Vera Ashwood's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Vera sat by the fire with a tin cup in her hands when the old woman froze at the window. The kettle hissed. The old woman set down her knife and crossed to the door in three quick steps. She did not speak. She lifted a bundle of dried leaves and small bone charms from a hook on the wall and pressed it into Vera's hands. The leaves smelled sharp and clean. "Hold this against your skin," the woman said. "They followed you." Vera went to the window. Past the clearing, where the trees opened toward the road, a tall stone marker stood half-swallowed by brush. Carved bones ran along its edges. She had passed it on the way in without seeing it. Now she saw the shapes around it — six, maybe seven dead, swaying in the dusk. The bell she had hung on the road two days back lay quiet now. They had stopped at the stone. They had lost the sound. Then they had found her scent on the wind and turned toward the cabin. The lantern by the door burned steady. Three small flames in the dark. A beacon. "The light," Vera said. "It's pulling them." The old woman was already moving. She pulled a cloth from a drawer and threw it over Vera's shoulders. "Stay low. Press the pouch to your throat and your belly. The eucalyptus covers the smell of the turn." She opened the door a hand's width. The closest dead was forty paces out and closing. The woman reached up, lifted the lantern off its hook, and pinched each candle dead with her bare fingers. The glass went black. She set the lantern inside on the floor and shut the door. She slid a bar across it. Vera crouched under the window with the herb bundle against her neck. The cabin went dark except for the low red of the hearth. Outside, a dragging footstep passed the wall. Then another. A hand scraped the bark siding near the door. Vera held her breath. The baby did not move. The footsteps slowed. The scraping stopped. Something groaned and shuffled off toward the trees. The old woman stood with her back against the door and listened until the woods went quiet. When she finally moved, she lit a single candle on the table, not the lantern. "They'll come back at first light if we stay," she said. "We leave before dawn. The road to where you need to go is three days on foot. I have a pack ready." Vera looked down at the pouch in her hands. The leaves were crushed where she had gripped them. She nodded. The cabin was not safe anymore. The cure was still days away. She had maybe five.