Page 111 of Night of the Witch
Holda had told me that I would be Fritzi’s warrior, but any of thesesoldiers would likely be a better candidate. I feel not only weak but childish in the face of such obvious power.
One of the warriors—she looks like a queen but carries the weapons of a soldier—peels off from the others. She has black tattoos in Celtic designs weaving over her bare arms, each line emphasizing her cut muscles. Rather than a crown, she wears a huge headpiece made of dripping moss and sticks, a chaotic nest that looks regal atop her braids.
She peers down at us, her lips parting slowly.
And then, from behind, comes a voice I know. A voice I love. “Otto!”
“Hilde?” My heart seizes, and I barely dare to hope.
A blur of mousy brown braids and red skirts hurtles toward me, and I’m nearly thrown off my feet as my sister launches at me. Fritzi chuckles, stepping aside so that I can wrap my arms around Hilde and twirl her around and around. She giggles, and for a moment, all is well. Sheer, perfect, calming relief floods my body. I knew Fritzi had sent Hilde to be protected, and I had long ago accepted that her magic was real and, by that same idea, Hilde truly was safe. But I hadn’t really believed it until this moment, when she’s here, laughing, exactly as I remembered her except, somehow, even happier. I clutch her to me, and a prayer of gratitude rises in my heart.
When I put Hilde down though, the soldiers watch imperiously.
“Oh, comeon,” Hilde says, glowering at the queenlike one. “Brigitta, it’s my brother.”
The leader—Brigitta, I presume—does not seem to care. But then her eyes glide to Fritzi and, finally, Liesel. “Champions,” she says, bowing her head respectfully. Fritzi stands there awkwardly, unsure of how to react, but Liesel arches her head up, accepting the respect easily. That word clearly has some importance to everyone here but me, but it is a mantle I’m not sure Fritzi wants.
“The Three must have accepted your presence for you to accompany the chosen champions,” Brigitta adds, turning to me. “Welcome.”
Chosen champions?The way the woman says this twists inside me; there are things at play here that the goddess didn’t bother to mention. To me, at least.
“My name is Otto,” I say. And, because I feel the need to at least be worthy of being close to Fritzi, I add, “Holda chose me to be Fritzi’s warrior.”
Thatcauses a ripple among the forest folk, and I’m not sure what I said that creates so much consternation.
“The council will wish to discuss this further,” Brigitta says finally; then she turns her full attention to Fritzi and Liesel. “The champions are requested now.”
“Requested?” Fritzi asks. “For what?”
“The Well needs your aid.”
“Of course,” Liesel says, striding forward. “That’s why we came.”
“It is?” Fritzi starts to protest, but Liesel tugs Fritzi behind her, and the guard close rank, escorting Fritzi and Liesel somewhere deeper into the trees.
Brigitta pauses, shooting Hilde a look. When I go to follow Fritzi, Hilde holds my arm. “We’re to stay,” she says.
“I’m not leaving them,” I protest.
“This is one of those magic-witch-mysterious things,” Hilde says. “But you can trust Brigitta.”
I don’t. But I do trust my sister, and I trust Liesel, who seemed sure that they should follow. From the crowd, Fritzi turns back to me, a question in her eyes. Her gaze slides from me to Hilde and back again, and I can see that while I was worried about her, she had concerns about leaving me behind. She gives me a little shrug as Liesel tugs her along, one I return, and she flashes me a smile.
Holda told me herself that Fritzi doesn’t need protecting. Perhapsthis will be the moment she will learn what battle I will need to aid her in fighting. Surely this centers on Dieter in some way; Fritzi’s brother is a threat to all. But this also seems bigger…
Hilde beams at me, oblivious to my worried thoughts.
I pull her close. “You’re well?”
She smiles at me brilliantly. “Better than well. I’m—I’m happy here, Otto. This is the most beautiful place I have ever been. It’smagic!”
I laugh ruefully. “Who would have thought that witches were real all along?”
“What would the archbishop think?” Hilde says. She pauses, twisting her hands together, a nervous habit she’s had since she was a toddler. “What of Trier? The forest folk were able to tell me some things, but they couldn’t see past the walls of the city. Did our plan—” There is aching, desperate hope in her voice.
It wasn’t just me who’d worked for years to find a way to disrupt the witch trials. Hilde had too. My sister was the one pushing me to do more, be more. Our secret routes and early warnings to targeted individuals had never been enough for her; it was Hilde who volunteered to be arrested, to work from the inside for a major, showy display of rebellion.
“Your plan was perfect,” I say, watching as the fears melt away from her pinched eyes.
