb of light. Her arms shook as she reached down to steady herself against the earth, fingers spreading in the hardened straw as he body shook. Stones and pebbles skittered away from her in perfect circles.

Number Five's body arched back as the orb suddenly retracted inside her head.

Silence descended.

Shadows emerged for the briefest of moments.

Then, a brilliant light shot out of Five's eyes hitting the first Redkite scarecrow— Number 18, the Quarterback, pinning his arms and legs against the corrugated shell of the barn. He jigged around manically, as though being strapped to an electric chair.

The Patchwork Woman screamed encouragement, egging the scarecrow on.

The light retracted.

Five re-adjusted her head like ships cannon aiming at a new target. Hot vapours rose into the rood of the barn, then Number Five exploded once more.

The next scarecrow shook chaotically as it was engulfed by the shimmering white rays. On and on she went, from one Redkite scarecrow to the next, until the entire team had been showered in her luminous phosphorescence.

Darkness fell.

Five groaned and collapsed to her right, her rollerblade wheels squeaked to a halt.

Erin struggled again, trying to help her. "Please," she begged, pulling The Patchwork Women's hand from her lips. "She's in pain. Let me help her."

The Patchwork Woman threw Erin to the ground, stepped over the stricken scarecrow and inspected her army. At first, the Redkites just hung there against the wall, arms and legs at jaunty angles as heat rose of them like boiled vegetables. But then, as if waking from hibernation, they began to move.

To Erin it felt like magic— something from an elaborate stage musical.

Each scarecrow had a strange, unfinished look to the way they moved. Metal joints screeched and groaned, helmets bashed into walls, gloved hands reached out, fingers coiling, hanging onto one another for support.

This was the first time that she'd seen her creations come to life. It filled her with an odd sensation. One of pride and joy, and an overwhelming desire to protect them with her life.

Wickermen filed into the barn holding fire-torches. Shadows danced across the walls. Shadows of scarecrows and wickermen, golems and The Patchwork Woman.

Erin recoiled into herself at the sight of the fire. A mossy hand grabbed her chin and bent it skywards.

Loren stood over her, pistol in hand. "It's time."

The wickerwoman flicked the barrel towards the courtyard. When Erin failed to move, Loren took her by the elbow and took her by force.

It was a beautiful night. The most glorious night since The Many Years Storm. The dark grey sky was streaked with cyan and turquoise and mauve, dusted with twinkling, distant stars. But nobody noticed. Everyone's eyes were on the iron-clad, roll-top bath and the ladder leant beside it.

Summoning what little energy she had left, Erin broke from Loren's grip, darting from one side to the other. But the golems were there again. Shun caught up with her with one giant stride, grabbing her, dragging her across the courtyard. "Get off me," she screamed. "Get your disgusting hands off!"

Defeated, Erin tuned out everything except the gentle break of the waves on the shore. She scanned the skies and the horizon. Everything seemed so far away, so distant. Her hopes and dreams of what life could be turned to shadows and pressed against her, throbbing like a desperate heartbeat. Everything tightened into a pinpoint. Her vision clouded with black.

The golem's stopped.

Erin jolted mid-step.

"Bring him!" The Patchwork Woman ordered.

Erin's stomach dropped.

"You're right," the woman said, as if suddenly deciding something. "You're far more valuable to me alive."

The Redkite scarecrows had made their way out of the barn and were shuffling into a rough circle around the bonfire, holding onto one another for balance.

"It's just as well there's someone to take your place."

Loren disappeared into the farmhouse.

She emerged with the pistol in one hand.

Marshall in the other.

"No!" Erin screamed.

"You say that a lot," The Patchwork Woman laughed. "But nothing comes of it. I don't often change my mind. None of my wickermen will turn to aid you. And, let me check—" She glanced over her shoulder at the horizon, "—there's no one coming to save you. No birds. No mannequins. No scarecrows." She paused wickedly. "No brother."

Erin whimpered.

"No one."

"You can't do this," Erin rallied, fighting off a tidal wave of emotion.

"Have I taught you nothing?" she said, brushing Erin's hair off her face with a repulsive hand and straighten her wonky glasses. "There's no such thing as can't. Just will and will not."

Loren moved forward, muscling Marshall to the foot of the ladder.

"I hate you," Erin spat.

The Patchwork Woman laughed again, grew to full height, her arms stretched towards the heavens.

"Put him in!"