Page 17 of The Witch's Spell
“Could you feed them?” I ask Alden. “I’d best get into the village, see where I can be of assistance.”
After a snow like that, I imagine a number of villagers will need help, and I already know it’s going to take me much longer than usual to make the trek into Faunwood.
“Sure.” Alden takes the shovel from me and squints in the bright sunlight reflecting off the snow. “Would you check in on Lydia and James? Make sure they’re doing okay?”
“Of course.” My gaze flicks back to the cottage, where I can see Aurora through the kitchen window. Her mouth is moving, and she’s smiling. I wonder what she’s telling Thorne about now. The garden, maybe. She always smiles when she talks about plants.
“Don’t worry about the others,” Alden says before I can voice the concern swirling in my gut. “We’ve got it under control.”
IT TAKES ME ALMOST AN hour to arrive in Faunwood. The snow is even deeper through some parts of the forest, and I have to strip out of my cloak to cool my skin from the exertion of trudging all the way there. When I finally get to Faunwood, I find the village in a state of distress. There are many elderly villagers here, and with the snow piled past my knees—and higher in areas where the wind caused it to drift—they’ll be trapped inside their homes until someone can dig them out.
I opt to forego my armor today, which I keep in the guardhouse to avoid having to lug it along when I walk home each evening. It’ll just slow me down, and I’ll need to move quickly to ensure everyone is safe and accounted for.
For most of the morning, I spend my time knocking on doors, ensuring the villagers are all right, and shoveling until my back starts cramping. I’ve just finished shoveling a path to the Faunwood library and am taking a breather when James appears on the snow-slick path behind me, his eyes wide, almost frantic.
“Sir Rowan,” he says, breathless.
I forget my back pain immediately and stand straighter. “What is it?”
Hopefully nothing happened to Lydia. I fully intended to check on them when I arrived, but with so many other people in need of assistance, I got distracted. And I figured they could dig themselves out if need be, while many others can’t.
“It’s the—” James turns and gestures vaguely toward the forest. “The fog.”
The fog?
Narrowing my eyes, I look into the distance, where a thick gray fog clings to the trees and lingers despite the sunlight beaming overhead.
“What of it?” I ask, reaching out to lean the shovel against the banister leading up the library’s few stairs.
“It—well... I think you need to come see for yourself.”
I’ve been acquainted with James for some time now, and I’ve always known him to be a steady, calm, levelheaded man. So seeing him like this, frazzled and at a loss for words, makes me fear the worst.
“All right,” I say. “Show me.”
“This way.” He waves for me to follow him.
We head up Hillock Lane, passing Niamh’s apothecary, the town square, and Lydia’s mercantile as we go. From here, I can see Lydia’s curly dark hair in the distance, where she’s gathered just past the guardhouse with a number of other villagers.
The villagers weren’t standing here when I arrived today, so whatever’s gone wrong, it must be a recent development.
“Rowan’s here!” James calls out as we approach the group.
A number of the villagers peel away from the group they’d congregated within. They all begin speaking at once, their voices overlapping until it’s one big garble of sound.
“Please,” I say, holding my hands up to calm them. “One at a time.” My eyes find Alden’s sister. “Lydia, what’s going on here?”
She steps forward, one hand clenched into a fist, the other gesturing toward the bridge across the river a short distance down Wysteria Way. “It’s the fog. There’s somethingwrongwith it.”
I arch a brow. “How do you mean?”
“See for yourself,” says Bram, one of the village elders. He’s dressed in a thick woolen cloak, and his breath steams out around his mouth. “Try to cross the bridge.”
Try?
Brow still arched inquisitively, I step forward. The villagers part around me, whispering amongst themselves. Their boots tap along the cobblestones as they shuffle behind me, seeming both curious and hesitant. As I draw nearer to thebridge, they cease following me, and even their whispers fall silent.
Ahead, the fog hangs low. It’s so thick and gray I can’t see through it to the other side of the bridge. It’s eerie, sure, but nothing about it seemswrong, like Lydia said.
