Page 104 of Night of the Witch
Another face swells in the mist. Another. Screaming, mutilated faces, terror and fury and hollowness, death in all its twisted agony—no matter where I turn, no matter where I look, faces come, heaving and swaying. I was breathless from running before, but now, I am gasping for air in tightening lungs, fear choking the life from me.
She is mine, says the voice, the one I know, the one tied to wild magic, and I sob, but that sob is silenced. I want to rail against it—I have notgiven in, I donotbelong to wild magic, I’m still a good witch, a good witch—
Who are these other voices? What do they want?
No,a final voice says. And this one sounds like a thousand voices in one, ringing, ringing, ringing with lifetimes of sight and wisdom and pain.I will test her worthiness.
All of the faces surging through the mist pivot, as one, focusing on me, just on me. My throat cracks with another soundless scream, and as the faces converge, plummeting through the air toward me, terror has me clawing backward until I trip again, and fall.
But when I drop, I don’t hit the ground.
I hit water, and in a great, arching splash, I plummet beneath the river’s surface.
32
OTTO
I’m holding Liesel in my arms. I’m holding her, and I’m promising that she will not be taken, that Dieter cannot reach her, that I will protect her no matter what. I’m holding her and then—
I’m not.
I stare down at my empty arms. She was there, solid, her weight pulling against my body, and now…she’s not.
Oh, God.I’ve already failed her. “Liesel!” I scream, spinning around.
There’s no one.
“Fritzi!” I am not ashamed of the fear piercing through my shout; I am afraid.
“They’re not coming,” a voice says. I spin around again, and there, sitting on the rocky edge of the river, is a young maid. Her hair is tightly braided and hidden behind a kerchief, and her long tunic dress is cut in the older style, a span of green wool with laces up the sides, cinched at the waist with a leather belt.
Her eyes, the exact same emerald as her dress, watch me curiously.
“Where are they?” I ask, breathless, on edge. The young woman is beautiful, but I have long ago learned that monsters wear human faces.
“Oh, they’re here,” the maid says, smiling. “But safe. So, not here. But here.”
The maid.
This is magic beyond any I have witnessed before. But still, I think I recognize it. The old woman at the mill had told Liesel of the White Maiden. Fritzi told me the goddesses she worships were called the Crone, the Mother, and…
The Maid.
Doubt wrinkles my brow. I grasp at my thoughts, trying to remember the name Fritzi had told me. Which one is which? Abnoba is the old one, the one linked to Liesel. And the Maid is…
“Holda?”
She smiles, ducking her head. “I have many names. That is one of them,” she allows.
I blink several times, unsure of what to do. What to think.
Liesel had shouted about mist to Fritzi, but I hadn’t seen any mist. I see it now—surrounding me, isolating me with this woman. I don’t recall stepping into it, but pale white clouds form a barrier around us. My hand drifts to my waist, my sword. Her eyes follow the movement, and her smile grows cold. I think about making a run for the fog, but even as I think that, the pale white barrier seems to glint, as if there are knives hidden inside the mist. It creeps tighter around us.
“You cannot go,” Holda says softly. “Not until I’ve tested your worthiness to pass through to the Well. Testing one such as you—hexenjäger kapitän—may take quite a while.”
That’s right—Fritzi told me there was a barrier. Dieter couldn’t get in because the goddesses know he is a threat.
I require a trial.
