The Witch Stone Read online

  The Witch Stone

  Emily Oakes

  Vivien Hansen

  Copyright © 2020 Emily Oakes

  http://www.emilyoakes.com

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Chapter One

  Oakwoods 1645

  The bird’s wing was broken. That much was obvious. Rowena cupped her hands around the fragile creature. “Shh, there, there. What happened to you?” Rowena kept walking. The moon gave just enough light for Rowena to make out the dark shapes of the trees around her. A slight mist in the air gave the trees a ghostlike appearance. She breathed in the heavy air and shivered. Winter would soon be here.

  Rowena held the bird up to the moon. “Goddess. I ask that you heed my call. One of your own has been harmed. Please heal this innocent being. If that is not possible, I ask that you end its suffering in a swift manner. Blessed be, so mote it be.” She kissed the bird’s tiny head and closed her eyes. She held her arms back up and felt them lighten. She opened her eyes. Her hands were empty. She thought she saw a flicker of wings land in a tree above her. She smiled and gathered her cloak from the ground and wrapped it around her shoulders. She’d better get to bed lest she be late for her next lesson in the morning. Usually, she would be home in bed by now, but the crone had kept her back late to clean potion bottles. The darkness had taken her by surprise. Soon the moon wouldn’t be enough to keep her from losing her way.

  Her pulse quickened. Something wasn’t right. Every hair on her body seemed to stand up, as they always did when she sensed danger. Had the injured bird been a sign? The mist grew thicker. Twigs crunched behind her. The crisp sound of branches underfoot. Unmistakable. Somebody was behind her. Had they been watching her the whole time?

  Clutching her cloak, she turned around. Rows of dark shapes had replaced the moonlit trees from before. She looked up toward the moon but it had gone behind dark clouds. All she could see of it was a glimmer of light like there was lightning trapped in the cloud.

  More twigs snapped from behind. Rowena startled. She spun around but could still only see the vague forms of the trees. Her grip on her cloak tightened. The feeling that she was watched couldn’t be shaken. Had somebody been watching her the whole time? The footsteps grew louder and more frequent.

  Rowena ran. Dirt and leaves softened her footfalls but she almost tripped on unseen logs and creeping vines with every step. The sky began to lighten. A hazy glow appeared in the distance above. A familiar smell singed the air. Smoke.

  Her pulse quickened and cold sweat slicked her back.

  The village was on fire. Her home.

  As though to confirm this fact, screams sounded out from beyond the trees. Now she was close. Close enough to hear roaring flames and breathe in thick smoke. She covered her face with her cloak and headed for home.

  Horses thundered toward her. She jumped out of their way, narrowly avoiding being trampled. She hunched down behind a blackcurrant bush to wait until the horses passed. Her body trembled and her mind raced. Somebody shouted behind her. Did the voice belong to the person who had been following her?

  Mindful of the thorny branches, she made a parting and peered through. Fire tore through the wooden cottages. Screams mingled with brutish shouts. A man dragged a woman out of her home by her arms. She struggled but she couldn’t shake his grip. Women ran in groups, their eyes wide and full of tears.

  Rowena took a deep breath. She willed her heart to slow. It felt like it was preparing to leap from her chest. Seeing a large burly man seize a handful of her friend’s hair didn’t help. Isabel’s golden mane was the envy of every woman in town. Now it was a mass of tangles. Rowena cringed as the man ripped a clump of hair out of Isabel’s scalp. An immense scream bellowed from within Isabel’s tiny frame, It was soon drowned out by the commotion behind her. The man dropped the blood-stained tuft of hair and wrenched Isabel away by her arms.

  Rowena didn't realize tears were streaming down her cheeks until a cold breeze brushed past. Shivers ran down her spine. She dried her face with her sleeve. Sounds of hooves galloping filled the air. Horses being guided by hooded men arrived pulling dark windowless coaches. Rowena had seen them before. To transport dead bodies.

