Page 9 of Fate Promised

Mayor Burr clapped his hands. “All right, now down to the beach for the judging of the scarecrows, then at nightfall, our official festival kickoff with the scarecrow burning.”

A bugler strode out of the crowd, and his piercing notes bounced through the meadow as the crowd followed him, clomping over the boggy grass to the road. Triska lingered at the back of the procession, watching many villagers peel off for town, either to prep their shop for the upcoming burst of shoppers, or to enjoy the rare day off from fishing in the tavern like her father. She followed the parade down toward the ocean to watch the scarecrow contest.

The main road in town ended at the boardwalk, which spilled down several stairs onto the beach—a fat slice of sugary, soft sand, made fatter by the current low tide. Breaths of mild wind ruffled her ponytail as she walked down to the beach. The crowd milled around the boardwalk, shopping, or in a ring around the scarecrows, waiting to hear the winner.

Ryba nestled in the lee of a crescent-shaped slip of a peninsula, one horn of the crescent curling far out into the ocean. A tall lighthouse flashed its light at the horn's tip, guiding travelers home around the jutting rocks. The faint, sweet scent of the saltwater taffy shop drifted on the ocean breeze, cutting through the briny air.

Five immobile figures stood like sentinels along the sand. Each about seven feet tall and wearing leftover clothing and rags stuffed with straw and cornstalks. The figure closest to her had a pumpkin for a head, and someone had carved a face into it, creating a wide gaping mouth, the lips curling inward as they rotted. The rest of the figures had stuffed burlap for heads, with dye providing a slash of a mouth and eyes. Each figure had its arms outstretched as if trying to hug the ocean, with pointy sticks for hands. She turned to the water. Only the waves close to shore were visible, the rest obscured in white fog.

Come.

The whispered entreaty caressed Triska, washing over her in a gentle tingle. She sucked in a breath and yanked her gaze from the water. She’d ignored that call for a long time, and she’d ignore it again today. Still … it sucked at her, beckoning her to enter the waves.

The last few weeks, its pull had gotten worse. She spent every day on the water, and she’d long ago learned to ignore the licks along her skin, but twice last week, she’d found herself sitting in her boat, her hands gripping the side of the hull, drifting with the current as she’d lost herself gazing at the waves.

How much time did she have left before meeting its call? A month? A day? She wrapped her arms around herself and focused on the beach.

A trio of judges walked around each scarecrow, scribbling on parchment. Triska watched as Mrs. Doubek and her two small sons, Liam and Callum, stepped forward to stand by the scarecrow nearest her, the one with the pumpkin head. Both boys noticed Triska and waved, but as the three judges walked over to them, they clasped their hands behind their backs, schooling their faces into sober expressions.

Triska stifled a smile. No one would believe those two were serious about anything. A year apart but more like twins, they ran wild through town in their human and wolf forms.

Triska slipped through the crowd to get a little closer, and after the judges turned to the next scarecrow, both boys scampered over. Callum reached her first, but Liam shoved him aside. They jostled each other vigorously for a moment. “Wotcher, Miss Tris, whatcha think?” Liam asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Bet we win first place.”

“A quite impressive entry. I like the hands you made.” Twigs jutted out from the scarecrow’s sleeves, resembling hands trying to grasp something. The bark was smooth and light-colored as if someone had whittled it.

“Corking good branches for a scarecrow, all twisty and scary,” Liam said. “They even scared Al away, and I know he wanted a bite out of the pumpkin head.”

Two of the three judges were chatting and jotting down notes. However, the third, Fergal, the town’s taffy maker and the one who’d purchased her pearls, squinted at the scarecrows, his white hair blowing around in the breeze. Fergal looked like a bit of fruit left in the sun too long, tanned and dried. He may be the town taffy owner, but he was a gifted magicwielder, too.

He was also one of the few people in town who knew she possessed a little magic. She wasn’t exactly a magicwielder, her magic didn’t work like theirs, but Fergal had tutored her and helped her hone her abilities. It wasn’t something she spent much time on, though, and the only reason she’d worked with Fergal for so long was because her magic fascinated him, and he wanted to study it.

“We stole some yarn for the hair, don’t tell anyone,” Callum whispered.

She mimed buttoning her lips together, and he grinned.

Two women walked down the beach together, weaving through the crowd. While both were blonde, that was as far as their similarities went. Hazel strode through the crowd with barely a nod for anyone, but Chessa, a few inches shorter, called out greetings or jokes with everyone along her path. When they saw Triska, both aimed for her.

“Uh oh, I’m outta here.” Liam scrambled away.

Callum chuckled. “Miss Hazel threatened to turn him into a newt because he kicked a ball, and it hit her house. If she turns him into a newt, will she let me watch?”

As Hazel and Chessa joined them, Triska raised a brow. “A newt, huh?”

Hazel tossed her head and swatted a smattering of sand from her sleeve. She frowned down at Callum. “Why are you always trying to come into my yard? Stay in Triska’s.” But her lips curled into a small smile. Hazel had moved into the cottage next to Triska a year ago, and only a small hedge separated the two. The first time she’d met Hazel, the other woman was using gardening shears to trim the bushes into perfect squares, each one precisely the same height.

“Yours is more fun. You blow things up with your magic. Liam figured a blast with the ball would get you roused up, and you might explode things for us again.”

Chessa’s brows shot up, and she turned to Hazel. “I thought you weren’t practicing anymore?”

“I blew up a few pots for an appreciative audience,” Hazel said. She looked away over the bay.

Callum tugged on Hazel’s sleeve, and she let him grab her hand and pull her down the beach, chattering away about how magic would improve his scarecrow so he could win.

Chessa leaned on Triska. “Lots of travelers in town this week. I’ve got to mingle and see if there are any men I’ll let buy me a drink. I’d bat my eyes at Emil, but that dreamy one has already claimed you.”

Behind her in the forest, a twig snapped. Triska turned around, frowning. A long low note rumbled through the fog. Was that growling? What beast in the Ryba woods would make that kind of noise?

Triska turned back around, still frowning. “I’m surprised you aren’t in your shop.”

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