Hapenny Magick Read Online Free
would get more than just a few chilly nights in the barn and a hungry belly. She would lose hide from her backside, of that she was sure. And for what? A midnight stroll in the forest with a bossy bird.
Lifting her head to wipe the dribbles of water from her face, Mae saw a path made of stones, going through the creek. The wet faces of the rocks glistened. She followed the path with her eyes.
Chapter Four
Just beyond the creek, a cozy cabin nestled within a grove of oaks. It wasnât the dwelling of a hapenny, of that Mae was sure. Hapennies always built their homes under something: hills, bridges, stones, or ancient trees. A thin tendril of smoke, like dragonâs breath, curled over the thatched roof.
The raven settled on the cabinâs stone chimney. Uneven granite stairs led to a small covered porch. Under the single front window, a long planting box overflowed with night-blooming flowers. The pale petals basked in the glow of the yellow moon. The door to the cottage was open, and Mae saw a man at the hearth.
She crossed the creek and crept closer.
The man in the cottage was tall, with a long, ginger beard. His garments were not rich, but they were clean and serviceable. His breeches were the color of plums, his linen shirt a spinach green. Shiny buttons connected his suspenders to his waistband.
âMaewyn, come,â the raven called.
The bird glided from the chimney, went through the open door, and landed on the rounded back of an overstuffed chair. Ducking behind a tree for cover, Mae wondered why the raven had led her here. A woodsmanâs cottage!
The man approached the raven, his leather-clad feet shushing across the wood plank floor. âWhere have you been, my friend?â
Mae saw affection in his face as the woodsman scratched under the ravenâs beak. To treat a bird like that, he had to be better than Gelbane. Perhaps he wasnât a woodsman after all. Maybe he was the Wedgeâs Protector. A wizard would have a talking bird as sure as a hapenny would have a lavender honey muffin recipe. Perhaps he could explain the odd things happening at the farm. Mae stepped out from behind the tree.
The raven cocked his head. The man followed the birdâs gaze. âMaewyn,â the bird called. It felt like an introduction.
Hesitantly, Mae gathered her skirts, her foot lifting to find the first stair. Soft light from the fire fell on her face. The mouth-watering smell of fowl and roasting vegetables teased her nose. The juices from the roast sizzled on the hot coals. Something bubbled in a pot over the fire. Mae hadnât eaten since supper the day before. Her stomach called out for nourishment.
Mae lifted her eyes to the man. The end of his beard was braided like a pack ponyâs tail, with a thin red ribbon holding it together. The nose that protruded over the beard was broad and squashed at the tip. What should she say? She wound the corner of her apron around her thumb.
âPlease, sir, I have walked all night.â Mae pointed to the raven perched on the chair and her belly grumbled again. âThat bird led me here.â
The man chuckled, and Mae felt embarrassment crawl up her neck like a tomato vine growing up a fence post. She was foolish to think a human would ever believe that a bird led her through the forest. Foolish to think a human would be better than the worst-tempered hapenny. Foolish to think this man could possibly be the Protector of the Wedge.
Hugging herself, Mae turned from the door and the fire. She would find her way back through the forest. Back to the dishes and the scrubbing of floors. Back to the feeding of chickens. Back to Gelbane.
âMaewyn.â
Mae started at the manâs deep voice.
âCome back.â Laughter filled the space between them. âCome back, Maewyn. I wasnât laughing at you. I forgot hapennies always take things so close to heart. I was just⦠wasnât expecting aâ¦hapâwell, just
Lifting her head to wipe the dribbles of water from her face, Mae saw a path made of stones, going through the creek. The wet faces of the rocks glistened. She followed the path with her eyes.
Chapter Four
Just beyond the creek, a cozy cabin nestled within a grove of oaks. It wasnât the dwelling of a hapenny, of that Mae was sure. Hapennies always built their homes under something: hills, bridges, stones, or ancient trees. A thin tendril of smoke, like dragonâs breath, curled over the thatched roof.
The raven settled on the cabinâs stone chimney. Uneven granite stairs led to a small covered porch. Under the single front window, a long planting box overflowed with night-blooming flowers. The pale petals basked in the glow of the yellow moon. The door to the cottage was open, and Mae saw a man at the hearth.
She crossed the creek and crept closer.
The man in the cottage was tall, with a long, ginger beard. His garments were not rich, but they were clean and serviceable. His breeches were the color of plums, his linen shirt a spinach green. Shiny buttons connected his suspenders to his waistband.
âMaewyn, come,â the raven called.
The bird glided from the chimney, went through the open door, and landed on the rounded back of an overstuffed chair. Ducking behind a tree for cover, Mae wondered why the raven had led her here. A woodsmanâs cottage!
The man approached the raven, his leather-clad feet shushing across the wood plank floor. âWhere have you been, my friend?â
Mae saw affection in his face as the woodsman scratched under the ravenâs beak. To treat a bird like that, he had to be better than Gelbane. Perhaps he wasnât a woodsman after all. Maybe he was the Wedgeâs Protector. A wizard would have a talking bird as sure as a hapenny would have a lavender honey muffin recipe. Perhaps he could explain the odd things happening at the farm. Mae stepped out from behind the tree.
The raven cocked his head. The man followed the birdâs gaze. âMaewyn,â the bird called. It felt like an introduction.
Hesitantly, Mae gathered her skirts, her foot lifting to find the first stair. Soft light from the fire fell on her face. The mouth-watering smell of fowl and roasting vegetables teased her nose. The juices from the roast sizzled on the hot coals. Something bubbled in a pot over the fire. Mae hadnât eaten since supper the day before. Her stomach called out for nourishment.
Mae lifted her eyes to the man. The end of his beard was braided like a pack ponyâs tail, with a thin red ribbon holding it together. The nose that protruded over the beard was broad and squashed at the tip. What should she say? She wound the corner of her apron around her thumb.
âPlease, sir, I have walked all night.â Mae pointed to the raven perched on the chair and her belly grumbled again. âThat bird led me here.â
The man chuckled, and Mae felt embarrassment crawl up her neck like a tomato vine growing up a fence post. She was foolish to think a human would ever believe that a bird led her through the forest. Foolish to think a human would be better than the worst-tempered hapenny. Foolish to think this man could possibly be the Protector of the Wedge.
Hugging herself, Mae turned from the door and the fire. She would find her way back through the forest. Back to the dishes and the scrubbing of floors. Back to the feeding of chickens. Back to Gelbane.
âMaewyn.â
Mae started at the manâs deep voice.
âCome back.â Laughter filled the space between them. âCome back, Maewyn. I wasnât laughing at you. I forgot hapennies always take things so close to heart. I was just⦠wasnât expecting aâ¦hapâwell, just
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