Shiralee limped down the road to the nearest village, holding herself together by mere will. She was the tower witch, blessed by the Goddess with special magic. She wouldn’t allow a several hour walk to defeat her.

Yet when she stumbled up to a shepherd’s cottage several hours later, Shiralee was nearly ready to admit defeat. Every bone and sinew throbbed, and her limbs trembled with exhaustion. Praying they would allow her to stay, she pounded on the rickety door.

The door creaked open, and a threadbare woman peered at her. “Yes…”

Shiralee opened her mouth to reply, but dizzy blackness swamped her and carried her into oblivion.

When she awoke, Goddess knew how much later, Shiralee was swathed in heavy blankets. Feeling as if fire was burning beneath her skin, she struggled free.

“Careful now,” a gentle voice said. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

Shiralee eyed the lush woman across the room by the fire. She’d never seen her before. “Who are you?”

The woman ladled steaming brew from the pot above the fire into a mug. “The healer of the village. Mayghen fetched me when you collapsed on her doorstep. Now drink.”

Shiralee accepted the mug but sniffed the brew. She could smell nothing amiss, so she eyed the healer again to read her fate. Her magic saw nothing but kindness and a long life. She drank the healing brew.

The healer took the empty mug then handed Shiralee a plate of coarse bread, sheep cheese, and onions. “Eat. You need food for my brew to work well.”

Her stomach gnawing at her insides, Shiralee devoured her meal. She’d not been so hungry since she entered the tower all those years ago. She missed the endless larder already.

When she finished eating, Shiralee asked, “Do you know of the village called Upper Ashville?” That had been the village she’s been scrying when she saw the fateless man.

The healer shook her head. “No, can’t say I do. But we’re very isolated here. You might try visiting Whiteoak. They’re the closest to the duke’s estate, so they might know more.”

Shiralee sighed. She’d never heard of Upper Ashville either, and she’d been born in a village not far from here.

So Shiralee spent a week with the healer, bartering her weaving skills for healing and food. When all her aches had gone, she left the tiny village for Whiteoak.

The journey a person could have ridden in two weeks took Shiralee nearly two months. She had to stop at villages to rest and barter her weaving for food and shelter. The Autumn Queen would have come for spring’s tapestry and have found Shiralee gone.

Was Shiralee even the tower witch anymore? Her magical sight still worked, allowing her to read who she should approach at villages. But spring’s tapestry of lives remained incomplete, and summer’s hadn’t been started. She would find out when she returned to the tower.

With that in mind, Shiralee entered Whiteoak to determine the location of Upper Ashville so she could resolve the enigma of the fateless man and return to her tower.

To be continued…