Page 63 of The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past #2)

Maude gasped when she stepped outside and saw the destruction.

The water hadn’t reached them yet, but in the distance, down the street, a few houses were already in ruins.

Several trees had been torn out by the roots and lay on the ground, blocking the street until the next wave would carry them along, their branches and trunks causing further damage.

Edwin grabbed his grandmother by the arm and pulled her along, urging her to move faster.

Maude lowered her head to keep the rain out of her eyes and allowed Edwin to lead her.

Her cloak and barbet were already wet, and her feet slipped on the wet ground, making walking precarious.

Ora and Elia were way ahead of them, running like frightened rabbits.

The water had come closer than Petra expected in a very short time, but the storm showed no signs of abating.

It must have started during the night, while they were all asleep, believing themselves to be safe behind the walls of their homes.

The sea had claimed plenty of houses just like the ones Petra lived in during past storms. She couldn’t remember any fearful storms herself, but she’d heard the stories and saw the tops of water-submerged buildings protruding from the sea at very low tide.

They looked like the jagged teeth of some sea monster that was about to come up from the watery depths and devour the rest of the town.

Petra lifted her skirts and began to run after her mother and the children.

Many others had the same idea, and the streets were congested with families trying to save themselves.

Children screamed with fright, and women fought to stay upright as they herded their offspring and clutched whatever small possessions they could carry.

Several men tried to help the old and infirm to dry land and then went back for others who were stranded further down the street, but their efforts were hindered.

They slipped in the knee-deep silt and, more often than not, needed help themselves.

It was absolute chaos. Everywhere one looked, there was a mass of humanity pursued by gallons of churning water.

It was like some Biblical plague come to drown the sinners.

Petra swallowed down a sob as she glanced in the direction of Lady Blythe’s house.

All she could see was destruction and huge, terrifying waves.

The masts were no longer there, the ships smashed to pieces by the force of the gale.

Every surge brought more silt and debris, but the latest waves also carried corpses, leaving them behind like bits of rubbish once the water receded.

A few brave souls tried to retrieve them to keep them from being swept out to sea, but most people just ran for their lives, urging their loved ones to go faster.

Maude was trembling with fatigue by the time they finally reached a safe spot.

She sank to the ground next to several other bedraggled elderly people.

The earth was wet and cold, but Maude’s legs would no longer hold her up, and she was grateful for solid ground beneath her.

The rest of the townspeople remained upright, their gazes glued to the normally placid sea.

They watched in stunned silence as great waves formed in the distance and crashed into the town with unbridled force.

Houses folded as if they were built of paper, their walls falling haphazardly into the foaming seawater and rushing along with the current.

The wind was even stronger on higher ground.

It tore at hair and cloaks, turning the skin red and raw with cold.

Dozens of people took shelter behind the walls of the Leper Hospital.

The stone walls shielded them from the wind, but most folk were too afraid to go near it and preferred to remain out in the open.

Petra wrapped her arms about the children as she tried to keep them from getting separated.

People were rushing toward them in droves, pushing the stragglers out of their way and knocking them to the ground if they were too slow. The noise was deafening.

Petra froze in terror when she noticed the look in Edwin’s eyes.

She knew the signs; she’d seen them often enough.

Edwin was on a verge of a fit. The fits happened most often in times of stress, and Edwin had been half-dragging his grandmother up the hill for the past half hour.

He was physically drained, scared out of his wits, and overwhelmed by the panic all around him.

“Edwin, no!” Petra moaned, but it was too late.

Edwin collapsed onto his side at her feet.

The look of fear in his eyes vanished, replaced by the unseeing stare that always accompanied the convulsions.

Edwin’s limbs began to twitch, and his face contorted into a grotesque grimace as saliva ran from the corner of his mouth.

Several people stopped to stare. Their faces twisted with fear and hatred once they understood what they were looking at.

Someone pointed a finger and others gathered around to watch Edwin’s suffering.

Petra tried to shield him from prying eyes, but it was too late.

Everyone saw what was happening, and the spectacle momentarily distracted them from the chaos below.

The animosity of the townspeople was palpable, and they drew closer, advancing on Edwin, who was still writhing on the ground.

Petra’s gaze flew from one face to another, searching for a spark of sympathy, but all she saw was hostility. A terrible panic seized her.

“Please,” she begged. “Don’t touch him. He’s unwell.”

“Unwell?!” someone snarled. “Look at him. He’s possessed.”

