The Glass Casket Read Online Free

charms. Oh, what are we going to do?” She set her knife down, clearly upset.
    Tom hated to see his mother distressed, and laying a hand on her arm, he tried to comfort her. “Don’t worry, Mother. If it is a wolf, then it’s probably gone north since then. Paer Jorgen said he heard something’s been killing moose up there. Must have been our wolf.”
    Elsbet sighed and then picked up her knife and resumed chopping. “Sounds awful to say it, but I’m more than a bit relieved it was those soldiers and not one of our own. Could have been a child. Just think of it. Biddy Holmson lets those triplets run dog wild among the trees all day. Goblins and fairies may catch their prey by dark, but wolves eat when wolves are hungry. They’d likely eat a child for breakfast as not.”
    Tom nodded and remained silent, having learned years ago that when he didn’t know what to say to his mother, it was best to say nothing at all.
    “Fool men,” she continued. “Going up to Beggar’s Drift like that. Who does such a thing, and in the middle of winter? That’s what you get.” She shook her head as if to say that had she been in charge of things, such mistakes would not have been made.

    That night, after the fires had been set and the dead soldiers’ things stored in the tavern cellar, the men of Nag’s End gathered at the inn. Decisions had been made up on that icy mountain, decisions that ran counter to the king’s way, and now those decisions would speak for the whole of Nag’s End.
    Elsbet served the men rabbit stew and was more generous than usual with her pour. Wilhelm was among those who had made the decision to build the funeral pyre, and since Wilhelm wasn’t used to any trouble, she worried for him.
    “More ale, then?” she called to the men from behind the bar, but no one answered. They were all busy listening to Rowan’s father, Henry Rose, speak.
    “My good men,” he chuckled, dabbing a napkin at the corner of his mouth. “All I’m saying is that Nag’s End is steeped in mountain ways, antiquated beliefs—and although I worship at the Mouth of the Goddess, I’m afraid I do not believe in goblins, ghosts, and ghouls.” A wave of murmurs swept through the room, and Henry Rose, who had been born in the palace city, once again recognized his place as a foreigner in his own village. “What I am trying to say is that just because you believe something does not make it so, and that just as you ask the king’s people to respect your customs, we must admit to ourselves that we have violated theirs.”
    Paer Jorgen shook his head. “You may not come from the land of the Goddess, but you’re in her province now. Her flesh and blood rests just below the surface of the earth. Her magic surrounds us. You have only to look about you.”
    “But that’s just it,” Henry Rose laughed. “I see nothing. No witch can produce a spell to impress me; no augur has proven accurate enough in my opinion to be rightly called divination.”
    “You say no witch can produce a spell to impress you?” asked Paer Jorgen, leaning in. “What about the protection that surrounds our village? The perimeter hasn’t been breached for years.”
    Henry Rose rolled his eyes. “As far as I am concerned, there is no spell, only empty air defending us againstcreatures that were never there to begin with.” Henry, noticing the displeasure of his brethren, pushed a lock of white-blond hair from his eyes and raised a thumb. “Please, I mean no offense. I may not have been born in Nag’s End, but I consider you all my people. Truly, I am one of you. I make the sign of the Goddess when a murder of crows flies northeast to southwest. I am careful to cross the sash to the left when I open the morning curtains. These are the ways of the mountain folk, and I honor them, but let us think clearly for a moment. Has any man among you actually seen the dead walk? Or seen a Greenwitch turn herself into a cat? I mean, we no longer believe in