Her hands rubbed and kneaded, trying to reduce stiff knots in her legs induced by last night’s arduous trip. The sharp stab of a cramp in her calf lit her brain with agony. Her teeth tightened on her lower lip as a moan escaped her throat. Automatically, her right hand drew the hedge witch wand from her belt and cast a healing spell. She relaxed as muscles eased their tension and rejuvenated. As she stood, a rough surface in her left hand assured her the Garlan branch was still there.
Leena replaced her worn wand behind her belt. She wondered whether the Garlan branch would allow her to do the same. Tentatively, she slid the stick behind her belt, uncurled her fingers, and lifted her hand away. Although she could not discard the branch, it would permit her to carry it more comfortably.
Startled by her movements, a white feathered owl lifted silently from a nearby tree and disappeared against the snowy background. Smiling at the sight, Leena combed the fingers of both hands through her thick black hair to remove twigs and bark accumulated since the start of her trip. Where she could reach, she brushed powdered snow from her tunic and skirt then resettled her scarf around head, face, and shoulders. It was time to return home.
A distant, silver-coin moon flitted through the trees above, keeping pace. She was in no hurry. The crunch of footsteps through dry powdered snow was soothing. Her thoughts drifted.
She told no one of finding the Garlan tree. First, because she feared no one would believe her, but more important, because it was personal. The Garlan tree selected her. If she had not been at the right spot, had not fallen just as she had, she would have been shifted around the Garlan tree’s protective bubble none the wiser.
However, she had been chosen. What did that mean? Was this to be a time of great trial? She had been lucky with the raven, but she was not a hero. She was a minor hedge witch, half trained. Her magic provided healing and good fortune. Perhaps she was meant to give the branch to someone else, but whom? Her mother?
Her mother! Oh Spirit!
She stopped.
By the time she reached her village, she would be gone for two nights and a day. How was she going to explain it? Even if she hurried, if she could run through the thick snow, she would not get back before morning.
Oh Mum, I am so sorry.
Her feet started moving, hips swinging widely, elbows pumping in agitation as she tried to force speed through the deep drifts.
She quickly tired and her speed increased very little. She slowed to a comfortable pace. An hour or two would make no difference.
Would her mother think she had been with a boy? No, surely not. She was not attracted to any boy in the village.
Still there was Thomai, the blacksmith’s son. A vision rose in her mind of him in his father's shop, bare to the waist, a sheen of sweat glistening on his chest as he worked the bellows. Every girl in the village admired him. However, he had shown her no special interest. Surely her mother would not suspect there was anything between them. Not that Leena would mind. He was kind and handsome. His hands were so strong.
No, that was just a silly girl’s daydream. Still, something about the thought brought a tingle to her stomach and made her palms moist.
Stop it!
If her Mum suspected Leena was with a boy, she would immediately check whether any were missing. Thomai would be safe at home and that would be the end of that idea.
What would her mother think then?
That she had been taken by wolves?
No hedge witch had anything to fear from wolves. Maybe when foraging was difficult. However, despite the season, game was sufficient now. Besides, with a wave of her wand she could heal the unfortunate animal. Her Mum knew wolves posed no danger to her.
Perhaps she could say she went to seek a winter-blooming moth flower. Rumors of them and their remarkable healing powers had been around as far back as memory. Her Mum would think her a little child to chase such a rumor. Still, if she had to travel all night to the spot, and she was so tired she slept the day, and it took all night to travel back.
What was she thinking? She could not lie to her Mum. She would have to tell as much of the truth as she could and hope her Mum would understand. Although the decision felt right, her feet felt leaden with dread as she continued her journey.
She knew this night, this trip, would be the end of a special closeness she shared with her Mum. Her Mum would understand and accept whatever Leena told her, but afterward there would be a separation that had not existed. The thought slowed her feet even more.
Her Da, now that was a different story. At the thought of him she giggled aloud and did a one footed spin with arms held wide and head thrown back, anticipating the tale she would tell.
As far back as she could remember, once he knew she was unharmed, she could tell him stories of treasure and adventure and he would be delighted. Her Da, the village tailor, dreamed an exciting life. She could hardly wait to tell him about the raven. It was safe. He would never believe her. Her Mum would cluck her tongue, walk away shaking her head, smiling at the special joy Leena and her Da shared.
Since Leena learned to talk, her Da encouraged her to tell tales of wonder about what she did each day. In trade, he would tell her stories of fantastic adventure that kept her awake and fantasizing into the wee hours.
Unfortunately, the tales bored poor Riana.
How would she explain her absence to Riana?
Riana taught her the spring dance, watched over her selection of herbs and wild flowers, and helped her through awkward spells. Riana was always there for her. She was more than a sister. She was a second mother and her best friend.
They had no secrets between them. Everyone said Leena and Riana were closer than twins. Like their Mum, Riana would accept what Leena told her. For the first time in their relationship, Leena would have to hide a part of herself from her sister.
The thought nearly caused Leena to turn back, to try again to return the branch. She knew it would be useless. For whatever reason, destiny had chosen her to have the Garlan branch. Wherever it led, she would have to fulfill that destiny. She was not certain she wanted to be a hero anymore. Not if it meant losing the closeness she shared with her family.