  The screams became louder as the hooded men opened the wooden doors to the carts and piled women inside. The man dragging Isabel approached a cart. Isabel had stopped screaming. Her frightened eyes fixed narrowly on the cold black eyes of her attacker. Her lips parted but Rowena could not tell if she said anything. The man avoided Isabel's wary stare and threw her into the darkness within the cart. He watched and waited for the cart to be full of women then slammed the door and locked it.

  Rowena tried to move but her feet were nailed to the ground. What was happening?

  She swayed, almost losing her balance. If she had come home a few minutes earlier she would have been riding in the back of one of those terrible wagons. Had the Crone known this was going to happen? Had she saved her life? She had to be dreaming. She pleaded to wake up in her warm cottage to the sound of a bustling fire and stew bubbling away on the stove. Bumping into a prickle bush made the nightmare all too real.

  The sound of a baby crying made her jump. Most of the carts had left, leaving only a trail of dust and faint screams behind. One rickety cart remained, with a couple of unsettled horses thumping the ground. A babe of not more than 2 years toddled out wearing a brown cape. A tall man walked up to the child. Rowena could not see the face of the tall man in the darkness but couldn't remember a man so tall living in her village. He was four heads taller than Rowena. The stranger bent the long way to the ground and picked up the child.

  Rowena shuddered. She could only imagine the horrible things the man would do. To her surprise, he cradled the baby to his chest and hopped into the driver's seat of the cart. The horses neighed as the tall man whipped them into action. Rowena watched with disbelief her mouth agape as the last cart disappeared from sight. As quick as that everybody was taken from her tiny village. She was alone. Alone and afraid.

  Rowena stood slowly. Her mind was a blur. She didn't know how long she had been crouched in the same position but her legs were stiff. She hobbled away from her hiding spot and into the thick forest, the heat from the spreading fire warming her back. She turned around and watched as flames finally engulfed the small town.

  A faint harmonious sound rose up around her. Rowena stopped. She held her breath, hoping to hear it again. The sound rose up again and her breath hitched in her throat. Some of the women had escaped! She dashed through the trees, following the chanting. It got louder towards the lake where Rowena and the rest of the women bathed. She approached the lake. She crouched down as low as the bushes and made her way to the lake bank. The moon gave enough light for Rowena to see a circle of eight women standing in the water. They were holding hands and had their eyes closed. Rowena had to warn them.

  As Rowena got closer, she noticed tears running down their pale cheeks. A hushed chanting emanated from their circle. Mist formed above their heads. The chanting became louder but Rowena couldn’t make out the words. She watched, her eyes wide, as the mist became thicker. It seemed to be taking on a form. Rowena rubbed her eyes to ensure they were working properly as the mist transformed into the shape of a woman, transparent in the moonlight. Could it be? Was she really looking at the form of a Goddess?

  T
he form spread its arms around the women. The chanting stopped. The mist thickened. When it cleared, the women were gone.

  “No. No, wait!” She tried to yell but her voice was barely a whisper.

  Weeds wrapped around her heart and tightened. Was she sad because the women were gone? Or because she wasn’t with them? They had asked for a more humane fate than what awaited the other women in the black wagons.

  Rowena fell to her knees and cried. Loud, shrill sobs that carried throughout the night. “Why? Why don’t you leave us alone?” she shouted at the sky. She shuddered a raspy breath and looked at the moon’s reflection in the lake. Out of nowhere a voice like a breeze whispered in her ear. We are at peace.

  The tightness in her chest dissolved. Tears rolled down her cheeks. They were okay. Wherever they were, they were better off. At least some of the women had escaped the horrors which awaited the other villagers.

  She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked around. What now? Should she return to the village and look for anybody who might have avoided capture? With her home destroyed and her people taken, there was nothing else for her to do.

  Smoke burned her nostrils. Heat warmed her chilled skin. If the fire hadn’t just destroyed her whole life, the heat might have been a comfort. As it was, the heat only reminded her of the fate that awaited some of the captured villagers. The thought of them burning alive made the warmth on her skin feel evil. She shuddered, trying to clear the thought from her mind. She was meant to be looking for survivors, not fretting over something she couldn’t control.

