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It also disturbed Werd. The man shifted on his bed and his face scrunched up in pain. His air came out in sharp breaths and he clutched the sheets beneath him.
“Extinguish it!” Ben shouted as he grabbed the flute.
The light vanished and the room fell into shadows, but they didn’t feel as foreboding as before. Ben hurried over to Werd who had fallen back onto the sheets.
My heart quickened as I followed him to the bed. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
Ben set a hand on Werd’s chest and pursed his lips. “I believe your purifying light hurt him.”
My heart dropped as I beheld Werd’s ghastly white face. I grasped the flute in both hands and pressed it against my chest. “Will he be okay?”
Ben drew his hands away and nodded. “Yes, but we had better allow him to rest.” He turned to me and offered me a small smile. “Don’t blame yourself for this. You weren’t the one to put the curse on him nor had the mist attack us.”
I bit my lower lip but nodded. Ben strode past me and over to the nearest window where he looked out. “It appears you’ve done us a big favor, though. I don’t see any sign of the fog from here.”
I sidled up to him and looked down at the flute. “But what kind of fog was it that I needed to use this light to get it away? Even your wings couldn’t blow it off.”
Ben pursed his lips as he shook his head. “I wish I knew. There are spells for controlling the elements, of course, but infusing some kind of cursing poison into it is something I’ve never seen before, especially with the variety of afflictions my aunt mentioned.”
“So what now?”
He nodded at the east. “Now we go see what we might learn in Scima. Ferox will appreciate the chance to get some fresh air.”
We returned to the stables and found the said horse impatiently waiting in his stall. Aunt Dreda owned a small coach to which we hooked Ferox. The mighty steed trotted out of the stables and down the drive to the main road. I noticed the fog hadn’t retreated very far from the house, but it kept its distance as we rolled onto the main thoroughfare.
We took the right-hand path and the road widened after a couple of miles. Small farms popped up in hollowed-out nooks in the forest and animals grazed near the fences watching curiously as we passed. Small driveways with arches led to large barnyards. The homes were simple clapboards with chimneys made of round stones scavenged from the local area. I glimpsed women in simple but colorful dresses and scarves over their brown braided hair. Men in coveralls worked the plows behind heavy horses and didn’t even turn a head as we passed.
I couldn’t help but notice something else about the area. “Why are there little dolls on the fence posts?” I asked my companion.
Indeed, there were tiny pieces of wood shaped into men and nailed to the side of the posts that faced the road.
“They’re talismans to ward off evil,” Ben told me. “They act as guards to fight against curses and other black magic.”
Another unusual feature caught my attention as we passed another arch that led to a farmhouse. “What are the symbols over the arches? Those round wooden blocks of wood.”
“Those represent the sun,” Ben explained as the corners of his lips twitched upward. “That symbol is said to ward off the unknown dangers in the shadows.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “I’m starting to get the feeling that the people around here are a little superstitious.”
“That would be one of their quirks,” Ben revealed with a teasing smile.
I lifted an eyebrow. “Any other quirks I need to know about?”
“The amount of their superstitions would be enough to fill a tome, so I doubt they need any other.”
We passed by another farmhouse entrance where a scarecrow-like figure loomed large over the fence. “What about that? What does that one mean?”
Ben chuckled as we drove past. “It means they don’t like one of the local politicians.”
I fell back against the carriage seat and snorted. “I guess that must be a universal meaning.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
We soon reachedthe outskirts of the humble town known as Scima. The streets had been laid out according to the designs of a madman such that they ran in all different directions and often intersected many times. Three-floor opulent old mansions stood nearly wall-to-wall with small hovels, though stately manors occupied all the lands around a small lake on the southeastern part of town. The general architecture was early medieval with an emphasis on thick wooden beams and walls of stones gathered from the now pristine fields. Pigsties and chickens dotted the landscape and the number of pubs outnumbered the churches.
“What do you think?” Ben asked me as we rolled into the crowds that wheeled and walked here and there.
I wrinkled my nose as we passed a hotel that had as much cleanliness as one of the nearby pigsties. One of the flashily dressed women who leaned against a porch roof post winked at Ben. “I think it has its own character.”
