The trees rose behind her in a dark wall. The trunks were wide and straight, their full canopies swaying lightly in the wind. Birds chirruped in the branches and squirrels played. There was no sign of a demonic raccoon dragging a torn piece of intestine behind it as it lurched after her.
She placed her hands on her knees and bent over to catch her breath. Her knife was still in her hand. She stared at it for a moment before kneeling to sheathe it. She couldn’t be seen running around with a knife by any of the villagers. They already called her strange.
She straightened and walked quickly back toward the village, listening carefully for any sounds behind her. She glanced over her shoulder at least five times before she reached the main road and saw nothing except the trees, growing smaller and less threatening with every step.
By the time she passed the first cottage, she felt foolish for letting herself get spooked so easily. The raccoon was nothing but a scavenger acting like a scavenger. She’d let Urich know that his mother hadn’t answered the door. He could go out to find her. She briefly considered warning him about the woods but discarded the idea. She couldn’t go about spreading rumors of dark things in the woods. Anyone else could say things like that, but if she started the rumor, people would be giving her the evil eye by the end of the week.
So lost was she in her thoughts that at first she didn’t notice that there were more people on the street than was normal for a late summer afternoon. The baker scowled at her as she walked by. Rowan looked down at her dress. She was rumpled and sweaty, but she wasn’t completely unpresentable. Jon, the big smith, looked her in the eye and turned away. She slowed, suddenly wary. That wasn’t normal. Jon was a quiet man who’d served in the army like her Da. If anyone was her friend here it was Jon. He’d never turned away from her before. Maisey Harlec, the pretty, plump, golden-haired daughter of the mayor, smiled at her as she approached and that stopped Rowan in her tracks. Maisey never smiled at her unless something bad was about to happen. She looked around in horror as people left their homes and shops to gather in the streets.
Something was wrong. Maybe the woods had only been trying to warn her, not scare her away. She should have talked to the oak. A uniformed man stepped out of the mayor’s house and she broke into a run.
Mother…
Darting down the alley between the bakery and inn, she took the back way home. She hopped over Master Gelen’s fence and ran through the yard, startling his chickens into a frenzy. The gate was open. It was always open and she pushed through it without bothering to slam it closed. She bolted down the laneand skidded around the corner to the small cottage she shared with her mother. It was as far off the main road as you could get, their plot of land stretching out behind. The house was still standing. The crops all fine. Her mother was nowhere in sight, but there were soldiers at the door.
One of them, enormously big, was turned away from her, glowering into the woods. The other, young and handsome, sat on the stone bench out front. The very spot where her mother always sat in the evening to drink her tea and watch the sunset.
The young one looked up as she approached, his face blanking of all expression. He called out to his fellow and stood slowly, reaching for the hilt of his sword.
She choked on a short, hysterical laugh. He was a grown man. A soldier! What did he possibly have to fear from her?
She wet her lips which had suddenly gone dry. “Sir, is there a problem? My mother…”
Both soldiers advanced on her, one sliding to the right, the other to her left, closing in like the jaws of a wolf. She took a step back.
The young soldier, fair-haired and solemn, asked, “You live here, child? In this house?”
She thought about denying it, but their neighbor, Master Walis, stepped out onto his porch just then. Arms crossed, he watched the scene with a smirk on his despicable face.
“That’s her,” he said gleefully. “She’s the witch’s brat.”
“No.” Not denying her mother but denying the charge of witchcraft.
It didn’t matter. Both soldiers moved at once with a speed that surprised her. She was bone weary and stiff with shock. She never would have outrun them.
The older soldier grabbed her first, his hard hand closing around her upper arm, tight enough to make her squeak.
The younger one cast him a glare. “Easy, Kenet. She’s only a child.”
“A few years and you’ll know better than to trust any of them, Ash.”
Ash released his grip on his sword. “We don’t even know if the charges are true yet.”
“They are,” Kenet said as if it were unquestionable truth. “The captain wouldn’t have called for a trial if the woman wasn’t a witch.”
Ash’s mouth twisted. “It doesn’t mean she’s guilty.”
Kenet rolled his eyes and tugged on her arm. She dug in her heels, her eyes darting around her, looking for an escape route. If she could get free, then she could…she could… What? Storm the prison and rescue her mother? Hide away in the woods? She couldn’t leave her mother.
“Where are you taking me?”
Ash took her other arm and together the soldiers got her moving, guiding her back toward the town center.
“Don’t worry,” Ash said. “We’re only taking you to speak with the captain. You haven’t been charged with anything.”
But she saw the angry and frightened and excited expressions on the faces of the people they passed as they walked to the town hall and knew that in the eyes of the town she was already guilty.
The soldiers marched her swiftly through the curious villagers that had gathered before the town hall. Rowan heard the mayor’s voice above the hum of conversation, but the blood thundering in her ears prevented her from making out his words. This couldn’t really be happening.