  At a glance, the village looked empty. Each small cottage had either collapsed or was about to. Ash fell all around her like sullen snow. All that remained were the sheds near the back that housed livestock. Everything else was gone.

  She tucked her face down as best she could into her collar and trudged through piles of debris. The ash-covered earth warmed the worn soles of her boots; another feeling that would normally bring comfort, but tonight ignited fear. She continued on, jumping at every crackle and pop from the still-smoldering fire. As far as she could see, there was nobody left.

  Oink!

  The animals. What was she going to do with the animals? They would have to fend for themselves. She headed to the sheds and lifted the wooden bolts and pushed open the gates. Goats, pigs, sheep, and chickens hurried out. The smoke must have spooked them. She’d never seen them move so fast. A squirrel scampered along the ground and into the forest. Rowena’s heart sank. Becky’s pet ‘Twigs’. A part of her hoped Becky had been one of the women in the lake. It meant she would be gone, but it also meant she wouldn’t have to endure whatever terrible fate was in store for the captured.

  She looked around for her cottage. There it was. A pile of rubble beside another pile of rubble. Ten long devastating steps took Rowena to the site of her old home where bright orange embers twinkled in the remains. Mere hours ago, it was a proud wee cottage, standing tall, covered in sweet-smelling jasmine. Now, that pleasant image had been shattered by the mess at her feet. She picked up a charred bit of wood and rummaged around in what was left of her fallen cottage. There was nothing to salvage.

  Tears welled. This time they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of anger. She turned her back on the mess and clenched her fists. Her eyes landed on a lavender shrub. Earlier today she had been brewing lavender tea with…Hawthorn! Her stomach sunk down to her knees. Hawthorn might still be in her cottage. Hidden deep in the forest, far from the village, those horrid men driving those horrid carts wouldn’t have been able to make their way through the dense trees. She hoped so anyway. No, they couldn’t have found Hawthorn. Only Hawthorn’s close friends and her students know where to find it. Rowena often wondered if Hawthorn had cast some sort of spell to keep it hidden. It wouldn’t have surprised her, and Hawthorn was powerful enough, that’s for sure.

  She looked toward the forest. Although her legs were weak and her eyes felt scorched from the smoke, she had to find Hawthorn. Besides, it was no longer safe in her village. There wasn’t even any village left.

  She took one last look at the freed animals rooting around the edge of the forest, hoping they would be okay, before heading toward Hawthorn’s cottage.

  Thick branches snapped at her face as she walked. A trickle of blood ran into her eye. The cool night air stung her face as she ran. It wasn’t like her to suffer so many scrapes making this journey. The dark didn’t help. Neither did thinking about her fellow villagers riding in the backs of those carts. An owl hooted, snapping her out of her thoughts. She was getting close. Hawthorn’s cottage attracted all sorts of animals.

  After walking for what felt like days but couldn’t have been more than an hour, Rowena happened upon the ancient oak tree with a small star etched into its rough bark. Finally, she had made it. When the cottage came in to view, she breathed a sigh of relief. It looked the same as when she had left it, the thatched roof blessedly free of smoke and fire. Wildflowers perfumed the air. Wild vines clung to the walls, camouflaging the cottage against the backdrop of the woods.

  She drew in a shaky breath. She’d been half expecting to find a pile of ash where the cottage once stood, and the relief made her tremble a little. She lifted her shaking hand to knock on the door. It swung open before she made contact.

  Hawthorn stood in the doorway; her hunched shoulders draped in an earth-colored shawl. Her deeply lined face was contorted with grief, all but her eyes. Her eyes were somehow devoid of sadness. They were shiny dark pools of wisdom. She was every little girls’ dream grandmother. Even older girls. “Rowena, my dear. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Rowena collapsed into her arms. She sobbed against her shoulder. “Shh, it’s all right now.” Her husky voice was a soothing balm to Rowena’s bruised soul. Hawthorn stepped back and put her hands on Rowena’s shoulders. “I know what you’ve seen.” She took off her shawl and draped it around Rowena’s shoulders. It was warm and smelled like rosemary.

