Armed people patrolled the main road the whole night through. Murmured conversations carried in the night, speculating why the Village Elder’s family was suddenly hit with such misfortune. Suddenly, everything unfavorable was erased. Ely was a sweet boy, Turner steadfast and strong, Giles merely an innocent child.
Corabeth now held that child, ready to end it all. She tried not to focus on the possibility that after tonight, there would be no more Rooke. No more quiet evenings in the library or walks through the garden. No more black, beady eyes peering at her with a quiet resolve, along with a tilted head.
Corabeth swallowed, pushing down everything she was trying not to feel. Dawn was bathing the world in its pale light. Bitter cold was biting at Corabeth, but it did not touch the boy in her arms. He could not feel it anymore.
A raven glided through the air, wind carrying it towards the house with the lit window, and perched on the sill. It startedpecking at the glass, the quiet tap-tap-tapping meant only for the people inside.
Inside, a man and a woman looked up. The mist in the forest parted just enough to reveal Corabeth, long, black hair swaying in the wind, and their child in her arms. Head tilted towards her, arms tucked in on his chest, as if he were simply a child sleeping in his mother’s arms.
Through the glass, their eyes met.
Hyram Fabel’s expression went blank. Corabeth vaguely registered that next to him, his wife launched into action. But she kept staring at the man she had come to fetch.
A scream ripped through the night and pulled Hyram Fabel out of his stupor. In a second, he was gone from the window.
Susanna Fabel stormed out of the house in nothing but a nightdress and dressing gown. Her slippered feet struggled to find purchase on the snow.
“Giles!” she cried into the night. Not far behind her came Hyram. On the road, torches turned toward the commotion.
“Tell everyone to stay back!” Corabeth called, clutching Giles a little closer to her chest. She was standing in the trees where Rooke would pick off anyone who dared to come close. But there was no protection against bullets. With Giles in her arms, no one would dare to shoot at her.
Susanna came to a stop some feet from the tree line, Hyram nearly crashing into her from behind. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. Together, they faced Corabeth, their breaths rising up in clouds into the night air.
“Give me my son!” Hyram demanded. He stood tall next to his wife, ever the commanding presence. But there was a slight twitching to his features, a tremble in his hand that Corabeth had not seen before. His bloodshot eyes told the tale of many sleepless nights.
The first men, carrying guns and torches, appeared between the houses. Corabeth’s gaze jumped between the men, each one of them familiar to her. But she saw no recognition in their features. She was the danger now. The enemy.
“Tell them!” she called again.
Reluctantly, Hyram lifted a hand to signal to the advancing men to stop. “Halt,” he shouted.
The men obeyed, although several guns were trained in Corabeth’s direction.
“What do you want, you wretched girl?” Matron Susanna cried.
“I have come to offer an exchange,” Corabeth said, her voice carrying through the cold air. “Giles for him.” Her eyes jumped to Hyram.
Susanna blanched, looking up at her husband beside her. “No, no,” she whispered with pure terror.
Hyram did not turn to look at his wife. His eyes never left Corabeth. For a long moment, no one spoke.
“You’ll release him?” Hyram finally asked.
“No!” argued Susanna. “Just shoot her! Shoot the witch!” she screeched, looking feverishly at the men behind her. But none dared to risk harming the Village Elder’s son.
“You have my word,” Corabeth promised, although it tasted like ash in her mouth. Like the ash that fell on the night her house burned.
Hyram hesitated for a moment longer. He was a Village Elder, a husband. But in that moment, he was simply a father, desperate to save his remaining son.
“It will be alright,” he said quietly, turning to the hysterical Susanna. “You take care of him.”
“No, no,” Susanna cried over and over again, clinging to her husband’s arm.
“Put him down first. Susanna will come and get him,” Hyram said, prying Susanna’s hands from him with some difficulty.
“No,” Corabeth refused, “They’ll shoot me.”
Hyram looked behind them, where at least ten guns were now aimed at the woods.
