Page 113 of Night of the Witch
It’s builtintothe tree canopy.
Most of the buildings are carved into the trees that tower all around us, their branches curving to cradle structures and stairs like they were grown specifically to hold this village. The walls and windows match the trees in every way, from the sheen of gray to the twisting sway of the lines, so that everywhere is a forest caught in a gentle breeze, palpitating, dancing, a celebration of life.
Despite the fear and anger, I can’t help but be mesmerized by this place.
“Is this whole area the Well?” I ask.
Brigitta looks down at me from a higher step. “Yes. In a way—we are tied to the Black Forest. In this world, but set apart.”
That explains the massive size of these trees, the ethereal aura that permeates each glittering mote of dust we pass.
“Where is the Origin Tree?” My mouth is dry.
Brigitta looks off into the forest, toward the city-trees that race off farther than my eyes can see. “Deep within our borders. Well-guarded, don’t worry—I’ve been a captain of the Grenzwache for five years, and I’ve only seen it from the barest of distances. Dieter won’t get close enough to harm it.”
Grenzwache. Border guard.
Brigitta gives a reassuring smile that does nothing to soothe my fear and carries on, leading us up, up, up, to a bridge that stretches to another tree. As I take a first step onto it, my eyes dip down.
I shriek and stumble back into the soldier behind me. I hadn’t thought too strongly about the fact that we’re being watched, hemmed in on all sides by what are clearly guards in leather armor dyed green and decorated with arching motifs of still more trees, because all of this is sooverwhelming, so much a story come to life, that I’m half-delirious with the need to laugh. But the sheerheightwe’re at up here, watching leaves drift lazily around us, down, down…
“It isn’t possible,” I whisper.
Liesel takes my hand. The way she grips it is insistent, and I manage to tear my petrified gaze from the bridge’s railing to look at her. Her eyes are wide, a bead of sweat on her hairline. She’s scared too.
I clutch her hand tighter. We’re in this together. To the end.
“We wouldn’t let you fall all the way,” says the man behind us.
I look back. The guard has a brow slightly cocked, amusement playing in his eyes as he lets his words sink in. His copper hair hangs to his mid-back, pulled half atop his head with a woven leather braid that shows an insignia across his forehead: three moons. One waxing crescent, one full, and one waning crescent. A symbol of the goddesses.
“Allthe way?” I clarify.
He shrugs, arms behind his back. “It’s only the last few seconds that would kill you, isn’t it?”
It could come across as threatening, but that sparkle in his eyes intensifies, and he grins at Liesel.
He pulls one hand out from behind his back and holds something up for her to see:
A krapfen.
Liesel makes a startled gasp. “Where—where did you get that?”
Eyes flitting from her to me, he takes a huge bite. “Come on,” he says through a mouthful of pastry and sugar. “The bridge is really quite sound.”
He pushes around us and continues out onto it.
“We’re nearly there,” says Brigitta, who has realized we stopped. She looks back at us with the two other guards, the lot of them again not threatening. Just waiting.
Liesel tugs on my hand. “Fritzi. Your krapfen. Heateyourkrapfen. He got our offering!”
And while she sounds downright enchanted, and immediately darts out onto the bridge, I linger for a beat, watching the guard pop the rest of the krapfen into his mouth and give me a wink.
I manage a shaky breath.
Holda?I try. I’ve never reached out to the voice before. Never wanted to draw its focus.We need to talk.
I start across the bridge, doing my best to keep my eyes on Liesel’s shoes in front of me, the way the wood of the bridge is half natural growth from thick oak branches, half boards nailed into it.
