The Witch Stone - Emily Oakes Page 0,2

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,