Page 5 of Raven Rebel (Sablewood #1)
Brenna
“H
e called me,” she gasped, lungs aflame as she struggled to slow her racing heart and loosen her throat, “A faerie demon.”
Erratic sparks danced over her wrists, casting a flurry of light and shadow over the shop’s walls.
Meara flinched but kept her steady grip on Brenna’s shoulders.
Brenna sucked in another jagged breath, and the magic dimmed, leaving behind a soft glow clinging to her trembling palms. The air felt charged and acrid in its wake.
Her mother gingerly took her hands and turned them over, inspecting.
The light faded to nothing but tawny skin as Brenna calmed.
“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” her mother said with a voice as firm as oak, her jaw clenching in the same way Meara’s did.
“Listen, my loves, I want you to go out the back, quickly, before they think to circle around. Run for the forest. ”
“No!” Meara argued, her voice raw. “We can’t leave you here alone to face them.”
Their mother withdrew her monies purse from her skirts and pressed it into Meara’s hand.
“I want you to travel onward to Dornadan. There’s an inn on the edge of the woods called The Silver Spectre.
Any merchant or local should be able to send you in the right direction.
It’s well known and easy to find. I’ll meet you there when it’s safe, within a day or two. ”
“Mother,” Brenna protested, wiping wetness from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“I’ll be fine. Enough of these brutes rely on me for their health and comfort. If you are gone, their anger will cool quick enough without a target.”
Meara nodded, her expression hardening. She tucked the pouch of silver chips into her skirt pocket and withdrew her hunting knife. The dim shop light reflected off the blade like the early morning’s fog swallowing up sunrise.
Their mother cradled Meara’s cheek for a moment and then placed a kiss on Brenna’s damp forehead. “Meara, Brenna, be wise, stay together, and I’ll see you soon.”
Brenna wanted so badly to believe her. Meara tugged Brenna toward the back room, but she twisted to see their mother select a long chopping knife from their work table.
Whispered prayers for her safety spilled from Brenna’s trembling lips as the woman who raised her turned and resolutely faced the rattling door.
She would never forgive herself if she was the cause of her mother’s death.
The sisters slipped through the smaller back door, facing an alley where the backs of connected shops faced rows of narrow homes. Wildflowers and weeds tangled on the edges of the cobblestone walkways. Overhead, the shouts of angry villagers echoed over the rooftops like distant thunder.
Meara guided Brenna forward, the hold on her hand unyielding. Otherwise it would be shaking, and Brenna was grateful for the point of contact. She squinted in the daylight, her entire being feeling wrung out.
“There she is!” a grating voice rang out, the volume increasing as it neared. “I wonder what we’ll get when we drag her before the constabulary.”
Meara whirled, knife at a vicious angle, ready to strike. Her hold never wavered as she pulled Brenna behind her and faced the threat.
A squat young man with a patchy beard sneered at them as he slowed his jog and halted. His ruddy cheeks puffed as he regained his breath. Behind him, his gangly companion guffawed as if he couldn’t believe their luck.
“Sandon, if you take one step closer, I’ll gut you like a deer,” Meara spat.
His sneer faltered and his face drained of color as his beady eyes took in her blade and her ready stance. There was nothing but violent determination in the set of Meara’s jaw and the tension coiled in her lithe frame.
“I’ll happily do so,” she continued, her gaze flicking to the taller boy. “You know all about slicing an animal open, don’t you, Kipp? You’ve seen how they bleed.”
The butcher’s son’s pocked skin paled to ash. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Unfortunately, Sandon ignored his slightly-more-sensible friend. Stubby fingers withdrew a short knife from his belt as he lurched forward.
Meara stepped diagonally to meet him, holding her longer blade low in a lethal warning. Sandon faltered and stumbled back as survival instinct overrode his arrogance. She bared her teeth at him, her voice as dark as shadows. “Do not follow us or I will kill you.”
The boys’ courage wilted as they took a step back.
Meara adjusted her grip on her blade, her knuckles white against the hilt, and tugged Brenna forward with her other hand.
They darted through Miss Hughes’ yard, where lines of laundry hung drying.
Brenna wove through them carefully, afraid a stray spark of her magic might ignite the drying linens.
