The crowd surged around her family like the ocean crashing against stone. Her father, a weathered old warrior with his jaw set in grim determination, walked with his arms wrapped protectively around Morwyn as she clung to him and shook with mortal fear. Her pale blue eyes peeked out from behind a mess of white blonde hair while his, a deep amber, glared a warning to anyone from the crowd who dared get close. Mother was close at hand, helping Anna and Elaine usher their young children down the street that was choked with dust and raised voices. Morwyn's five brothers, with Matthias at the lead, cleared the way as they brandished gleaming swords and broad axes. She desperately hoped that they wouldn't have to use them.
"Traitors!" A man shouted above the roar of the crowd, spitting on one of the women who had married into the family. She and the other spouses stood firm, unbowed, supporting their husbands and wives in their exile.
"Witchcraft!" An old woman snarled, hurling a rotten tomato at the terrified girl in her father's arms. It splattered against his weathered armor but he paid it no heed. He leaned in close to his daughter, one hand on her shoulder to steady her, the other inching toward the hilt of his sword as he whispered comfort in the girl's ear.
"Be brave, Morwyn. They fear what they do not understand. We love you, and we will not let them harm you."
Though no blood was spilled as the family marched into the wilderness, in the wake of their departure there was still the weight of tension in the air. The children were still missing. Driving out the Shrike family couldn't change that.
***
They traveled on foot for several hours provisioned with only that which they could carry in haste from their homes, trudging doggedly across up the slope as they headed inland. Burdened as they were and with a number of young children in tow the group of nearly two dozen moved slowly. Once they reached the foothills of the mountains to the west, Father deemed they were far enough from the village to make camp without the risk of being caught by anyone who may have pursued them. He called for his wife and children to gather as the haggard group rested on the various rocks and boulders strewn about the mountainside.
Morwyn stood beside her father with one hand entwined with his as the others made camp. She could barely make out the familiar slopes of the mountains and the thick alpine forest nearby through a sheen of tears that she refused to let fall. Father told her to be brave. She had to be brave, despite it all.
Anna, her voice hoarse from shouting defiance at the villagers far below, spoke up first.
“We should head north, to the unclaimed lands between Illithek and Ondrum. With winter on the way we won't make it without fish.”
“Word travels too quickly along the coast,” Emil, the middle son, shook his head and leaned on the handle of his axe. “It's far too dangerous. We should head south, hugging the mountains until we find land with game. The reindeer are due to pass through in the coming weeks. We could stock up on meat that way.”
Her father spoke next, his tone grave but full of conviction.
“Wherever we settle, it has to have the resources to build new homes. We also need to consider the safety of the new mothers and children as we travel.”
As her family debated back and forth in hushed tones to avoid frightening the children, Morwyn slipped her hand from her father's grasp and stepped tentatively to the edge of the hasty camp. The others were too preoccupied with the sorry task of trying to figure out where they could start their lives over to notice her absence.
“It isn't fair,” she whispered to herself. Saying so didn't change anything, but it felt good to say it out loud for the first time rather to simply feel it, as she had for the months leading up to their exile. Her cloak hung loose about her shoulders and despite the chill of the autumn evening, she didn't feel the cold. She never had.
The sun began to set as it dove behind the jagged peaks to the west and illuminated the meadow with a blaze of orange light, casting familiar shadows across the boulders and the husks of dead grass. As the others continued to discuss their bleak future, Morwyn glanced up to the horizon. A crescent moon peered tentatively over the vast ocean to the east as the sun sank ever lower to the west. She screwed her eyes shut and whispered a fervent prayer to the Moonmother.
“Goddess, if you hear me, please watch over my family. They don't deserve any of this. It's my fault. They wouldn't be here if it weren't for me...” Tears fell freely down her cheeks as she clutched her hands to her chest, the aching in her heart threatening to topple her. “Please, Moonmother. Don't let them suffer any more on my account. I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was ever born.”
She slipped quietly out of the circle of firelight and made her way up the slope, following a path that she'd taken so many times before that she could follow it with her eyes closed. Morwyn sat cross-legged at the entrance of a familiar rock formation, little more than a pile of boulders arranged in just the right way to form a small hollow, and stared at the flickering campfire and tents below. She pulled at the frayed edge of her cloak as she contemplated the disappearances that led to their exile, wondering how she of all people could be suspected of being involved. She'd never done so much as steal a loaf of bread in her life, why would she steal children? To what end?
“Witchcraft...” she murmured, tossing a pebble down the slope, watching it bounce twice before disappearing into the tall grass. Her thoughts drifted absently to Heather. Had her father been amongst the crowd? Worse yet... had she?
“If you are a witch, you're the worst I've ever seen.”
Morwyn jumped at the unexpected voice to her left. Matthias leaned against the entrance of the shallow cave with a tired smirk on his face. Morwyn jumped to her feet and rushed over to wrap him in a tight hug, burying her face in his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head and held her gently as she sobbed into his tunic.
“I'm so sorry, Matthias! This is all this is my fault, I feel terrible for what I've done to you all, especially with Astrid pregnant again-”
Matthias hushed his sister and stepped back, leaving one hand on her cheek. He gave her a warm smile and tousled her hair, just as she had done at that very place all those years ago.
“Don't apologize for anything, Morwyn,” he murmured in a more serious tone. “Every one of us agrees that you aren't at fault. Those superstitious fools are to blame, not you. They are looking for someone to blame and would rather do so than take responsibility for their own children's safety. We know you had nothing to do with it.”
Morwyn, her voice choked with emotion, closed her eyes and held a hand over his.
“But... but... if I wasn't so different they wouldn't think...”
“If you weren't different, you wouldn't be the brightest woman this bloody island has ever seen, would you? Your head would be full of iron and salt like the rest of us.”
Morwyn considered her brother's words for a long moment before wiping her tears and giving him a weak, halfhearted smile. She fell into his arms again, this time in appreciation rather than desperation, though the tears soon wet his tunic once more. Matthias stroked her hair and whispered to her, his eyes welling with tears of his own.
“All of us chose to leave with you, Morwyn, because you are one of us. Though you may look different you are our blood. Your mother is my mother and your father is my father. Your sisters are my sisters and your brothers are my brothers. No matter what happens, we would rather face a harsh life with you than a comfortable life without you. You are a Shrike, and Shrikes never, ever give up on family.”