“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 mouth 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.
A black cauldron bubbled over a fire in a pit hollowed out in the mud wall. Hawthorn sprinkled the herb mixture into the cauldron. sending colorful sparks flying up the chimney. Then she took a long white candle from the table and, bending down, she pulled a tattered mat off the floor, revealing a secret opening in the boards. Using her long fingernails, Hawthorn pried the wooden flap open and pulled out a dusty old wooden box.
The box had been in her family for countless generations. It had a crescent moon carved on the lid along with drawings of the moon’s phases. She placed it on the table, opened the lid. A faint spicy smell greeted her from within the box. Inside the box were small bunches of dried herbs. Hawthorn put her hand in the box and fumbled around until she pulled out a small soft leather pouch threaded with sinew and a large book. Hawthorn marveled at the site of the ancient grimoire. She ran her hand over the leather. Carvings of moons, stars and oak leaves adorned the cover. She dropped the book onto the table with a bang and emptied the contents of the pouch in her left hand. A luminous moonstone globe shone brightly in her palm.
She wrapped her fingers around the stone and closed her eyes. The power from the moonstone made her quiver so she knew it was the right one for the job. Still holding the moonstone, Hawthorn made her way to a small window covered with a swatch of leather. She pulled down a corner of the window cover, letting in a beam of moonlight. She peered outside. A blood-red circle surrounded the full moon. Their troubles weren’t over. Rowena would need all the protection she could get.
The moonstone sphere glowed and pulsed as Hawthorn held it up with both hands and pointed it at the moon. The moonstone devoured the moonlight and glowed ever fiercer. She placed the stone on the table and carried a black candle to the fireplace. Once the candle was lit, she took an old iron sensor and placed charcoal inside. Then she sprinkled several herbs from her jars onto the charcoal. Wisps of fragrant smoke rose up in front of her.
Hawthorn raised her hands. She looked at the book and waited expectantly. The book opened its cover and flipped through its ancient pages, as though guided by unseen hands. Hawthorn smiled. The book stopped on a page. Written on the old parchment paper was an ancient spell. She began to read the spell.
“Crescent be full and thy sphere fill. Guard her day, guard her night. Oh, ancient ones. Protect her path this and every night. Guard my young one’s journey. Dark Mother, I thank thee. This is my will. So mote it be!”
Spell done; the grimoire slammed itself shut. Hawthorn placed the infused moonstone into a leather pouch. She took an iron candlesnuffer and distinguished the candle. Candle smoke danced in the air leaving Hawthorn with a smile on her face.
∞∞∞
Rowena stirred and opened her eyes. Soft sunlight shone through the window. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. Her heart thumped against her chest, making her jolt off the bed. Everything that happened the night before came flooding back. Please make last night be a nightmare. But she knew her prayer was in vain. Where was Hawthorn?
She looked around the small room. The ancient wooden beams had bunches of fragrant herbs hanging from them, and the walls were lined with cluttered shelves holding jars and old books. The scent that filled the air reminded Rowena of baking gingerbread with her mother.
The thought of her mother stung her eyes with tears. She saw her mother being carried away all those years ago. Tearing and scratching at her captor, to no avail. Isabel clutched at Rowena’s arm from beside her. Blood bloomed where Isabel’s fingers dug into her skin. Isabel’s mother was being dragged away, beside her own. A scream lodged in Rowena’s throat. She knew if she screamed, if she dared to make a noise, she and Isabel would be taken along with their mothers.
While she never saw what happened, she found out later the women had been burned alive. Set on fire for the crime of curing ailments. What the townsfolk believed was devil magic, was in truth the work of herbal remedies.
Rowena blinked away the tears, but not the memory. She drew in a deep breath and stretched her arms above her head. She swallowed then poked her tongue out. A taste like damp moss clung to her tongue.
Then the cottage door swung open and she cried out in fear but calmed down when Hawthorn bustled into the room. A collection of twigs and leaves had made themselves at home in Hawthorn’s long white hair which now flew about in all directions. In one hand she held two skinned rabbits and in the other a basket of plump red berries.
“It was not easy but I caught us breakfast, lunch, and tea in one go!” she wheezed, holding the rabbits up.
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
“What trouble?”
Rowena’s eyes traveled up to Hawthorn’s hair and she stifled a smile. Hawthorn looked up.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. I always look this good in the morning, by the way.”
Rowena’s stomach growled.
Hawthorn placed the rabbits and berries onto the table, then walked over to Rowena and stood in front of her.
Rowena glanced at the rabbits. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I don’t usually eat animals.”