Under the Heron's Light by Randi Pink

Author:Randi Pink
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Feiwel & Friends

24

BABYLOU

1744

Exhausted, they reached the high point of the Isle, expecting to see the entire town flitting around in preparation for the rare ceremony, but the cobblestone walkways were empty.

“Why is no one here?” asked Babylou. “The whole town’s been talking about this union.”

Babylou looked to Abel, and he seemed perplexed. “This is wrong. Everyone should be here. Where are the townsfolk?”

Lines of empty tents and stone buildings decorated with colorful congratulatory banners sat empty in the field. Platters of honeycomb were left unattended, and incense had burned to nubs, some of the embers dangerously close to flowing fabrics and ribbons. But there was no one there.

Babylou homed in on the eerie sight of Beeez Creek’s usually docile honeybees stirring and swirling away from their boxes, into chaos. “Where are they?” Babylou asked no one in particular.

“There.” Abel had spotted something.

Babylou followed his gaze to find most of the town crowded at the bottom of the hill near the lines of squatty homes, underneath the four stone arches.

“What are they all doing there? Wedding’s on the other side of this grove.”

The villagers stood in a curious circle, as if observing something interesting. Abel and Babylou made their cautious trek toward the clump of townsfolk.

“Excuse us, please,” said Babylou, but no one budged.

“It’s Abel and Lou. We need to get to the front.” Abel spoke to the backs of their heads, and still they did not move aside. “We need to get through.”

The onlookers were packed so tightly that Babylou and Abel had to use their elbows to make their way to the center of the circle. They listened for chatter or gasps or gossip, but there was only silence. Floriate was typically vibrant and full of banter, especially on a day like today. The quiet was eerie and unnatural. When Babylou peeled through the final front row of onlookers, she was horror-struck.

Nell lay lifeless on the cobblestones in the center of the circle. The moons shone brightly over her gray locs and thick eyebrows. The leftmost edge of her sideburn kept a hint of its curl while the other side had fallen limp from the clear slicing of her throat. Her laundry-worn hands still held her laundering wand, the same she’d created all their gowns and slacks and shoes and hats with. Townsfolk surrounded her in mutual mourning.

“What will we do?” someone wailed.

“We’ll have no protection.”

Someone else added. “Sitting ducks is what we are.”

The Great Dismal Swamp retorted with a loud rumbling reprimand as if to assert its protection over the Isle. The townsfolk took the hint and quieted their complaining, but it did not ease their fear.

“No one can replace her,” another said, now whispering.

“Ah.” Rexi elbowed through the crowd, glowing in her flowing orange gown. “But there is one.”

“Who has such power?” someone asked. “You, Rexi?”

Rexi laughed, sinister and proud. “Oh, no, not me.” She raised her painted nail and pointed. “Him.”

A young man that Babylou did not recognize stepped confidently to Rexi’s side. Babylou’s heart burned with rage, and she wanted to shriek for release, but the townsfolk would see that as weak.

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