A few heads nodded in agreement. “He’s been taken over by an evil spirit,” a woman shrieked as she pointed at Edwin. “He’s speaking in tongues. ”

In fact, Edwin wasn’t saying anything at all, but a low hissing came from his lips, which was enough to give credence to the woman’s accusation.

The woman shrieked in terror, her shaking finger pointing at Edwin as if he were about to attack her.

She crossed herself and began muttering a prayer as she backed away, too terrified to turn her back toward the poor boy.

Petra threw herself on top of Edwin. “Leave him alone!” she screamed. “It’s nothing to do with you. See to your own children.”

Petra cried out as someone tried to pull her off her son. Edwin was just coming around, his eyes regaining focus as the fit began to pass. Petra fought free of her assailant’s grasp and crawled back toward Edwin.

“Edwin,” she called, terrified. “Edwin.”

She suddenly noticed a brown-robed figure rushing toward them and breathed a sigh of relief. The friar would help her. He was sure to know Edwin from the priory and would try to calm the townspeople, who would respect his authority.

“Please, help me, Brother,” Petra cried. The mob was upon her, pushing and pulling at her in order to get to Edwin, who was now fully conscious and sobbing with fright.

“You!” the friar screamed. “You are the whore who spawned this bastard. He’s the Devil’s familiar, and this storm is the manifestation of God’s wrath. He sent it to cleanse this evil town from the likes of you!”

The friar was shaking with outrage, his face contorted with religious fervor.

Two more friars appeared at his heels. Their damp hair was plastered to their skulls and the skirts of their robes billowed around their legs, exposing milky-white ankles.

They were bearing down on her, wooden crosses held in front of them to ward off evil.

“Friar Gregory,” Edwin moaned. He tried to sit up, but the friar knocked him back down. People were shouting and cursing, their fear and anger having found a target. They craved violence, and now it was sanctioned by the Church.

Petra screamed like a wounded animal when someone grabbed her by the arms and pulled her aside.

“It’s me, Petra.” For a brief moment, she thought that Avery had come to their rescue, but it wasn’t Avery.

Thomas pushed her out of the way and forced his way through the crowd toward Edwin, leaving Petra at the mercy of the mob.

Anonymous hands grabbed at her and tore at her cloak and gown.

Someone scratched her face and yanked a fistful of her hair, forcing Petra to her knees.

A woman who lived in her street kicked her in the ribs, and several people followed her example, encouraged by Petra’s inability to defend herself.

People shouted abuse and called her names, but most of the onlookers were more interested in Edwin.

It was him they wanted. They’d deal with Petra later.

Petra tried to see between the legs of her attackers, searching for the girls.

She’d lost sight of them the moment Edwin collapsed.

Petra prayed that they were safe and with their grandmother.

She rolled onto her side and curled into herself, arms over her head and knees drawn up to protect her head and stomach.

She could just make out Edwin and Thomas through the forest of shins.

Thomas lifted Edwin off the ground and held him close.

The mob seemed to hold its breath, suddenly unsure of what to do.

Lord Devon wasn’t one of them; he was a nobleman, a man who commanded respect and obedience, but the indecision was short-lived.

The crowd surged forward again, screaming and demanding that Thomas hand Edwin over.

The three friars were at the forefront, shaking their fists and calling on God to strike Thomas down for aiding and abetting the Devil.

Thomas roared with fury as he elbowed Edwin’s assailants out of the way, desperate to get him out of harm’s way, but there was nowhere for him to go.

He was surrounded, and there was nothing he could do to appease the mob.

The friar’s accusation took hold like a flame spreading through dry wood.

The mob closed in, their eyes full of fanatic fervor.

Petra didn’t see who threw the first stone, but it hit Thomas in the shoulder.

He barely noticed the blow as he tried to fight his way out, his arms around Edwin, whose face was pressed against Thomas’s chest. The second rock struck him in the head.

Blood trickled down his temple as his eyes met Petra’s.

They were full of regret. He was one man, and he was helpless against a mob of dozens.

No one heard Petra’s scream of anguish. They were too fixated on man and child.

People were closing in. Edwin was torn from Thomas’s arms and thrown to the ground.

A cudgel was produced. Petra tried to fight her way through the crowd, but someone struck her in the head, and she went down on her knees.

The last thing she saw before she hit the ground was Thomas warding off the blows of the cudgel.

“Edwin,” she muttered. “Edwin.”