Unlikely Courage

Part 7 of “The Scarecrow”

The bangs and cracks of spells erupting from wands in battle gradually became more muffled as I ran aimlessly through the forest, frantically looking over my shoulder to make sure I wasn’t being pursued. My chest ached and felt more and more raw as I heavily breathed in the ice-cold air, which also made my face feel like it was being cut with a hundred little icy needles.

One minute, I was sitting in a chair, across from a sad-looking scarecrow, who was being taunted by a band of cackling, arrogant, cruel witches to “do what he was made to do.” The next, I was magically teleported into the middle of the forest.

The story of Raincrest the scarecrow is a long one, and the only reason I was involved was because his owner was my uncle, and Uncle Henry died in the Second World War, far, far away from here. I became the perfect target to mock Raincrest’s unusual sense of compassion.

It wasn’t just me who became wrapped up in this conflict between the good witches and the bad witches. The coven’s leader was the daughter of one of our kindest witches in town. I don’t know the gory details of what happened, but I do know that this conflict was deeply personal, and Raincrest was at the center of it.

It must have been Raincrest who teleported me out of there. Where he sent me, I don’t know. I don’t even think he knew. Regardless, I hope he’s alive so I can thank him later.

The sky was a very dingy gray. Given how cold it was, I wouldn’t be surprised if it started to snow soon. I remembered Uncle Henry telling me how cold it was in France in a letter he sent just days before he was killed. He called the area he was fighting in “a dense cloud of cold, and something about it was very dreadful.”

Despite my predicament, I refused to lose hope. As dangerous as it seemed, I had to head toward the sounds of battle in order to return to civilization.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps that weren’t mine. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw bushes moving in the woods, and I tried to run faster. My heart started pounding as I imagined a witch lunging from the bushes. Frantically, I bent down to pick up a thick stick from the ground, holding it above my head like a baseball bat.

Something orange appeared in the darkness of the forest, and then Raincrest stumbled out of the bushes. When he spotted me, he began jogging toward me. “Mr. Weston,” he said. “Please, wait.”

I lowered the stick, releasing my breath. “I thought a witch was after me. How did you escape?”

“It’s a long story. We should return to the town. We’ll be safe there.”

I walked alongside the scarecrow. “This is a pointless conflict.”

“This is about revenge,” Raincrest explained. “This is about Madam Farina and her daughter. I was the tipping point. I should have just stayed with you when I came out of hiding this past summer.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen, and . . . you’re still grieving my uncle. I can’t blame you for wanting to hide.”

“Yes, but Sheriff Blakely was right. I should have gotten help. I wouldn’t have had to use more magic and make it easier for the witches to track me. However, there is one thing I can thank this fight for.”

“What?”

“Giving me courage to stand up for myself, now that I know people care enough to lay down their lives for me. I should do the same in return.”

I will admit that Raincrest sounded different to when Blakely and I met him in the barn all those months ago. He sounded more confident in himself, less afraid. He’d still wring his hands as we walked through the cold field alongside the forest, getting closer and closer to the flashes of magic in the sky, but he still seemed like a different person.

We came to a frozen pond. The ice was too thin for anyone to walk across, and it wasn’t like we were planning to anyway. The ground around the pond was wet and muddy, and I can’t think of a feeling more unpleasant than cold wetness seeping into your boots and socks.

However, it’s much better than being chased by witches who want nothing more than to spill your blood.

A very gnarled warlock leapt from the bushes, holding his wand and aiming it at me and Raincrest. The scarecrow shielded us from the bolt of magic, then charged toward the warlock, grabbing his arms and trying to twist them behind his back.

“Behind you!” I shouted when a witch dashed out from woods. Still wielding my stick, I jogged over to join in the fight, delivering a hard whack to the warlock wrestling with Raincrest. He collapsed in a heap on the ground, leaving only the witch.

The witch didn’t seem to care about her fallen companion. Turning her attention to me, I could see her eyes were severely discolored, something I’ve learned is a result of corruption from dark magic. She pointed her wand at me, but before she could fire, Raincrest jumped in front of me. The force of the spell sent him flying toward the frozen pond. He landed on his feet, though it took him a few seconds to regain his footing. Being light, he couldn’t break the ice if he tried.

The witch ran toward him, shooting magic while the scarecrow dodged. As soon as she reached the center of the pond, the ice cracked, plunging her into freezing water.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to her cries of pain and cold, but she wasn’t in the water for long. Raincrest, standing at the edge of the pond, raised her out with some form of telekinesis, her withered old legs kicking uselessly. There was a great crack, and suddenly the witch was flying over the trees. I had been pushed backwards into the grass from the force, and my ears rang as I staggered upright.

Just ahead of us, the flashes of magical light had stopped, and dead silence had filled the forest. Raincrest stood across the pond, shoulders slumped.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Weston. Come. I think the others heard the explosion.” Raincrest waited for me to go around the pond, and held out his arm to me. He seemed exhausted from performing his magic.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“I will be fine. Your safety is more important to me, because I cannot help but see Henry in you, and I swore I would protect him with all my power. I . . . I may have failed to protect him, but I will not fail to protect you.”

“I’m not Uncle Henry, though.”

“That doesn’t matter to me. You remind me so much of him.”

I figured it was best not to argue. No one in my family had really compared me to Uncle Henry before, and I couldn’t think of anything in common I had with him. Regardless, if this was Raincrest’s way of healing, I decided to let him protect me.

It didn’t take long for someone to find us. Sheriff Blakely and a warlock named Allard Vonner met up with us near the edge of the forest, near the same place Raincrest appeared with the barn this past summer.

“Good to see you two are OK,” Blakely said. “How did you escape?”

“I teleported him out of the hut,” Raincrest explained, “Then I escaped myself.”

“How?”

“The witches wanted to hurt Martin. I couldn’t let that happen. Somehow . . . I found my courage to fight, when I didn’t have it for years.”

“You’ve grown since Farina and I last saw you,” Vonner said. “She’ll be happy to see you again.”

“I would like to see her, too.”

The four of us walked back to where the town’s witches and warlocks had gathered. Some were asking about the explosion. Others were asking about Raincrest. I could see officers and witches hauling members of the coven away for questioning. Standing in the middle of it all was Madam Farina. She was looking around, like she was looking for something or someone in particular. When she saw me, she breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you alright, Mr. Weston?” she asked.

“I’m good, thanks for asking,” I said. “I owe a lot to my uncle’s scarecrow now. He got me out of that horrid place.”

“I knew he would.”

“Wait . . . you knew?”

“Not in the literal sense. You have much in common with Henry. Somehow, I had hope that would help Raincrest in finding his courage, and let him start healing so he doesn’t feel like he has to hide anymore. I think once this battle is over, he can get the help he needs.”

“You think that lies with me?”

“I do.” Farina pulled a worn photograph out of her pocket. “Did you see this woman when you were held captive?”

The woman in question had dark hair and an angular face. She was dressed in the traditional robes of the town’s witches, but there was something . . . off about the look in her eyes. “I did see her. She was going on and on about revenge on you. She threatened to set Raincrest on fire a couple times.”

Farina nodded. “Evie is my daughter. If she wants revenge on me, she can take it out on me, but not you, or the rest of this town. I will confront her myself.”