Robin Haseltine's Books

About Me
My Books
Friends' Sites
Writer's Links
Contact Me!

Three Smooth Stones

Meet Ruby, Jib, and Emeralde

"Smoke!" I sprang to my feet and dropped the basket half-filled with blueberries. Over my shoulder, I yelled, "Jib, hurry. Run hard." Not looking to see if my brother followed, I grabbed my sister Em's hand and took off. How lucky we wore breeches today instead of workskirts. Darting down the dirt path, I stumbled over gnarled roots and barely avoided sawed-off trunks. Low-lying branches scraped my tunic and grabbed my hair. My braids slipped from the top of my head, whacking my back with every step.

Faint screams reached my ears.

Screams of terror.

Terror? Not the headman's drill to form orderly bucket lines. Were our friends trapped in a burning cottage? Had raiders returned to steal our animals and crops, or the silver we mined?

"Hurry, Jib." I glanced back through the trees, but didn't see him anywhere. He wasn't much slower than Em and should have caught up by now. 

Geemam's wheezing voice called our names. I whipped my head around and almost banged into her. Why was she running away from the village fire instead of helping the water brigade?

Fighting to catch my breath, I studied the woman who'd taken us in after our Marm died seven years ago. Alarm distorted her wrinkled face.

"They've come, Ru," Geemam said. "To the river." She yanked me back into the forest.

Still gripping Em's hand, I spun and followed Geemam. I pushed my legs even harder, almost hauling my sister. At twelve years, she was a lot shorter, with stubby legs, and groaned trying to keep pace. Our boots swished through piles of pine needles and scattered dead leaves until we reached Jib, standing where we'd left him, a basket at his feet. His eyes bulged midnight blue and dark; his body was stuff; his fists clenched.

Why hadn't he followed us?

I tracked the direction of his gaze to ... the package under Geemam's arm. The package she always kept near the back stoop.

For when they came.

Came to get us.

"They've come," Geemam had said. Her warning spread through my veins like frost blooming across the window.

The Baron's men.

After seven years of searching for us, leaving smoldering towns and hamlets in their wake, they'd finally discovered our location. I imagined his men tearing apart cottage after cottage, destroying everything in a rage, looking for the boy with the thumbprint birthmark behind his ear.

My ten-year-old brother, Jib.