Chapter 1

Willow

A crisp breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of damp earth and the hint of coming rain. I look up from my herb garden to find a village elder standing at the edge of my property, his frail frame hunched with age and worry. The fact that he is here shows just how desperate they are. It's unusual for the villagers to come this far from their homes, let alone to seek me.

"Willow," he begins, his voice strained. "I've come to ask for your help."

"Of course, Elder," I reply, straightening up from my task. "What do you need?"

"Something has taken hold of my wife. She's weak, feverish, and her condition worsens by the day." He pauses, swallowing hard. "The healer can do nothing more for her. You are my last hope."

I feel a mix of emotions well within me. Anger that they only turn to me in their darkest hour, sorrow for the woman's suffering, and a flicker of fear that I won't be able to save her. But above all, there's a determination to prove my worth, to show them that I am not the monster they believe me to be.

"Please, gather what you need," he pleads. "Time is running short."

"Very well," I say softly. “You go ahead, and I will follow. I need to collect some things.”

“Please hurry,” the Elder says as he turns and scurries off, disappearing into the woods.

I watch him disappear into the woods with a heavy heart, knowing that time is indeed of the essence. With purposeful strides, I make my way back to my small, modest cottage, nestled among the trees like a secret between old friends. The thatched roof is starting to show its age, and the wooden walls bear the scars of time and neglect.

Pushing open the creaking door, I enter the dim interior. Sunlight filters through the small windows, painting golden stripes on the dirt floor. The air smells of dried herbs hanging from the rafters, mingling with the earthy scent of books and potions.

I go straight to a rough-hewn shelf where rows of small glass bottles stand like silent soldiers, waiting for their orders. Each bottle contains a different concoction, a mix of herbs and magic woven together in a delicate balance. My fingers hover over them, seeking out the ones I need.

Then, I leave my little cottage behind and head toward the village through the thick woods.

Beneath the ancient canopy, I am enveloped in a familiar rhythm of foraging. The soft crunch of leaves under my feet echoes through the silent forest, broken only by the occasional rustle or distant birdcall.

My mind wanders, lost in thoughts about the illness that has befallen the elder's wife, but I also ponder the whispers of crop failures and strange occurrences that have plagued our village lately. The thick scent of damp earth fills my nostrils as I make my way deeper into the woods, feeling both comfort and unease in this sacred place.

It's then that I sense it— an otherworldly presence, like a faint thrum in the air around me. The forest falls silent as I cautiously approach a small glade bathed in dappled sunlight. There, perched on a bed of moss, is a creature I've never seen before. Its body resembles that of a fox but with iridescent feathers instead of fur and delicate, transparent wings fluttering at its sides.

"Who are you?" I ask.

The creature tilts its head, studying me with intelligent eyes that seem to hold a world of secrets. "I am here to warn you. Do not venture into the village. It is a trap."

"A trap?" I question, taken aback. "But I'm just an herbalist. Why would a trap be laid for me?"

"True power lies not in grand displays of force," the guardian says, "but in the subtle ways we touch the world around us. Remember that, Willow, for you are more than you know."

With that, the creature takes flight, leaving me to ponder its visit and the strange words of warning it spoke. But the Elder's wife is sick. Regardless of the cryptic message, I must go to the village.

So I brush off the strange creature as one of the trickster spirits that often lurk among us and hurry on my way.

As I approach the village, the distant sound of wailing women grows louder and more frantic. My heart quickens in response, and I pick up my pace until I reach the edge of the wood.

Then my heart sinks as I see a group of villagers carrying the lifeless body of the Elder's wife out of her house.

Her limp form is draped in a white sheet. The air is thick with grief and confusion as the villagers try to make sense of this sudden loss.

My mind races with questions, but for now, I can only offer my condolences and pay my respects to the departed soul.

"Oh, dear," I whisper, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I am too late to help her.”

"Willow!" a voice cries out, drawing my attention to the village square not far from my cottage.

The local lord, Caldor, sits astride his horse, his face twisted into a mask of cold contempt. "Willow, the time has come for you to answer for your crimes!"

"Crimes?" I echo, my voice trembling with shock and anger. "I have done nothing but help."

"Your actions say otherwise," Lord Caldor sneers, surveying the mob that has begun to form around him. Torches flicker in their hands, casting sinister shadows across their faces as they murmur their agreement. "You have been found guilty of practicing witchcraft, and the punishment is death."

"Guilty? By whom? You?" I retort, my fear giving way to anger. "I have only ever used my knowledge to heal and protect this village. This is madness!"

“By the words of Elder Lee himself, you poisoned his dear wife, the Goodly Jane!” Lord Caldor barks at me.

“I did no such thing!” I shout back, boiling at such wickedness and lies by Elder Lee.

"Silence!" he commands, waving his hand to silence the crowd. "You will be given a chance to prove your innocence, but until then, you are under arrest."

"Prove my innocence?" I scoff, the absurdity of it all hitting me like a physical blow. "How am I supposed to do that when you've already made up your mind? You won't listen to reason, and these people..."

My gaze sweeps over the faces of the villagers I have dedicated my life to helping, their eyes filled with fear and suspicion. "They're too afraid to speak up for me. This is nothing but a witch hunt!"

"Then so be it," Caldor says coldly, signaling his guards to seize me. "Take her away."

As their rough hands grip my arms, dragging me towards the makeshift gallows erected in the village square, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. The guardian's words echo through my mind, offering me a glimmer of hope amid the chaos.

True power lies not in grand displays of force, I remind myself, steeling my resolve as I prepare to face my accusers. Opening my eyes, I stare defiantly into the face of my captor. "For I am more than you know."

“What?” the oaf that has a hold of me replies. I kick, and he bends over in pain. “Argh!”

Like a bolt, I shoot off across the village square before they even know what I have done, running toward the forest and its sanctuary.

The hard earth crunches under my feet as I sprint deeper into the forest. The bitter wind has arisen and cuts through me like a thousand icy daggers.

The thickening darkness swallows the villagers' shouts and jeers, but the ominous glow of their torches paints the twisted branches overhead, a stark reminder that they're not far behind.

"Witch, stop!" Caldor's voice rings out, an edge of desperation creeping in. "This will only make things worse for you!"

"Even if I surrender now," I think, my breath coming in ragged gasps, "I have no chance at a fair trial." My legs burn with exhaustion, but I force myself to keep moving. The sanctuary of the ancient forest beckons, promising safety and solitude from the world that has turned against me.

"Witch!" Caldor continues, "Don't make me do this."

Oh, I know exactly what you’d like to do. And it is not going to happen. I know Lord Caldor will not stop until he has me in chains, bond, and at his mercy, as he has always desired.

Then, thick and heavy snow falls, covering the ground beneath me, and the wind swirls the snowflakes around me until I have no idea where I am going.

But I have to keep going.

As night falls, the two moons glow through the trees. My heart hammers wildly in my chest, fear and adrenaline surging through my veins as I dodge gnarled roots and thorny brambles. Every rustle of leaves or snap of a twig sends a jolt of panic through me, wondering if the mob is finally closing in.

"Is this what my mother went through?" I wonder, and the thought chills me more than the night air. "Running for her life, with nowhere to turn?"

It’s then that I hear them getting closer. Even with the wind and the snow, they still must have their witch, the witch they have made me.

Just as they made my mother.