Leena stumbled over a hidden branch. The night was dark and she was tiring. An illumination spell lifted the blackness. The magic light cast long dark shadows that rolled and flowed in dancing patterns on the snow in front of her. She sought a place to sit and rest.
She selected a fallen branch that formed an arched bench. The night had passed while she walked and thought. The rose of dawn was minutes away. She sat and let the approaching light become part of her.
A muffled silence cloaked the land. The scurry of night creatures returning home had ceased and the tentative movements of daytime creatures had not begun. A predawn hush blanketed the world.
The quiet and calm were peaceful, comforting. The world felt fresh and new. Leena let her worries and fears flow through her into the ground beneath, returning to the Earth Mother as she cleansed her mind and prepared for the day. She breathed the crisp, early-morning smell of winter trees. Collapsing her light spell, she closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and became one with the forest.
Refreshed, she opened her eyes. Black tree shadows, like arms reaching toward her, striped the snow in the pink glow of dawn. It looked like the wakening forest was offering itself to her protection.
It was time to move on.
CHAPTER 4
Although it had only been two nights and a day, her return felt like a long overdue homecoming. The arched branch creaked and shed a small avalanche as she stood.
She turned her back to the rising sun. The shadow hands now pointed her way home.
The chittering of small animals rang through the forest. Leena delighted in the wakening day. She watched a pair of squirrels chase each other across leafless branches. In a clearing, a majestic buck shepherded a round-stomach doe, protecting his soon to be family.
The day was warming. Gradual
ly, raindrops from numerous icicles speckled the snow around the trees. Just a few more rises to cross and she would be home. The thought brought joy, and foreboding.
She neared the last rise. From the top of the next hill she would see smoke trails from kitchen fires in the village. Leena sniffed the air, seeking the welcoming scent of morning fires. She detected a faint, wispy smell of smoke, but it was strange, not the healthy aroma of morning cook fires, but a deeper, darker smell.
Unease stole over her. For the first time, she noticed forest sounds had diminished. She had been so lost in thought she failed to hear the change.
All was quiet, but not a natural silence. This felt as though animals were trying to creep away without making a sound.
Leena looked around. The day was beautiful. A golden morning sun shone in a flawless blue sky. Snow-covered branches reached up with loving arms. Everything looked as it should, yet it felt wrong. Leena felt exposed in the sunlight. A sense of dread clawed within her.
Without thought, she found herself rushing, pushing through resisting snow, struggling to top the rise before her. Inside, she hoped her premonitions were nothing more than the fantasy of a silly little girl.
The smell of old smoke grew as she neared the top of the hill. The odor held an undercurrent of something foul that grated on Leena’s nerves, commanding her to increase speed.
From the summit she could see to where smoke trails of village fires should be rising in the calm winter sky. She saw none. Instead, the village was covered with a vast dusky haze, the remnant of recently exhausted fires. A faint breeze brought the odor of burned wood mixed with decay. The village was shrouded in the memory of fires that destroyed, not nurtured.
Her senses told her whatever occurred here was long past and there was no longer need to hurry. Still, Leena fought to run through the snow. Her footing slipped in the deep covering and she fell, tumbling harmlessly down the hill. She had barely stopped when she sprang to her feet to continue her mindless charge. Tears of fear clouded her vision, blurring the landscape.
Her feet struck the heavily trodden South Road into town. Under a six-inch layer of fresh snow, was a solid pack of ice.
Leena stopped. It would be foolish to charge in mindlessly. She needed to stop and think.
Drawing her old wand she cleared the road of surface powder. She squatted and studied the ice beneath. Snow had been compacted by the passage of hundreds of feet. Something entered her village recently, something that changed it.
She stood and fought the urge to run, to leave her village, to not know what had occurred. That way she could tell herself forever that all was right.
She looked at the town.
All roofs were gone. Only charred edges around the tops of stone walls showed the buildings had ever been roofed. Several walls had fallen and only blackened chimneys protruded up though the hazy air. The silence was unnerving.
Leena started forward. Was it still here? The creature that did this. The lack of rising smoke indicated fires had burned themselves to smoldering embers. But was the thing responsible somewhere in the village, pawing through the destruction?
Her steps were silent as a drifting feather. She barely breathed.
The first building was the livery and blacksmith. Leena backed against its wall, listening. The world was silent, as though this town had never known living people. Only the stacked rocks remained to show this place once had purpose.
Cautiously, she peeked through the corner of a window. The interior was black with soot. Tools, bent and misshapen by unimaginable heat, lay scattered. Only the mighty anvil, lying on its side next to a pile of ash, seemed unchanged by the heat.
She edged to the front of the building and peered around at the main street of the village. No chickens pecked the street. No dogs or children romped. A badly charred wagon wheel lay in front of the ruined baker’s shop. The blackened circle was all that was left of the baker’s wagon. What was left of the baker?
Grasping her hedge witch wand, Leena stepped into the street. She stood tense and ready, expecting something or someone horrifying to charge at her.
