“Where are you going?” Giles asked, poking her with his stick again.
“Home, and you should do the same, lest you want to be eaten by the Beast,” Corabeth said and waved a hand behind her, thistime making contact with the stick and snatching it from the boy’s hands.
“Aren’t you in league with the Beast?” one of the younger boys, Jasper, asked. “My father says you’re a witch.”
“Then shouldn’t you stay away before I put a nasty spell on you?” Corabeth said, raising her voice, and turned suddenly. She took a few threatening steps towards the boys, the muddy stick raised high. With a shriek, Jasper backed away, almost tripping, and took Giles with him. The younger boys seemed sufficiently spooked, but there was an amused glint in Giles’ eyes as he allowed himself to be pulled away.
“Corabeth,” said a steady voice behind her. Corabeth let her hand fall, dropped the stick, and turned slowly to face Susanna Fabel, the Village Elder’s wife, who had stepped out of the general store.
“Good afternoon, Matron Susanna,” Corabeth said and brushed the dirt from her hand into her skirts.
“Is this what you have resorted to now? Scaring children before the Night of the Beast?” Susanna asked coldly, her hands clasped before her, the picture of stoic steadfastness.
The Matron’s mousy blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, not a single strand out of place. Her features were sharp and severe. Corabeth struggled to remember a single time she had seen the woman laugh or even smile.
“I simply wished for them to leave me be. They were mocking me—”
Matron Susanna interrupted her with a dismissive sound from her throat, turning her head sharply to the side as if she couldn’t bear to look at Corabeth. “For the love of God, they are children.”
“Yes, Matron Susanna,” Corabeth said, lowering her gaze. She knew better to argue with the Village Matron. She could end up in the pillory just like her mother before her. They had alreadyfound her guilty, they were just waiting for her to commit the crime.
Somewhere along the line, the village had decided Corabeth’s mother was the black sheep of their flock. Corabeth got a small reprieve when her mother had died in the pillory, but she had inherited her mother’s sins; there was no doubt about that. The greatest of them was that she had never known her father.
“I’m sure even you have better things to do,” Matron Susanna said before turning away, leaving Corabeth standing there in the mud and her shame.
She took a breath, composed herself once more, and stepped into the general store where shopkeeper Martin had already covered some of the shelves with sheets.
“Closing already?” Corabeth asked, walking up to the man. Martin looked up from his ledger and smiled. If there was anyone in the village who could muster up some kindness towards Corabeth, it was him. After all, he couldn’t be picky about who he accepted coin from.
“Night of the Beast, you know how it is. I have time for one final purchase, though. What will it be?” he asked, clapping his hands together eagerly.
“How much for the larger sack of flour?” she asked, pointing at the brown sack behind Martin. It was nearly the size of her upper body.
“Twelve copper,” Martin replied and slapped his hand on it, sending dust into the air.
Corabeth sighed. “Do you have any of those flour mixes? And in a slightly smaller sack? Something that would cost around eight copper?”
Martin smiled, a sympathetic sort of smile, and disappeared into the back room for a brief moment. He returned with a smaller sack tossed over his shoulder that he threw onto the counter.
“That will be easier to bring home anyway,” Corabeth said with a forced smile, making Martin huff out a laugh. She used the rest of her money to buy some shortening, tossed the heavy sack over her shoulder, and waved Martin goodbye.
It had grown darker outside, partly because the clouds turned angrier, partly because the late autumn sun was setting earlier and earlier. She hurried down the road towards her home, her feet sinking deeper into the mud due to the added weight.
This time, when she passed the pillory, she didn’t have to see it at all. The sack on her shoulder shielded it from her vision. She only guessed she had passed it by the murmur of the men tying up the animals.
She could see her house up ahead, the last building at the end of the road before the misty forest began, and picked up her pace. She still needed to board up her own windows, which luckily would not take too long since there were only three of them.
Corabeth was just five houses away when a door flew open and the figure of a disheveled girl fell out onto the porch, changing the course of Corabeth’s life forever. If she had come mere minutes later, or earlier, she would have made it home undisturbed. If she hadn’t had to argue with Minnie, if the boys hadn’t mocked her, if she hadn’t stopped for an earful from Matron Susanna…
Two
Corabeth
The girl fell on all fours before she scrambled up again. Isamella, a girl of fifteen or sixteen, was the maid in the Village Elder Fabel’s household.
She stood, a cream-colored coif in her hands, and looked around with wild eyes, cheeks tear-stained. She had always prided herself on her thick, long, copper hair, which she wore in two braids. Now her braids had been cut unevenly, the strands unraveling as the girl’s head swiveled back and forth. The bodice of her simple gray dress was ripped at the neckline, exposing too much of her skin, and she had to pull down her skirts where they had gotten stuck around her hips.
“Isamella, what…” Corabeth began, but her voice faded as two men stepped out of the same door.
