Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 50898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50898 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 204(@250wpm)___ 170(@300wpm)
Gasps rippled through the onlookers as the ravens stopped short. They circled once, twice, before retreating to their perch on the trees, their cries echoing through the frosted air.
The villagers crossed themselves, some murmuring prayers. Sara pulled her cloak tighter, eyes wide. “Did you see that? They… they wouldn’t follow.”
Fawn steadied her breathing, her hand stroking Sprig’s fur inside her pouch to keep from trembling. Relief flooded her, though she kept her face calm. She knew why the ravens had stopped. The spell she had woven over the turret cautioned any dark force from entering. She would have cast it over the whole keep but her skill was not that strong.
The truth pressed sharp in her chest. These were no ordinary birds. Dark forces were guiding them. Watching. Testing. And if her protection spell had kept them at bay, then whatever stalked them was nearer than she dared to admit.
Sara’s eyes stayed fixed on the turret window where the doves had disappeared, and asked with an edge of curiosity, “That’s where the warriors carried the baskets the day you moved into the keep, isn’t it? Folk have been whispering since, saying they saw the lids shift, that the baskets weren’t empty.”
Fawn’s pulse quickened, though she kept her voice even. “They weren’t. I brought the forest creatures I am presently mending with me. I couldn’t simply abandon them. That would be cruel.”
Sara frowned slightly. “But to keep them in the laird’s own turret—”
“It’s where they’re safe,” Fawn said firmly.
Elune, who had been silent until now, spoke softly, her voice steady but carrying weight. “Fawn does what few others would. She tends the wounded and weak. If the turret holds life instead of fear, then perhaps it should be praised, not doubted.”
Sara shifted, chastened but still uneasy. “Folk are not quick to praise what they don’t understand.”
Before Fawn could answer, a cracked voice split the cold air.
“They follow me still!”
The villagers turned as one, fear rounding many eyes.
Cander stood on the edge of the square, his staff raised. His eyes blazed brightly as he pointed toward the turret. “The ravens chase me wherever I go. They would not enter there because the witch already dwells within! I have brought death upon Clan MacBrair!”
Gasps and murmurs swelled. Fear rippled through the people like wind through brittle branches.
Sprig hissed from his pouch, a fierce sound for so small a creature, his fur rising as he pushed against the fabric. The kitten hissed again, his tiny claws catching Fawn’s cloak as though he longed to spring at the old man.
Cander’s voice rose higher, shriller, feeding the tension. “You think you are safe? Fools! The witch is near, and she commands the ravens. Death stalks these woods and now it stalks your clan!”
The crowd wavered, voices tangling in rising panic. Mothers clutched their children and muttered prayers while men took quick steps to their families.
Someone whispered, “The laird cannot shield us from this.”
A deeper, more powerful command suddenly cut through the square. “SILENCE!”
The word fell like a sharp blow.
The villagers froze, turning as Rhodes strode forward, the cold wind sweeping his dark cloak out like raven wings. His presence seemed to grow with each step, until he stood before Cander, towering over the stooped figure, his expression carved of iron.
“You will not sow fear in my clan,” he ordered, each word deliberate, his voice carrying to the farthest edge of the village. “No doom, no shadow, no madness. If ravens circle, they will answer to me. If danger comes, I will meet it steel in hand. But I will not have my people torn apart by the ravings of one old man.”
Cander faltered, stumbling a step back, but his wild eyes still glinted.
Rhodes turned, his gaze sweeping the villagers. “Hear me well. Fear feeds on whispers. You will not feed it. Trust in your laird, and trust that Clan MacBrair will not bow to shadow or evil forces.”
The murmurs stilled. Men straightened, women drew breath, children quieted. The tide of panic, so quick to rise, ebbed beneath his command.
Fawn clutched Sprig close, but unease prickled her skin, an unease she hadn’t felt in a long time and one she had never wanted to feel again. It lingered in the square. Darker. Stronger. She drew in a sharp breath as the realization struck her. What she felt was not from the people… but the presence of another witch. Not any witch since the power was so strong, she sensed the presence of… a warlock?
Rhodes reached for Fawn’s hand, his grip firm but steady, and drew her toward him. “Enough of this,” he muttered, low enough for only her to hear. “Come away from the crowd.”
She went willingly, eager for the chance to warn him of what she had sensed, darkness, heavy and pressing, clinging to the air like heavy smoke. She had barely drawn breath to speak when a sudden rush of gasps erupted and a shout.