“They went that way!” Sandon's shrill voice echoed behind them.
Brenna sucked in a sharp breath and broke into a run. The cacophony of angry shouts crescendoed, and she could pick out Lyndhurst’s furious commands as he drove them forward. Words like “Faerie” and “Magic” stood out from the din.
Meara was relentless, pulling her forward. They passed the sprawl of farmsteads, plunging into fields of damp grain. Ahead, the trees stood waiting, beckoning them into their shadowy sanctuary.
Once they reached Sablewood, they would be safe. Their neighbors would not dare to venture further than the tree line. The forest led to the enemy kingdom of Dornadan, the faerie-lovers.
Legend said the forest was brimming with fae like the Wild Hunt, though Brenna was fairly certain that was not the case. In her experience, it was full of nothing but flora and fauna. Brenna didn’t crave the forest like her sister, but she did not fear it either.
The canopy closed in, wrapping them in a murky dim. Her steps faltered as the ground grew uneven, dipping into hollows and rising up into tangles of roots and rock. Brambles ripped at her skirts and caught her stockings.
“Careful.” Meara gripped her wrist and steadied her.
Calves burning, Brenna stumbled to a stop. Shock and fear bled into a cold nausea. Bracing her hands on her knees, she bent double, gasping for air and trying to slow her breathing and quell the jagged pain in her lungs.
“I think we’re safe for now,” Meara said, pacing forward a few yards and then circling back, her arms wrapped around her waist. Ferns swayed as she passed, their fronds brushing her skirts. Her keen gray eyes locked on Brenna. “What exactly happened?”
She exhaled harshly. “I don’t know. A curse, maybe?
” The forest seemed to await her answer, even the buzz of insects and the trill of birdsong stilling.
“It happened after I put the children down for a nap and Mr. Lyndhurst asked to speak to me.” She hesitated, the memory vividly raw. “He grabbed my arm.”
“He what ?” Meara’s posture stiffened and her voice dropped into a dangerous register.
Brenna opened her mouth but no words formed. Her throat swelled, silencing her as hot tears dripped down her cheeks. Adrenaline spent, she was left with nothing but crude emotions. She swayed, and Meara lurched forward to catch her. Brenna sagged against her, letting her sister hold her upright.
Her whisper was scratchy and choked. “He said…” Her courage failed and shame heated her face. It sounded innocuous when repeated. “He wanted to help me, and he didn’t want to dismiss me.” Her words tangled together. “He said I was beautiful and he touched my hair and my arm. ”
Brenna rested her temple against Meara’s shoulder and matched the tempo of her breathing until the icy shame subsided in her sister’s stable presence.
“I wish you had turned him to ash,” Meara whispered, low and fierce. Her anger was oppressive like storm clouds, but Brenna was safe in the eye of the hurricane. She breathed in Meara’s scent of wild mallow and dandelions. Her sister smelled like home.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve ruined our lives.”
“Don’t apologize. You do not bear any blame, and I’m proud you defended yourself. Mum will sort everything out.” Meara’s hand stroked over Brenna’s tangle of curls that came loose during their escape. After a long moment, she spoke again. “I’d like to see that magic again if you can.”
She didn’t want to, but after everything Meara had done for her, Brenna couldn’t refuse. With a slow exhale, Brenna sank to the forest floor, her sister settling beside her. Thick moss cradled her hip, the coolness easing the tender bruise from striking the door frame.
Closing her eyes, she laid her palms open on her knees, her breathing slowing as she sought out the feverish crackling energy within her. She could feel something, but it evaded her, slipping away like smoke. Her hands remained cold and empty. Frustrated, she stole a glance at her sister.
Meara wasn’t watching her. She was half-risen, every muscle coiled as she stared over her shoulder. Brenna’s breath hitched, her stomach dropping. She twisted, following Meara’s line of sight.
A magnificent stag emerged from the underbrush with an uncanny, spectral grace.
Dual crowning antlers branched into a dozen deadly tines that could gore a man with one swipe.
Muscles shifted under a gleaming coat of burnished bronze as the beast drew closer.
Intelligent, dark eyes seemed to pierce through her.
Brenna grabbed Meara’s hand and she squeezed back, her lips parting as she whispered, “Don’t move.”