Nothing moved.
All was eerily quiet.
Daylight shone through every window. No building had been spared.
Her Mum and Da!
Leena raced through the village toward her house. From a distance she saw the roof was gone. She slowed as she neared the jagged, charcoal shards of her front fence. Like poorly kept teeth, they poked up at angles through fresh snow. Where door and shutters had been were black-edged holes in the stone.
Her throat constricted with fear. She attempted to call out.
"Mum, Da, Riana?"
Only air huffed quietly from her wide-open mouth. She tried to swallow, to moisten her vocal cords, but her throat clicked shut. Nothing could pass. For the moment she stood, mute with panic.
Slowly, she approached the remains of the front door, terrified by what she might find. Shivers raced up her spine as a small breeze lifted a specter of powdery snow and danced it in a tornado across the yard.
Forcing herself across the threshold, Leena saw the burned and broken remains of the table and chairs where her family spent many pleasant meals. A quick look in the bedrooms confirmed no one was here. Blessedly, there were no lumps that might have once been people. Rushing to the herb cupboard, she checked whether her Mum’s and sister’s wands were still there. The insides were a pile of jumbled ashes.
Where could they be?
Perhaps someone remained, someone that could tell her what happened and where she could find her family.
With sinking hopes, she began a house-by-house search. In a few, she found the burned remains of people. She knew them. All those she found had been old, feeble, and defenseless. All had been friends that she, her sister, and her mother tended many times. All had been too frail to protect themselves from whatever ravaged the village.
She found nineteen people.
Where were the others? Quillan had been a thriving village of more than four hundred. Only nineteen charred bodies remained.
Now what? What should she do?
From her first step into the village, Leena felt a haze of confusion settle over her. It had grown with the discovery of each new horror. The unimaginable had occurred. Her mind found it impossible to accept. Her brain felt wrapped in cotton, insulating her from the effects of the devastation around her.
As in a dream, she wandered to the East Road, the North Road, and the West Road. At each she used her wand to clear the covering of new snow. The East Road and the West Road showed only normal traffic. Whatever had attacked the village had come from the south and departed to the north.
The day was growing late. She should eat. She had been using a warming spell for nearly a day. Coupled with the lighting spell she used last night and the spells used to clear the roads, her energy levels were dangerously low. She needed to eat and sleep to recharge her core.
But her Mum and Da and Riana?
With no warning, tears sprang forth and she howled in an agony of loss and pain. She cried as though her heart sought to leave her body on wrenching sobs. Through a blur of tears, she was vaguely aware of birds, squawking with indignation or chirping in alarm, rising and fleeing the sound of her torment. Her soul poured into her tears and she crumpled to the snow, lying and weeping, futilely beating her small fists against the powder covered earth.
She had no memory of sliding into sleep.
CHAPTER 5
The moon was setting. Her warming spell had failed. Her energy too low to maintain the spell. She was freezing.
Something pulled at her cheeks. Vaguely, numb fingers felt a hard tracing from the corner of her eye to her upper lip. A fingernail tucked beneath and, with a slight tick heard inside her head, a small icicle tear fluttered to the ground.
She had to build a fire.
With muscles that wanted to refuse her commands, she creaked to her feet. A wave of dizziness washed over her a
nd she found herself back on one knee with no memory of falling. Again, with effort, she stood.
Throughout the town were partially consumed boards that would burn readily. Wearily, she gathered load after load into a heap in the center of the crossroads that marked the middle of the village. She waved her wand over the pile.
No flames leaped from the stack.
A small wisp of smoke rose. Deep in the pile, an ember flared. It would not be enough. She knelt and gently blew on the tiny glow. For a moment, her breath turned the blackened boards a shining, blood red. A small flame sprang up and quickly spread.
She had fire.
As the blaze rose and eased her aching muscles, she considered where she might find food. The northeast corner of the square had been Sculley’s market. Perhaps there was something left in there.
Leena pulled a board from the fire to use as a torch. Following its yellow reflection on the snow, she moved toward the remains of the market. Inside, crumbled piles of burned wood and ashes showed where once had been a counter, shelves, and tables. What had been trade goods were now misshapen, unidentifiable chunks. Several black cylinders along the walls had been barrels.
She lifted the lid from a ruined barrel. Inside were round black lumps. She could not guess what they had been. In frustration, Leena slammed the lid back down. Several charred slats crumpled from the barrel’s side. Like children stampeding from school at recess, dozens of fresh apples bounced and rolled across the seared wooden floor. Leena snatched one up. It was undamaged. Buried in the center of the barrel, these apples were untouched by the fire.
Fresh, cold juice squirted into her mouth with the first bite and she realized how ravenous she was. With sweet liquid streaming down her chin, she devoured another and another, six in all.
She paused to rest.
Her stomach rumbled its appreciation. The village was so quiet her head snapped up to see what made the sound. Recognizing it, she could not stop the bray of laughter that followed. Like a dam bursting, laughter streamed from her. Leena sank to the floorboards, hugging herself, and laughing into the night. Tears again flowed, but these were tears of release. Tension flowed from her like an unwinding spring.
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