Burning Marigolds

Part 4 of "The Scarecrow"

The situation was bad enough to where I needed to go to the men and women in charge of the town. In the back of my mind, I found it a little silly that this was all over a scarecrow, though he was a very different scarecrow indeed. Then again, this wasn’t just about a scarecrow. It was about an age-old terror, a collective of witches hellbent on taking control of the town and its people.

The scarecrow, Raincrest, was a sore spot for them. He was one of several who was created to do awful things for the amusement of the witches. No one is entirely sure what happened, but he developed a sense of right and wrong, a moral compass. He refused a task one day, so his creators abused him until he did it. It was myself and Madam Farina who rescued him almost 30 years ago from this horrible fate.

To summarize, Farina ran an orphanage, of sorts, for enchanted things. Scarecrows, snowmen, garden gnomes, you name it. She made it her duty to find homes for them. Good homes. She was quite insistent on checking everyone who went into her shop.

Her connection with Raincrest had more to do than his strange acquirement of a soul. Her daughter, Evie, had fallen under the influence of a witch coven—the same one that created Raincrest. Although they very nearly killed each other during the rescue, Farina let Evie run away, hopefully never to be seen.

Sadly, we were wrong. Just last night, while trying to find Raincrest in a field just outside of town, Farina and I came across a package containing a picture of the scarecrow tied a chair, with two witches standing by him. One of them was Evie, and she had written a note warning Farina against coming after Raincrest—any attempt would result in townspeople getting hurt, or worse.

This wasn’t something we could do on our own. First thing in the morning, I headed into the center of town to speak with Sheriff Blakely. Sitting in his office, I explained what we found last night, and when I finished, he didn’t look sure whether to laugh or sigh.

“That scarecrow isn’t going away, is he?” he said.

“Afraid not,” I said.

“Honestly, what I don’t understand is this; if Raincrest has been using magic to hide himself for the last eighteen years, why didn’t this coven find him long before now?” Blakely asked.

“It’s possible they’ve only recently returned, and you need certain tools in order to detect magic.”

“Like . . . magic radar, I guess?”

“You could make that comparison. Regardless of how they returned, they are making themselves out to be very dangerous. They may have expanded their numbers over the last thirty years.”

Blakely rubbed his face, and ran his fingers through his ginger hair. “Have you considered the idea that they might be bluffing to scare you into submission?”

“Not really.”

“I’m not dismissing you, Vonner, but I do want you to consider the possibility. As far as rescuing the scarecrow goes, I will gladly assist you, but I need more information so we can plan a rescue. I’m going to treat this as a hostage situation.”

“What information do you need?”

“Locations, how many witches are in that location, anything they have for defenses. As complete a picture as you can give me.”

“I can get that for you, if you’ll permit.”

“Sure. Any help you can offer will be appreciated.”

________________________________________

It would be best to investigate in broad daylight, when witches were least active. Farina was busy with a customer when I told her the plan, so I took her young student, a 17-year-old girl named Elsbetha, with me into the dense forest behind the field where that barn appeared all those months ago.

Farina was, at first, opposed to me taking Elsbetha because she was so young and inexperienced with dealing with the evil types of witches. My counterargument was that she was very talented and had already shown capability with being able to fend for herself. Plus, this would be a good opportunity to practice. Still with some reluctance, Farina let me take her, trusting in me to look after her.

The forest had lost much of its green in favor of vibrant reds and oranges and golds. The ground was a carpet of leaves and pine needles. The air was cold. Coupled with the gray blanket of clouds overhead, I sensed snow was coming later in the day.

“Where exactly are we going, Mr. Vonner?” Elsbetha asked.

“To see if the coven has returned to the hut we drove them out of all those years ago,” I said. “About another mile or so, and we should reach it.”

I could tell we were getting closer when I saw a narrow moss-covered cobblestone path appear in the ground. A half-rotted post stood at the start of the path, with a lantern hanging from it. The lantern was grimy and broken. A bird had made a mess inside of it. Strands of hay and grass were sticking out of the tiny door and every hole in the glass.

Part of me was relieved to see the broken lantern, but another part of me wondered if the witches just haven’t gotten around to tidying up the path. Frankly, if they were planning to terrorize the town, fixing the path’s lanterns would be the last thing on their minds.

“I can’t hear any crows, Mr. Vonner,” Elsbetha whispered.

“Good observation,” I whispered back. “There’s no birdsong, no foxes, nothing . . .” I trailed off when I saw a black shape in one of the branches above us. A raven was staring down at us.

“A messenger?” Elsbetha asked.

“Very likely. Don’t stare too long.”

We kept walking, straying off the path to keep the raven from thinking we were searching for the hut. I kept glancing over my shoulder, not seeing the raven. Just as I thought we were clear, the smell of something burning wafted over to us. Following the smell, we came to a clearing. A breeze blew a trail of smoke over to us, and I spotted the source; a large pile of marigolds, mixed with grass, burning brightly.

“Get down,” I ordered softly. When we were laying in the leaves, we were peering through the branches of a bush at the burning marigolds.

Elsbetha looked more confused than scared. “Why would they burn flowers?”

“Flowers are a symbol of all that is lovely,” I said. “It’s a sign. A sign that the witches and warlocks who inhabit this forest are going to attack the town, and bend it to their will. What was once pretty will be razed.”

“Why don’t we stop them now? How far are we from the hut?”

“Several yards, nestled into the bushes and trees up ahead. It’s too risky to get closer and see how many witches are inside. Regardless, they probably outnumber us.” I turned to move away from our hiding place, gesturing for Elsbetha to do the same. “We will come back at some point with more people. For now, that coven mustn’t know we were here.”

________________________________________

I met with Farina and five other witches and warlocks that evening over tea to tell them what we saw. The three who had been with me and Farina 30 years ago weren’t at all surprised, while the two who hadn’t even been born then seemed horrified.

“If they’re burning flowers outside their encampment, then it doesn’t matter what Madam Farina decides to do; they’re going to move on the town.” Mr. Atherton drew on his pipe before taking it out of his mouth.

“It’s possible it’s nothing more than a warning,” Farina replied, absentmindedly.

“They would only use that signal if they knew someone would come looking for them,” I said. “The question is, who knew?”

“Not ‘who,’ but ‘what.’” Madam Faye stirred a sugar cube in her tea. “You did mention you saw a raven in the forest, correct?”

“We did.”

“Who knows how long that raven’s been watching us.”

“Ravens are very common around here. And we use them, don’t we?” Elsbetha asked.

“Yes, dearie, we do. That’s what makes this situation much more complicated, and we can’t start pointing fingers at each other, or each other’s ravens.” Faye took on a thoughtful look while raising her tea with old and shaky hands. “I think we should give our ravens a rest, and use another animal to differentiate between the good witches and the bad witches. Do any of you have mice? They’re excellent observers.”

“I’ve got a crow,” I said. “Farina, I know you have a cat. Atherton, a blue jay—”

“We can make room for mice,” Atherton said. “It won’t be a huge sacrifice.”

“It’s settled, then.” I glanced around at everyone, noticing the others nodding. “We’ll start using mice, and now we need a plan to see how many witches have returned. I was thinking some of us go back into the forest tomorrow afternoon.”

“We would be fighting on their turf,” Atherton replied. “We should let them come to us.”