  “How?”

  Hawthorn helped Rowena sit on a straw-stuffed cot beside the fire. “I’ll get you some tea.” Hawthorn shuffled away to some wooden shelves overflowing with vials of dried herbs. She plucked one from the shelf and took out the cork with deft hands. She wafted it under her nose then poured some into a mug. She busied herself further by ladling some stew into a bowl and tearing a chunk of bread from a loaf. “We’ll just let that cool a bit.”

  Hawthorn sat beside Rowena and put an arm around her, drawing her into her warmth. “They took them all,” Rowena said. A lump lodged in her throat at the thought of Isabel being dragged by those rough hands. She looked at the crackling fire and saw the village burning. The flames licking at the cottages, the women screaming. It was too much. She snapped her head away, almost putting out her neck.

  “I know.”

  “I was so worried they were going to find you.”

  “I’m fine. I’m right here.”

  Despite the warmth of the cottage, Rowena shivered. Hawthorn stood up and fetched the bowl. “Here, this will make you feel better.”

  The bowl warmed her numb hands. Steam smelling of thyme wafted up at her face, invigorating her hunger. She sipped from the bowl, savoring the hearty flavor. As the food warmed her from the inside, the lump in her throat eased. She dunked the bread into the broth and scooped up a chunk of carrot. Devoured it in seconds. Before she knew it, the bowl was empty and her stomach full. Hawthorn took the empty bowl. “There’s a girl.”

  “The village is gone.”

  Hawthorn handed her the tea then said, “I know what you saw.”

  “It was horrible.” She swiped at a tear. “They destroyed it all. My Isobel. My poor Isabel.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hawthorn took Rowena’s spare hand and squeezed.

  “What about Isabel?”

  “They took her by her hair. Ripped out a chunk like a weed.”

  “Drink your tea, dear. It will help you sleep.”

  Rowena raised the tea to her mo
uth and inhaled steam smelling of sweet lavender mixed with the earthy aroma of valerian root. She took a small sip to test the temperature and found it just to her liking, the tea, however, tasted like dirt. “Thank you. Thank you, Hawthorn.” She placed the tea on the floor.

  “Get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

  “I want to talk about it now. I need to.”

  “Very well. What do you want to know?”

  “Why are they doing this?

  “They have their reasons. None of them good ones. They will realize their mistakes one day. Right now, you need your rest.”

  Hawthorn helped Rowena out of her clothes and into a cotton gown. Once again, she passed Rowena the drink.

  Rowena managed a laugh. “You really want me to drink this don’t you?”

  Hawthorn placed a calming hand on Rowena’s head and stroked her hair. “It will help relax you, dear.”

  Rowena took a sip of the bitter herb drink and frowned. The hot sour liquid coursed down her throat, making her wince.

  “You’re never going to snag a mate pulling those sorts of faces,” cackled Hawthorn.

  “Maybe if it tasted better than an old boot I might look more pleasing to the eye.” Rowena quickly downed the rest of the foul-tasting liquid and passed Hawthorn the empty cup. Then she smiled at Hawthorn. As soon as her head hit the soft feather pillow, she fell asleep.

  ∞∞∞

  Hawthorn made certain Rowena was asleep by clapping her hands hard in front of her face. Rowena didn’t stir. Satisfied, Hawthorn got to work.

  Hawthorn stood in the candlelight, grabbing herb jars from shelves and slamming them on the table. The noise didn’t worry her. Rowena would stay asleep; the tea would make sure of that.

  Hawthorn’s wise old hands took pinches of this and that from the small glass jars. Her hands moved like they weren’t hers, guided by an unseen force. She placed the ingredients including valerian, mandrake, and mugwort into a mortar and pestle which, with a pinch of magic, started grinding the herbs itself.